#what’s your job even supposed to be if you’re willing to sit and do nothing while students are beaten for four hours?

[melonnade]

absolutely disgusting the way that the violence on my campus this morning is being talked about on the news. reading articles rn and they keep talking about violence on both sides & fighting breaking out ‘between’ the two groups. call it what it fucking was. it’s not two sides being violent, it’s one being attacked by the other. rhetoric matters.

[m0llygunn]

a job well done (eddie munson x fem!reader one-shot)

summary: long-term admirer, recent tutor — you find out eddie's failing gym. in an ode to help him, your expertise expands beyond just textbooks — to your fortune, he teaches you something you've been dying to learn too

contents: 18+, smut!!!, porn with plot, lots of ball action <3, oral (m receiving, mentions of f receiving), pet names and praise (baby, good girl), somewhat-inexperienced!eddie, tutor!reader an: i made an $8k mistake irl so heres 8k words that i wrote to forget about it (just kidding (not abt the mistake, that's very real) i started writing this in july 2023 but recently rewrote most of it to make it into a big ol' one shot-ish thing) wc: 8.5k

“You’re failing gym?” you gasp, jaw dropping as your eyes scan over his report.

“No!” he replies, trying to steal the envelope and its contents from your hands. You turn your body just in time for him to grasp at nothing but air. 

You started tutoring Eddie about a month into the semester. He’s been a willing participant for the most part and that’s why when he kept coming up with excuse after excuse for why he didn’t have his midterm report you knew something was up. 

You took it upon yourself to do some investigating. Nothing invasive, just when you got to his place for a regular tutoring session, you decided to look through his bag while he was in the bathroom. On his bedroom floor, filing through the bags endless messy contents, you eventually came across the familiarly coloured yellow envelope and helped yourself to a peek at what he was keeping a secret from you. 

Mere moments later, he was back. He immediately noticed what you had in your hands and crashed to the floor trying to get it away from you. Evidently, a failed attempt. 

“You have a — oh god, not just a D, a D minus, Eddie.” 

“That’s not failing,” he mumbles under his breath. You wave him off before dropping his report to the floor in front of you. He grabs it, crumples it into a ball, and petulantly tosses it to the other side of his room. 

“You never even told me you were taking gym.”

“Cause how’re you supposed to help with gym?”

“The tests! There’s a whole health portion, I could’ve been helping you with that,” you say, getting worked up over it. Eddie’s been doing so well, this was truly blindsiding.

“Yeah… cause I really want help from you with the health portion,” he grumbles sarcastically. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what it sounds like it means,” he shrugs. 

If you weren’t paying attention, you might think he was angry — maybe even being mean. Luckily, you’re always paying attention to Eddie Munson, and you see the way his face flushes to a bright, crimson red. His annoyance is actually just embarrassment — which is good — at least he has some level of remorse for his failing grade. You can work with that. You take a breath, exhaling it slowly, forcing yourself to calm down. 

“Show me what you’re working on.”

“No,” he shakes his head, reaching into his bag, shuffling around some papers before tossing a heavy textbook your way. “Let’s just do math.”

“No, you have a B minus in math now, that doesn’t need help. You need help in gym.” you reply, tossing the textbook back at him. 

“I don’t.”

“Eddie, you do.”

Sitting up to your knees, you reach into his bag once more, taking out his binder and dropping it to the floor in a pointed thump. He mumbles some kind of disagreement, spine going stiff with his hesitancy to let you go through his stuff some more, but he doesn’t make any attempts to physically stop you. 

You flip through the disorganization that you’ve told him countless times to organize until you come across a diagram of a penis and a vagina. Bingo.

“Told you,” he mumbles, scoffing to himself. 

“Told me what?”

“Why would you want to help me study that?” 

“Uh— cause it’s part of your class and I don’t want you to fail,” you say matter of factly. “Believe it or not, Eddie, I like you, and your success translates to my happiness.” 

Bright red continues to flourish across his skin, affecting the apples of his cheeks all the way down to his throat. He turns bashful, eyes locking down on the carpet. 

Eddie’s shy — not often, but he is. You wouldn’t think so from the way he acts at school and in most public atmospheres, but get him in a room, one-on-one, and he’s all blushed cheeks and shy touches. It’s sweet and it’s one of your favourite things about him — but you don’t have time for sweet shyness right now. He’s failing gym for christ sake — gym.

“So, how do you want to do this?” you ask, slapping your hands to your thighs. Eddie startles, jolting before his wide eyes find yours. 

“Do what?”

“Study this,” you motion to the diagram on the floor separating the two of you.

“I— I’m not… we’re not—“

His eye contact goes rogue again, diverting anywhere else — everywhere else that isn’t you. Shy, shy, shy. Too shy. More shy than normal. And you have an inkling that it has to do with the subject of the conversation at hand. 

“Oh my god, Eddie. This is basic human anatomy. I think we’re grown up enough to handle a little penis and vagina,” you state, tacking on a laugh. 

You get a hint of Eddie's true personality beyond his shyness — it emerges through a quirk of his lip, the corner of it tweaking upwards into the hint of a smirk. 

“A little penis?” He parrots, his smirk fully emerging now. This boy.

“Cue cards? Should we do cue cards?”

He groans, body deflating. “You know I hate cue cards.”

“Okay, so let’s just go over the parts for now, then we can move on and do something else.”

You clear out a bigger area on the floor, making space for your study session. Eddie helps by kicking back stray articles of clothing and then picking out what looks like spilled weed from the carpet and collecting it in the palm of his hand. You’re a touch more productive, taping little pieces of paper over the diagram labels. When you’re done, you sit up admiring your work. Eddie stands, dropping his little handful of greenery onto his desk before sitting down on his bed. 

“Do you want to do it up there or down here?” You ask. 

The slight double entendre isn’t lost on you, you heard it before you even said it. Now knowing how shy Eddie is about this stuff, you couldn’t help but push your luck, and the blush that spreads across his cheeks makes it entirely worth it, especially while you deadpan and pretend you have no clue. 

“I’ll come down there—“ He says and you watch him physically recoil as his words set in. You resist your laughter. 

“Come, Eddie. Faster,” you tease, laughter starting to bubble up. A smile breaks through his embarrassment.

“Jesus Christ, you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? You like seeing me suffer?”

“Me? Teasing you on purpose? Never.”

With a shake of his head, he joins you on the floor, leaving a large gap between the two of you. “Can we not do this, I already know this stuff.”

“Oh yeah? Eddie Munson is well versed in human anatomy?”

“I’m — I’m not going to answer that,” he crosses his arms. 

With a clap of your hands, you ignore his pouty demeanor. “Okay! Let’s just do this, the quicker you memorize everything the quicker we can not do this.”

With both of the diagrams set up, you give him the option of starting with the penis or vagina first. He chooses the easy answer, opting to go with the penis. 

One by one you point out each part of the penis, asking him for the anatomically correct name. You quickly understand why he’s failing. 

“Okay, and this one is…?”

“The head,” he states. 

“I mean… sure,” you nod hesitantly — “but the little arrow is pointing there — the glans. This one?”

You continue going through the chart, teaching Eddie the proper names for everything. When you finally graduate to the diagram of the vagina, Eddie is physically squirming in his spot. 

“Eddie, relax. Seriously. We’ve all seen a vagina before.”

“It’s so fucking hot in here, are you hot?” He groans, standing up and tripping his way to the window, slamming it open with a grunt. 

He’s barely made his way back before you have a thought.

“You’ve seen a vagina before, right?” 

He freezes — just for a moment, but you catch it. On his way to return to his spot on the floor he pauses, then continues moving as if you haven’t asked him a question. When he sits, you quirk a brow. 

“Yeah!” He answers. His voice tunes so high, it begs to crack.

You nod skeptically. You wouldn’t say he’s lying per se, but something seems off. Something that you’re interested in getting to the bottom of. 

“Let’s take a break, okay?” You offer.

“Yeah, a break’s, uh — good.” He exhales, letting out a breath of relief. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, fanning it in and out, getting some air flow on his skin. It’s very suspicious and you have to assume —

“So, you’ve never seen a vagina,” you say.

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “I have! I’m not a virgin.”

“You’re squirming like one.”

“I’m not!”

“There’s nothing wrong —”

“I’m not!” He says much louder, cutting you off. 

You believe him, seeing the full depth of sincerity in his amusedly large, and overly serious eyes. 

“Okay,” you nod.

“I’m not,” he insists once more, tone leaning towards stern. 

“I believe you, Eddie.”

The two of you sit quietly in your respective spots. You could busy yourself with getting some more studying stuff ready, but somehow — even though there was some verbal finality — this conversation doesn’t seem over. 

And with an inhale from Eddie, it’s not.

“I’ve just never been like…” he pauses, thinking, “I’ve just never been all up in there.” He makes a crude motion with his hands, both palms splayed out flat in your direction, moving outwards like he’s spreading something out. 

“You’ve never eaten a girl out before?”

“What are we doing?” He says, dropping his head into his hands, scrubbing at his cheeks with both palms. 

“You don’t have to answer. Seriously, if I’m really making you uncomfortable, I’ll stop. Swear.”

His chest inflates with a deep breath, then his head pops up. “I have but only for like a minute, in the dark, parked outside of the hideout after a gig,” he confesses. You raise your brows, surprised.

“You work quickly. A minute, that’s impressive.”

“No… Jesus, no,” he winces. “I fucking wish. We got interrupted and… yeah she never wanted to hang out after.”

“Oh,” you hum. “That sucks.” You tilt your head at him, frowning apologetically. 

“Yeah. She, uh, I’m pretty sure she had a boyfriend but I didn’t know when we… yeah.” He concludes his confession with a shrug before sitting back to lean against the side of his bed. 

“That really sucks. Sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, tacking on a laugh. It’s not a nervous laugh. It’s genuine and you take his lack of nervousness as permission to continue the conversation. 

“So… Do you have a tactic?”

“Tactic?”

“Yeah. Like, most guys use the alphabet on the clit thing, which is awful by the way, don’t do that.”

“I think…” he raises his brows. “I think, maybe, just being overzealous is my thing. I don’t really know — I haven't done it enough to have a tactic.”

“Overzealous is good…” you nod, “as long as it’s strategic.”

Eddie meets your gaze. He’s intrigued — “Elaborate?” he asks. 

“Like, sure if you want to go to town and eat the pussy, go for it, but the only place it really counts is the clit — of course everything else is nice too, but the clit is definitely where it matters,” you nod to yourself, punctuating your statement. “And—” you add on, raising your hand, bringing together two of your fingers to mime the curling motions of getting fingered. “I like when they use their fingers too. It's a lot better like that.”

Eddie goes silent. He looks like he’s thinking, maybe even committing your words to memory— but it’s an odd look he has on his face. One you’ve never seen before from him.

“Sorry, did I say too much?” You laugh, trying to diffuse. Eddie looks at you, shaking his head in amused disbelief.

“Why the fuck are you tutoring me in going down on a girl right now?” He laughs. 

You smile, appreciating his amusement. Tilting your head boastfully, you accept his comment like a compliment. “Just a natural born teacher, I guess,” you tease. 

He nods, humming agreeingly. He doesn’t say anything more but you’ve got a handful of curiosities burning through your back pocket, and when in rome…

“Are we done with this conversation,” you ask, “or can we keep going ‘cause I might have a few questions for you?”

“Hasn't this whole conversation already been an interrogation of my experiences?”

“But this might be your only opportunity to teach me something, Edward.” You jet out your lower lip, pouting it, rounding your eyes at him — trying your best to keep this going. 

He rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance. 

“Are you about to ask me if I can move my dick without my hands, because the answer is yes but it’s not full control.”

“That’s not what I was gonna ask, but very cool.”

“Sorry. That’s usually what girls ask.”

That has been a curiosity but your questions… your questions are much more… sophisticated? 

“So can I?” you ask. 

“Can you?”

“Ask you questions?”

He bites his lip, pointedly making you sweat it out. With a dramatic sigh, he gives in. “Go for it.”

You sit up straighter, very pleased with his answer. 

“Balls,” you state. Eddie’s eyes widen immediately — you ignore the regret that flashes across his face. “Do you like them being touched? Every time I’ve done anything with them, the guy kind of, like, recoils and it feels like I did something wrong.” 

“Jesus…” he clears his throat with an awkward laugh. “You’re really going for the big questions, huh?” 

“The big questions?” You raise your eyebrows suggestively. 

“No, Jesus I’m not implying my balls are — holy shit. My balls are normal sized, that’s not what I meant.” He continues to laugh through his embarrassment, cheeks heating right back up to that very cute, bright, red colour. 

“I’m just teasing you, Eddie. I’m sure your balls are lovely and perfectly normal sized.”

He hums appreciatively but it gets stuck in his throat, coming out as a high pitched croak. He clears his voice, nodding as he raises a hand to the back of his neck, wringing it nervously.

“You don’t have to answer, but I would appreciate knowing,” you say, softly, sympathetic — leaning into apologetic. He nods again, and you can tell the gears are spinning in his head as he thinks over his answer. 

“They’re just… sensitive,” he swallows. “But… I do like them being played with, or sucked, or licked… or whatever.” 

His eyes focus on the far wall, not out of nervousness or shyness this time, but more like he’s giving his words some real thought. You appreciate it and wait patiently for him to continue. 

“I guess I would have to say that it’s personal preference, so ask?” he continues unsurely, eyes still focusing elsewhere. “I mean, no guy is ever gonna be mad if you ask to put their balls in your mouth — or… whatever you want to do with them.” He looks at you with wide eyes as he suddenly gets nervous again. You wave him off, letting him silently know that ‘balls in your mouth’ is not an offense to you.

“Could you cum from someone playing with your balls?”

“Holy shit,” he gasps, laughing. His hand that was wringing his neck drops to his lap in a heavy thud. At the same time, he brings up both knees, hugging them halfways to his chest as he mulls over his answer. “Um? Maybe? But, I think a big part of it is a visual thing — like, it adds to the hotness when they’re into the balls?” He finishes, adding an unsure inflection to the end of his remark. You nod, narrowing your eyes into a squint as you absorb what he’s saying. 

“So it doesn’t feel good?”

“It does,” he quickly corrects, “just anything on the head feels way better.” 

“Okay… good to know.” You nod, moving on. “And dirty talk. You really like that? Like, when the girl’s going on and on about your ‘big cock in her tight little pussy’, is it not weird?”

“Jesus, you really aren’t holding back with these questions.” He smiles through the blotchy redness growing down his neck all the way to the collar of his shirt.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” you promise, dipping your face lower to catch Eddie’s gaze. He holds it for a second, before letting his eyes roam the room. 

“Dirty talk is hot, obviously, but… it’s not when it’s rehearsed shit like that. It makes it feel like they’re performing — and maybe I’m just doing a piss poor job and they are performing — I don’t know, but I’d rather hear about what you actually like that I’m doing. Even if you’re telling me to go faster or harder or whatever. That’s fucking hot.”

“Alright, so be genuine. Cool,” you nod. 

“You done with questions?” He meets your gaze with raised brows for a fraction of a brave second before quickly looking away. 

The thing is, you’re not done. 

“So, hypothetically, if someone you didn’t like played with only your balls, and it wasn’t hot— like nothing about it was hot, would you still cum?”

He doesn’t give you the same surprised initial shock as he did with all the other questions. This time he just lets out a long, evenly staggered breath through puffed out cheeks. 

“I think…” He hugs his knees closer to his chest, rubbing both his palms along his shins quickly, filling the silence with the sounds of skin on denim. 

You can see the edge of his words in his expression, like he wants to say something but is holding it back. Whatever it is, you wait patiently — you do sit up a little straighter though, eagerly leaning inwards, listening with baited breath to his quiet, pensive hum.

His lips twitch, mouth opening then closing. With a loud exhale, he lets go of his shins, letting his knees drop from their upright position, and with that, his resolve breaks.  

“Fuck it” he curses — “Probably. Sometimes I think that the wind blowing the wrong way could make me cum. Like, I’m fighting for my fucking life to not get hard right now.”

He ends his speed-run confession with a pant, chest shallowly heaving with each breath. Excited wings beat inside your chest, dipping down to your belly as you absorb what he's just said to you. 

“Really?” you ask, blinking wide eyes at him. His breathing evens out, and he meets your gaze.

“Yeah,” he shrugs shyly — cutely.

“You know I like you, right?” 

His face falls. “What?” His brows press together, furrowing with confusion and you really don’t know how you could have been clearer about this whole ordeal.

“Eddie,” you smile. “I’ve told you like a million times that I like you — like earlier, I told you barely an hour ago before we got started.”

You said it quite plainly too; ‘Believe it or not, Eddie, I like you, and your success translates to my happiness.’ 

“Yeah, but I thought you meant as a… a person? Or a friend?”

You can’t help but laugh — not at him… well, a little bit at him, but this is just so ridiculous, how could he be so clueless. 

“I love my friends but I don’t think I would fill all my free time teaching them math and all the anatomical correct names of the different parts of the penis.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, they’re good people but that’s not exactly my idea of fun,” you tease. “Of course I’m serious, Eddie. So if you wanted to make a move… I wouldn’t be opposed.” 

At this point, after a confession as straightforward as that, you’d hope for movement — anything — even him getting closer to you, moving in for a kiss at the very least… but he stays sat in his opposite spot, his binder with the vagina diagram laid out flat, separating the both of you. 

Maybe you read this wrong — backpedal. 

“Did I just make this weird? Should I have not said that? I like tutoring you too, I don’t want you to think I’m expecting something from you just because I’ve been helping you.” You ramble apologetically, shrinking into yourself as you feel your whole body start to flush with icky embarrassment.

Eddie’s spine goes rigid as he sits up pin-straight, shaking his head emphatically.

“No! I like you too,” he interjects, leaning towards you, putting a hand on your knee. “Even before you started tutoring me.” 

“You do?” You sigh a breath of relief. Meeting his eyes, you smile sweetly, ignoring the whiplash that still has your stomach pinched in a half knot.

His voice gets soft with his confession — “Why do you think I didn’t want to sit around looking at penises and vaginas with you?” he laughs quietly,  “I was terrified of getting hard and scaring you away.”

The mention of him getting hard has your eyes flickering downwards for a split second. You can’t tell, but you tease him anyway — “And how’s that working out for you?”

“If you’re asking if I’m hard…” He trails off, smiling nervously, leaving you with a confirmed suspicion. 

“Should I make a move?” 

“Well, I’m not opposed.” He says it like it’s a joke — you know he’s being funny, breaking tension or whatever, but you don’t laugh. You perk up, tummy filling with fluttery feelings because that’s permission.

Permission to crawl the short distance between the two of you.

Permission to help yourself to his lap — pulling your skirt up high enough to straddle his upper thighs.

Permission to let your hands feel from his shoulders, down to his pecks. 

Permission to be this close to him — close enough that you can see every shy detail, every cute freckle, every nervous flutter of his lashes. 

Best of all — it’s permission for an intimacy you’ve been waiting for — longing for.

You sink yourself against him and — “Oh,” you gasp, “you weren’t kidding.” 

Through the thin cotton of your underwear, you feel the hard curve behind the zip of his jeans. It has you biting your lip, holding back your grin. 

His eyes coast your features, narrowing in on the tweaked up corners of your lips. He ghosts a quiet ‘yeah’, dipping his face downwards, hiding his own coy smile. 

You just won’t have that — you bring your hands to his cheeks, tilting his chin upwards, encouraging him to look at you. He lets you guide him, lets you wash your gaze over his features — lets you rake your eyes over every detail, even when his skin grows pink and you know he wants you to be looking anywhere else.

But you can’t help it. The rosy tint to his cheeks looks too warm, too inviting. His lips are just too pink, too bitten. And most of all, his eyes have become too deep, too capturing, especially when the usual gold in his brown has resolved to being just the thinnest ring, glinting and shimmering around absorbing black orbs.

“Your eyes are really dark right now,” you observe aloud. 

“Yeah?” He asks and you nod your head. You watch him as he lets his own gaze search your face. He swallows, coming to his own conclusion. “You just looked amused.”

You smile. You are amused but — “I’m not just amused.”

“No?” 

“I’m also really turned on.” You feel it in your belly, multitudes of warm winged flutters, sitting low, radiating heat throughout your whole body. You lean in closer, watching intently as his brows rise, moving to hide beneath his bangs as he processes your second confession of the evening.

“You are?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Want to know what I’m thinking about?”

He swallows thickly, and that golden ring in his eyes gets the faintest bit thinner.

“I do.”

You sit more comfortably, bringing your hands back to his chest and letting your bum press fully to his thighs. He lets out a near silent groan as your front sinks to his and when you adjust your hips, his hands dart to your sides, holding you tightly. 

“First,” you smile, batting your lashes at him. “I’m thinking about kissing you.” A soft swoon washes over Eddie's face, eyes turning soft for you. His eyes blink down to your lips, but you have more to say. “I’m also thinking about your balls in my mouth.”

The softness steps back, shock taking over. “Jesus christ,” he curses yet again, drawing out each syllable in a low groan. 

“And since I’ve been sitting here, I can’t help but think about how your cock would feel inside of me.”

“Fuck.” He meets your gaze, eyes rounding, jaw going slack. His chest begins to rise more rapidly, his breathing growing heavier. 

The feeling of him between your legs is undeniable now — he’s hard, very hard, uncomfortably hard. You let your hands slide up his chest, to his shoulders, letting your fingertips graze along the warm skin of his neck. He blinks heavily, eyelids growing weighted, swarming with evident lust. It makes you excited, makes you want more. 

You lower your voice to a breathy whisper, leaning in closer, letting your lips graze the shell of his ear.  “How’s the dirty talk, Eddie? Am I doing good?” You purr. His fingers pinch into the flesh at your sides as you shift once again, rolling your hips just enough to feel that hint of pleasure between your thighs. 

Eddie stifles his moan. “S– so good. You’re doing so g-good,” he stutters. His breath hitches as you press a kiss to the edge of his jaw, and then another, moving downwards to his neck. 

“What are you thinking about?” You pull away, looking at him through your lashes. You barely have a second to react before his hands are on your jaw, tugging you into him. 

It catches you off guard at first as his lips mash to yours. It’s entirely overzealous, bidding his earlier statement true by multiple definitions. It’s not terrible, but it is desperate. 

Flattening a heeding palm to his chest, you pull away just the slightest bit, letting your lips faintly graze his. 

“Slowly, Eddie.” you whisper. 

His interrupted desperation manifests as a quiet huff against your lips. Regardless of how hard he is beneath you, and how badly he wants to mash his mouth to yours, he nods, noses bumping together as he does.

This time you lean in. You guide the kiss, moving slowly, tenderly, and he follows your lead, moving gently, catching on quickly. Your upper lip presses between both of his and it's so delicate, so earnest, that it makes your heart thrum. It's exactly what you needed, and you reward Eddie with a quiet hum, letting your hands wrap behind his neck, pressing your chests together. 

His breath fans over your skin as he hums back, letting his hands glide to your lower back, hugging you closer. His lips massage yours, slowly, and he takes his time, letting you melt into him entirely. 

When you feel the pressure of his tongue licking across your lower lip your anticipation really sets in. You open your mouth, rolling your hips upwards as you move in closer to him. With a huffed, eager grunt, and with fingers kneading bruises into your skin, he licks into your mouth completely contradictory to it all, still giving you softness in the kiss. You’re elated by it all, swept up, enraptured by him being so sweet to you.

You sigh breathily as you have to pull away. 

“That was really good,” you fawn, dropping your head to rest against his shoulder. You let out another sigh, smiling contently to yourself. You’ve been wanting to do that for a long time — really too long, if you’re being honest. 

Eddie hums an agreement. You intend to go further than just a kiss, but you give yourself a moment to bask in it all. Just a moment, that’s all you need. 

And in the next moment, with your wits gathered, you wiggle your hips. Eddie’s palms press tightly against your back and he lets out a sharp gasp that melds into a whimper. You giggle a quiet apology. 

“Too much for you?” you tease.

“Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head, his warm cheek pressing to yours. “M’just really hard right now.”

He is — you can feel it, and you can feel the mess growing between your own thighs. 

A simple solution; you hint at rolling your hips another time. It’s hardly any friction, just testing the waters. You’re surprised when Eddie pulls you inwards, guiding your hips, encouraging you to move. He lets out a low groan as the squish of your thighs pass over his length, one that you hardly register over your own gasp as you get your first real hint of pleasure.

With his help, you build a slow rhythm, grinding to the curve in his denim, one that has your eyes fluttering shut and Eddie tensing, letting out meak whimpers and low moans. It's nice, it really is, but as nice as it feels for you, you weave a hand between the two of you, suggestively placing it on the buckle of his belt.  

“Can I ask you another question?”

“Yes,” his voice comes out as a heaved breath. Very eager to continue.

“After you cum, how long does it take for you to get hard again?”

“Sh-shit — it depends. Sometimes —” he swallows thickly and you hear the gulp in his throat — “sometimes it’s barely a few minutes.”

“I want to try out what you taught me, but I want you to fuck me too.”

“We can — yeah we can do that.” His voice wavers as he bites back his excitement, trying to play it cool. Despite that, you feel the overzealousness in his pants, twitching with enthusiasm. 

You press a chaste kiss to his lips before scooting back on his legs, weaving your hands between the two of you to pop open his belt. Just as you unweave the leather and toss the heavy buckle to the side, holding the button under your thumb, Eddie’s hand meets your waist — not stopping you, just getting your attention. 

“Can I…” he starts. You look up at him, pausing your movement. He continues, “can I try what you told me too?” His eyes barely meet yours, growing bashful all over again. 

“Of course you can,” you say sincerely. You finish unbuttoning his pants, tugging the zipper down while leaning in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You don’t gotta be shy, Eddie. I like you already, a lot.” 

He nods, but you can still see a hint of cautiousness in his expression. 

“I’m serious, Eddie. I want you to be comfortable with me. Anything you need, anything you want, you can tell me.” 

He nods. His mouth mulls for a moment, but he nods a second time, assumedly coming to a conclusion. “Can we move up to the bed?” he asks. 

“I’d like that,” you smile and he smiles back.

Just as you lift your leg to get off him, you let out a surprised yelp as he does the bravest thing he’s done yet, both hands grabbing firmly at your bottom, tugging you into him and up as he pushes himself off the floor. He moves the both of you up to the edge of the bed with one strong flex of his legs and your stomach swirls with the rush of it all. 

From there, it's a giggling tussle of limbs, him pulling you up the bed, you pulling his pants off. Eventually, you both settle, him pantless, sitting with his back to the wall where his headboard should be, and you, by his side, knees pressing to his thigh. Your fingers wiggle with excitement as you take the thin cotton of his boxers, lacing them just under the waistband. 

You shimmy in your spot, shaking your hips, letting out a happy hum as you begin to pull them down. Your belly fills with good nerves, butterflies, and your mouth salivates. When you get them down as far as you can without his help, he silently chimes in, lifting his hips, hooking his own thumbs into the material. With a quiet humph, the fabric passes his length, freeing it to bob against his shirt-covered belly. 

Tempestuously red. Furiously flushed. Severely erect. Poor Eddie. Happy you. His tip is blushed to a deep crimson, glistening with the pearlescent sheen of precum. It has your body flushing hot everywhere — from your cheeks all the way south to where you grind yourself down onto the backs of your heels just to feel a pinch of salvation. 

Somewhere between where your ogling started and where you had to physically swallow the gathering saliva in your mouth, his boxers got discarded entirely, your own shirt disappearing along with them — because it is just so hot all of a sudden.  

If you weren’t completely blinded by your impeding tunnel vision, you would have seen the way Eddie gawked at your newly revealed skin, absorbing every inch, taking in every feature to your body. You would have seen the way his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and the fresh cherry red blush spread to his cheeks. You would have seen the way he had to forcefully peel his eyes away from your chest when he felt your fingers press into his bare thighs as you situated yourself between his legs. But you didn’t have a chance to notice all of those details, not when you felt the thrilling thrum of anticipation bubbling up in your bloodstream. 

“You ready, Eddie?” You ask, grinning at him. He blinks slowly at you, no answer, making your smile falter.

“You look pretty,” he blurts out, much to your delight. “Really pretty. All the time — not just now because you're about to — you’re just beautiful, s’what I want to say.”

“Thank you,” you say, pleasantly surprised. Eddie on the other hand, cringes at his own rambling, face scrunching in defeat. You like him even more for it — “I think you’re beautiful too, Eddie,” you smile. “And not just because I have your pretty cock in front of me.” 

Eddie huffs a soft laugh and you gleam, pleased with yourself. 

With actual consent, you take him in your hand. Gentle at first, easing him into your touch. Just barely grazing your thumb over the tip, you smear the slick precum around, before sinking your fist to his base. He lets out a tensed moan, exhaling — exhilarating. That quiet, throaty noise has you lighting up, already feening for more.

Leaning down further, arching your back, you gather your saliva in your mouth before letting it spill out in a single string over the tip of his needy head, falling down just to be caught by the upwards rise of your fist. This time he sucks in a sharp breath and you live for it. 

Closing the distance between your mouth and his cock, you lick the tip gently, pressing your tongue to the river of precum that sits in the curves of his slit, relishing in the saltiness that makes your mouth water effortlessly. You hum, feeling the pulse between your legs grow deeper, more intense. You push your hips back, angling them, searching for any sort of relief. 

While it doesn’t satiate the need between your thighs, Eddie notices your squirm, and brings a splayed palm to your side, letting it curve to your skin. It settles in, warming you, encouraging you to distract yourself in such a beautiful way by taking him into your mouth. 

You let your tongue swirl. Flick. Caress. Your lips graze before closing, and you suck. Cheeks hardly hollowing, the noise he lets out makes you want to keep being gentle — draw this out, make this last. 

But like a devil on your shoulder, you want to skip forward. You want his balls in your mouth, that’s the guise of this whole encounter, isn’t it? To practice what he’s taught you.

Jumping right to the chase, abandoning his desperately swollen cock, doesn’t strike you as the way to go about this, so you continue to be gentle. Pulling off the tip, kissing him up and down his length. Pressing your lips where needed and drawing circles and lovey hearts across his skin with the pointed angle of your tongue.

It's not fruitless. Every noise, every groan, every heavy breath, pleading whimper, fills you up. It fills you up until it has you leaning your body into his hand on your rib cage, needing to feel him wherever you can, while taking him fully into your mouth. Swallowing him down, deeply hollowing your cheeks, gliding your lips and flattening your tongue until your nose presses to the wispy patch of coarse hair at his base. 

“Fuck— fuck.” Eddie groans through a strangled breath. 

His hand leaves your ribs and you whimper at the loss, only to be reunited with the physical contact as he takes hold of your head with both of his hands, pulling you up. You whine, chest collapsing with defeat. You pout as soon as his cock leaves your mouth. Looking up at him, he looks worked up and frayed — all a shivered mess — but eyes sincerely apologetic as he catches your disappointment. 

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that.” He pants heavily, catching his breath while you catch your own. Your pout lessens, and instead, your pride sets in. You did that to him. 

Wiping your gathered tears, you place a tentative hand on his length, watching him for any protests. His head knocks back into the hard wall, but he never loses sight of you, now looking down the angular slope of his nose, watching with amorous, lusting eyes. 

You dip down, reapproach, but this time you give into your own desire, indulging yourself.

Lifting his cock, you nose down his length. His eyes turn wide, but still, no protests.

“Can I put your balls in my mouth?” You ask, doing just as he told you to do, embellishing your simple sentence with pleading, fluttery lashes and persuasive, pinched together brows. 

His lips press into a purse as he swallows, and then they part with approval. “Yes,” he says. You watch as his tongue swipes along his plump bottom lip, and you can’t help but smile up at him. 

Appreciation sits on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t say it, you show it. Bowing your face low, you lick up the centre of his sack, flattening your slow moving tongue with an oath of sincerity — this makes you burn. For a moment, you believe that you’d be content if this was for you and you only, but then you meet his gaze, and you see the way he burns too.

His eyes devour you — your hand wrapped around his cock, thumb barely touching index, your chin settled deep between his thighs. You burn identically and it makes the swirl of butterflies in your stomach rise high, beating heavily in your chest. You get lost for a moment, but a thumb on your cheek, sweetly swiping softly against your skin, brings you right back.

“Pretty girl,” he hums. 

You tilt your head, nuzzling into his grip, humming a tender thank you. His thumb swipes again, just under your eye before settling behind your ear, sitting there with no intention but to be tethered to you.

It’s sweet, and you return the gesture, pressing two kisses, one to each side. You shift your focus, returning back to the moment.

Head still partially in the clouds, you do something daring without thinking, and you suck one of his balls into your mouth. Eddie lunges forward, bending at the waist, nearly folding in half as his stomach tenses harshly. He whimpers, and you pull back immediately.

“Sorry!” You shift, looking at his contorted expression. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

He quickly relaxes himself, patting your cheek as he settles, unclenching his thighs that had tightened at your sides.

“No — no.” He shakes his head, catching his breath “Do it again.” He gently guides you back down. “I was just distracted, caught me off guard,” he explains.

Distracted like you were. You understand, and you let him guide your face back down. 

This time you’re careful. With his eyes on you, you start again, licking, feeling the silky skin with your tongue as you gauge his reaction, peering up at him through your lashes. He nods, and you carefully take him into your mouth, letting your tongue roll cautiously along the velvet skin. 

You’re careful not to do too much, but you grow more confident when you see the way his mouth falls open with his own appreciation. 

“Fuck,” he exhales. “Just like that. Good girl,” he praises, groaning as you suckle delicately. His cock jumps in your loose fist, reminding you just how long it's been since you’ve paid it any attention. Tightening your grip, you run your fist up, then down languidly, multitasking in a way that has Eddie gaping, jaw slack, mouth parted wide, eyes owlish and filled to the brim with heated astonishment. 

With your mouth, you switch to his other side, doing the same, rolling your tongue exploringly, seeing what has his stomach tensing and noises pulling from his lungs. 

As you let your thumb run over his leaking head, he lets out a throaty groan. His thighs tense around you once more, but instead of backing away, you lean into it, embracing the new-found way to make him squirm. 

His breathing quickly becomes rapid as you take more of him into your mouth, sucking more confidently, and pulling away every now and again to press deserved kisses. Your fist moves quicker, focusing on the tip — purposeful, as you remember what he taught you. 

You suck, and glide your hand in smooth strokes, over and over, showing him just how much you like him. If he didn’t believe you before, he has to now. 

With a strong, devoted rhythm built, the skin against your tongue eventually begins to pull taut. He throbs in your hand. You know before he says anything, even before his hand can flex its grip on your cheek. You pull away, letting him fall from your mouth with a quiet pop. He lets out a worn sigh of relief as you sever the threads of spit from your mouth to his balls and shift, moving back to his wired-up cock, twitching at just the sensation of your breath on his over-flushed tip.

Rearranging yourself, you sink your fist, moving it low to his base, and then you adjust, moving your hand to cradle his balls in your palm. His stomach flexes and he lets out a pitiful whimper — he's so close, even while you're barely touching him.

“Please,” he rasps through a strained breath. 

You have nothing but appreciation for the man in front of you, reduced to pleading. You want nothing more than to satisfy him.

Gentle, a thing of the past. You take his cock in your mouth deeply. Swallowing his thickness down, taking him as far as he fits, pressing him to the very back of your throat. Your eyes water, and you breathe heavily through your nose, never once forgetting to massage him in your hand.

His chest heaves, and his fingers weave their way into the hairs at the base of your neck, tugging — communicating. His helpless moans draw out, getting longer and deeper, drawing out each and every flutter in your belly, adding to your fire. 

You can’t believe you’ve been sitting around, tutoring him, teaching him math when you could have been doing this. This is much better — much, much more fulfilling. 

You rise and fall, bobbing quickly, and he encourages you, helping you find the pace that brings him to his edge. He swells in your mouth, and draws upwards in your hand. You hum, encouraging him to let go.

“I’m gonna —” he tries to speak, but a rogue whine cuts him off. He sucks in a sharp breath — “I’m cumming, I’m —” Panic invades his voice as his grip in your hair turns harsh, pulling, stinging your scalp. You hum again, and then you feel the spill. 

The warmth of his cum invades the back of your throat, loading your senses with the distinctly musky taste and a bitter-flavoured swell of sweetness in your chest. Pleased, you swallow it down, and ask for more with the purse of your lips on his overworked tip. His hips buck up into you as you happily swallow everything you can, lapping it up with your appeasing tongue. 

His body relaxes until you don’t stop. Then he’s flexing again, sucking in harsh, gasp-like breaths, using his hands in your hair to guide you away from his over-sensitive cock. 

Both his palms cup your cheeks and you rise, straightening out your spine, walking your knees up the mattress to be closer to him. His hand falls to your knee, encouraging a bend, welcoming you back into his lap. You happily take a careful seat on his thighs. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Eddie gushes unapologetically. 

His body slouches into the mattress, but he continues to beakon you forward. You follow his weak, weary pull and he guides you to his lips, attaching his mouth to yours in a lazy kiss. His beholden tongue greets yours, unaffected by the lingering flavour of his seed that coats your lips and mixes with your spit. He devours it gratefully. 

“That was —” he starts, pulling away just to peck your lips again — “So, so— I don’t even have words.” His hand slides loosely across the expanse of your bare waist as he presses a frenzy of chaste kisses to your lips, making you giggle.

“I did good? I thought I hurt you for a minute.”

“No— shit, you did so good, baby.” Eddie hums, fondly pressing his cheek to yours as he hugs you closer.

You feel his praises blaze at something inside of you, thrumming through your bloodstream, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t highlight your own neediness, the one left abandoned between your thighs. 

Despite the restlessness that grows in your twitching hips, you try to relax, focusing on the sentimental feeling of the rise and fall of his chest, letting your body slink into his, fitting seamlessly against him until his breathing returns to a steady rate. You patiently wait for him to make the next move — especially after him letting you lead most of this evening. 

Just as you’ve let your eyes flutter shut, resting them for a peaceful moment, a kiss to your shoulder has your excitement kicking up in your lower belly, waking up those warm, winged creatures once again. He presses another kiss, and then another, following the slope of your shoulder. Down the curve, to your collarbone, high on your chest, kiss after kiss until his lips meet the plumpness of your breast that spills over the cups of your bra.

The swell of your breast, across, to the centre, his lips find your sternum, and you keen into it, unafraid of coming off as desperate. 

It’s barely anything, just innocent pecks, but it has you impatient, tilting your head back, curving your body to offer up more skin to him. He hums a warm tone, affectionately following the path of your sternum, nosing his way down your cleavage, sighing a deep, warm breath against your skin, adding a few extra heated degrees to your body temperature — you thank him with a breathy moan.

His hands move to your sides, tickling along your flesh, leaving goosebumped skin in their path as he traces along the band of your bra, fingertips gliding until they meet the clasp.

“Please,” you whisper, biting your lip as he finger paints small swirls along your spine. You push yourself closer, needing more.

And he gives you more. The band tightens around your ribs as he finds the edge, and you hold your breath.

One clip comes undone easily, granting you a hint of relief. Two follows, leaving just the third hook stuck standing between you and the promise of pleasure.

Then he stops — worse actually — he doesn’t just stop, he completely abandons the clasp on your bra as his head pops up, nearly clipping the edge of your jaw. He pulls you flush to his chest, tucking your head to his shoulder.

It surprises you, making your heart pound for an entirely different reason.

“What—” you begin, but his heedful palm spreads across the plain of your upper back, halting your question, making you pause. Unsure and curious, you turn your face, pushing against his grip on you, trying to see what’s wrong.

His face is contorted into a flat, focused look as his eyes fixate on the closed door of his room. You’re totally confused by what has pulled his attention, but then you hear a clatter from the living room of his trailer. You turn to look at Eddie. 

His eyes pinch shut with disappointment. “No,” he groans, dropping his head to your shoulder in defeat. 

“Is that —”

“My fucking uncle,” he mumbles into your skin.

“Oh,” you say quietly, trying to fight the unresolved neediness of your body from turning you into a slouching ball of disappointment.

“He's not supposed to be home yet,” he groans, and it comes out huffed, like he's annoyed, but you know it's not directed at you. Part of you is relieved to hear that upset edge in his voice, because you know how easy it would be for most boys to shrug it off when they already got what they needed.

His palm swipes across your back, rubbing it in a soothing way before he pulls away, finding your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. 

You shrug, it's not like this is his fault. “It’s okay,” you promise. 

“It’s not.”

You smile. “It is,” you say, delighted by his sincerity. “This just means we’ll have to pick up where we left off another day.”

“But you didn’t get to cum.”

True but — “I still had fun.”

He dips his face, chin bowing downward, bitten lips jetting out with his generous empathy. “I’m sorry,” he says again, and you giggle at his niceness. He might be more upset than you are, and you love it.

“Eddie, you know me,” you grin. “You said I did a good job, and there’s nothing better than the satisfaction of a job well done,” you beam, and you’re very pleased when you get a good chuckle from Eddie.

“Next time?” He proposes with a raised brow.

“Next time,” you agree.

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merci buckets hope you liked if you did make sure to hit! that subscribe button and leave a like down below (aka comment and reblog <33333)

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[lijojo]

genshin sugar daddies

premise: you have seven sugar daddies: one for every day of the week. a bit overwhelming, right? however, you somehow find ways to make time for each and every one of them, no matter how emotionally and physically demanding they are. it's just that, now they don't seem too keen on sharing, and you don't know what to do. (modern au)

tw: nsfw, dark content - minors dni

mondays are always harder in more ways than one. mondays are diluc's days, and that means that you're spending a good portion of your nights at angel's share.

on mondays, it's happy hour. which means that you're sitting at a booth in the corner looking pretty while diluc is tending to his customers. you're more than happy to sit back and relax while you wait for him to finish with work. when the drinks are on the house, you're willing to wait as long as it'll take.

periodically, when he's not busy, however, he'll walk over to you and engage in conversation. you act as a taste-tester for new drinks so he's always asking you if you like them. you two will talk about your day, any interesting events, and so on until diluc is pulled back into work again.

then you're back to fiddling your fingers and watching him work. over time, you've learned that he preferred that you not do anything while you were supposed to be with him. that instead, you fixated your gaze on him while he moved about. sometimes you'll catch him looking at you to see if your eyes are still on him.

even while he's dealing with a certain tone-deaf bard, there's something about the way he looks at you so intently that reminds you of a predator.

when angel's share closes, you're there to keep him company while he cleans up. when he's done, he'll sweep you away back to his manor.

you'll fall onto the sheets as he grinds against you. his shallow breaths brush against your throat. the look he gives you is nothing short of intense.

"everyone at the tavern was looking at you, you know," he mutters, running his fingers down your chest, sinking into your pants. he pulls them down effortlessly along with your panties. "didn't you feel it, darling? their filthy eyes on you. they want to ruin you. everyone wants to ruin you."

he throws your legs over his shoulders, his fingers crawling up your thighs. you jump when he suddenly inserts two fingers into your cunt, scissoring you. his free arm wraps around your leg to keep you locked against him. his eyes are glued onto you as he presses a kiss against your calf.

"but your eyes were on me all night, weren't they. couldn't take your eyes off me, could you. you're mine, dear. do you hear me? you're mine."

you don't overlook how tight his grip is. tight enough to make you wonder if he'll ever let you go. in the morning, he does, but you're scared for the day he wakes up and decides that it's for the last time.

tuesdays aren't as bad. when you’re sore from the night before, childe is there to take you out to meals, shopping, and sightseeing. he's not always available to spend time with you on tuesdays, because of his equally-demanding job and whatnot, but when he is free, he never wastes a second.

or a dollar.

childe smirks smugly from his sea. his posture is lax, one hand lazily tracing circles on the chair's arm while the other comes up to rest under his chin.

"how about you twirl for me, girlie? you look so beautiful."

you giggle, observing yourself in the mirror. "why thank you."

you bask in the way the soft satin kisses your skin. the way your newly-own earrings sparkle under the dressing room's light. just a couple years ago, you could've only dreamed of being dressed so prettily.

"do your side-bitches ever treat you as well as me?"

"childe!" you chide.

he laughs, getting up from his seat. but you both know better than to believe his little chuckle is genuine.

he approaches you, sliding his hands around your waist. tucking your head under his chin, he stares at you through the mirror's reflection.

you don't say anything, and childe doesn't either. it appears he's more than happy to enjoy just standing there. his gaze is glossed over, far away.

the two of you sway side to side for what seems like forever until he decides to say something.

"do they buy you pretty things like i do?"

of course they do, you think. although you spend one-on-one time with each and every one of them, they are all aware of each other. it's only right that they did. it was the first thing you said when you brought the idea up to them, that it wasn't going to be exclusive.

but when you see the way he looks at you, you can't really tell him the truth. not when his focus is redirected from his thoughts to you.

"the things you buy me are a special kind of pretty," you reply.

it seems like that answer is enough for him, because he doesn't say anything else. instead he hums quietly, letting the vibration ripple in the back of your head. he slides his hands down your hips and before you can say anything else, he whips his head around.

"i'll buy these sets." he motions over to the closest clothes rack to an attendant you hadn't noticed. "and that one. and the dress she's wearing. how many colors does this come in, by the way?"

the attendant doesn't hesitate. "five colors, sir. they come in bla—"

"great." he shuffles through his pocket to pull out a black card. "pack them up, we won't be here any longer," he retorts.

the attendant looks ecstatic, quickly shuffling out of the dressing rooms towards the cash register with newfound glee.

"childe," you whine. "i don't think these will fit in my closet."

his hands crawl lower, his finger hovering over your clit. "then they'll fit in mine. come over any time of the week when you want to wear one of my special pretty things."

your breath hitches as he rubs slow circles on your clit. he pushes the two of you back into the dressing room and closes the curtains.

"what are you doing, she'll be back any second—"

he kisses the corner of your jaw, pressing his lips close to your ear. "no worries. if there's one thing i'm sure about, it's that no one undresses you faster than i do."

wednesday is when usually everything calms down. kazuha will typically invite you to a new park, scenic route, or gallery. together, you'll write haikus, sonnets, and limericks together. some hours you'll just sit in silence, putting pen to paper. and when the sun goes down you'll exchange poetry.

out of the seven men, kazuha probably scares you the most. he was the first person you decided to do this whole ordeal with, after all. and since he's known you the longest, he also knows about your circumstances more than others. maybe that's why he's so focused on treating you as if you were a fragile cherry blossom petal. his touches feel like ghosts, running down your forearm as he presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek.

in exchange for his protection, his money, and his care, you give him honeyed words. you act as his muse for when he's hit a creative block. you're there to listen to him read out verses when the wind can't bear the strength to carry them. you listen to his grief about his best friend, his loneliness when he was forced to leave his home country. as someone many of the locals looked to for wisdom, he too carried the emotional burdens of being someone's rock. emotional burdens that he let onto you (whether purposefully or not, you're unsure). but you listen anyway, hearing him talk about days of poverty, where sometimes he had to worry about things to eat, or how to get proper healthcare.

you can't lie and say you're always stable enough to hear some of the things he has to say, but you try.

even if you sometimes feel like you can't take it, you just smile and squeeze his hand tighter like you're supposed to. sometimes your mind will go on autopilot, and sometimes you'll stand up on the grounds of needing to go to the bathroom. but at the end of the day, this is what you signed up for. this. making men happy so that you yourself won't have to worry about your endless debt.

you peer over your notebook to see kazuha immersed in his own writing. but instead of his usual peaceful expression, he looks somber. his hands won't leave the paper, his eyes glued onto the words that he's drawn onto the pages.

"what's got you so worked up?" you ask curiously. "is it something new?"

it's like your voice snaps him out of his trance. he blinks, looking up at you. there's a smile you know all too well on his lips. "yeah, i suppose you could call it that."

"could i look at it? i want to see what's got you so focused like that."

his lips press into a straight line. "hmmm, maybe later."

his words catch you off-guard. usually he's the one who's eager to share his work, regardless of the quality. "oh? is it something you want to keep secret?"

he doesn't many any hint of an answer. instead, he puts down his pen and stares at the ground in contemplation. he's picking and choosing what words to say.

"i could protect you," he says, shuffling his papers to the side. you turn to him, curious. his expression slowly hardens. "by myself, i mean. i could take care of you."

"kazu—"

"i have the means to make a living for the both of us. i could sell more of my poetry, i know they'll sell well—"

"where is this coming from?" you move closer to him, brushing his hair aside. "kazu, are you worried about something?"

there's something that's stopping him from saying anything. his fingers intertwine with yours, his thumb caressing the back of your hand.

he purses his lips, before turning away and sighing. "no, not really."

after that, he doesn't say anything else. the two of you bask in silence once again. even though you're used to the quiet, there's something deep down in you that feels nervous. like something in the atmosphere changed. there's a sudden resolved glint in his eye as he get backs to writing so diligently on a piece of paper he won't let you read.

after all these days spent talking about himself, somehow you're scared for the day he suddenly decides to stop.

on thursdays you're usually at tighnari's greenhouse, watching him take notes of other plants while you twiddle your thumbs. once in a while, he'll begin rambling about the plants—what kind of species they are, how rare, their medicinal properties, and the like.

you're more of a companion, than anything. someone who can make his days a little less lonelier. and you appreciate it. it's much more tranquil with him. you can enjoy his sharp quips, especially when cyno comes to visit.

his sex-drive is relatively normal, if not a little below average. just like wednesday, you also expect thursday to be a typical rest day.

except when spring comes.

when spring comes, your routine get a little wonky. for one week, at least. because that's when tighnari's heat hits him like a fucking monsoon.

you can already tell when it's coming when he begins to hover closer to you. whenever you take your hand out to do anything, even the slightest gesture, he's already taking it and dragging it towards his sensitive ears.

the moment you've made your plans set to 'take the week off' and help him out, he's already on you, face pressed into your neck as if it's his oasis.

as you can tell, he takes this week very seriously.

"i bet—shit—those other fucks don't get to hold you as long as i do," he lets out as he fucks into you like there's no tomorrow. his hands hold onto your waist like he owns it, pressing sloppy kisses down your spine. "looking so pretty for me. i wonder what they'd say if you got pregnant with my babies. you'd be so much more beautiful plump with my kids. is that what you want huh? to make them angry with my cum stuffed in your gorgeous pussy?"

some days you almost can't believe how uncharacteristically aggressive he is. he dicks you down like he's trying to imprint his shape into the core of your body so that none of the others can fit inside.

and when he cums, he'll take whatever unfortunate portions slip out and smear it all over your chest. especially where your heart is.

then the process starts all over again.

when it's over, he'll spoon you. as if he didn't almost fuck you to death. his touch is tender, like a ghost's hovering over your skin.

"why won't you leave them all for me?"

you shift a little to look at him and kiss him softy, sweetly, on the line of his jaw. "oh, nari, you know i can't."

his ears droop at your words. "you can't, or you won't."

his words make you freeze a bit.

you think back to last week, and the week before, and the one before that. you think about why you started selling your services in the first place, the endless debt you used to be in, and the progression of the relationship between all seven of your...contacts. even if you wanted to, you don't think you could back out if you tried. you've dug a hole for yourself. one deep enough to cause some sort of disruption if you ever decided to stop digging.

so you just hum. "you know how much i love routine."

as some sort of apology, you give him and open-mouthed kiss, one he's almost desperate to return. he moans, hands cupping your face to bring you closer to him.

you're well unaware how much your words have an impact him.

at the end of the week, all al-haitham wants to do is unwind. it's the only logical thing to do. no late-night drinks with the colleagues, no stressful trips to some tourist trap. on fridays, al-haitham comes home to a meal made with love.

when al-haitham's at work during the day, you're usually running your actual errands. it's when you have time to make those one-in-a-blue-moon visits to your actual home, although it's getting harder to call it that.

when it gets to the late-afternoon, you'll usually head to al-haitham's place to start cooking. if you didn't know how to cook before, you do now. every ingredient is handled with care, measured meticulously just as you knew he preferred.

and when he gets home, tired and stressed out, you're there to welcome him with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

during dinner, sometimes he'll talk to you about work or the latest research he'd gotten himself immersed with. in return, you tell him about some of your childhood memories. your likes, your dislikes, what used to be your hobbies. you do your best to keep your personal matters out of the conversation, no matter how many times he tries to pry into your private life.

sometimes dinners feel like a full on investigation, the way he keeps greeding for more information about you. he watches you eat with calculating eyes. you pretend to pay no mind to it.

in the beginning, kaveh used to join you for dinners. you always liked the guy, the way he bickered with al-haitham and riled him up. but now you've begun to see less of him, as if he never comes home on fridays at all.

after dinner, there are two different outcomes depending on his mood:

outcome one is that you'll spend the rest of the night curling up on his couch, the both of you immersed in your own books. al-haitham leans on your shoulder as he flips through the pages as if they're nothing. you can't help but feel ticklish whenever his hair brushes against your jaw.

somewhere in the middle, he'll move one hand to start fidgeting with the end of your shirt, sometimes crawling underneath to caress your sides.

outcome two is less quiet. the moment he gets home with that solemn face, you know it's coming. his voice is huskier, his responses shorter. it's usually a result of an impending deadline, colleagues being more peskier than usual.

the moment you two are done with dishes, he gingerly takes your hand and leads you up to the bedroom.

his kisses tastes like green tea and dinner. his hands run up and down your torso, trying to imprint the feel of your skin into every inch of your brain. you whimper when his thumbs press softly into your nipples, rolling them around as they harden.

your hands find purchase on his collar, tugging him impossibly close. he groans at the contact.

you let out a yelp when your back suddenly falls onto the bed. your hands are pressed onto the sheets, al-haitham's fingers encircling your wrists. his knee nudges your legs further apart, rubbing at your clit.

"don't look at the ceiling, dear, look at me," he breathes out, his hands leaving your nipples to gently guide your face towards. "that's it. good girl. just me. just look at me. only me."

he smiles.

"now, let me do god's work on your divine body."

saturdays with ayato can sometimes get hectic. some saturdays you're out getting bubble tea together and enjoying the city, and other saturdays you're hurrying to some publicitiy event hosted by the kamisato clan.

on those type of days, you can expect to wear gowns layered with shiny nylon tulle fabric. it's not as revealing as what you'd try on in dressing rooms with childe. in fact, it's a bit more modest.

today you're wearing a light-blue gown to match with ayato. you turn around to get a good look at the cute bow attached at your waist, your diamond encrusted earrings swaying along with you.

it's as if you've put on another costume. another front to wear for the night.

ayato enters the room just shortly after. in his hands is a diamond necklace to match with your stunning earrings. small smile falls upon his lips when he clasps it on.

"you're beautiful," he mumbles. you giggle when he kisses you square on the lips, licking away the tinted color.

"ayato," you press in-between kisses. you place a hand on his chest to gently push him away. "you're going to ruin my lipstick."

he pulls away with a cheeky smile, taking your wrists to wrap around his neck. "you can always put on some more later."

you pout but kiss him regardless. he tightens his hold on you in reaction, moaning into your mouth.

at these kinds of events, you're there as his plus-one. just so that other officials could stop introducing girls to him when he clearly wasn't interested in them. it'd be arguable to say that you might even be there to make the events a little less intolerable.

somewhere along the lines, you'd sleep with him in addition to being his arm candy at parties. sometimes even before: you two rushing to put on your formal attires and fix your hair minutes before the event started.

but beyond that, you started to get to know him better. he'd whisper into your ear about funny stories relating to the guests as you meet them. sometimes you'd run away in the middle of the party to binge out on the food and talk about your other interests. surprisingly, he doesn't talk about the politics behind his duties as the head of the kamisato family. not as much as you expected, at least.

instead he talks about his dreams for a family. how many kids, what their names would be, how he'd raise them. and as he talked, he'd give you this heavy gaze that you're not sure what to do with. as if he was expecting something from you.

you're beginning to believe that ayato has somehow confused contractual girlfriend with actual girlfriend.

when you had met ayaka months ago, ayato introduced you as his girlfriend. you didn't attempt to correct him—that's ayato's business. not your's. but when you're expecting ayato to come clean to his dearest sister, you're sorely mistaken.

instead, while he kisses your lips so hungrily, he subtly slips a diamond ring onto your finger.

sundays are usually kaeya's days off. although the cavalry captain's duties are seemingly never endless, he takes the day off to take a breather.

in other words, he sees you.

at first, it was just candlelit dinners. he'd walk in with a bouquet of roses, complimenting your dress and staring at you as if he was undressing you with his eyes. he'd take you to somewhere fancy, pull out the chair for you and sweet-talk you all through the night.

conversations were fun with him. you didn't have to think much at all, not about how to pay the bills, the six men in your life who seemingly began to want yours to only revolve around theirs, or being someone your not.

kaeya was probably the only one who you felt you could be comfortable with. he made you laugh, he'd tell all sorts of interesting stories, and he never made the silence feel awkward.

at least, that's how you used to be.

you see, usually after these candlelit dinners you'd both go back to his place, with him ripping off your clothes the moment the door closed. but as of recently, he's been asking to come over to your place instead more often. almost too often.

and that's not the only thing that's changed.

the sex used to be rough. heated. almost as if he was consumed by all of his pent-up sexual frustration and was only focused on getting off. he'd slurp your cunt like a man starved but he'd still rail you as if that's the only thing he cared about.

but as time passed, he's been getting more and more...sensual. the sex is much more slower. personal, almost.

vulnerable.

after dinner, he slowly slips off your clothing. one article after another, until your left in your underwear. he first kisses you on the mouth, then your neck, then your chest, then your stomach. slowly, he makes a trail of them down your body, as if no skin deserved to be left untouched.

although you made a rule that no one could leave your marks on you, it doesn't mean he doesn't try. as he kisses your lower lips, sometimes he'll attempt to leave marks close to your clit. if you're not careful, diluc will find it tomorrow.

his thrusts were always deep, but now that he's much more purposeful about it. it's rhythmic, as if he's trying to reach a new spot inside you. somewhere no one's touched.

the pillow-talks are much more longer as well. he holds you tighter now, wrapping his arms around your hips as he tangles his legs with yours.

instead of ranting on about the silly incidents he witnessed on the job earlier in the week, he talks about his feelings. towards you. towards diluc. towards himself. some nights you can handle it, some nights are too much.

but you can't say anything. not when he's holding onto you like you’re his lifeline. not when he helps you pay off your debt. and so you let his raspy voice whisper in your ear as he combs his fingers through your hair. you listen to him mumble sweet-nothings.

you're not sure if you like the adoring look he gives you as you drift off to sleep.

[charliemwrites]

Part 4 of Mafia!Price

No Content Warnings

There are many things to appreciate about your boss, but one of them is his respect for routine. You’ve gotten him on a schedule and now he seems happily beholden to it; appreciates your promptness with tea and pastries and morning “briefings” each day.

He’ll happily sit back in his big leather chair and listen to you chatter out his itinerary for the day. Meetings, reports, phone calls. Trips to the dock, now, bless him.

You try not to stare between glances at your tablet. For a rich bastard, he is unfairly handsome. Good taste in just about everything, classy and luxurious without being ostentatious. Old money vibes, for sure, though you know better than to do more than idly wonder. Helps that he’s also remarkably gentlemanly with you. You’re not one to buy into old stereotypes or gender roles, even the ones that benefit you — but you’ll take a chivalrous boss over your old one any day.

Besides, it’s not like he’s spouting off about what women should and shouldn’t be doing. Or trying to use you as an example of an “acceptable” working woman. So, yeah, you’ll indulge in the door-holding and offered arms.

“Alright, best for last — your reservation for Muse is tomorrow. The restaurant is twenty minutes from your penthouse, so Simon will be downstairs by 7:30.”

You check that off your to-do list as you continue speaking.

“Do you have a suit picked out yet, or should I order something? Green is in season and it would go nicely with your eyes.”

He hums; you glance up. Leaning back, one arm lax on the arm of his chair, black watch gleaming. The other is propped to press his index finger against his lips. Like he’s telling you to keep a secret. The corners of his mouth are tilted up.

Your tablet dings and thankfully distracts you from staring.

Oh, for the love of— the only person more inconsiderate than Philip Graves is his damn assistant.

“Is that the color you’re wearing, then?”

Will need to call later today — as if!

“Hm?” You ask, not having caught it.

He arches his eyebrows; ah, you must have been making a face again.

“Are you wearing green tomorrow?” He repeats.

You blink. Are you what?

“Tomorrow, sir?”

He nods, once. “To Muse, luv.”

When you continue to stare with pleasant obliviousness, his eyebrows furrow a bit.

“You do know one of those seats is for you, yeah?”

You press your lips together for a moment. Well… shit. You take it back. You take it all back. John Price is a terrible, horrible, awful man who is so rude.

“I do now.”

Across the office, you make wide eye contact with Gaz. He grimaces in sympathy and ducks his head, though it’s clearly just to hide his traitorous laughter.

“Of course you’re coming along.”

“Sir,” you say, pleasant and sweet, “remember when I first started here? And I told you that I’m not a mind reader?”

“Of course,” he answers. “You threatened to spit in my tea in the same breath.”

“Only if you told me to fetch it for you,” you correct, before continuing, “I feel you may need a reminder: I cannot read your mind. How was I supposed to know you wanted me to go with you?”

“‘S your job, isnit?” He replies. You give him a dark look; he puts his hands up with a chuckle. “My apologies love, I thought you’d be in my pocket next to my handkerchief. Like always.”

You set your hand on your hip, proper cross now.

“It’s outside usual working hours, sir. How could I have possible expected to be invited to your fancy man party?”

“‘Fancy man party’?”

“Well, there’s nothing for it, I’ll have to leave early tomorrow.”

You’re already tapping madly at your tablet, looking up a salon willing to do your hair and makeup. God knows what kind of meltdown you’ll have if you can’t get your eyeliner symmetrical.

“Do whatever you need to do, luv,” Price soothes, standing. “I really am sorry for the short notice.”

You wave him off, then pat his arm as he gently guides you towards the door. Absently, you comply, more focused on getting appointments set and rearranging your own schedule for tomorrow.

“I’ll make it work,” you promise, “I always do.”

You let him bring you all the way to your desk, lower yourself into your ergonomic rolling chair.

“I’ll let you know what color I’m wearing by… one o’clock. Yes?”

“Sounds great, luv.”

You glance at the clock. “Also you have a call with the KorTac Group in ten.”

He chuckles and taps your chin. “Cheers, luv.”

—

Simon is the one to pick you up Friday evening. You both pause in the lobby of your apartment complex, staring.

“You look lovely,” he says at the same time you ask, aghast, “what happened to your face?”

He’s got a dark bruises discoloring the skin around one eye. Clearly some ice has already been applied because the swelling is down, but it must be fresh because he didn’t have it yesterday.

He snorts. “My job happened.”

You tut. “I’ve got something for that but we need to get moving. Mr. Price said he needs some help with his suit.”

You grab his arm without hesitation, habit from any of your escorts or drivers always offering it to you. Usually you accept out of politeness, but tonight you could use the extra stability in your heels. Simon doesn’t seem to mind even though this is the first time you’ve done this.

He walks you to the car, holds the door for you. Sleek and spotless, a black Jaguar — your choice for the evening. You hum in delight at the warm interior as Simon slides into the front seat.

“Oh, thank you for the compliment, by the way,” you add as he pulls into traffic. “You look quite smart as well.”

He grunts, but you notice a bit of color to his ears in the passing streetlights. You smile to yourself and busy yourself with your tablet. Double checking the reservation confirmation, answering messages from Farah and Gaz, updating Price on your ETA.

The car stops at a luxury high rise just at 7. You hop out before Simon can get the door and receive a sharp look. He holds up a reprimanding finger; blink in surprise at the sternness of it.

“You pull that shite again and I’ll handcuff you to the door handle, miss.” He warns. “Making me look bad.”

You huff, amused, and take his arm again. “Don’t threaten me, Mr. Riley, I’m meaner.”

But you squeeze his thick bicep good-naturedly as he leads you into Price’s building. Your boss lives in the penthouse at the very top; Simon has to swipe a card for access. He’s also got a key to let you both in the door, holds it so you can enter first.

It’s all sleek and modern; not at all what you would expect of your boss’s more classical style. His office has a sort of 20s Hollywood vibe (gangster, you teased once) but clearly some interior designer was paid far too much for something out of a drab minimalist catalogue.

You don’t linger long, heels clicking on the polished floors.

“Sir?” you call.

“In here, luv.”

You grimace at the flight of stairs between you and the loft, but force yourself up them. The whole floor is the mater bedroom and it’s the size of your entire apartment. Walk-in closet, sectioned off lounge with a desk. His bathroom door is open, mirror fogged. It smells like soap.

“Bedroom to your right,” he calls.

You tip-tap in and your mouth instantly dries. Price is standing in the middle of the room, half dressed. Nothing unprofessional, no. He’s wearing slacks, a belt. But he’s also in socks, a white undershirt. No watch or rings or anything yet.

It feels oddly more intimate than it should. Your face warms despite yourself.

“E-evening, sir.”

He turns and you’re utterly unprepared for just how handsome he really is. Freshly groomed, hair trimmed and gelled, eyes bright.

“Well, aren’t you just a dream,” he rasps. “You’re stunning.”

You clear your throat, know that all the makeup in the world can’t hide how brightly you’re flushing. It’s pure politeness, he’s not looking at you with anything more than friendly appreciation. Mind out of the gutter, now.

“All the flattery in the world won’t save you if we’re late,” you manage, shaking yourself back into work mode. “So let’s see what we’ve got.”

You pick his shirt, a pocket hanky, his shoes. Tell him to get into those while calling Simon up the stairs. He’s there so fast you blink in surprise, then gesture him over. Sit him on an ottoman and extract the little bottle of makeup you’ve started keeping on hand for situations like this.

“Bullshite you had that in your purse,” he scoffs.

“You remember two weeks ago, when Soap came in with that bruise on his jaw?”

They told you it was a “disagreement” at the docks. You didn’t ask further, figuring it was some sort of bar brawl in that part of town. Rowdy boys.

“Ever since, I keep a couple minis on hand for you all.”

They’re so small that you just keep them in a pocket of your purse with the rest of your makeup and the tampons. Good for emergencies like this.

“You sure you’re not a mind reader?” Simon grumbles as you gently dab it over his face.

“How would being a mind reader even help in this situation,” you scoff, patting at it with your middle finger.

Price steps out of the closet with arms out. He’s picked a waistcoat as well that you hum in approval at.

“Which cufflinks are you wearing?” you ask, turning back to Simon. He’s sitting remarkably still and stoic — reminds you of a big dog trying to maintain some dignity while getting fawned over.

“The silver and diamond.”

You make a noise of disagreement. “The gold and onyx would go better.”

A pause. You sneak a glance and are relieved to see him smirking. “I’ll wear those then. Any opinion on a watch?”

You hum again, carding through your mental catalogue. “Oh! The Bulova you wore during that meeting with Kate Laswell. You remember?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He disappears into his closet again while you lightly blend in the last touches of Simon’s coverup.

“There we are, good as new!” You declare. “Oh, and here.”

You set a couple of ibuprofen in his palm as he stands. “For the inflammation. Take with water.”

“Yes, mum,” he mumbles.

You wince. “Sorry! I’m being overbearing, aren’t I?”

He blinks, then puts a hand up. “No, no. That wasnt — I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

You don’t entirely believe him. Know that you can be a bit much when you’re on a time crunch. Especially for something like this — an important business meeting over fancy dinner. You feel like everyone’s appearance is riding on you; this is your job after all. One thing out of place and everything will fall apart and it’ll be your fault.

“Simon, go take those,” Price orders from behind.

You turn as he approaches, a similar apology all set on your tongue. Instead, he gives you a sheepish smile and offers the cufflinks.

“Bloody useless with these,” he explains. “So unless you want to spend fifteen minutes losing respect for me…”

You laugh, amused by the idea of your hyper-capable boss struggling with a bit of jewelry that cost as much as a week of work. You step in close to thread them through his sleeves, fingers nimble and sure.

“You’re not wearing cologne?” You ask, surprised.

Don’t even realize how that might sound until he arches an eyebrow at you.

“Thought you might have an opinion on that too,” he replies. “And you haven’t steered me wrong, yet.”

He shows you his modest, but impressive collection of colognes. You pluck up one, sniff, and make a face, eyes watering a bit. It’s mostly full; clearly one he doesn’t wear often and you’re grateful for it.

“That bad, eh?”

“Sir, why?” You lament, putting it back.

“Gift from an ex,” he explains.

You store that tidbit of information away for further examination. The idea of your boss in a romance. Right now you’ve got a task to focus on.

“Did they hate you that entire time?” You wonder.

He snorts. “Maybe.”

You shake your head and pick a different one. Blink in surprise and sniff again. Feel your stomach flip.

“That one?” He asks when he notices you hesitate.

“No,” you say a little too quickly, setting it down. This is a business meeting, you can’t afford to be distracted by how he’ll smell with that on his skin.

You settle on one that doesn’t make your head dizzy and your panties shamefully damp. Still feel a bit like you’re shooting yourself in the foot, though. He’s going to smell sinfully good regardless.

You leave Price to his finishing touches and have Simon help you down the stairs. Check through the notes you hurriedly collected when you realized you’d be attending this dinner.

Price comes down too soon for your poor, stupid heart. Looks like something out of a magazine or a novel or a movie or… just too good to be real, really.

“Pass inspection?” He asks.

“Barely,” you tease.

His eyes do that thing where they smile more than his mouth; how you know it’s genuine. You try not to fluster, zero in on his tie, a little crooked and loose.

“Goodness, sir,” you murmur, stepping in close. Yeah, you were right. That cologne is going to be a personal challenge all night. “How did you get along before me?”

“With bad cologne and shitty ties, apparently,” he chuckles.

You grin despite yourself, getting it secure and centered, before smoothing his vest over it. Give him a once over. Feel your stomach flip again.

“If I may say, sir, you look handsome,” you offer quietly.

“Should hope so,” he replies, voice dipping in a way that’s detrimental to the state of your panties. “You dressed me.”

You hum, reach for your usual dry, sharp humor. “I have great taste.”

Instead of scoffing, he hums in agreement. Something flickers through his eyes that you don’t dare allow yourself to daydream on.

Simon, bless him, clears his throat and draws your attention. You check the clock above the stove.

“Ah, we need to get going. I can’t walk fast in these heels.”

You slip your arm automatically into Price’s and try not to obsess over how well you two fit together.

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Masterlist

[agi-ppangx]

relax (hwang hyunjin x fem!reader)

nerd!hyunjin x cheerleader!reader, secret relationship, heavy make out, suggestive at the end; 1.8k words

author’s note: alrighty so it may not be my best work, but i love love love the idea and i hope you’ll at least like it a little bit lol anyway enjoy and remember that feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated🫶🏽

06:47 PM 

you: meet me in the locker room after the match

you: don’t be late~ 

hyunjin’s phone buzzed as he sat uncomfortably between other students in the stands, praying that the match wouldn't take too long. it was hot and crowded and hyunjin was wondering how people could go to matches every week or so and actually enjoy it. he didn’t want to be there, wishing to disappear or teleport to his room, but he knew he had to endure in order to see you. he missed you - not that he hadn’t seen you the same day in the hallway, but what good is it for him to see you if he couldn't even talk to you? 

the loud sound of the whistle snapped him out of his reverie. the other students started cheering loudly, whistling and shouting when the match started and hyunjin didn’t know what to do - was he supposed to cheer as well? or maybe boo the opposing team? he was completely lost. in this whole confusion, hyunjin tried to find you on the pitch. he noticed a few other cheerleaders before the match, but there was no trace of you. what if you weren’t even performing that day and he was sitting there for nothing? 

the cheerleaders started their chant as the first point was scored and it was only then when hyunjin stood up and finally noticed you. you looked ethereal - your hair bounced with every movement and the cheerleader outfit you were wearing made his head spin. he sighed dreamily - you were absolutely beautiful and he couldn’t get over how it was him who could kiss you and hold your hand and call you his. well, not entirely.

it was hyunjin’s idea to keep your relationship a secret. as he watched you in the hallway, always surrounded by handsome jocks and plenty of your cheerleader friends, he felt small, almost nonexistent. was he even worth being near you? he felt sick at the mere thought of people seeing you together and he didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your friends. did he feel good about the whole secret relationship thing though? absolutely not, but you assured him plenty of times that you’re willing to wait as long as he needed to finally reveal yourselves. he trusted you, so he just let himself enjoy the moment. 

hyunjin adjusted his glasses as another point was scored. he was bouncing his leg nervously, waiting impatiently for the referee to announce the end of the match. it was getting late and hyunjin wasn’t satisfied with only looking at you from a distance - he needed to be closer. 

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

you breathed a sigh of relief when the match was over, smiling at the team and congratulating them. 

“great job, boys,” you let out, trying to quickly head to the locker room. however, one of the players had a different plan and wrapped his arm around your waist. you stopped in your tracks, freezing uncomfortably. 

“i’m hosting a party tonight, wanna come?” he asked, his lips too close to your ear for your liking. you smiled faintly, trying to break free from his grip. 

“i’d love to, but i can’t tonight, sorry,” you said in an apologetic tone, but he didn’t seem to buy your lame excuse. he removed his hand anyway and ran to the rest of his team, leaving you alone without a word. the rest of your cheerleader team went with the boys as well, laughing at their jokes and drooling over their athletic bodies. you scoffed, but paid no further attention to it as you sprinted to the locker room to get there on time. 

the room was dark when you entered it, a shiver going down your spine as you closed the door behind you. you hoped hyunjin didn’t forget or worse - didn’t change his mind. 

from the very beginning you were completely infatuated by hyunjin, his talent for drawing and loser-like personality. he may have been clumsy and a bit scatterbrained, but it was exactly what made him, well, him. you tried to persuade him to let go and be open about your relationship, but he was adamant on keeping it secret. it made you a little sad, of course, but you accepted his decision regardless. in fact, if you thought about it, you kind of liked hiding in closets and stealing kisses when no one was looking. 

a sudden tug on the doorknob brought you out of your thoughts. you opened the door and saw breathless hyunjin barely standing. you grabbed his shirt and dragged him inside, smiling sheepishly. 

“what took you so long?” you whispered loudly, locking the door and scanning his figure. he raised his finger, taking a moment to regulate his breathing. 

“i tried to avoid the crowd and, um… got lost,” hyunjin mumbled with rosy cheeks, nervously scratching the back of his neck. you giggled, taking a step in his direction and adjusting the crooked glasses on his nose. he brought his arms to your hips - a habit you taught him. he was staring at you with wide eyes and suddenly the air in the room thickened. 

“why are you looking at me like that?” 

“you looked really pretty today. i kinda wanted to paint you,” he whispered with rosy cheeks, his gaze wandering back and forth between your eyes and your lips. you smiled at his words, feeling as your face got warmer. you were sure he was so gonna paint you after today.

“go on,” you said, your voice barely above the whisper. “i know you wanna kiss me.” hyunjin blinked a few times, his brain going haywire. although he had kissed you plenty of times before, usually it was you who initiated it, not him.

he leaned a bit closer, his breath speeding up as you placed your hand on his cheek. he hesitated when he felt your hot breath on his face, but one look from you dispelled his worries and he placed a sloppy kiss on your lips. his moves were uncoordinated, almost random, and you quickly started to get impatient, but decided to let him take control for now. he has to learn, you thought to yourself.

your hands wandered all over his chest and face as he slowly but gradually deepened the kiss, making your head spin a little. his grip on your hips tightened and you were going feral. 

“hyune,” you breathed out, pointing to the shelf standing against the wall. even in his state he managed to drag you there and awkwardly helped you to sit on it. you brought your hand to his hair, tugging at it slightly and earning a quiet groan from him. 

“shit,” hyunjin muttered as his glasses tilted on his nose again. he tried to fix them, but you grabbed his hand, bringing it to your neck instead. 

“leave them be,” you said, parting your legs so hyunjin could stand closer to you. he yelped as you dragged him between them, the feeling of your thighs trapping him made his brain malfunction. 

after what felt like eternity you broke the kiss to catch your breath. hyunjin’s cheeks were as red as a tomato and you laughed at his state. he looked drunk, his tilted glasses only added to the impression. 

“what?” he asked dumbfounded, looking around. 

“nothing, just-” you reached out to adjust his glasses. “there. you looked funny.” hyunjin pouted at your words and you smiled. you felt giddy when you looked at him and you never wanted the feeling to go away. 

“but you told me to leave them like that…” you giggled at his reaction, a pleasant warmth spreading in your chest.

the comfortable silence settled between you two as hyunjin intently scanned your face, taking in every detail for the millionth time. your gaze wandered after his, his brown eyes observing your features like a curious child taking in the wonders of the world. 

“who was that guy you talked to after the match?” he suddenly blurted out and it took you off guard. your face twisted in confusion as you tried to recall the situation. oh.

“it was one of the teammates. he hosted a party tonight and tried to persuade me to go,” you explained, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“oh,” he let out. “okay. do you… do you like him?”

“hyune, are you jealous?” he dropped his head - suddenly your shoes were way more interesting than your face. “hey, look at me,” you ordered him softly but firmly, placing a finger under his chin. 

“sorry.”

you shook your head. “you have nothing to apologise for, okay? i’m sorry that it made you jealous.” hyunjin nodded at your words, a sudden wave of guilt overflowing his senses. “if it makes you feel better, he is a complete asshole. and i don’t like him,” you laughed and he smiled faintly, straightening his back. “now, where were we?” 

you leaned forward and captured his lips in a passionate kiss, your tongue asking for entrance, which made hyunjin’s knees buck under him. he grabbed your shoulders, but you only ran your hand over his back in a soothing manner. though scared, hyunjin let your tongue in - it was sloppy and uncoordinated, because even if it was you who led the kiss, he still felt like a lost child in the wilderness. 

“relax,” you mumbled into his mouth as you sensed his fear. i’m trying, he wanted to say, but he only let out a small whimper, dropping his arms to rest on your hips. with all his might he forced him to cool off. relax, hyunjin, he repeated in his head over and over again and he didn’t even notice when his tongue started to move with yours in unison. 

“i missed you,” you suddenly uttered, breaking the kiss. hyunjin looked at you with wide eyes. 

“really?” he asked and you giggled. 

“of course, dummy. why are you surprised?” you tilted your head. “aren’t my kisses enough proof?” you teased, placing your hands on his chest. his heart was pounding, all because of you.

hyunjin shrugged his shoulders, his breathing speeding up. “no! no, it’s not that, i just… i dunno, i’m- i’m scared that this-” he moved his hand between your bodies. “-is just a dream. and i don’t wanna wake up.” oh. you looked him straight in the eyes.

“you know i’m serious when i say i like you, right?” you asked hesitantly, taking his hand in yours. it was sweaty from all the tension. you rubbed his palm with your thumb to calm him down. 

hyunjin looked at you with a puzzled expression. “y-yeah, i know,” he said with a shaky voice. you placed a feather-like kiss to his cheek, then another one, going down to his jaw and neck, peppering him with soft pecks - a sealing of your words. he melted under your touch, his eyes wide open as he stared into the wall behind you, unable to move. “hey, you know what? i’m kinda hungry,” you said suddenly, bringing hyunjin back to you. he let out a small hm? and you spoke again with a smirk plastered on your face. “wanna eat some ramen with me?”

taglist ! @astraystayyh @laylasbunbunny @l3visbby @like-a-diamondinthesky @hanjsquokka @xichien @xocandyy @minhosbitterriver

[wri0thesley]

work health assessment - dottore x reader (nsfw, 4.8k)

you really need this job, and you're willing to put up with more than you should in order to get it.

cw: dub-con, dark content, medical kink, needles, mentions of drugging. reader is explicitly chubby and a virgin, afab (words such as 'breast' and 'cunt' used, but no pronouns). fingering, glove kink, mentions of forced prostitution. it's dottore!!

You’re trembling. You can feel your leg awkwardly twitching, a trapped nerve in your calf that makes you unable to sit still - and it only gets worse as the last applicant before you comes out with a face like thunder. The other Fatui agent stops and looks at you - he’s obviously higher up in the hierarchy than you are, wearing the trademark hood and red-trimmed coat of a Pyro agent. Somebody looking for a change of pace from combat, then, you suppose. 

“You ought not to bother,” he spits out, vitriol in his tone - but you have been around other people enough to know that the vitriol is directed at the man sitting in the office and not at you. “He won’t care about how well-suited you are, any qualifications, any fucking scientific proficiency--”

The Pyro agent walks away still muttering under his breath; you think you hear something about how clearly graduating the Akademiya meant nothing in a place like this, and you feel an unfortunate pang of sympathy for him. He’s definitely far more qualified for this kind of work than you are. If Il Dottore is looking for an assistant, surely somebody who studied at the Akademiya is going to be a far better prospect than you--

You swallow. You need this role. 

Everybody has been kind to you since The Fair Lady passed on. They knew you were one of her favourites, and they found work for you to do - even if it has been rather menial and trivial, it’s meant that you’ve kept receiving Mora, and been able to keep yourself afloat. Head above water. They’ve looked at you sympathetically for the past year - but this is the Fatui, after all, and you cannot expect to live on pity for the rest of your life. You need to make yourself indispensable to somebody else. 

Heaven knows you’re not primed for combat, you think ruefully, as you look down at the soft curve of your hips and the plush of your thighs where they spread out against the chair you’re waiting on. You’re not clever enough to be an actual scientist underneath Dottore’s instruction, you don’t think; and you hadn’t liked the way that the Regrator had sized you up last time he’d seen you, enquiring after your salary and whether it was truly appropriate for the work you’d been doing around the Palace with that calm, sly smile on his face--

But administration? Handling The Doctor’s papers, filing things away, accounts and schedules and diaries? That is very much the kind of thing you can do, and the thing you did very well for Signora before she met with a shining blade. You grit your teeth and force yourself to think things through and get your words in proper order. The Doctor is not the kind of man who will be kind to you if you start stuttering or falling over yourself; he doesn’t suffer fools gladly, you’ve always been told--

Oh, it would be a step up though, wouldn’t it? To go from the employ of the eighth Harbinger to the second? You’d ordinarily never have dared entertain such a thing, but Pulcinella had sought you out amongst the Palace walls and patted your arm and given you a kind, fatherly smile as he’d told you that he thought you’d be a perfect fit for what Dottore needed. 

The door to the office opens and there he is; tall, imposing, his gaze imperceptible behind the crow-like mask he wears at almost all times. Your breath catches in your throat. You’ve seen him, of course . . . but this close, and with nobody else around, he has a strange aura that makes you feel dizzy and nervous. Like a laboratory mouse being observed through glass. Slowly, his chin tips down, as if he’s looking you up and down, and then he makes an impatient gesture with one gloved hand. 

“Come, then,” he says, in a low, cold voice. “The first thing to learn is not to keep me waiting.” 

You’re clumsy getting up off the chair, still a little rattled by the way he looks and just how much he towers over you. The accoutrements he wears on his lab coat do not soften the effect; they give him the look of a too-large raven who is ready to peck your eyes out, making him seem all the more intimidating and all the wider - and considering he is a Doctor, a scholar . . . he’s not exactly lacking in the breadth department even without them. 

His lip curls for a fraction of a second at the sight of you pulling at your clothes, rearranging yourself, even nervously reaching up to touch your hair to ensure that it’s in place - but then he motions you through the door and his face is blank once again. 

His office is in complete disarray. It’s no wonder he needs an assistant, really; there are files all over his desk, spilling onto the floor. A few tables and chairs in other corners are just as full of ephemera and notes and other things you don’t want to think too hard on. The only things in this office that are meticulously clear and clean are a doctor’s examination bed pressed up against the wall and a tray beside it with an array of silvery instruments that glint cruelly in the snow-bright reflection from the windows. The lock clicks. You swallow again as Dottore motions for you to take a seat in front of his desk and he walks around to recline into his own. 

His is old leather, wingback; more throne than chair, and he sits in it like a king observing one of his subjects in a way that makes you feel so small you can barely stand it. 

“Well?” He asks you, and you squeak in alarm before your words start to careen out of you like a runaway train. 

“I--  The Rooster told me you were looking for an administrative assistant, and you know that’s the same thing I did for the Fair Lady. I-I’m not scientifically-minded or anything, I’d be no help with your experiments - but maybe that’s a good thing, if I don’t know enough to properly even understand the documents I’m handling then I’m no risk with sensitive information--”

He raises one gloved hand to stop you in mid-flow. There’s that quirk of his lip again, as he steeples his fingers together and leans forward on his elbows to rest on the messy wood of his desk. 

“My dear,” he drawls at you, “are you truly trying to get me to employ you by making a show of your own incompetence?”

A cold shiver down your spine. You need this role. You need something to get you out of the drudgery of the boring tasks you’ve been given, to get you away from Pantalone’s prying eyes, to give you some kind of purpose--

“I’m good at admin!” You tell him, your voice pitching high in your nervousness. “I’ve a head for figures, I’m organised, I’m discreet--”

“How’s your health?” Dottore asks, that slight curve to his lip not dissipating even a bit. “I can’t employ somebody who is unreliable, you see. I’m rather more of a workaholic than some of my compatriots, and I do so hate to be interrupted when I’m on the brink of a breakthrough.”

“It’s good!” You blurt out without thinking. It’s true; you’ve never had any issues with it. You had mandated checks every year with a doctor that Signora employed - she always made a point to say she wouldn’t make the Doctor do it, with a pinch to your cheeks and a lazy, indulgent smile. She liked her underlings to think her magnanimous. 

“Mmm.” Dottore says. He regards you over his hands once more, before he says; “When I saw your application on the pile, I had already half a mind to take you on. The Fair Lady was always effusive in your praises, and I do indeed not want a little upstart who thinks they can replace me. You were right to think your lack of scientific knowledge would be a boon to me. My work is very delicate, you understand?”

“I understand entirely, Doctor,” you say, nodding enthusiastically. “I’m the soul of discretion, I promise.”

“Mmm,” he says, the noise not entirely convinced, but your toes have curled in your shoes and you can feel the fingers of hope crawling up your spine. “Despite that, you do not seem unintelligent. I don’t think I could bear having an idiot handle my files. You’re already well-versed in the politics of Zapolyarny and the way working for a Harbinger functions; I would not have to waste time doing too much training.”

“Not at all, My Lord,” you say, trying to smile despite the nerves that you can still feel tingling all over you. “I’d be extremely good at what you want me for, I promise.”

This wins a soft snort from him, as if you’ve said something very funny. You keep yourself as poised as you can, your spine straight, your face as sweet and open as you can manage. Signora always preferred you to be like this . . . in time, you suppose that you’ll learn what Dottore likes, but until then he doesn’t seem opposed to the same gentle demeanour that you’d perfected with the Eighth Harbinger. 

“Nevertheless,” he says, “your physical condition . . .” 

Your cheeks burn hot. You hope he is not referring to the curves of your body; you’ve never been particularly self-conscious about it - it’s rather the fashion in Snezhnaya to be soft, and you receive your fair share of admiring looks and propositions - but . . . you know that Dottore is not originally from your homeland, and there can be such strange stigmas in other lands--

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says to you, as if he’s read your mind. “In a purely biologically aesthetic sense, you’re very much a prime specimen. But looks can be deceiving, my dear, and before we finalise the employment I would like you to submit to a medical examination.” 

Your eyes widen. You hadn’t prepared for him to ask for this; you try and run through in your head what he might want to check in this examination, but even as you do that you realise he has you caught. You need him to employ you, and he has as good as said that as soon as he’s declared you medically fit and able he’ll be able to officially do so. How bad can it really be, then? Let him poke and prod and walk out of this office with a brand new purpose. You swallow. 

“Of course, My Lord,” you say, giving him a blank smile. “What would you like me to do?” 

Dottore gives a pleased hum at your acquiescence as he stands up and walks towards the medical table. 

“Obedient,” he says, approvingly. “That will serve you in good stead. Come here, if you please. For now, I’m simply going to listen to your heart and do a few quick reflex tests. The more . . . invasive tests will come afterwards. Please remove your topmost layer.” 

You do not like the sound of ‘invasive tests’, but you allow yourself the briefest moment of a flinch before you follow his orders. The fur-lined cloak you wear is shed, and the soft knit cardigan follows suit. Seeing you’re wearing a blouse beneath that, Dottore clicks his tongue briefly. 

“That too, I’m afraid,” he says. “I need to be able to place this device directly onto your bare skin.”

It takes another moment of steeling yourself, but the blouse follows your other garments until you stand shivering in your lace-trimmed camisole. You’re suddenly exceedingly aware of the generous curve of your breast within the silken cups of your brassiere, the bare skin of your collarbone, the plumpness of your shoulders - but Dottore, doctorly in the extreme, merely lets his gloved hands brush over them as he steers you to take a seat upon the examination table and presses the cool circle of his stethoscope against your chest. 

The next fifteen minutes are boring but predictable. Dottore takes your vitals; your blood pressure, your heart-rate. He checks your reaction times with a little glowing light - he takes your temperature. You wrinkle your nose when he produces a syringe, but you have had blood taken before and you manage nothing more than a little flinch when you feel the needle slide into the crook of your elbow. He writes all of his findings down in a little black-covered ring bound notebook. 

It is only when he closes the notebook that you finally let yourself relax; your shoulders to slump, the breath it feels as though you’ve been shudderingly holding on to finally dispelled. 

“Do I meet your expectations, My Lord?” You ask him, and Dottore gives a small, considering noise before he looks back up from the notebook. 

“I’m afraid I’m not quite finished yet,” he tells you, with a small smile. “If you’d please remove the rest of your clothing.”

Your eyes widen. 

“I--”

“There’s a hospital gown for you,” he says, interrupting, reaching towards a lower drawer in the silver cart by the side of the bed. He pulls from its depths a pale blue, paper-thin concoction that you do not feel as though deserves the title of ‘gown’ - but Dottore has you at his mercy. If you refuse now, he simply won’t employ you - and who knows what might happen to you after that? You bite your tongue and repeat the mantra in your mind: what’s the worst that could happen? “I’ll turn whilst you change. Your underwear too, if you please.” 

What’s the worst that could happen? You repeat it over and over as Dottore sighs when he turns around, as if he’s being very generous by making this small provision for your modesty and he doesn’t quite see the point. You put your clothes down onto the pile that’s been gradually growing and shrug yourself into the uncomfortable papery gown, perching primly on the very edge of the hospital bed when you’re done with your knees together. 

You are terribly aware of just how naked you are beneath the flimsy covering when Dottore turns back around and gives you a slow once-over. There’s a lot of your bare thigh on display; the thin ties at the back of your neck you have done your best to fasten, but you’re also aware of cool air on the bare skin of your spine and the precarious position you would be in if he bid you to stand up and turn around. You press your thighs more fiercely together as if sheer force of will can make you less tortuously conscious of your bare sex, your missing underwear, the way your nipples have peaked in the cool air. 

“Are you cold?” He asks, conversationally, as he comes closer to you - and your cheeks go hot all over as one gloved finger comes up and softly circles over the slight imprint of your nipple in the gown. You hiss through your teeth, but don’t say anything. “Your temperature was fine . . . so perhaps you’re just sensitive?” 

He tips his head to one side as he considers it. He still has not removed the bird-like mask, but you have the fleeting impression that you’re being ogled by him. His other hand reaches up, and before you can make even a token attempt to slap him away, he is cupping the heavy fat of your breasts through the material, testing their weight in his palms. 

“D-Doctor!”

“Yes?” He tilts his head again. “I simply have to get to grips with your body, my dear. This interest is strictly professional.”

“I-- this doesn’t seem necessary, My Lord Harbinger--”

“Believe me, it is. Unless . . . well, you do want me to employ you, don’t you?”

The last is said in a condescending tone that makes you very much sure that if you deny him, he will send you on his way and happily throw you to the mercy of whoever swoops down to feast upon his leftovers first. You remind yourself that it will be over soon; think of how this role will cement your place in the Palace as someone of use, and when Dottore’s thumbs swipe over your nipples you bite back the whimper that wants to tear from your throat. 

“Mmm,” he says. “Very sensitive, indeed. Tell me when this hurts.” Still through the gown, Dottore uses thumb and forefinger to gently pinch your nipples. Against your will, you squirm on the hospital bed slightly, heat rising to your face as a low ache between your thighs makes itself known. He starts off soft, but gradually increases the pressure, until you blurt out;

“Th-that hurts!”

“Hmm?” He pinches a little harder and watches you in great interest as you flinch, giving a mean little twist before he finally releases the aching nubs of your nipples. “Yes. As I thought. Now, let me try without the obstruction--”

He reaches behind you and undoes the ties of the gown with one quick, fluid motion - so swift you barely have time to bring your hands up to cover the spill of your breasts, as protests die on your tongue. 

“I don’t have time for prudery,” he tells you. “Show me.”

To your great horror, a shaking breath only a moment away from a sob comes trembling out of your throat - but you do as he asks, thinking once more of that job that is dangling over your head. Dottore seems to observe your naked chest for a moment, and then smiles sharp and cruel again. 

“Lovely,” he murmurs, as he returns to touching them - kneading handfuls in those awful gloves, tugging at your nipples, rubbing circles around the areola until your over-sensitive body squirms. “Ah, these are nicely sized, aren’t they? And these . . .” Another pinch to your nipple, and this time you feel a tear slip from the corner of your eye unbidden, your throat clogged. “Such pretty little things. So responsive! I daresay the rest of your body has reacted just as nicely?”

“I--I don’t know what you mean, My Lord,” you say to him, although you have the mounting fear that you understand exactly what he means. Dottore chuckles. 

“So far, you’re passing the physical examination with flying colours,” he says to you, voice low and cool and smooth. “Don’t disappoint me now, darling.” He pats the side of the examination bed. “Get yourself up here please. Feet flat, knees up.” He leers at you even through the mask as he finishes his order with two words that make your blood run cold. “Thighs apart.”

It almost pushes you over the edge. The thought of Dottore looking at you, so vulnerable, so close to naked (actually, you suppose when you move the gown will flutter to the ground and you will be utterly bare before him) - the idea of him having you entirely at his mercy . . . You’re suddenly all too aware that there is nobody waiting for you; no applicant after you, who might poke their head in rudely to see if Dottore is nearly ready for their interview. For all intens and purposes, Dottore could kill you and use you as spare parts and nobody would ever know--

“My patience is not neverending,” Dottore murmurs, drumming fingers on the leather of the bed. “You do want this, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” you swallow back the fear. You have nothing else that is viable to do, really - you would never beat him to his door if you ran, you would be naked and afraid, you are entirely at his mercy. . . “S-sorry.”

A pleased noise at the apology. You force yourself to keep breathing as you manoeuvre your traitorous body - to your immense horror, you realise that the kneading and the pinching and the petting that Dottore lavished upon your chest earlier has had an effect between your thighs, and there is a definite dampness wetting the curls of your pubic hair. You squeeze your eyes shut so that you don’t have to see that damned bird mask looming down at you. 

“There we are,” Dottore coos to you - fingers slide up your shins, rearranging them slightly until you’re put in exactly the position he wants. “Relax, now. Head on the pillow. This will perhaps be uncomfortable, but I shan’t hurt you on purpose. Ah, there we are. Very good.” You hesitantly settle flat against the leather, and for your obedience you are rewarded with a fleeting pat on your head, like a well-behaved little dog. “Oh, my.”

“I-- is the examination nearly over, Doctor?” You ask him, though you fear that you know the answer - and to answer your fears, Dottore lets out a chuckle that sounds like a creak. 

“Oh, not yet,” he says, airily. “Relax, my dear. If you don’t, perhaps I ought to inject some kind of tranquiliser?”

“N-no,” you shake your head. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to relax.”

“Very good. Ah.” He shifts again, and you hear the sound of the cart being moved. Your heart begins to rabbit at the thought of any of those silvery sharp instruments coming near the soft part of you nestled between your thighs, but Dottore simply pauses at the foot of the bed and once more observes you. 

It’s been a while since he wrote in the notebook, you can’t help but note. 

“You’re just as lovely here,” he says to you. “A perfect specimen, really. Very nice.” Very slowly, all the more terribly enhanced because you cannot see him, you feel Dottore bring his gloved finger to stroke down the plump slit of your labia. Your body tenses at the sensation. “You’re wet, too. Good. I’m going to help that along a little - this might be a bit cold, you can shiver if you need to--”

The clatter of the cart again - and then something thick and viscous and cool is being drizzled over your bare sex. You do indeed take in a deep breath, your nails digging into your palms at the unusual sensation. 

“Wh-what is it?” You whisper, a thousand horrible thoughts flitting across your head - numbing agents, or oils designed to make you all the more sensitive, or any other kind of horrible concoction that the Doctor might have at hand - but he just laughs at you, as if you’ve told a very funny joke. His tone is condescending;

“Merely a lubricant, my dear. We are simply testing your health; your sensitivity, your reactions, how much you can take--”

He gently continues to stroke up and down the slit of your sex, working the lubricant against your cunt - paying particular attention, to your mortification, to the swollen nub of your clit. Of course, you’ve touched yourself - but to have someone else doing it! To have the Doctor, doing it like this!”

“You’re a virgin?” He asks you, with a note of surprise, and you press your lips tightly together because you cannot bear to say it out loud. Dottore chuckles. “Oh, you don’t need to answer that. I can tell from the way your greedy little hole is trying to suck me in even though it barely seems as though it will stretch enough to fit a finger in.” He clicks his tongue and lets out another low little laugh. “I should have guessed when you started panting and whimpering when I played with your nipples. You’re just darling, you know.”

“I don’t . . . I don’t think this is part of an ordinary medical examination,” you whisper, as Dottore’s finger prods testingly against the flutter of your hole. You hate that he’s right - despite how your mind is whispering poison, your body is only aware of how good it feels to be touched like this, by slow and practised and meticulous hands. 

“And I am no ordinary Doctor, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”

“Please--”

Your next words are drowned out by the whine that falls from your lips as he slowly slides his finger into the hot tight tunnel of your sex. His gloves are still on; the texture makes you fight against the desire to wriggle as he crooks it inside of you, truly getting a feel for the pulsing walls around him. 

“I’m sure you’re aware the Regrator has inquired about your contract,” he says to you, as he slowly begins to slide his finger out and then in again, the movement aided by the lubrication and your own slick. Your back arches, but you do not receive a scolding for it - Dottore’s voice has shifted just a semi-tone, thickened just a touch. “He’s thinking you’d make him a pretty penny if he loaned you out to some of his more discerning investors.”

The thought of the way that the Regrator looks at you flashes through your mind again, and you find yourself tearfully shaking your head. 

“As well as being a prospect to indulge in himself,” Dottore continues, as if you have not responded. “Now. I’m sure you won’t want that, do you?”

“P-please,” you say, shaking your head. “No.” 

Dottore lets out a satisfied exhale. A second finger prods interestedly at your entrance, and you try to force yourself to relax as he slides two of them inside instead. The stretch now is noticeable, and the muscles in your thighs jump. Two fingers, and you almost tell him that it’s too much - before you remember what it is that Dottore is telling you. 

“Oh, very clever. I am not lying about needing an administrative assistant,” Dottore tells you, fingers pumping in and out of you now, curling against the pounding of your inner walls, the wet click of his fingers fucking into you echoing too loud in the room. You hate that you can feel yourself, wet and sticky and hot. You hate all the more that inside of you is growing a warmth you have never experienced, a tight ball of tension that makes you dizzy. “I am merely a man who believes in . . . multi-tasking. Dual purpose, if you will. I have found that sometimes I get . . . frustrated in my work, and one of the few ways I have found to expel some of that frustration lies in sexual gratification.”

Your face, hot. Your body, responding against your will. Your heart, pounding like a trapped animal. Dottore’s thumb swipes across your clit, circling the bundle of nerves with the practised assurance that only a doctor can truly embody. 

“Your virginity is a variable I hadn’t quite counted on,” he continues, still working you over like your cunt is a puzzle that he needs to solver. You can barely concentrate on what he’s saying now, that ball of heat within you is so overwhelming. “But it’s hardly unwelcome to know I’ll get to shape you to my own desires, if you will.”

You can feel that you’re close; you can feel that if he just carries on a bit longer, if he just lets you get a little further, that ball will explode like fireworks in your head and warmth will spread through your body like a heating lamp on a cold Snezhnayan night. But he stops. 

“So now you know the full terms,” he tells you, whilst you fight and lose against the instinct to try and hump your hips back to the gorgeous sensation of his hand on you. “Tell me, my dear. Do you still wish to be my assistant? Or do Pantalone’s plans sound more desirable? For a virgin, you’re being more than a little desperate - perhaps you like the idea of him sharing you out?”

“N-no,” you gasp out, shaking your head. Better the devil you know. Better the second Harbinger, and the same face, and the familiar walls of Zapolyarny Palace than beds of men you’ll never see again. “M-My Lord Harbinger, Dottore, Doctor, please--!”

He chuckles.

“Alright,” he murmurs, and he resumes fucking into you, the firm pressure on your clit, and before you know it you can feel yourself spasming around him with soft pleasured cries as your body is suffused in the warm glow of pleasure. Dottore fucks you on his fingers through the afterglow, the ebbing tide of your first orgasm at the hands of somebody else - before he abruptly stands and you hear the clack of his boots on the floor as he walks away, leaving you naked and shivering and gasping. 

“Very well,” he says to you, and though you’re still staring at the ceiling you hear the smile. “I shall see you bright and early tomorrow, my dear. We’ll make a start on my next tests. For now . . .”

It all feels like a muddle in your head. You can’t remember what you’ve agreed to; Dottore’s words are so mired in meaning, and you’re an admin and not any kind of genius--!

But it’s too late. Dottore’s voice is lazy and indolent in a way you’ve never heard it be as he says to you;

“You’re dismissed.”

[lemonlover1110]

𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 4] Car Ride

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Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Talks of Abortion

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Toji tries to hand you the bouquet of flowers, but you don’t take them from his hands. Your eyes linger on them, and while it’s a beautiful arrangement, you don’t want to take them. For some reason, you feel that if you take them, he’ll believe you’re accepting to try and work things out which you aren’t willing to do. Even though maybe you should.

You turn your head when you see Shiu drive off, and you roll your eyes. Toji clears his throat and he assures you, “I’ll drive you home.”

“I have to buy a mattress.” You inform him, and he slowly nods his head. He doesn’t mind, you guess. You still can’t help but ask the question, “What about your job?”

“I can leave early, it doesn’t matter.” He responds, and you sigh. Suddenly he can leave early but when you begged to have a date night, he was always busy. He’s putting in so much effort now, effort that he should’ve put in before you decided you were going to leave. “Do you wanna go do that now? We can talk while we go shopping for that.”

“I guess…” You search around to see if you find Shiu’s car in the distance. You don’t really want to talk to Toji, but you also have no other way to go home other than by walking or taxi. Plus you need his help right now. You look around to find his car, and you find it a long way down the road. 

You begin to walk to his car, and he follows behind, running so he can open the door for you. You don’t thank him when he does, you just get in the passenger seat, and you side eye him when he doesn’t shut the door. He throws the flowers on your lap and when he shuts the door, you toss them to the backseat. When he gets into the driver’s seat he asks, “Why don’t you want the flowers?”

“What’s the point of them? Aren’t we getting divorced?” You respond, and he tries to take a deep breath. He turns on the car and pulls out of his parking spot, driving somewhere. You know this route, and it’s not where he’s supposed to take you. You don’t speak about it, it’s your own fault. You weren’t seriously expecting Toji of all people to be cooperative, were you?

“Shiu told me you got a nice little apartment…” He speaks up when he stops at a red light. You hum in response, not really trying to engage in a conversation. You lean your head back, resting it and shutting your eyes. You just want this to be over. Never in your life did you expect to dread being in a car next to Toji. The love of your life sits next to you, and you can’t wait to get out. To run and never have to see him again.

You open your eyes and see that you’re not driving back to Toji’s apartment. He’s taking a detour. At least you won’t have to take a taxi. Your eyes shift to him, his eyes are focused on the road. His hands clench the steering wheel while he bites down on his lip. His eyes finally glance at you, and you avert your gaze to the road that’s in front of you. “So um… What do you do?”

“Nothing cool.” You answer. You hear him exhale. Maybe he’ll stop asking dumb questions to fill up the silence. You’ve gotten accustomed to a quiet car ride, every time that you tried to speak up you’d be shot down. You don’t understand why he’s trying to change now– He already signed the papers. 

“Will you still show up for Megumi?” He asks, and you take a moment to think about it. Should you really? Toji constantly reminded you that you weren’t Megumi’s mother in any way, why should you try? But even then, you and Megumi grew close and formed a bond. Megumi shouldn’t have to pay for his father’s mistakes. You don’t give him a definitive answer though, simply an,

“I’ll try.”

“Why are you like this? Can’t you see that I’m trying?” He finally snaps, making you scoff. You cross your arms, debating if this is even worth engaging. He just wants a reaction out of you. Something that is longer than two words. “I’m just thinking that you wanted a divorce because you’re seeing someone else. If you actually loved me, you would at least try to work this out.”

He succeeds. He gets the reaction that he wants. You’re seething with his words and you yell, “I’ve been the only one trying this entire marriage, Toji! Not even these past two years, our entire relationship! Do you think I just came to this decision overnight? Do you think just a couple days of you trying will make up for five years of your neglect? It’s funny that you’re the one talking about cheating when you–”

“Here you go again with the same fucking shit! That happened years ago and you don’t let me forget. You should’ve just left me then!” He raises his voice as well, frustrated with this whole situation.

“Then why the fuck are you so upset that I’m leaving you now? Tell me, Toji. Like this you won’t have to hear me complain about it!” You respond, and he has to pull over into a plaza to park. It’s best if you get out here and call a taxi. You’ll order a mattress online, and sleep on the floor for the time being. When he puts the car in park and the doors unlock, and just as you’re about to open the car door, he locks them. You hate his car because his side is the only one that has controls to lock and unlock the car.

“That was years ago… I’m trying to become a better man, please. Give me a chance.” He sounds vulnerable, and part of you wants to comfort him. You love him more than anything and anyone, you’re willing to work it out. But for your sake… And for your baby’s sake, you have to leave Toji. He claims that he’ll be better but he won’t. 

“How long will it take for you to go back to being him? The same man that couldn’t even care to share how his day was when I asked him. You claimed that you’d change a couple times, Toji. You did change for a couple of days, but you always went back to your cold demeanor.” Your voice is breaking, and you can’t afford to start crying in front of him. You won’t let him see you so weak again, “I’ve seen the way you looked at her, and I want someone to look at me the same way. I deserve that. I know that you can’t be that same man for me, and I’ve come to respect that. The same way I want you to respect me leaving. I don’t want you to reach out to me just for the sole purpose of getting back together. We need time apart.”

He runs a hand through his hair, trying to think of what he’s going to say next. He won’t admit that he’s at fault for all of this. Toji shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He tries to be rational– To be the mature adult that he’s supposed to be. He takes a deep breath before speaking. “I’m going to unlock the doors. If you get out of the car, I won’t talk to you ever again. All I can say is good luck in your life.”

“That’s not possible.” You mutter, but he hears it loud and clear. Are you insinuating that he’s a weak man? That’s what he’s hearing at the very least, and Toji hates it.

“What are you trying to say? Are you saying that I’ll come crawling back to you? That you’re irreplaceable or something like that, because I have some news for you–” He raises his voice and you feel the tears well up in your eyes. You swallow the lump that comes to your throat before you yell,

“I’m pregnant, Toji! That’s what I’m trying to say, I’m pregnant.” You watch him as his eyes go wide, his breath getting caught up. You’re waiting for him to say the worst, knowing that he doesn’t want this. “I don’t need your help though. I’ll be fine. If you don’t want a part in any of this, then when I exit the car, you’ll be dead to me the same way I’ll be dead to you.”

A smile comes to his face, and you feel sick. You know he isn’t happy that he’s having a baby. You want to fool yourself into thinking that he is, but you know he’s not. He doesn’t care about that. He’s just thinking about– He grabs your hands and brings them up to his lips, kissing them gently before he puts them around his face. “Please stay. For our baby.”

He’s thinking about trapping you. Like this you won’t leave his side. He’s not thinking about all the what ifs and the struggles that come with pregnancy and a child. He doesn’t want this for the right reasons, and you hate it. His face inches closer to yours, and he’s about to kiss you but you pull away.

“Open the car door.” You tell him, your voice stern. His brows furrow.

“We have to talk about this.” He says, and you shake your head. You have to take a deep breath so he doesn’t hear your voice. You don’t want him to hear you on the verge of tears even though your watery eyes are the dead give away.

“No, you think that I’m going to stay with you because I’m pregnant. But I’m not. I don’t have to rely on you.” You respond. 

“Why don’t you just get an abortion then?” He asks, and that’s when the tears that are in your eyes fall. He bites his tongue, quickly regretting the words that just left his lips. “I mean… If you’re so set on being alone, do you really want to have my baby? You know that means we’re stuck together in a sense.”

“No it doesn’t.” You wipe away the tears that managed to escape. You try to reach over to unlock the car door, and when you manage to unlock it, he doesn’t waste a second to lock it back up. He pushes your hand away. “Just forget that I told you anything. You don’t want another kid, and I’m not forcing you to be a father. I can be a mother by myself.”

“For how long have you known?” He questions, and you take a deep breath.

“I just found out.” You confess. 

“And you decided that you’re going to be a single mother? Do you know how fucking hard it is to raise a child by yourself? You haven’t even thought about it for a day.” He points out. You bite down on your lip and think about what you’ll say next.

“I mean… I handled all of Megumi’s issues myself even when I wasn’t supposed to be a parent. And I got used to the idea that if I ended up pregnant, you’d end up leaving. So I don’t really need to think about it more.” You share, and he scoffs.

“You really think I would just leave you?” He questions and you stay silent. That’s his response. “I would’ve never done that to you.”

“I don’t know Toji, you made it clear that the idea of having kids with me was a nightmare and that you only had money and time for Megumi.” You remind him, and Toji finds himself speechless. You sigh. You really hate this. “I’m telling you because it’s my duty. If you want to come around, great. If you don’t, also great. Me and my baby will do just fine.”

“It’s my baby too.” He says. “I guess… You should do whatever you think it’s best. But if we’re not getting back together, you should get an abortion.”

“I’m not doing that, Toji. I’ve always wanted a baby, and this is my chance.” You respond, even though part of you agrees with him. “Just… Let me out.”

“I’m getting you that mattress and then taking you home.” He replies. You take a deep breath watching as he switches the gear to drive. “Then we’re going to talk about this.”

[lisired]

i thought you were dead

pairing: yuta x (f) reader

genre/warnings: murder, angst, violence, smut, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), choking

summary: after investigating the activity of a local gang, your boss abruptly disappears, and it's up to you to find out what happened to him. you almost immediately suspect the reapers, one of the most infamous gangs in seoul. and yuta is willing to lend a hand in your operation, but only at a cost; forget him in the end.

word count: 20k

a/n: part 2/3 of my wanted: dead or alive series. as always, feedback is appreciated!

“I want him dead, woman.”

Every bone in your body was itching with the overwhelmingly extreme urge to roll your eyes. Though rather than lose your job, or potentially your life, you held back and replied, “Got it, boss.” 

You knew this conversation had been long overdue, but that didn’t mean you were any more eager to have it with him. Your boss could be a pain in the ass sometimes. He never cut anyone any slack and he took retribution way too seriously. 

That said, you supposed he had his reasons. As an inner circle member of one the most infamous gangs in the country, he had as much to lose as he had to gain. It made perfect sense, you knew, that he wanted his marks completely dead. Not barely on the cusp of consciousness. 

As if you gave a damn what he wanted.

“Jaehyun giving you a hard time?”

Coming out the door of the arms building, directly beneath the entire two floors of the narcotics trade happenings, you turned when you heard a familiar voice behind you. “When is he not?”

Jeno snickered and shoved his hands in his pockets. “He can be a pain in the ass. And he’s even harder on the noobs. I think you’ll get used to it though.”

You snorted. “You have that much confidence in me?”

Jeno nodded. That notorious grin was still on his face to express his amusement, but he seemed authentic as he replied, “Yes, because you’re stronger than the other recruits I see come in and out.”

Your brows furrowed together. In your three months under this gang, barely anybody had spared you genuine kindness. “What makes you say that?”

“You haven’t tried to slap the shit out of him yet.”

That was the last answer you were expecting to hear, so it made you burst into laughter. 

Pleased by having made you laugh, Jeno smiled a little wider. “May I tag along?”

“Please do,” you told him, the tone in your voice dangerously close to desperate. “When I was told I was being assigned to the arms unit, no one told me the head motherfucker of it all is also the one playing God.”

That was a lie, of course. You knew early on that Jaehyun juggled both the arms trafficking operation and the responsibility of getting rid of anybody who slighted the syndicate. Your real boss’ leftover notes were thorough and neat.

But that was nothing Jeno needed to know. As far as he knew, you were merely another newcomer anticipating to make dirty money by illegal means. And you had every last intention of keeping that dirty little image in his head. You had a role to play. 

Pulling a pair of keys from the pockets his hands had been buried in, Jeno chirped, “I’ll do the driving.”

You made no argument, following him to his car and climbing into the passenger seat. 

After giving him the coordinates of whatever location Jaehyun had sent you off to, Jeno drove you halfway across the city to an abandoned warehouse. The whole structure looked a whole breath away from giving in on itself. 

Jeno grimaced. “I’d hate to die here.”

You laughed at that, heading for the door. 

Jaemin blew out an exasperated breath when he saw you entering the warehouse and stood up from a crate he had been sitting on. “Fucking finally. Jaehyun never mentioned that you’d be bringing company.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t blame him for being vexed. The drive here had taken a good minute and if he had been here since you were informed of your assignment, he had been waiting even longer. 

“Nice to see you too, Jaemin,” Jeno replied sarcastically. 

Surprise flickered onto your face for a split second. You had no idea how they knew each other, but it was far from impossible. They both worked for the same bastard whose bidding you were doing right now. 

Jaemin was annoyed. “I would be happier to see you if you both were on time.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Jeno pointed at the back of Jaemin’s pants with a sly expression. “You’ve got a little something there.”

With another irritated breath, Jaemin dusted off his pants. Most of his current frustrations seemed aimed at the fact that this warehouse was barely holding itself together. “This place is old as fuck. I think something crawled and died in that crate. Like seven years ago.”

Even though you wanted to giggle, the urge was overcome by the one to get this over with so that you could do something meaningful. “Where’s Kang Hangyeol? I’m trusting you didn’t leave him alone.”

“Do I look like an amateur to you?” Jaemin asked, waving you off. “He’s in the back. There’s no way he’s moving out of that position, dead or alive. Follow me.”

You trailed closely behind as Jaemin led you through the old warehouse. There was a clutter of dust-laden boxes and a slew of spider webs in every available corner. Graffiti that looked maybe a few years old was the only proof of recent human activity. 

“What’s this guy dying for anyway?” you asked, disguising your concern as innocent curiosity. You didn’t want to make it obvious that you were trying to justify your inevitable actions. 

Jaemin, on the other hand, didn’t seem as worried. This was a life he had led for years and no one would expect anything other than him to be committed. “Apparently, he’s a brother. He was caught sneaking on our turf.”

Your brows furrowed, imagining what a brother was doing on Reaper playgrounds. They had no business being even remotely near this gang and any of its less than luxurious locations. “You’re sure he’s a brother?”

“Yeah, they found him in one of those ugly masks.”

Jeno snorted.

Nearing the forthcoming doorway, you reached for the switchblade you had tucked away, unsure what you were going to do with it in the first place. At times, it was less like a weapon and more like a comfort tool. And you needed comfort right now. Your involvement as an undercover cop didn’t legally or emotionally justify taking someone’s life. 

No doubt, it was the worst part of being undercover. You advanced your way through the ranks most times, meaning you gained enough authority to convince your new peers to spare innocent lives, but this syndicate was something bigger than you had ever experienced. It would take years to infiltrate their innermost hierarchy. And you didn’t have years. 

Jaemin reached for the door knob and pulled it open, expecting to see a half-conscious man bound with his arms behind his back. Imagine your collective shock when you saw nothing but an empty wooden chair next to a pile of rope. 

“Where’s Hangyeol?” Jaemin stammered. 

“I was expecting you to know,” you mumbled, inspecting what all was leftover. There were a few drops of blood on the chair at best. You clutched your switchblade tighter.

At least Jaehyun wouldn’t be pissed at you this time. You could already imagine the verbal backlash Jaemin was going to get for this. Not even you had messed up this badly before. 

Jeno leaned on the wall, entertained by everything as always. “Nah, you don’t seem like an amateur, man. Total pro.”

Jaemin groaned, “This is serious!”

Not a second later, you heard a gunshot echoing out in the main entrance of the warehouse. This felt like a setup somehow. You clutched your switchblade tighter, hissing, “You had one fucking job, Jaemin!”

He opened his mouth to say something about how this wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t have to babysit you to make sure you went through with the kill, but you all froze when you heard a second gunshot. 

Jaemin grabbed the bag slung over his shoulders and set it down on the chair where your mark should have been instead. He handed Jeno a gun and took one for himself, then pivoted towards you. “You sure you don’t want one?”

You shook your head. The knife in your hands would suffice. They always had. “I’m good.”

“You know what they say,” Jeno chimed in. “Don’t bring a knife to a gunfight.”

That was true for someone maybe. But even though you had gone through your annual firearm training with the academy, you were stubborn and preferred your blades. “She’s my baby.”

“That’s even worse. Who brings a baby to a gunfight?”

You were tempted to laugh, but you could hear the chaos unfolding practically right outside the door and it unnerved you. “I do. Let’s go.”

The dark hallway outside the old storage closet led you back to the main entrance of the warehouse through a little opening. You could see brothers rummaging the place and took a wild guess that they were here to take back their own. 

A little headcount went on in your head as you noted the number of armed, masked men you saw lurking expectantly around every inch of the unloading site. The three of you were definitely outnumbered, that was for certain. 

“I counted fourteen,” you whispered quietly. “Are we good?”

Jeno nodded, gun close to his chest. He looked more serious right now than ever. “I’ve got your six. Let’s move.”

That was all you needed to hear as you dove headfirst into the bloody sea of chaos. While Jaemin and Jeno immediately started to fire their weapons, stealing all the attention, you hid close on anything you could find and ambushed, coming up behind and dragging your blade against the cold necks of your enemies. 

Your ears went deaf to the cacophony of masculine shouts as men dropped like flies around you. The sound bled into choked noises with every throat you impaled. 

They were strong men, but you were swifter. Both were lethal and dangerous, but they couldn’t touch you if you didn’t let them. You were too nimble for them to keep up with, too quick.

But the one time you didn’t move quick enough, you rolled onto the filthy floor and looked down the barrel of a gun. You groaned, raising your head a little higher to meet the bloody eyes of your mark. 

He was right there in the flesh, hovering over you with a sly grin as if he was proud of what he had done. You were insulted to even be held at gunpoint. Every desire to spare him immediately fled your body and you raised your switchblade, penetrating his throat without hesitation. 

Not stopping to watch him bleed, you turned your head just quickly enough to see Jeno’s gun be kicked out of his hands. You wiped the blood from your knife and furtively approached his aggressor, briefly catching him off guard and kicking the gun back. 

Jeno scrambled towards the gun and quickly opened fire, the sound making your ears ring obnoxiously. 

“Goddamn,” you said, shaking your head in disapproval. 

Jaemin came over panting for breath, glancing around to make sure the entire room had been cleared. “I think I should be getting paid extra for this.”

Jeno snorted and came to a stand, directing his attention back to your face. “Remind me to never again invite myself on one of your assignments.”

Your shoulders shook with a laugh. That was fair enough. But there was definitely bigger fish to fry right now. How in the hell did the Brotherhood know where Kang Hangyeol was being held?

The three of your phones beeped collectively. With all the fighting and being thrown you each had done, it was a miracle they were still functioning. You glanced down to read a message Jaehyun had sent. 

Several bases have been attacked. Going incognito. More details later. Lay low until further notice. 

Your brows furrowed. “What the hell?”

“Vague as fuck,” Jeno replied, as if he had read your mind. “He must be in a meeting.”

Jaemin scoffed. “So what do we do then? Just wait around to die?”

You closed your blade and shook your head, reminding, “You’re already going to die. You let Kang Hangyeol get away. Remember?”

“That’s not the version of the story I plan on telling Jaehyun.”

You rolled your eyes. “If you start being nice to me, I’ll leave that part out of my report.”

Jaemin hummed, as if he was mulling it over. “Deal.”

You nodded with a tiny sigh. Nothing good was going to come out of rival gangs taking turns exacting revenge on each other. You knew that like you knew the law. 

Jeno safely returned you to the headquarters with a little farewell and warning to be safe before you went your separate ways. Normally, you would meet Jaehyun in person to briefly discuss the happenings of your task, but he wasn’t in his office. He would have to settle for the paragraph you sent to his phone. 

Upon entering the tiny apartment you had surprisingly been offered by the Reapers, you almost immediately collapsed on the bed, worn down by exhaustion. 

You had nearly dozed off completely when the sound of your phone ringing made you jolt awake. “Hello?” you answered weakly. 

“Is someone sleepy?” Ten teased. 

You groaned. If not for the fact that you had recognized your co-worker’s number, you would be sleeping right now. “I had a very, very long day.”

That piqued Ten’s interest. “You did? Tell me everything.”

You sat up, trying to wipe the sleep from your eyes. Stifling a yawn, you replied nonchalantly, “Oh, you know. The usual running around the city, trying to look like a loyal employee, and nearly getting shot to death.”

“Nearly getting shot to death?” Ten’s voice was loud as hell, repeating your words with shock. 

Well, if you weren’t awake before, you definitely were now. “I’m fine. No more bullets for me. It wasn’t the first time and it probably won’t be the last either.”

You couldn’t recall the first time someone had attempted to shoot you, but the memory of the first and last time they successfully did so was something you would always remember. Across the world in the United States, on a mission to track and detain a gang leader moving in and out of the country to evade arrest. 

Surprisingly enough, with it being an open case, that wasn’t even the mission that made you quit being a spy. Until now. 

“You got lucky the last time you got shot,” Ten replied, hating how casual you were about it but almost somewhat impressed. “Don’t let it happen again.”

“I’ll try,” you replied quietly, fully awake but still mindful of the fact that these walls were thin and you had no intention of exposing yourself. You switched the topic. “How’s the birthday boy?”

Ten wanted to talk more about the hectic day you had, but he supposed he could let it slide this once. “He’s twenty-five and drunk as all hell.”

You shook your head in amusement. You had expected nothing less. “I remember when I turned twenty-five.”

“I don’t,” Ten retorted. “I was blackout drunk too. He’s not going to remember either.”

You snickered. As long as Mark was having fun, that was all that mattered. “He should go wild. At that age, life becomes more about experiencing and less about surviving.”

“I assume that’s why you think barely dodging a bullet is no big deal?”

You resisted a roll of your eyes. Leave it to Ten to be utterly dramatic when it came to all things big and small. “No, actually. I call that focusing on the things I can control and not dwelling on what’s behind me.”

Ten sighed. You were insufferably stubborn, and even when you had gotten shot your first priority was still your work. They had to more or less chain you down to make you rest. “Whatever,” he replied, tone laced with disapproval. “Do you want me to put him on?”

“Yes, please.”

There was a moment of shuffling as Ten went to find Mark, not that it took very long. In a matter of seconds, you heard Mark enthusiastically greeting you by your name. 

“Hey, birthday boy,” you said happily, content to hear your co-workers’ voices. It brought them peace too. Knowing you were still alive and breathing somewhere. “How much did you drink?”

Mark chuckled. You could imagine he was rubbing his nape right now. “Not gonna lie, I have no idea. But I’m feeling good.”

“As to be expected,” you replied, leaning back a little against the headboard of the bed. “How have you been?”

“I’m honestly bummed that you’re not here. But hey, I did finish this case I was working on. I kept asking myself what you would do.”

You snorted. “And that’s how you solved the case?”

“Well, Ten and Jisung helped too,” Mark confessed. 

You laughed. 

“What about you?” Mark asked. “How’s the case going? I heard Ten screeching something about you almost getting shot. You good?”

Your mind brought you back to that moment for a second, being knocked underneath the mark and coming face to face with the barrel of a gun, but you banished the thought away. “I’m good. Not a nick or bruise.”

Mark hummed. He chose to believe you had everything under control. It wasn’t that he didn’t worry about you sometimes, but he knew what you were capable of and admired your strength. “And the case. How do you feel about finding Kun?”

Something about the mention of your boss made you frown. After retiring from being an undercover spy three years ago, you decided to make yourself useful in other ways, and had been transferred directly under his unit. You had mainly adjusted to handling organized crime without being on the field yourself. 

A few months ago, Kun had been investigating a gang called the Reapers. He’d been playing it close to the chest and you only found out because he had been acting suspiciously lately. He made you swear to secrecy, which you did. Until he disappeared into thin air. 

The worst part was that he had been missing for literal months and you didn’t feel like you had made any significant progress. You knew deep down that his chances of being alive were slimmer than ever, but you wanted to have faith in the odds. Kun had dedicated his entire life to the force, but he wanted to settle down someday. He wanted a wife and maybe a couple of kids. 

The thought that he would never get to do those things chilled you to the core every time it crossed your mind. You sighed and replied honestly, “I feel like it’ll be a while, but I’m doing everything I can.”

Mark would have to be content with that answer for now. He knew you would find Kun, whether it be dead or alive. He just hoped it would be the latter. “I have faith in you,” he told you sincerely. 

“Thank you,” you replied, somewhat comforted by those words. “I’ll hear from you again soon. Happy birthday.”

Mark smiled as he held Ten’s phone to his ear. “Thanks. Talk to you later.”

The very next day, you woke up to another message from Jaehyun that had less to do with details about the attacks from yesterday and more to do with something about a weird buddy system. According to him, you would new a partner from now on. 

You didn’t exactly have many friends here, so your first instinct was to call Jeno. 

“What do you mean you already have a partner?” you asked, flabbergasted. Something told you that he had chosen Jaemin over you. 

Jeno was trying his best to let you down gently. “I mean, I already have a partner. You called a little too late. It’s a shame we can only choose one. The three of us would’ve made a good team.” 

You sighed exasperatedly. You were on a to-and-from lockdown, no detours. And you needed a partner for whatever fucking reason. This gang was impossible. “Do you have some kind of humiliation kink? That fool almost got us killed yesterday.”

Jeno tried to stifle a chortle and failed miserably. “He might be a fool, but he’s my friend. I’m sorry, babe.”

“Don’t ‘babe’ me when you’re in cahoots with Na Jaemin of all the people in the world.”

You could hear Jeno sighing from the other line, contemplating the situation carefully. He didn’t want to leave you hanging. “Hear me out,” he started. 

Although you were glancing down at the phone in the palm of your hand with a blend of disdain and disappointment, you answered reluctantly, “I’m hearing you.”

“I heard around that some of the high-ranks are taking in their best soldiers.”

“Oh,” you replied quietly, not sure if you liked where this was going or not. But you chose to think about it pragmatically. If you were closer to the high-ranks, you had more access to hidden intel.

“I know a guy who knows a guy, who knows a guy. He’s the gang’s tracker. The one who can find anyone and everyone. If there’s anyone who can keep you safe, it’s him,” he continued. 

So he was a dangerous man. Not that you were any afraid. You had met many lethal men and yet you were still breathing. “Okay. When can I meet him?”

“Right now.”

Your head snapped behind you. That voice didn’t belong to the one on your phone. It belonged to someone merely a couple feet away from you. If you thought you were stealthy, this man gave you a run for every dime you owned. 

You stumbled back. Your eyes went wide. The blood drained from your face as if you had seen a ghost. And to be fair, that was exactly what was happening. 

“Don’t look so surprised,” Yuta told you indifferently. The sound of his voice did nothing to put your nerves at ease. Your shoulders were cold. Your heart was thudding. 

You had been located by the tracker. You swallowed sharply. It took every bit of your strength not to collapse in front of him. “You’re the third-in-command.”

“That’s me,” Yuta replied calmly. He took your phone and hung up the call. You hadn’t even registered Jeno’s bemused voice calling out to you worriedly. 

To be frank, it felt like you were dreaming. Or hallucinating. This was the last man you were expecting to see. Ever. “I can find another partner.”

Yuta chuckled. “You will find another partner in a group of people who hate talking to strangers whose intentions they don’t know?”

“You don’t know my intentions either.”

That seemed to amuse Yuta more than the last response you gave him. “Kim Yeongsu. Ahn Dongil. Cho Geonhan. You still want to play dumb?”

That had your attention. Your work always came first. You would follow the trail of breadcrumbs if it meant there was a chance they would lead you to success, even if it was a trap. 

Yuta didn’t wait for your answer. Apparently the look on your face said more than enough. You were game. “Go to housing. Pack your shit. I know you didn’t bring a ton anyways.”

That was a little too true, but a thought crossed your mind. He was helping you, and you couldn’t imagine why. “What do you want in return?” you asked skeptically. 

The little grin on Yuta’s lips fell. You felt something gloomy inside you stirring, but ignored it the best you could. There was no time for old emotions. After a small pause, he replied darkly, “Forget we ever happened.”

“Consider it already done,” you said, cold as ice, and paid the throbbing emptiness in your chest no mind. 

After you gathered what few things you had from the apartment you’d been given, you went straight to Yuta’s place. He was none too happy to see you, at least from the less than warm look on his face, but he opened his doors for you and let you inside. 

Leading you down the hall to an extra bedroom, Yuta skipped the greetings and niceties. “I don’t care what you do as long as you don’t bother me and don’t leave on your own. I don’t feel like getting shit from Taeyong.”

You nodded. Yuta turned and headed out, and the second he was out of earshot you grumbled something under your breath. Did he really have to be so rude?

Maybe you deserved it. Not that you would ever admit it to him or yourself. The way you saw it, you had only done everything you knew to do best. You had made no commitments. The only thing you ever promised was absolute and unwavering loyalty to your work. 

Fuck’s sake, you were still in shock. You had spent the past three years of your life believing something that couldn’t have been more false. Three years of your life you would never get back. Didn’t you deserve to be angry too?

Aggravated, you started to unpack your things and put them away somewhere safe. Yuta was right about you not having many belongings. You never did when you were on missions, or even in the very rare event that you were on vacation. They would only weigh you down. 

You grabbed your phone from the nightstand when you were done, knowing Jeno would most likely be demanding some kind of explanation for your abrupt hang-up, and sent a text his way. Yuta is taking me in or whatever. Take care of yourself. And tell Jaemin to be safe too. 

Jeno sent a message back after a few moments. Well, you thought it was Jeno, but considering the content of the message, someone else had gotten ahold of his phone. I’m always safe, princess. Don’t worry, I’ll take perfect care of Jeno. 

You immediately typed a response, After what happened yesterday? Doubtful. 

Will you ever let me live that down?

Unlikely. 

Jaemin was probably somewhere rolling his eyes at your message. In a few seconds, he answered, Are you a human or a magic eight ball?

You laughed a little at that. Some of the stress elevated from your chest, though not by much. You were still fighting in a close battle with your feelings - shock, anger, bitterness. All of the above. 

They were becoming almost uncontrollably strong and the last thing you wanted was to be unable to put a rein on your emotions. You stood up and headed out what was your room for the next who knew how long, checking out the apartment to distract yourself. 

You had been here before. Once. You had gotten hurt and since it was the closest option, Yuta opted to bring you back to his home for the first time to take care of you. The other times you only met in hotels. 

He had taken you to his living room and prompted your legs up on the coffee table, gingerly tending to your injuries. You remembered the guilt in his eyes every time he heard you hiss and saw you grimace. You remembered the way he tried to kiss it better. 

Even now, that same coffee table was still here three years later. The apartment was more or less as you remembered, but Yuta wasn’t. He was so much colder than he was before, but maybe you had done that to him. 

None of it helped. You were still emotional. Remembering the way things used to be only strengthened the tremor in your heart. The only reasonable thing you could do now was focus on your work. At the end of the day, you had a job to do, after all. 

You spotted Yuta with a cup of coffee in the kitchen and mustered the courage to approach him, announcing, “I have a question.”

Yuta winced his eyes closed. “What about ‘don’t bother me’ was confusing to you?”

You took his annoyance in stride. “This group and the Brotherhood are basically at war with each other. Why?”

Yuta shrugged, sipping from his coffee. “We’re their only competition. Do the math.”

You hummed. You had learned that the Reapers dominated the drug market and it was their most lucrative branch of business. Even though you worked beneath its entire two floor levels, you were never allowed to become too privy to the operation itself. It was forbidden knowledge if you were too new. “Have you ever run into one?” you asked curiously. 

“Nope,” Yuta replied nonchalantly. “They’re all mousy about showing their faces and they wear weird masks and stuff.”

That you had learned from your encounter with them the other day, which you wondered if was worth mentioning to Yuta. You decided against it for now. “Do you know why I’m here?”

“You want to know who killed your beloved department chief,” Yuta sang knowingly, setting his mug of coffee down on the counter. 

Those words made you shudder, wondering if he had been keeping tabs on you, but you kept pressing. “Was it the gang?”

Yuta initially shook his head, but then he seemed to genuinely think about it for a second. The silence only served to make you anxious. There was a small pause before he answered, “Well, if someone did, neither of us signed off on the decision. We don’t kill cops. It’s too messy. I don’t like messy.”

You believed him. Though the decision to meddle with cops not being greenlit by the inner circle didn’t mean that any low-ranks weren’t involved. You had to keep digging. “I’m assuming all the names you gave me were low-ranks then,” you replied, piecing things together. “I haven’t ran them through the system yet.”

“They’re low-ranks who had pretty bad prior run-ins with cops,” Yuta explained. 

You were surprised they would knowingly even take in anyone like that, considering how much they seemed against it. “One of them probably did it, then.”

“When you find out, let me know so I can hang them on a billboard in town square,” Yuta said coolly, to no one’s surprise. 

“Or you can let me bring them back to the station and we’ll persecute them to the highest extent of the law,” you suggested instead.

Yuta shook his head, none too enthusiastic to let you do things the legal and proper way. If someone in his gang had done this, they had violated a highly important rule that was more like a law of his own. “My way’s quicker.”

You rolled your eyes while he wasn’t paying attention. There was never any use arguing with Yuta Nakamoto when he wanted something. You learned that early on. He was unshakable in his ways and couldn’t be bent and manipulated into shape like the other pawns you’d hunted. 

But that was what you had liked about him. At least, one of many things on his abundantly long list of attractive traits. The others had only been deliberately chosen expendable tools to leech new intel off and dispose of when you got what you wanted. 

When you met Yuta, however, you knew he could never just be another pawn in your twisted game of survival. He was too intuitive, too perceptive for his own good and yours. You never had the upper hand for long with him. You both had something to lose in mingling with each other, and strangely enough, that made things more exciting. 

Yuta dismissed himself first as if he sensed more questions approaching and knew to disappear before you could conjure them in your head. “Sleep well. I’ve got an early meeting with the boys tomorrow morning, which means you have to come too.”

You watched his back sadly as he left. It was impressive you had gotten him to speak so much, considering he seemed to want nothing to do with you. Though if that was the case, why did he go out of his way to be partners with you?

That was the one thing giving you hope - the single most dangerous thing for someone like you to have. 

Tomorrow rolled around, and like he said you would, you accompanied Yuta to an inner circle meeting. More accurately, you waited outside for him to finish while they discussed the gang’s next steps and back-up plan if their biggest rival challenged them again. 

Nothing you were interested in. You only cared to know who was responsible for the fact that your boss was presumably dead. So far, there was no body, which gave you even more ammunition to keep searching rather than readily move on. 

In your thoughts as you stood outside the door of the conference room, you jolted out of them when you noticed someone coming. And to your surprise, it was Jeno’s footsteps you were hearing. 

Jeno had been looking at his phone, but acknowledged your presence with a baffled look when he glanced up at you. “Oh, hey. I didn’t know you were here too.”

The shock was mutual. You waved at him. “I wasn’t expecting to see you either.”

“Yeah, Jaemin’s here too,” Jeno replied, slipping his phone into his back pocket and giving you his undivided attention. “He’s downstairs looking for coffee. He really wanted an Iced Americano.”

You shook your head, pretending to be disappointed. “Fish found in the ocean. Who’s surprised?”

Jeno was shaking with laughter. “No one, I guess. I’m also not surprised that they’re kicking us outside instead of letting us listen in on the meeting.”

There was no surprise there. Reapers were painfully stingy with important information, as you had come to know. “I know,” you groaned in annoyance. “Like we don’t deserve to know what the fuck is going on.”

Jeno nodded along, bobbing his head in agreement. He leaned in, mindful of the fact there were a number of dangerous men right behind the door, and whispered, “That’s what I’m saying. Jaehyun ended up more or less adopting Jaemin and I. If you think you hate the guy right now, imagine living in his house.”

You winced, feeling sympathetic. Between his housing situation and yours, you didn’t know which was worse. “Damn.”

He looked behind him to the conference room, hidden behind a glass wall. You could see in all you wanted, but couldn’t hear a word of the conversation. “This buddy system is weird as all fuck. Meeting like this is even stupider,” Jeno said, blunt as ever. “Everybody knows the best time to strike is when they’re all together.”

You hadn’t thought about something like that. In all truth, you had been thinking about Yuta. Nothing he was doing made sense right now and you sensed an ulterior motive behind his seemingly kind actions. He had never helped you for free, after all. There always came a price. 

The price didn’t seem so bad back then. You could have signed your life away to him and wouldn’t have even noticed. He helped you, feeding you intel on an underground fighting gang in Japan, and in return you helped him, giving him special access to cop affairs. 

It cost more now. Or at least it felt that way. The tension was unbearable and the memories leapt at every opportunity to weigh on your mind as well as your heart. Once upon a time, you only felt Yuta’s weight on your body. Things were so much easier before. 

“I guess so,” you told Jeno, forcibly grounding yourself back in the moment. “But I think that all depends on the Brotherhood’s motivations for attacking and what they plan on getting out of this.” 

“A few people are gonna have to die before that gets figured out,” Jeno replied darkly. 

That was very true. Naturally, you had already come to that conclusion too. At this rate, you were expecting a hefty number of casualties on both ends. 

The meeting droned on for what seemed like an eternity before Yuta finally stepped out of the conference room with most of his fellow members in tow. A few had stayed back for whatever reason, but the ones that headed out barely paid you a lick of attention as they made a beeline for the elevator. 

Not that you were complaining, of course. The fact that you were a mere blip on their radar was a good sign, all things considered. But it made you realize that Yuta had never told them what you were. 

You couldn’t wrap your head around why he was helping you. Every time you tried not to worry about the intent behind his deeds, it backfired immediately. And so when you were alone in his car, you asked, “Why are you helping me if you hate me so badly?”

“I’m not helping you,” Yuta told you, buckling his seat belt around his waist. His eyes were nowhere on you. Like you didn’t concern him at all. “I’m helping myself. The sooner you find the bastard that killed your boss, the sooner I can tie up loose ends, and the sooner we can both move on with our lives.”

He didn’t deny hating you. Something about that made your stomach churn. “Well, at least you’re honest,” you mumbled. “And we don’t know if he was killed or not.”

You knew better than to think that he was alive, but you wouldn’t accept it until you saw his corpse for yourself. The people in your unit had come to mean a lot to you over the years. 

Yuta scoffed. If you looked closely enough, you could almost see something bitter in his expression. “Your boss has been missing for what? Two or three months now? You know the statistics better than I do, baby. He’s dead.”

“Statistics aren’t foolproof,” you reminded. 

“I thought they would be to you. Glad to know I was wrong.”

You caught it this time, mainly because he wasn’t cloaking it. The resentment covering his words from head to toe. He wanted you to know he hated you. You swallowed sharply. Message fucking received. 

The ride back was silent. You had everything to say to him, but even more pride. It would do you no good with someone as stubborn as Yuta Nakamoto himself. What would it fix if you admitted you’d done him dirty? Not a goddamn thing. 

You raced into his apartment without another word when you both arrived. There were bigger problems than whatever was going on between the two of you. No issue, big or small, would be allowed to come between you and work and anyone who dared try ultimately faced your wrath. 

Once in your room, you opened your laptop and entered the names Yuta had given you along with additional information you had stumbled across and cross-referenced them against the unit’s current findings. And you came up empty. There was nothing that lent any support to either of those three men being the perpetrators, other than their history of assault on cops which Yuta had already informed you of. 

To say nothing of the fact that the crimes seemed very spontaneous, according to the incident reports available. Like they were simply doing whatever they had to do to remove themselves from the corner they’d been backed into. They were apprehended immediately. No repeats and nothing that screamed violent disdain of cops. 

It was unlikely that their behavior would escalate from second-degree murder to a deliberately executed abduction of a police chief. You shut your laptop, groaning. Yet again, I have fucking nothing.

Nightfall came and a lot of time sped by doing even more research, but to no avail. You weren’t any closer to solving the disappearance of your boss and it was making your skin crawl. Three years away was starting to make you think that you’d lost your touch as a covert. 

Uncontrollably, your mind started to wander to the past. The case that earned you your rep as a prolific undercover agent and simultaneously the last one you ever worked. A memory held you hostage, one of many. 

The room was so hot you couldn’t breathe. It didn’t help that Yuta’s naked body was tangled with yours, refusing to let go after a few long rounds of love-making. At the very least, the luxurious hotel room on the top floor had comfortable bedding and a beautiful window outlook of Yokohama. 

Though your breath was more taken by the view of the gorgeous man in your grip. And the intimate moment you had shared together. “Yuta, I’m scared,” you told him quietly. 

Not more than a few words had been exchanged since you two finished, so Yuta was surprised to hear you speak. “What are you scared of, darling?”

Your heart raced by a thousand miles per hour as you sucked in a breath, willing yourself to remain calm and level. It was not often you were made nervous by something, so Yuta had assumed whatever was troubling you was more or less life-threatening. In a way, he was spot-on. 

His eyes were squarely on you, giving you his undivided attention. Which only made your heart flutter quicker. “I’m scared because I like you,” you confessed in a whisper. “More than I’ve ever liked anyone before.”

Yuta’s eyes flickered in surprise. Not by what you had said, but the fact that you’d said it aloud. The two of you had been dancing around the subject of romance for a couple of months now, focusing on the main task instead of the love inadvertently developing between you more quickly than you’d hoped. He hummed. “That scares you?”

“It’s not just that,” you replied, knowing how it sounded. “We’re on two separate sides of the law. After this operation inevitably ends, I won’t have an excuse to see you anymore. I will go back to my way of life and you will go back to yours.”

That had always been the plan. Once you ultimately exhausted your purposes for each other, this little alliance would break. Though Yuta’d had a change of heart. “It doesn’t have to be that way,” he said, cradling your face. “We don’t have to live completely separate lives forever. You’re obviously good at keeping secrets. No one has to know.”

“But it’s wrong.”

“Playing with my dick when you’re supposed to be looking for a serial killer is okay, but secretly being in a relationship with me behind your handler’s back is where you draw the big red line? That cuts deep, babe,” he joked. 

“It’s a thin gray line,” you corrected, matching his humor. “And I think I found the serial killer.”

Yuta playfully rolled his eyes. He’d told you just enough about his job that you didn’t paralyze with fear whenever he touched you, in spite of knowing he had taken lives and would do it again in a heartbeat. He was a protector, a defender. “Yeah, wrong one, baby.”

You giggled. The noise made Yuta’s heart swell in his chest like never before. He wanted to defend you with everything he had, destroy anybody who dreamed of laying even the tip of their fingers on you. He would crush entire worlds in his palm for you.

“I like you too,” Yuta admitted, as if it hadn’t already been obvious. The man fucked you like he wanted to consume you right after. “More than I ever thought I would. Five months ago, I would’ve never imagined I’d be holding you in my arms like this right now, but I wouldn’t have you anywhere else. So tell me what I gotta do to keep you here.”

His words nearly had your head spinning. Your eyes were brimming with affection. “Just hold me like this forever,” you replied softly. 

Yuta smirked. “I think that can be arranged.”

The memory seemed so close, yet so far away. Sometimes you wished you were still somewhere in a hotel in Yokohama or in the alps of Hakone with him pressed into your side. You pictured cherry blossoms and scenic lakes with a view of mountain peaks touching the clouds. You pictured Yuta enthusiastically showing you to all his favorite stops, hand in yours. 

You couldn’t remember the last time he had genuinely smiled at you now. The promise to take you to his hometown was one of the last things he’d told you. You remembered how excited he had been. And now he wouldn’t even look at you. 

That hurt like a bitch. 

Something else was bothering you. You more or less always knew Yuta was a powerful gang member, but you never realized he was one of the most influential members of the Reapers. The two of you had been too focused on what was ahead of you to look behind. 

It made you wonder what you really knew about each other. You had seen him as an oasis away from dreadful work, someone who was passionate and intuitive. Someone who got more and more interesting every time he spoke. Someone who kept his heart under lock and key, but loved you with all of it.

Yuta had taken months to get to know. Intentionally. He preferred to take his time when it came to sizing people up and understanding them before they could do the same to him. And he was very, very good at doing so. He guarded his heart and only allowed you to see what he wanted you to see. But you knew how to disarm him.

Like you, he was also obstinate as all hell. It was immovable object meets unstoppable force meeting him. Things were still that way now. You would have to fight like hell and then some if you wanted to prove that you still deserved to be in his life, because he would fight even harder against it. 

You knew he was not one to forgive or forget and he could take a grudge to the grave if he so pleased. Scorpion was his name and stinging was his game. Viper and venom. No wonder his job was to hunt and kill anybody who slighted the gang enough. He was revenge personified. 

Tossing and turning in bed, unable to fall asleep even after a steaming hot shower, you swallowed your pride and paraded straight to Yuta’s bedroom. The door was unlocked. You poked your head inside, the movement not unnoticed by Yuta. He was still awake. 

“The day is already over,” Yuta said dismissively, glancing away from you. “You can bother me with questions tomorrow.”

“I’m not here to ask questions.”

Yuta raised a brow, turning to you again. “Then why are you here?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. This was going to make things awkward. “I don’t want to sleep alone,” you whispered.

“You don’t want to sleep alone,” Yuta repeated, as if he had misheard you.

You nodded slowly. When he echoed your words back to you like that, it only made you feel stupid for thinking he would let you share a room with him, let alone a bed. 

Yuta contemplated your words for a while, mulling a decision over. After a moment, he sighed, relenting. “Come here.”

That surprised you thoroughly. You were half expecting him to tell you that he didn’t give a damn and ask you what you wanted him to do about it. You took a few tentative steps over to him. 

Yuta quirked his brow, patting the spot beside him. His skin looked like honey in the golden-yellow hue of his lamplight. “What are you waiting for? Get in the bed.”

You hesitantly crawled into the bed, underneath his sheets. You were scared of something. You didn’t want to make any more mistakes when it came to him. 

Yuta could practically smell your fear like the musk of an animal. He couldn’t help it. He had seen all of your emotions, especially the ones you pretended not to have in front of others. And he knew them intimately.

He suppressed a smirk. Was it wrong to bask in it a little? “What are you scared of?” he asked. 

Those five words made you freeze, remembering where you had heard them before. That night you confessed your feelings to Yuta in a Yokohama hotel. “I’m not scared of anything,” you lied through your teeth. 

Yuta knew you were lying. He always did, after all. “Tell me the truth.”

You swallowed. He was always so good at reading you. The words were at the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t say them. “I… didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’ve had women in my bed before, you know,” Yuta replied with a snicker. “I think I’ll be okay.”

You almost rolled your eyes, but then you started thinking about how many women had slept beside him since you weren’t in his life. Your mind was picturing Yuta with some faceless girl, giggling naked underneath the sheets as you had done three years too long ago. 

“Yeah, I know,” you grumbled, turning around with your back to him. “Goodnight.”

Yuta called out your name sternly. “Look at me.”

You slowly faced him. It was hard to look him in the eyes, but you did it anyway. You wanted to seize the control back. 

Never in a million years would you have assumed that of all things, Yuta would kiss you restlessly. You reciprocated without hesitation, falling into the kiss as if you were picking up where you’d left off. 

Yuta tangled his fingers through your hair, lips moving against yours with something that was dangerously close to pining. Your heart raced at the thought, wondering if he missed you the way you missed him. Three years was too long to be without the only man you’d ever loved. 

Full of surprises, Yuta pressed his mouth to your neck, sucking and nibbling and marking you as his possessively. He would never admit it to your face, but that was his intent. You couldn’t resist a moan. Yuta knew exactly what to do to get you falling apart in his arms and begging for more like you just couldn’t get enough. 

Your entire body burned with fever. Your eyes winced closed when Yuta sank his teeth into your flesh, the sensation teetering somewhere on that thin line between pain and pleasure. You knew he would leave behind a number of bruises by the time he was finished with you, and you weren’t complaining. 

Yuta had gotten a taste of you and now he couldn’t will himself to stop, against his better judgment. The part of him that wanted to loathe you with every fiber of his being would have to be put on hold for now. He wanted you too badly. His ever-growing resentment for you be damned. 

You missed kissing Yuta to the last breath. Your body remembered what it was like, tasting and sucking on each other’s tongues, and it started to shudder with excitement at the memory. Amongst other things. 

Yuta recognized the telltale signs of you becoming aroused and decided to take things a step further, testing the waters to see if they would slam him against rocks. He brought a hand to your thigh where he knew you were weak and defenseless, tenderly kneading the skin. 

Like clockwork, you were tensing underneath his hands, needily pressing your thighs together. Goddammit it, he still remembered what your weak spots were and how to use them to his advantage. There was something about his warm hand on your skin clashing with the cold nudge of his rings that made you shudder. 

“Yuta,” you called out, reaching your breaking point. 

He didn’t say anything, having too much fun teasing you and watching you get worked over something so simple. “Hm?”

You stifled an irritated groan. He knew exactly what you were going to say, and you knew he only wanted to hear it from your own mouth. “I want you,” you confessed, as if it wasn’t obvious. 

Yuta watched your face, recognizing the look of absolute dwindling patience, and chuckled. “You want me how?”

“However you want.”

Yuta’s eyes flickered in astonishment for all of two seconds. Given the circumstances, he hadn’t expected to hear you say you would let him have you however he wanted, but it damn sure did wonders to turn him on. More than he was already, that is. 

You were less surprised when Yuta stole another steamy and borderline erotic kiss, his hands settling firmly on your jaw instead of combing through your hair this time. His tongue in your mouth had your heart fluttering and your body scalding with relentless desire. 

Yuta withdrew from the kiss to toss his shirt above his head. You mirrored him, and in the few seconds it concealed his face from your view, you were oblivious to where his darkening gaze had sunk. It wasn’t until your shirt was cast into oblivion that you realized he was staring at your belly. 

You glanced down, having forgotten about the long red gunshot scar. You opened your mouth to speak, but Yuta beat you to a word. 

“Who did this to you?” he asked almost threateningly, switching on a dime. 

You shook your head, reaching out to soothe him. “Yuta, it was two years ago.”

“I’m not going to ask again.”

You sighed through your nose. The man responsible was already rotting in prison, for life most likely. You were satisfied. “Some guy named Levi Clark,” you told him. “He’s an American. It happened when I got invited to the States on a classified that went open.”

Yuta hummed. The response was nonchalant itself, but you could see the little gears turning in his head the way they always did when he was up to no good. 

“He’s in prison,” you continued, sensing it would be worth including. 

Yuta nodded. “Okay.”

Your brow raised with suspicion. “You’re not going to kill him, are you?”

Much, much worse, Yuta thought grimly to himself. But rather than have you worry your pretty little head off, he kissed the corner of your lips and lied, “Of course not.”

You didn’t believe him at all, not even for a half second, but you weren’t going to say anything. Especially not when he started to kiss his way down your body from your supple breasts to your inner thighs, making sure to be extra tender when his lips brushed against your scar. 

His lips sank even lower, fingers raveling in your underwear and yanking them below your ankles. They were right between your legs yet still not where you needed them, pressing sweet and slow kisses on your thighs, which was nothing like how you remembered him. Yuta was hard and fast. 

You let him have his way, kissing and biting at your sensitive thighs while knowing the sensation drove you wild, your body visibly exuding arousal. It was enough for him to effortlessly slip his fingers inside, but he didn’t dare, thumbing your nub with his hand solely to watch you writhe and squirm. 

“Yuta,” you called out, voice teetering toward a whimper. “Don’t tease.”

Yuta raised a brow, pretending to be confused. Like he wasn’t deliberately trying to get a rise out of you. “You said I could do whatever I want with you. And I want to watch you get worked up over me.”

“I know, but…,” you trailed. “Please?”

Yuta knew how much you hated begging, so for you to say please meant you didn’t just want him - you needed him like you needed blood in your veins. And it turned him on even crazier. 

He made a spur of the moment decision to get a hold of your hips and pull you onto him, making you sit on his face. You released a shaky noise when he began to suck and lick at your neglected bundle of nerves without warning, his hands gripping your thighs for purchase. 

Yuta ate you out skillfully, pressing all the right buttons. Literally. His tongue was giving your clit ample attention, expertly doing everything he knew to have you moaning loudly and riding his face for more. Your arms were on either side of his head, gripping the sheets for dear life. 

You could hardly breathe. You moaned a breathless, “Fuck,” as he continued to go to town, obviously keen on eating you out until you went limp and couldn’t keep yourself upright. 

Yuta gripped your thighs roughly, scraping them with his nails. He didn’t mind how they were suffocating him at the moment, the sides of your knees pressing into his head every time you tensed and shuddered. Yuta kept going, nose brushing against your clit every now and then. 

“Holy fuck. Shit. Fuck,” you swore, all other previously existing vocabulary exiting on the right. 

Yuta was satisfied by that reaction. You tended to do that when you felt too good - forget everything except him and his uncanny talent for making you unravel. Something about knowing he was more or less the only thing on your mind made his already stiff cock even harder. 

You needed this more right now than ever. You could physically feel the tension escaping your mind and body, unshackling your bones and letting you breathe. Even Yuta could tell you were in dire need of relief and he took it upon himself to make sure you got enough to make your toes curl. 

“Yuta…,” you whimpered, grinding into his mouth like nothing would ever satisfy you. 

Fuck’s sake, you were going to be the death of him. The way you called out Yuta’s name made him want to shove you onto his mattress to fuck the breath of you and then some. He resisted for now. Knowing how rough he could get, he wanted to be certain you were ready to take him. 

Your eyes were rolling to the back of your head. This was the first time in three years you had experienced sexual contact from another human being and it was safe to say you were touch-starved. Your entire body tremored with the excitement not only of being touched again, but of being flush against Yuta once more. 

Yuta couldn’t lie. Well, he could and he most definitely would try, but he’d missed you too. The romantic aspect of his longing aside, you were a goddess in his eyes and he always worshiped your body the way it deserved. Which, after long hours of being hard at work, you had never not appreciated. 

After having been with Yuta, you knew no one else would ever satisfy you or get you off how he did. You each had been with your fair share of sexual partners, but Yuta was the only one who ever made you see stars and the whole damn moon. When work got especially stressful, you always had urges, but you took care of yourself just fine. 

This was a far cry from just fine. This was mind-numbing pleasure that had you clinging onto his hair and whimpering his name over and over as if it was the only word you knew. As if he was the only thing you knew. 

“Yuta, I’m close,” you told him shakily. 

Yuta could tell, but hearing you say it made him push you off his mouth none too gently and onto the bed as he had wanted. When you whimpered in disapproval, Yuta playfully chided, “Don’t complain.”

Your core throbbed with need, but your eyes flitted between his handsome face and his beautiful v-line, wondering if you should’ve focused on how he licked your arousal from his lips or how hard he had gotten from getting you off as he shuffled out of his pants. 

Both. Both is good, you thought to yourself, licking your own lips. 

Once his clothes were off, Yuta knocked your thighs apart and gripped your jaw with one hand as he steered himself to your entrance with the other, growling, “Look at me.”

You did as told. You would steal a soul in a heartbeat for him if he so bade you. His dark eyes were staring into yours, watching your contorting face as he began to take you. And you watched him, tightening at the way his mouth hung open. 

Yuta noticed your eyes wincing closed as he filled you inch by inch and when he was fully seated inside you, he slackened his grip on your jaw in favor of your hair. “Keep your eyes open,” he told you assertively. “I don’t want you to miss a fucking second.”

You whimpered, but obliged him. Your eyes were tempted to water at the sensation of being stuffed full of his cock again and it didn’t take long for him to stretch you out. 

“Good girl,” Yuta said, smashing his lips against yours. It was the only time you were allowed to close your eyes and you did so immediately, kissing him like it was the last time. 

Yuta started to move, pressing himself in and out of your slick pussy with ease. You were so fucking wet and it was making him lose his mind. Your body took him back with every deep thrust, accepting him, little wet squelches echoing off the bedroom walls as his hips smacked into yours at a quick yet steady pace. 

You were in a different world. With Yuta’s weight dangling on top of you, you couldn’t help but fondly remember all the times you had been here before, all the times you had surrendered your body to him for him to do as he pleased. You were another person with Yuta. Someone free and wild and reckless. 

For a long time, you thought that version of you was dead and buried. But here she was, eating her heart out for him, ready to kill for him if he so asked.

“Oh my fuck,” you moaned almost at the top of your lungs, grabbing Yuta’s shoulders to anchor yourself, as if you were afraid of sinking too far without him. 

Yuta lowered his head to your chest and began to cover every inch of your naked breasts with love marks that eventually would fade a dark color. They stung vaguely, but Yuta knew you were a sucker for pain and he was more than happy to give it to you. 

You didn’t feel human anymore. Rather, you felt like two feral and ravenous animals in a back and forth game of trying to intimidate and tame one another, clinging onto your survival instincts like they were all you had left. You would never back down, but you would never give chase either. You just kept taking turns circling each other in the wild. 

Yuta wanted to deny the hold you still had on him, but the second he felt the way you throbbed and tightened around his cock, he knew he would forever be a slave to his feelings for you. He continued fucking you at this pace, nice and hard, deep and fast. “Fuck,” he groaned. 

You yanked his hair and pulled him onto you, stringing your legs around his hips to keep him close as you kissed him endlessly, never wanting to cease your hold on his body that burned with sweat and insatiable hunger. Kissing it better again. You wanted to be sore when he was done with you, to feel the leftover ache of him in your very bones. 

“You’re so damn beautiful,” Yuta grumbled when your lips separated, almost as if he was upset about it. You had enticed him like a siren, lured him to a death he would die a million times for another night with you. 

You weakly shook your head, but grinned at the compliment. “That’s all you,” you whispered, slowly trailing your fingers down his back. 

Yuta could see it in your eyes that you were right there, on the edge he’d dragged you almost over, but not close enough to let you slip. This time he would give it to you. He wanted to make you come on his cock, pulsing with climax. Sex was power to him. He loved being in control of your pleasure, knowing that it was entirely dependent upon him. 

You didn’t even have to tell him you were close. Yuta got a hold of your throat and limited your air flow, craning his head to whisper in your ear, “Come, baby. Come all over my cock.”

It was almost instantaneous. In a matter of seconds you were crash-landing from the atmosphere and slowly grounding yourself back into the hard rough dirt. You suddenly shuddered with orgasm, clasping his hair in your hands and sharply crying out his name. 

Yuta chuckled, knowing that would happen. In a weird way, it was comforting to know that all his old tricks still worked on you, that he still knew your body as if it was his own. “That’s my girl,” he sang with satisfaction. 

You had barely recovered from your climax when Yuta pulled out and flipped you over, then buried himself some inches deep inside you again all within a blink. “Oh my god,” you stammered, tangling your hands in the silk sheets and thick blankets. 

His hips moved quicker than ever, roughly fucking you into the mattress while he chased relief, and you loved every second of it. There would never be a time where you wouldn’t be happy in allowing Yuta to use your body as a means of getting off. 

Yuta smacked your ass and the sound of your soft whimpers made his dick twitch with excitement. He willed himself to pull out of you and finished himself with his hand, a stripe of his cum landing on your back as he groaned deliciously in climax. 

“Stay still,” Yuta said after taking a pause to catch his breath, pulling his pants back up to his hips and meandering towards the bathroom. 

Not that you had any intention of moving as much as an inch. He had literally fucked the will to do anything out of you. You were going to lay right there on his bed where you had fallen limp until further notice. 

Yuta returned with a damp cloth to wipe his release off your back. His shirt was still on the floor and he didn’t seem like he was eager to put it back on. You staggered to the bathroom to clean yourself and the moment you came back you collapsed on the mattress. 

“Goodnight,” you whispered, getting comfortable on the opposite side of the bed. 

Yuta switched off the lamp on his nightstand and did the same, heart still trembling with the afterhighs of what you had done together. Or maybe it was out of affection. “Goodnight.”

It didn’t take long for you to drift off. You were sated, and it was all the relaxation needed to put you to sleep. 

When you woke up in the morning, admittedly somewhat later than normal, Yuta was no longer perched on your side. Your heart throbbed a little with ache, but you ignored it. This was Yuta Nakamoto, for fuck’s sake. You should have expected less.

You found your shorts and slipped them back on, more or less limping out of his bedroom to the kitchen where you figured Yuta would be hiding. And you were right. There he was with his morning coffee. He looked right at you for half a second, but said nothing.

Fine, asshole. If you won’t, then I will, you huffed to yourself, tenacious. “Good morning,” you said to him, leaning onto the counter. 

“Morning,” Yuta replied quietly. 

“Is something wrong?” you asked. You had trouble believing that was all he had to give after the night you’d shared together. 

“Hm?”

You shrugged your shoulders, feigning nonchalance, but you both knew what you were getting at and you were trying to play your cards accordingly. “I just feel like you’re keeping yourself from me.”

Yuta played dumb. For now. “What makes you say that?” 

You stifled a groan of frustration. His passive aggressive behavior was starting to get on your nerves. You would take direct confrontation over this if it meant he would stop hiding his heart from you. You knew he had something to say to you, which only made this all the more unbearable. 

“You know why,” you replied, snappier. “You’re acting like nothing has happened.”

Yuta sipped from his coffee, barely a single thing off in his composure. “Am I?”

You studied him, looking for a defect in his perfectly crafted demeanor, some hint or clue as to his genuine emotions. You didn’t buy his indifference. “Yes, you are. Is there something you want to say?”

“What do you want me to say?” Yuta retorted, continuing this back and forth game. The game of survival. “It meant nothing. You looked like you needed it. I was just lending a helping hand.”

You didn’t want to believe him, because that would mean you were alone in the memories, in the thoughts of what you had together once upon a time, so close to a happy ever after. “You seem to be really into helping me, for whatever reason,” you mumbled, suspicious. 

The doubtful undertones in your voice weren't lost on Yuta. He knew you were trying to figure him out and check him for ulterior motives. “Is that a crime, miss undercover?”

You groaned exasperatedly. “God’s sake, Yuta. Just spit it out. What do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” Yuta lied, rinsing his cup out in the sink and placing it gently into the cabinets before stepping out. 

You exhaled loudly. He had no reason to be this goddamn difficult when he was perfectly capable of speaking about his feelings like a normal human. Like hell you were going to put up with his insufferable bullshit. Did he expect you to be some kind of fucking mind reader? 

Five minutes later, almost the very second you had set your mind on following and confronting him, Yuta whirled back into the kitchen, hissing, “Why didn’t you look for me?”

Your eyes flickered with shock. “What?”

Yuta was too fed up to tolerate you playing dumb. He didn’t raise his voice, but he was firm as ever. “Don’t play dumb. You let me fade away. You never looked. Why?”

The anger disappeared from your body for a second, and guilt swept over in its place. “I thought you were dead.”

Yuta shook his head, unaccepting. “That’s not good enough. Your boss is more than likely dead, but you’re still risking your life to find him.”

You stayed quiet, unsure of yourself. Why didn’t you look? Were you leaping at the opportunity to undo the damage you’d caused by eating the forbidden fruit?

“Did I ever mean anything to you? Anything at all, dear?” Yuta pressed, approaching you like he was trying to intimidate you. To make you fear him. “Or was I a pawn in your perpetual pursuit of justice?”

In any other circumstances, you would have been amused by how poetic he sounded, in spite of how sharp his voice was. But you couldn’t bring yourself to laugh. “Yuta, you were never a pawn. You were so much more.”

Yuta grabbed your hair, but he didn’t yank. He simply held it firmly in his hands and tilted your head up to look at him. “Did you use me?”

“We used each other,” you whispered. 

“No, no, no, dear,” Yuta sang almost sweetly. “You did all the using. You got what you wanted from me and left me for dead. That’s the cold hard truth, isn’t it?”

“You know it’s not,” you said, reaching out to grasp his shoulder. 

Yuta snapped, “Then, what is?”

You were rooted in memory, traveling back in time three years. The last dance. The underground fighting gang in Japan you’d hunted like prey and chance met Yuta. The same gang had killed one of his own and he planned on exacting his revenge. In his own way, he had also been undercover.

The case was essentially over and it wouldn’t have been possible without Yuta’s help. After a typical long night of your bodies meeting, you had woken up one day to him gingerly prying himself out of your arms, whispering apologies for waking you and something about how he was going to head over to the fight club. 

You didn’t think it would be the last time you ever saw him. The opposite. You smiled in his burly arms as he veered down and gave you one final kiss of affection, daydreaming of how you would keep your illicit affair a secret from the law and betray your oath. 

The next thing you knew, you were receiving a call about how the entire fight club had burned to a crisp. With a handsome number of people in it. Your heart thundered in your chest and you waited all day for Yuta to return, but when morning came and he still didn’t show, you assumed he never would. 

But duty still called. You successfully carried out an operation that culminated in an ungodly number of convictions. You got your glory and fame. And only after mourning him for months did you slap on a brave face and pretend Yuta never meant anything to you. 

“You want to know the truth?” you asked, fighting tears as your temper rose. You had things to get off your chest too. “The truth is that I mourned a loss that never happened and when I saw you standing there, perfectly fucking fine, I thought I saw a ghost. Now you’re punishing me for grieving you and I can’t take that shit.”

Yuta rolled his eyes. “Don’t play the victim. We both know that if you wanted to look for me, you would have. You didn’t. Your work is all that ever mattered. It still is.”

That cut deep. Is that really what he thought of you, after all this time? That you only cared about money and power?

You stepped away from him, recoiling. “That hurts, you know.”

“The truth tends to do that sometimes.”

You shook your head in disbelief and laughed hollowly. “Is this seriously all you can bring yourself to say? After I thought you were dead for three years?”

Yuta shot back, “And I thought you didn’t care about me for three years. Who has it worse?”

Running your hand through your hair, you sighed exasperatedly and asked him, “Does it have to be a fucking competition?”

“Yes.”

This was more complicated than any case you had ever solved. It was impossible to wrap your head around in spite of how desperately you longed to make sense of this. “Why are you faulting me for this?” you asked, paralyzing. “You could have come to me, you know.”

“I didn’t want to get in the way of your work,” Yuta said, a hint of something rueful in his voice, but it was gone in a flicker. 

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “Stop doing this. Stop making it seem like everything you do is for my sake. Like you never had bad intentions.”

Yuta simmered with frustration. Was it genuinely so hard to believe that he cared about you? You were everything he ever wanted and everything he never had.

“Oh, I had intentions,” Yuta replied with a chuckle. “I had intentions of whisking you away and taking you across the world with me. Intentions of showing you off to my friends and doing everything I could to see you smile. But you had me fooled, baby. You manipulated me.”

You shook your head vigorously. “I did not!” 

“You did,” Yuta hissed. “I have to commend you, sweetheart. It’s not often someone tricks me the way you did. You really were something else.”

The tension in the room was becoming too much even for someone as strong as yourself and you crumbled underneath the surface, loudly confessing, “I couldn’t do it!”

Yuta paused, caught off guard. He had been slowly pushing you to the edge, but he wasn’t expecting you to break. “You couldn’t do what?” he asked. 

You inhaled a few deep breaths, knowing you were on the verge of tears and not wanting to sob in front of him. “I couldn’t move into your world and out of mine, over and over. I wanted to, but I knew the guilt would eat me alive. It had to be one or the other. And when you died, or when I thought you did, I mean, I thought the universe had made the choice for me.”

That only made things worse. You had essentially just admitted you were never going to allow yourself to be with him, dead or alive. “Is that why you never looked?”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, outstretching your hand to grab his, but he wouldn’t let you.

Yuta bristled. He loved you more than anything, but right now, he hated your guts. “You’re not sorry. You made your choice.”

And you were regretting it more and more by the second, wondering how you could account for lost time. “A choice I don’t resonate with anymore.”

Yuta had no sympathy. “That’s too bad. The damage has already been done. So just double down and bleed me dry like you always have, and we can both move the fuck on.”

The gears were starting to turn in your head, quicker and quicker. “That’s what this is about?” you asked, everything finally starting to click. “You want to see if I’ll take advantage of you?”

Yuta crept closer, running his fingers over your cheek almost with affection. Your body caved instantaneously, but your mind couldn’t fall for it. “I want to see exactly how far you’re willing to go to help your boss. The things you’ll do, the lies you’ll tell. The truths you’ll bury. I want to see you for what you really are.”

You were sick and tired of him acting as if he knew everything and snapped, “What am I then? Please enlighten me.”

“The death of me,” Yuta replied, seconds before closing the tiny gap between your bodies and kissing you. No matter how greatly he despised you, the weight of his desire would always overpower. 

Your lips moved in fearless sync as you kissed each other breathless, as if you were in a competition to see who would suck the life out of the other first. But until one of you died, you traced your hands along any bare skin you could set your fingers on and held onto each other’s bodies, keeping yourselves close.  

At least when you were like this, the odds evened out. You made Yuta insane with your body and he made you arch into his hot touches. You breathed a little less when he touched you and he died a little more when you pushed him to his high’s end. Then you brought him back to life and took his soul all over again. There was no losing or winning here. Only life or death. 

Without warning, Yuta gripped your hips and hoisted you onto the counter. You gasped, clasping his shoulders. He stole your shorts from underneath you and yanked them down your ankles, tossing them into the deep end, and stuck a hand between your legs to feel your arousal growing around his fingers, a deep, guttural sound springing from the back of his throat when he felt how wet you were from his kisses.

“Yuta,” you called out, running your hands down his chest from his shoulders. “Fuck me.”

“No.” 

You gawked. The next thing you knew, he had one hand around your throat and the other pressing a knife against it. “You don’t get to be the boss of me anymore. You lost that privilege. You don’t get to control me,” he said, cold as stone. “You don’t get to act like I’m yours.”

The knife flush against your neck did nothing to unnerve you. None of your survival instincts were on edge. Your muscles weren’t tense. Your breath was mostly level. You asked coyly, “Aren’t you?”

Yuta clenched his jaw. You were right and he knew it. He was completely and thoroughly owned by you - mind, body, and soul. And heart. No matter what lengths he went to deny it, you were his salvation. In beautiful life and in sweet death. 

“No. You have to earn it,” he told you, quiet but fierce. 

For the time being, you played submissive. You already knew he was eating from the palm of your hand, all yours. There was nothing left to secure, but you wanted to appease him. “How can I earn it?”

Yuta stamped the knife harder against your throat, not enough to draw blood, but enough to keep you still and pliant. “When you said you loved me, did you mean it?”

You thought back to all those little memories, swimming around in the deep end of your mind. There weren’t many times you’d whispered the three word confession into his ears, but that made it all the more special. You remembered all of them. Walking through those secluded streets of your dropsite, hand in hand. Shielding your face in his chest as he fucked you within an inch of your life. Waking up in his arms the morning after. 

When you had sex last night, it took everything in you not to say you loved him. Your heart broke itself with the effort. “Yes. I would draw blood for you.” 

That still wasn’t enough. Yuta knew you could be ruthless if pushed. He wanted to know where your love for him started and ended. And truth be told, he didn’t want it to end. He wanted it to overflow. “Would you die for me?” he pressed.

You exhaled, “In a heartbeat.”

That was the right answer. Yuta briefly forewent the knife and slackened his grip on your throat, unfastening his pants just enough to take out his stiffening cock. You gripped it in your hands and pumped him fully hard in no time at all. With a painfully hard cock, needy and aching for you, Yuta gently brushed your hands away and slowly coaxed himself inside. 

You gripped the bottom edge of the counter when he was finally rooted inside to the hilt. Yuta began to move and when he found a comfortable, hard pace, his hand leapt for his knife again, dragging it against your skin. 

Yuta had ample opportunity to hurt you, time after countless time. Yet he never had any more than you’d asked for. You could be staring death squarely in the eye and not an inch of you would paralyze with fear as long as Yuta was there to hold you tight.

You liked to pretend you were fearless, but Yuta made you feel like you really were. I can do anything as long as I have him. He’s my strength and my empire. The whole world doesn’t stand a chance against us. And we’ll burn it to ashes for trying. 

“I…,” Yuta started, his breath distant and faint. “Would die a million deaths for you.”

These kinds of confessions stopped startling you a long time ago. Yuta was intense and deep, and passionate. When he loved, he loved till the last minute. “I would bring you back every time,” you told him, shuddering. 

“What if you couldn’t?”

“Then I’ll follow you to hell close behind,” you whispered, clasping onto his forearms. You wanted to hold him until kingdom come, and you had every intention of doing so. 

Yuta was conflicted. The result of you tearing his heart in more than two pieces. Part of him wanted to resent you forever, to tell you to fuck off and stop toying with his imperfect feelings. Another was ready to stain the walls in blood, not yours, if it came to keeping you close. And the other accepted that you were the only woman in the world who could manipulate him, but chose not to. 

It wasn’t just the sex that made him weak, but it sure did help. You were tightening around him like a noose, taking his cock like a champ as you had done countless times in the past, and Yuta wanted to reward you for it in any way you wished. If you asked for the universe, he could pull a few strings. 

“You’re mine,” Yuta said possessively, teasing the knife down every available inch of your bare flesh. He was wholeheartedly obsessed with you and he would continue to be for as long as he breathed. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“You’re mine,” you taunted in between soft moans, attempting to hide the flutter of your heart. “And I’m yours.”

Yuta was burning alive with his own passion, scalding from the inside out. “Fuck,” he grunted, tossing the knife into the sink. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

“I know,” you whispered. 

“You own me.”

“I know that too.”

“You wanna know what you don’t know?” Yuta asked through pants, but he wasn’t stopping. Not until you were both surely sated. “Not a second went by where I didn’t think of you. Of what you were doing and who you belonged to.”

Well, I know now, you thought to yourself, but the admission drove you mad. You couldn’t help but wonder what thoughts kept him up at night in your wake. Did he picture your face whenever he got hard? Did he pretend he was inside you when he fucked his fist until he came?

“I’ve always belonged to you,” you told him sincerely. You wanted to kiss him again, but you held back for now. 

Another groan sprung from the pit of his throat and he put a tightening grip on your throat. “Say it again.”

Your legs wrapped around him, wanting him more in spite of the lack of blood flow. Wanting him deeper. “I belong to you. And only you, Yuta,” you rasped. 

The way you said his name had him reeling. With how you reacted to every graze of his fingers, light or rough, Yuta knew there was a throbbing void in you being filled at last now that he was in your possession once more. It was the same dark and empty void in him. “I hate you,” he hissed, slapping his hips into you harder. “For making me love you when you never cared about me.”

You had been taken aback by his words, but eased a little with relief when he finished his statement. Only a little. “That’s a lie.”

“Admit it. Admit you never cared,” Yuta barked. His grip on your throat was harsher and he had another calloused hand winding your hair around his fingers.  

You couldn’t say that. It wasn’t true. “I was wrong,” you choked out instead, face tensing in a heavenly blend of pain and pleasure. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Yuta.”

Yuta all but stilled when he heard you say those words. Finally a fucking apology. And now he was going to make you beg. Or better yet, he was going to see if you meant it. 

You gasped loudly when Yuta abruptly pulled out of you and hauled you off the counter into his burly arms, carrying you to the living room. You clung to him tightly the entire time, although you knew Yuta would never let you fall. He sat you on the couch, sitting beside you to your right, and pulled you onto him. “Prove it.”

Yuta watched you grip his cock and steer him to your entrance without hesitation. Like it was routine. You made a high-pitched noise when he penetrated you again and clawed at his chest and shoulders for purchase, prepared to give him every ounce of your strength and vigor. 

You watched his face contorting with ecstasy, not minding the way your nails dug into him. Yuta had always been the bigger pain freak. Your legs still ached with the passion of him and they would even more when you were finished with him, but you didn’t care. You rode him to hell and back. 

“Fuck. Holy fuck,” Yuta swore, watching you bounce on top of him with a vengeance. He should have known that when he told you to prove it, you would take that as a challenge. He cursed your name between expletives. “Slow down.”

You smiled contentedly, proud of yourself for ruining him to the bare bone. This was a man that prided himself on power and control, so snatching it from underneath him surely gave you an ego boost. “You wimping out on me, babe?”

Yuta mumbled something under his breath. More dirty words, certainly. He wanted to fight it, yet he couldn’t help but surrender. “No.”

“Then, take it,” you hissed, grabbing his jaw gently and stealing his lips in a hot kiss. Yuta’s fingers bruised your hips as your lips met with a reverberating wet sound.  

Yuta looked dizzy from lust and pleasure, and passion when you pulled away from his lips in favor of his neck, sucking and nipping at the raw empty flesh. His breath went faint as you left your mark. He was moaning like a bitch underneath you, overwhelmed by your mouth on his skin and his cock in your warmth. 

It was taking a toll on him, making him shake and bite his swollen, bleeding lip. “Stop. I’m gonna come, baby,” he said breathlessly. 

“Come inside me,” you told him softly, riding him even harder. You wanted to finish him. 

Yuta’s throat went dry at your words and he couldn’t stop the indescribably erotic noise that escaped him. He had fucked you raw more than once, but he had never been allowed to fuck you full of his cum. Now you were handing him the privilege on a silver platter and he was about to come on the spot like a virgin.

Your hips smacked down against him, brutal and quick. Yuta couldn’t help but thrust up into you, matching your movements with the intention of finishing you and himself. You were bruising and breaking beneath his rough hands, but it didn’t matter. He would seam you back together. 

It quickly became more than he could handle and Yuta came with a groan of your name plus an additional slew of curses, his body writhing from the hot sensations. His eyes went wide when you kept riding him at this rough and hard pace, chasing your own climax. 

You hummed, satisfied. That’s it, baby. You might not want to say it to my face, but your body has never lied. You are just as owned by me as I am by you. You are bound to me by a ball and chain. 

Not far behind him, you shuddered with orgasm from the constant pounding of his cock against your sweet spot driving you over the edge. Yuta could feel you throbbing and pulsing around him and it drew him another deep noise from him. You went slack, draping your arms over his shoulders, and felt his cum leak from your cunt. 

You weren’t in any hurry to move. Yuta was as close as humanly possible, every inch of himself buried inside your pussy, and you wanted to keep him there indefinitely. You tilted his jaw, watching his cute face. “Are you tired?” you asked softly. 

Yuta scoffed, as if he couldn’t believe you were asking him that. Though you knew he always had more to give you. “We just fucked for an hour.”

“What are you talking about? We spent most of the past hour arguing.”

“That was foreplay.”

You burst into laughter. That was a very Yuta-esque answer. “For you, maybe,” you murmured. 

Yuta arched his brow. “Oh, really now? Then please explain why you were so wet by the time I’d only kissed you. Riddle me that, beautiful.”

“There’s a simple explanation,” you said, in spite of knowing you had none. None too inclined to admit it to him, you opted to kiss him again instead, still holding onto his jaw the entire time. 

Yuta let you get away with it just this once, hands roaming your back underneath your shirt. It was still damp with sweat and the thought of licking away every last drop with his tongue made Yuta stifle a groan. Most likely for the best. The sound would have made you clamp around him if you heard it. 

And you would’ve fucked him all day long if you could, but duty called and though the state of your relationship with Yuta was mending, you still had other problems to solve. 

After a makeout session that lasted way longer than intended, you both begrudgingly retreated to your separate rooms. You had work to do, and Yuta needed time to think about what you meant to him. 

You were surprised to receive a call from the station a few hours later, recognizing the number though it was unsaved. Figuring it was probably about the names Yuta had given you, you answered the phone. “Hello?”

“I’ve got news,” came Ten’s voice. You knew from his grim tone that it was nothing good. 

You sighed. “The bad kind, I’m assuming.”

“We identified a body today on the side of the highway. It’s Kun.”

You were silent for a long moment. No words would come. You weren’t surprised he was dead, but the fact that you couldn’t deny it anymore stung. 

Ten knew you were hurting, but he continued, “He was mostly bones. He’s been dead for months. And before you ask how we know it’s him, he died in uniform. His badge says his name.”

“Any idea what the cause of death is?” you forced yourself to ask. 

“Forensics are running tests right now, but we’re pretty confident it was a gunshot wound,” Ten told you softly. “He had a single one to the head. He didn’t suffer.”

“How nice of them,” you replied, but your voice was armed with pained sarcasm. It didn’t make sense. Why kill a man and release his body three months after the fact? 

“I know that’s not what you wanted to hear, but I have something else to tell you,” Ten said, quiet as a mouse. 

You swallowed your darkness and listened. No matter what, it was paramount that you found the bastard who did this. And, if given the chance, ripped their head off. “Yes?”

Ten’s voice was soft, as if he was telling you a secret of some foul nature. “There was a witness description that matched one of the guys I saw you ran through the database last night. But he’s been locked up for a couple of days. There’s no way it’s him.”

You hummed in confusion. “That’s suspicious as hell. Who gave the witness description?”

“Some random truck driver,” Ten replied, obviously none too convinced. “We’ve tried interviewing him about it, but he insists that’s who he saw and that he’s not being bought or coerced in any way into giving false statements.”

You didn’t buy it. Not even for one second. It was literally impossible for someone who was currently in custody to have dropped off a body on the side of the highway. And if he had a solid alibi, there was clearly someplace else you needed to look. “He’s lying like hell. And he’s likely being intimidated. The question is, who has that kind of power?”

Ten took a wild guess. “A gang.”

You glanced in the direction of Yuta’s bedroom, as if you were trying to signal him through the wall. You had believed him when he said that the Reapers didn’t kill cops, but a situation like this required the influence akin to the kind a gang would have. “That’s true, but I think we can rule out the Reapers.”

“You have an informant?” You could hear the confusion in Ten’s voice. 

I have something much better, you said solely to yourself. “Something like that, yes. I think we’re looking in the wrong place. Or maybe there’s a part of the picture we’re missing.”

Ten hummed, clearly deep in thought. “What about the Brotherhood?”

“What about them?”

“I know these two gangs have conflicts about their drug territories and the like. Kun was investigating the Reapers’ involvement in a few drug deals gone south, but we know now that it was the Brotherhood’s mark.”

That was a valid point. The instance was one of many crimes Kun had been looking into, but it could have been his unlucky ticket to death. He had investigated crimes involving the Reapers and promptly went missing, which turned you to the same gang. Though as it turned out, it was the Brotherhood’s responsibility. 

What if this whole time, you had been looking into the wrong criminal empire?

“That… changes a lot of things,” you replied, connecting the dots in your head. 

“I have to go, but remember it’s just a hunch. Don’t get unmotivated. Keep looking,” Ten said encouragingly. “Someone will check in with you tomorrow as usual.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” you murmured. 

Before you could hang up, Ten called out your name one last time and added, “Be careful, okay?”

“I will,” you reassured him, not wanting him to worry too hard. You knew the loss of one prominent member of your team put additional stress upon the safety of the others. And with that, you bid each other goodbye. 

Yuta had a few errands to run the next day and as protocol decreed, you had to tag along with him. Nothing too dramatic. You imagined that with the gang’s current focus being on determining the next course of action to take against their rival, Yuta was more useful here rather than going from country to country eliminating threats.

His job was much like yours in that regard. Your former one, at least. You bounced from place to place, no one location being too safe, taking on new identities in foreign cities. In the middle of almost losing sense of who you were, all in exchange for recognition and praise, Yuta had been the one to sweep you off your feet and help you remember. 

That was why it hurt so much when he was gone. You lost him, and you lost yourself. He had reminded you how beautiful love was, how liberating it was to not think of the aftermath of missions. With every heartless criminal you locked away, another piece of your soul chipped away too. 

Yuta had made you realize that you weren’t broken. You were still whole and you still had a soul. And you knew, because you had bore it to him. 

You snapped out of your memories when you heard the car door click open and quickly close beside you. Yuta handed you a dark sheath, made of leather. “This is for you,” he said quietly. “If you still use them, that is.”

“I still use them,” you told him with a nod, unsuccessfully ignoring the way your chest flooded with warmth. He remembered. 

“Good,” Yuta said, fastening his seat belt around his waist. “And by the way, we’re not going home like I thought we were. I just got a call. We’re having an impromptu meeting.”

You stifled a groan, none too eager to sit around outside while the higher-ups had private discussions behind a glass door. But you said nothing as Yuta pulled out of the parking lot. 

Though as you followed him through the building to the designated door on the far end of the hallway, you complained, “I just don’t understand what you guys are talking about that you didn’t get done in the past two meetings this week.”

“This is important. And besides, I don’t make the rules, baby,” Yuta replied, totally amused but hiding it with a poker face. “He does.”

The man in question was already patiently sitting at the head of the table with a poker face that could kill if he tried hard enough. Lee Taeyong, you recognized. The leader. 

His second-in-command was right beside him and with Yuta being third, he didn’t hesitate to snag a seat directly across from Johnny. The only thing that surprised you was Yuta dragging you inside, seating you squarely beside him in a chair of your own. 

It wasn’t long until the room filled with enough high-ranks to make anyone nervous and after doing a mental headcount, you quickly realized all eight of them had come.

Taeyong seemed to be doing the same count and once he counted an adequate number of heads, excluding yours, he spoke up loudly. “Yuta, was it necessary to bring her?”

“Yes,” Yuta chirped without explanation. 

“Alright, then,” Taeyong said swiftly, commanding total attention with the tone of his voice alone. “Now that we’re all here, firstly I wanted to apologize for calling last minute. I realize you are all busy with your respective responsibilities. But in light of recent events, I want to extend our incognito another week.”

Haechan nodded in approval. He was the head of their prostitution business. “Good idea. The ladies are scared shitless. They don’t wanna work and I’ll raise hell if anything happens to them.”

“This is slowing down our income,” Doyoung chimed in, disgruntled. Likely thing for the guy in charge of money laundering to say. “We can’t make money if we’re all hiding. We need to fight fire with fire.”

“We've been trading hits back and forth. What more do you want?” Johnny asked. 

Doyoung shrugged. “We need to do something that will make them realize we’re not to be fucked with. Right now, they think they have the upper hand.”

Yuta shook his head. “No, they don’t. This all started because of drugs. It’s common knowledge that we own the market around here. If they weren’t intimidated, they wouldn’t have made any moves.”

“Then what do you suggest, Nakamoto?”

“I agree that we need to blow all their heads clean off,” Yuta replied like it was the most normal response ever. “But for the right reasons.”

Jaemin was the hacker and he didn’t exactly understand why he was here. Or why they were arguing. “I don’t really think it matters what the reason is. We need to stop them willingly or by force.”

Yangyang groaned. He was the one directly over the gang’s entire drug trafficking operation and you could imagine he was none too pleased. “Our drug operation is our most lucrative branch and they’re not touching that. We’re fine.”

Haechan insisted, “My ladies still need to work. And I’m not letting them until it’s safe for them to do so.”

Doyoung half-agreed, “The ladies need to work so we can make as much money as possible. This incognito is only hindering us.”

“My guys are dying,” Jaehyun announced. “If we lift the incognito, imagine how many more of us will be dead.”

Taeyong exhaled a sigh, rubbing his temple. You resisted a laugh. They were stressing each other out when every last one of their problems could be solved if the Brotherhood was removed from the picture. 

Noticing his boss’ exhaustion, Johnny changed the topic. “The incognito aside, we’re still not fine. I’ve been hearing that the police chief who was investigating us and disappeared before we could pay him off was found dead. Now it looks like we’ve got cop blood on our hands.”

Yuta deadpanned, “Exactly what we needed.”

You tried not to stiffen as Johnny mentioned your boss. Then you thought deeply about his words and reflected on the phone call you had with your co-worker last night, and your blood went cold. You mentally chastised yourself for not thinking of it before. 

Yuta raised his brow at you when he felt you attempting to subtly capture his attention. You mouthed, “Outside.”

You stood up abruptly and he excused himself, following behind you.

 When you were both on the opposite side of the door, you asked, “What exactly happens when you collectively sign off on decisions?”

Yuta was taken aback by your question, but gave an honest response. “The eight of us gather around, much like right now, and try to make a unanimous vote.”

“I’m assuming that doesn’t happen often?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Yuta replied, tempted to chuckle. “What’s this all about, baby?”

Now completely certain they had nothing to do with it, you took a deep breath, revealing, “I don’t know why it’s just now hitting me, but I think you’re being framed.”

Yuta didn’t seem surprised. “Are you sure?”

You slowly wound a hand through your hair. “I don’t know, but all the evidence points to this gang. Not just the fact that you were the last thing my boss investigated before he died. As it turns out, one of the cases he was looking into was the Brotherhood’s work. When he was found dead yesterday, we got a witness description identical to one of the guys you gave me.”

Yuta furrowed his brow. “You’ve lost me.”

“Yuta, that guy has been in jail for three days now.”

You watched the shock color his face in real time. “Who in the hell gave the witness description?”

“It was a truck driver,” you told him, remembering the conversation you had over the phone. “He was obviously lying and my co-worker and I think he’s either being paid or pressured. But we thought about who would have that kind of sway over someone.”

“A fucking gang,” Yuta finished for you, bristling with frustration. His hand was on his head, attempting to think this over. 

You felt guilty somehow. Like you should have known this was coming. 

The second Yuta turned to the door, prepared to come armed with news that would surely anger his co-workers to no end, you both heard gunshots echo out from downstairs. Instinctively, Yuta pulled you into his arms without a care, glancing around. “What the hell?”

You shuddered, words suddenly resounding in your memory, and chided yourself for being too stupid to not comprehend them until it was too late. Everybody knows the best time to strike is when they’re all together.

They were all together. 

“They’re coming,” you whispered.

“Do you have the knife I gave you?” Yuta asked, borderline frantic. You had never seen him so worried. 

You nodded wordlessly. 

“Thank god. We gotta go,” Yuta replied swiftly, not wasting a breath to get a hold of your arm and lead you down the hallway. You heard his co-workers barreling out the conference room from behind. 

You let Yuta steer you away, trusting him wholeheartedly. He knew this building better than you did, and better than his opponents did. That was his advantage. 

Moving door through door with you in his arms, Yuta clasped onto your body like the thought of letting you go would send a shiver down his spine, gentle enough to cause you no pain yet firm enough to keep you exactly where he wanted. You both remembered what happened the last time you were separated. 

The thought made you shudder. Second turning into minutes, minutes turning into hours as you’d waited for him to come back. For a goddamn phone call. Something. Anything that would indicate he was still alive. 

Like he could sense your prevailing thoughts, Yuta stopped you, glancing both ways like a child crossing the street, and whispered, “Listen to me, baby. I’m right here. Okay?”

“I know,” you replied, quiet as a mouse. Your natural instincts were flaring up and your whole body was tempted to paralyze with fear, but none for you. Only for him. 

“We’re going to make it out of here. I know we will.”

You believed him, but for safe measure, you grabbed his face in your palms and pressed your lips against his feverishly. Yuta kissed you back without restraint, his hold on your smaller frame tightening more with every passing moment. It felt like seconds until it was over and though you wanted more, you knew you had to settle. 

When he heard a noise emerging from a none too distant hall, Yuta reached for your hand and continued to drag you towards the closest exit he knew. You did your best to keep up with his hurried steps, almost tripping over your own legs every step of the way. 

Even more gunshots echoed against the walls, too close for comfort, and rather than potentially rush into something dangerous, Yuta caged you behind him as you hid on the opposite side of the closest available corner. You were able to cock your head just long enough to see a figure dressed in all black, their head cloaked in a beastlike mask. 

Brothers. 

There were masculine wails and screams everywhere. You recognized the sound of death and chaos when it touched your ears, and it made you cling to Yuta harder. The only thing you didn’t know was whether or not it was the blood of his gang members or his rivals staining the walls. 

“They’ve got this bitch surrounded,” Yuta murmured irritably under his breath.

That wasn’t reassuring at all. “Then what’s the plan? If we can’t leave, then what are we gonna do?”

You could see a flicker of something dark flicker in Yuta’s eyes, followed by something like resignation, and you knew what it meant instantly. “We have to fight.”

Fight didn’t startle you. Your hand immediately went for its weapon. Flight was officially off the table. 

This was a full-blown war. 

Yuta poked his head around the corner. When the coast was clear, he took you down another corridor, a touch darker than the others. You recognized the hallway and knew you were close to the rear side of the building. 

You didn’t see it. Not until it was too late. And by the time you heard it, there was already a brawny pair of arms wound viciously around Yuta’s neck, yanking him back with force. He dropped his weapon, reaching up behind him out of instinct, and endeavored to pry his attacker’s bloody, calloused hands off. 

“Yuta!” you called out. You didn’t hesitate to go after him, but another person snuck up behind you and put your wrists in a vice-like grip behind your back, dragging you off into another room as you desperately tried to writhe out their arms. 

The last thing you heard was Yuta shouting for you before the door slammed closed in your face. 

Your body tensed with the anger of a heartbroken woman at being separated once more from your lover, who you knew would move mountains to see you again - or die trying. And you would never, ever let that happen. 

In the split second of freedom you had while the faceless enemy locked the door, you snatched the blade Yuta had given you from its sheath and sprung into action, landing an unexpected attack in the back of his head. Over and over.

You were just about to drag the man’s fallen body out of the way enough that you could sidestep towards the door when you heard another one open from behind you. You jolted for your weapon, spinning on your heels. 

A person came out. This one had a face. And you recognized him. 

Jeno raised his hands in innocence. “It’s just me.”

“Get. The fuck. Back,” you hissed, holding your blade to announce that you were armed and very much dangerous. 

Realizing you didn’t trust him, Jeno switched on a dime. “You finally figured it out, huh? How clever of you.”

You knew Jeno wasn’t who you thought he was the second you finally pieced together the true meaning of his words. “Who are you?” you forced yourself to ask. 

Jeno shrugged, smirking to himself as if something was funny. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m a brother.”

“I know that, but where do you fall in their hierarchy? Who do you take orders from?”

Jeno scoffed, his evil little smirk widening in unwavering amusement. “Take orders?” he repeated, incredulous. “Babe, I’m the one who calls the shoots.”

You stilled for all but a second. You were staring into the eyes of a gang leader who was conniving enough to infiltrate the ranks of his rival. There was no way in hell he was easily backing down from a challenge. 

The glaringly obvious shock on your face made him laugh out loud. “That’s right. I’m the leader. You look surprised.” 

You sneered, “You son of a bitch.”

If not anything else, Jeno looked proud of himself. He was so damn smug. “Don’t play innocent, beautiful. You’re not exactly a saint either. I doubt Taeyong knows there’s a cop mingling in his affairs, and his trusted third-in-command is just allowing it to happen under his nose.”

How in the hell did he know you were undercover? You had to assume everything he knew about you right now was equally as dangerous and lethal as his potential. 

Your eyes narrowed. Your body was twitching with unadulterated anger and twitching to do something deadly. “Did you kill Kun?”

“Nah. Well, I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger, I mean.”

That didn’t make it any better. He was the one calling the shots, after all. He said so himself. “But you consented to his abduction and murder. Why?”

Jeno played with the edge of a blade of his own. He sounded thoroughly bored as explained, “He was getting too close for comfort. Looking for the Reapers was inadvertently bringing him closer to us, and we couldn’t just give him a two for one combo. It was nothing personal, you know.”

You shook your head. Then you slammed on brakes. “How do you know about Yuta and I?”

His mocking tone wasn’t lost on you as he teased, “I think you’ve lost your touch, spy. My guys wanted to take you out, you know. They were certain you were a threat and you would figure us out.”

So he not only knew that you were affiliated with the police force, but the covert agency too. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jeno snorted. “Surely you remember Yokohama. I’m realizing it’s very easy to pin things on other gangs. You swept in to investigate their activities and lover boy came along to figure out who was killing off his buyers.”

This was unforgivable. The entire time Jeno had this much dirt on you and your personal life and discreetly used you to expand his illegal crime syndicate at the expense of another, and another. And you had no idea. 

“You recycle all of the same shit,” you pointed out, seething inside out. 

“Maybe,” Jeno replied carelessly. “But you know what they say. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

You shook your head. “So that day the three of us were together. It was all fake. You killed your own men?”

“They served their purpose,” Jeno said darkly, lifting his blade. “And you’ve served yours.” 

Your entire body stiffened with alarm when you heard someone attempt to push open the door closest to you. Stepping inside after kicking away the corpse of the man you’d fatally stabbed, Jaemin came in armed with a gun. And you were to assume it was fully loaded. 

This shocked you less than Jeno’s betrayal did, if you could even call it that. He wasn’t some guy you’d trusted. He was some guy you’d underestimated. “Of course you’re involved too,” you murmured, positioning the sharp blade in front of yourself. 

“Of course,” Jaemin repeated with a sly little laugh. “Who do you think cleans up his mess?”

Jeno didn’t bother to roll his eyes as you would usually expect from him, going with it. “And I’ve made a big one.”

You knew what that meant. They wanted to exterminate you like some troublesome little pest in their happy home. 

As if to confirm your suspicions, Jaemin smiled menacingly and crooned, “You have to go, sweetheart. You know too much now.”

Your heart was racing. Even you seemed to accept that you were overwhelmed and outnumbered. You knew that with one wrong move Jaemin wouldn’t hesitate to empty his chamber into your head, but for once, you had no idea how to get out of this. You just knew that you wouldn’t go down without a fight. 

Yuta entered your mind again and wouldn’t leave. You couldn’t hear his voice anymore, but you hadn’t heard any more gunshots either. Rather than resign yourself to defeat, you were going to assume he was still alive until proven otherwise. 

“Wait!” you shouted when you saw Jaemin cock his gun, obviously ready to paint the walls with your brains. “Where’s Yuta?”

Jaemin shrugged his shoulders. His smile was ominous. “Your little boy toy? No clue. He’s probably bleeding out somewhere, princess. I think he might be dead.”

“Not yet.” 

The three of your heads snapped in the same direction when you heard that familiar voice. Relief flooded your veins when you saw Yuta standing in the entrance of the door, having snuck up unheard. 

Before Jaemin could even get the opportunity to fire his weapon, Yuta raised and cocked his own, and a loud clap rang out in the air just before you watched Jaemin fly backwards from the impact of the piercing hole in his gut. 

And to your surprise, Yuta didn’t immediately kill him. He had his reasons. Rather than stick around to give a message, Yuta hurriedly reached for your arm and tugged you out the door. You could see in Jeno’s dark eyes when you took one final glance at him that he wanted to give chase, but saving a life was more important. 

You used all your strength and speed to keep up with Yuta’s steps, his fingers intertwined with yours as you paced wordlessly through the seemingly endless corridor. The two of you ran and ran until you had descended at least two more floors, wanting to ensure there was a safe gap between you and your enemies. 

Like hell Yuta was going to let you get shot a second time. 

“I’m so happy you’re okay,” Yuta said frantically when you were in the clear, running his hands over your cheeks. “Are you hurt? Did they touch you?”

You shook your head. “No, they didn’t lay a finger on me. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine as long as you are,” Yuta told you, relief washing over his face. You had lost each other once and neither of you were keen on suffering that hell ever again. 

“I’m fine,” you whispered, your heart speeding quicker than you knew it ever could. This was nothing like that first time you thought you lost him. Fear struck you tenfold. “I told you I would die for you.”

“If you ever risk your life for me, I’ll die right after you,” Yuta told you, more grave and serious than you’d ever seen him. “You’re not leaving me. Ever.”

And you didn’t leave him. As soon as two weeks later, you were in a hotel in Osaka after dark, tangled in silk sheets after a long night of making love to each other. Yuta made it abundantly clear that he wanted to make up for lost time, and you both mutually agreed there was no better way than doing all of the things you’d always wanted to do together. 

He wanted to whisk you away on romantic trips and show you to all his favorite places in his hometown, and you were slowly making your way down the lengthy list. You wanted an oasis away from the dark reality of the world, to lose yourself in a world that only consisted of you and the man you loved. 

You missed nights in Japan. The country never slept. Neither did your heart and your feelings for Yuta.

Ironically, he was fast asleep when you received a call from a familiar number. 

“I know I’m not supposed to contact you anymore,” Mark started without greeting. 

You snickered, wondering where this was going. You were still under the sheets right beside Yuta, knowing he would immediately stir if you even attempted to sneak out of the comfortable bed. “And yet you’re calling me anyways.”

“I have a good reason,” Mark replied reassuringly. “So you know how you got shot?”

“I think I may remember getting shot in the stomach, yes. I'm not too sure.”

Although you couldn’t see him, you imagined Mark was playfully rolling his eyes. “Yeah, well, that guy who shot you - Levi Clark - he disappeared from prison.”

You gawked, but tried to keep your voice to a murmur. “What?”

“Yeah. And he was found dead two hours later. Like, really dead. I saw the photos. It’s ugly.”

You glanced at the man sleeping beside you with extreme suspicion, but told Mark levelly, “Thanks for informing me.”

Mark sounded chipper. “No problem. And if you ever need anything, I’ve got you.”

You broke into a wide smile at those words. Though you knew it would only do everyone involved no good to continue contacting your former co-workers. “Take care of yourself, Mark,” you whispered softly. 

“You too,” were Mark’s last words before he hung up, letting you resume your new life. 

You placed your phone down and crossed your arms, knowing something was very off in this picture. “Yuta?” you called out. 

“Hm?”

So he wasn’t asleep. You crossed your arms tighter. You suspected as much. “I know what you did.”

Yuta’s voice was groggy. “Which thing did I do?”

“You know the one.”

A small sliver of a smile tugged at his lips. “You would die for me. I would kill for you. We’re even, dear.”

You wrapped your arms around him and pressed a few kisses to Yuta’s devilishly handsome face, not mad about it. His hands snaked around your waist and you sighed contentedly. “I guess we are.”

[oracle-of-dream]

The Boy Next Door pt2

Minors DNI

Summary: It’s been over a week since Jeno met his new neighbor. You’ve decided playing hard is the best way to get Jeno wanting to see you more and more. When you finally let Jeno see you again, you’re sure things will get interesting.

Warnings: Pet names, Dom!Jeno, big dick Jeno, Male reader, hand job, unprotected sex, breeding, mating press, drinking, drunk sex

Wordcount: 2.8k

You fixed your bag over your shoulder as you shut the door and used your keys to lock the door. You didn’t have class until almost 11 am, but there were no good places to park on campus unless you arrived early. Focused on locking the door, you felt a chill run down your spine as you felt like you were being watched from somewhere… Slowly, you looked over your shoulder to see nothing behind you. Just the door of your next-door neighbors closed. With the chill still sitting on your back, you go down the stairs of your apartment to your car. When you get in, you toss your bag into the back seats and check your phone for a few minutes before leaving.

Knock knock

You look over to see Jeno knocking on your window, he is breathing heavily and his black hair is stuck to his forehead. He pointed at the window, motioning you to roll it down.

You rolled the window down enough to hear him.

“Finally, we’re willing to talk to me,” Jeno sighed.

“Is this going to take long? I’ll miss out on my chance to get a spot near my class. I don’t want to walk super far.”

“Let me in, I’ll ride with you.”

You pretended to think about it, your eyes closed and forehead wrinkled.

“Jesus, Y/n! I’m begging, let me ride with you.” Jeno pushed his body against the car while whining.

“Fine, get in then.”

Jeno rushed to the other side of your car and sat himself in the passenger seat.

Once he was settled, you drove towards the campus. Focusing on the road, you didn’t look over as you said, “So, can I help you with something Jeno? Or did you just want an Uber?”

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you, but it feels like you’ve been avoiding me…”

“Am I? Or are you just not trying hard enough to catch me?”

“You’ve been leaving early in the morning, being gone all day, and even when you are home you ignore the door. And I know you’re home. I even tried calling you.”

“Oh gosh, Jeno. It’s like I’m a busy student, I am at school for hours, and when I’m home I want to finally sleep after a long day’s work…”

Jeno got silent for a few minutes before getting the courage to speak again. “I, want to talk about the last time we got to… interact.”

“What about it?”

“What was it supposed to be? Like a one-time thing, or something more?”

“What do you think it was?”

“I can tell you what I want it to be–”

You break-checked Jeno, cutting him out of his sentence. “Sorry, what was that?”

“You came onto me, Y/n.”

“And you came in me, Jeno.”

Jeno fell silent again, trying to think of a proper comeback. Before he got the chance, you ended up getting to campus and finding a parking spot rather quickly. 

“Well, I gotta go now. It was nice chatting, I guess.”

Jeno followed you, just a few steps behind you.

You started to speedwalk, moving through large crowds of people and making sharp turns to lose him. But every time you thought you’d managed to shake him, he’d be there. 

“Oh for the love of– Jeno, what is it!?”

“Y/n, let’s be boyfriends or something! I don’t know, I liked us together…” Jeno’s face and ears were a soft tint of pink. To think this was the muscular, motorcycle-riding, bad boy type that you’d sucked off before. Now reduced to a needy puppy who won’t stop following you.

“Why would we be boyfriends?”

“Because we got something going on here!”

“We’ve only met like twice, and the other of those times was more memorable than the other.” You chuckled as you could see his dick twitch in his sweatpants. 

“You said you’d like for us to see each other again!”

“That doesn’t mean seeing each other, Jen.”

“J-Jen?” He stumbled at the sudden nickname.

“Too much? I thought boyfriends would have cute nicknames for each other.” You pretended to make a pouting expression.

“So, we’re boyfriends!? Just like that?” Jeno’s expression brightened with a big smile.

“Now that you mention it, I don’t want things to be too easy. So, let’s find out if this will work. I’ll see you tonight around 7, at your place. Then we can find out if we can be a thing.”

Jeno frowned. “But you seem fine with being my boyfriend already…”

You shot him a cold glare. “You calling me easy?”

Jeno shook his head. “No! 7 pm, my place! I’ll be waiting!” He took off before he could say anything else to turn your attitude.

Finally able to enjoy some peace and quiet, you go through your morning routine. Grab a soda, find a spot in the library doom scroll on social media until class time. After your classes for the day, you had about two hours before you were supposed to see Jeno. Plenty of time to go home and prepare for the night you predicted would come.

While getting dressed and making yourself presentable, there was a knock at your apartment door. You answered it, opening the door wide. 

Renjun was standing in the doorway, dressed in a cardigan and a collared shirt with black jeans. “Hi y/n! Jeno tells us you’re coming over tonight for game night!”

“Game night?”

“Yeah! Jeno and the other guys in our friend group get together every once in a while to hang out and play some games. Didn’t he tell you?”

You raise an eyebrow and smirk, “No, but sounds fun! I can’t wait. Should I bring anything over?”

“Not at all! Just come over whenever, some of the others are here already. Mark and Haechan ran out to get snacks and drinks, I came over to ask if you wanted anything specific so I could pass it on to them.” Renjun pointed at his phone in his hand.

You shook your head. “No, I’m not too picky, I’ll let y’all choose. And I’ll be over in a second, I’m almost done getting myself together.”

Renjun smiled and waved as he went back over to his apartment. “Just come right in whenever the door will be unlocked.”

You spent a little more time in the bathroom, double-checking yourself in the mirror. Then you walked around the hall and let yourself into Jeno’s apartment. 

It was clean, surprisingly, and orderly. There was a hallway with records on the wall leading into a room with voices coming from it.

“Oh? Someone’s here!” A high-pitched voice called.

“Is it Mark?” A deep voice added.

“No, there’s no way they’re back that fast.” You heard another voice.

You saw a buff man in a sleeveless shirt with dark brown hair and black pants come out of the room.

He looked you up and down with an eyebrow raised. “And who might you be? I think you’ve got lost, but we’ve got space here if you wanna stay.”

You shook your head, trying to not look too hard at his pecs peeking from his shirt. “I was invited. I’m y/n.”

He opened his eyes wide in surprise. “Oh! You’re y/n!” He stepped forward and pulled you in for a hug, which was warm and tight. “I’m Jaemin, I’ll introduce you to the others.”

“Where’s–” 

“He’s still getting ready,” Jaemin turned and winked at you. He told me he was looking forward to meeting you at 7 tonight. He’s my best friend but he won’t even tell me anything about you, so I hope we get close tonight.” Jaemin’s voice was soothing and smooth like he wanted to help slide you off your feet and into his bed. He led you into the living room where three others were waiting. “That’s Chenle, Jisung, and I’m sure you know Renjun.”

You greeted the two new faces.

“I’m Chenle!” Chenle’s voice was loud and high-pitched, which was not expected from his face facial features. He has black and red hair, and wore slacks with a tucked white button-up. 

“You a business major?” You pointed at his outfit.

“Yeah, family business. As in, my family funds the Business major program.”

You raised your eyebrows and turned your attention to the other man.

“I’m Jisung,” Jisung was the opposite of Chenle, he spoke softly but his voice was very deep. He had very kiddush features with a knit black and white hat with cat ears, a New York hoodie, and ripped jeans. “I dance.”

You nod, “that’s cool. Dancing is cool. I dance a little.”

Jisung’s eyes glowed for a moment. “Y-Yea… We should dance together sometime, or whatever.” 

You could tell her didn’t mean, “or whatever,” he wanted to dance with you.

The two of them both seem interested in you but are also pretty close to each other. You knew it would be interesting to learn about what’s going on with them later.

Renjun leaned in, trying to speak softer. “So, what’s the deal with you and Jeno?”

You raised an eyebrow. “The deal?”

The others murmured in agreement. 

“Jeno seems to be making a pretty big deal that you were coming tonight, telling us not to say anything too embarrassing.”

“Does this count as embarrassing?” You asked.

Jaemin shook his head. “It doesn’t count when he’s not here. He can’t be embarrassed by what he doesn’t know is happening.”

“I can hear everything, and it is embarrassing!” Jeno’s voice came from a room around the corner as he came into the living room. You turned to get a tasteful look at his outfit, it looked like he’d taken some serious time to clean up. Jeno neatly brushed his hair into a middle part. He was wearing a sleeveless leather jacket, a black crop top, and dark denim jeans with a black belt. He was wearing his pants low on purpose to show more of his toned stomach, small waist, and the waistband of his underwear.

He approached you, “I’m so glad you could make it.”

You dryly chuckled, “Well, I said I’d be here, right?”

He nodded happily. Instinctively he reached for your hand as he moved into the living room. You let him take your hand and walk you to one of the couches so you could sit next to him. He sat first and scooted as you sat down so you landed on his lap.

You turn to him, “Really?”

He had a silly smile plastered on his face, as he felt all his friends examining him and his guest.

Renjun cut in, “Well, Mark and Haechan will be here soon. Let’s chill and we can hang when they get here.”

Eventually, the last two guys show up, Mark and Haechan are attached at the hip. Probably a couple, and if not then it was only a matter of time. After getting settled, everyone started to enjoy the night of eating, gaming, and drinking together. Before you realize it, you end up getting into a drinking game with Jaemin and losing badly. Renjun had to call the competition as it was getting late and people were beginning to pass out. Jisung and Chenle cuddled together on the couch. Jaemin started cleaning up the mess. Mark moved Haechan to sleep in his room before helping clean up. Renjun was the only one who didn’t drink since he didn’t like the taste of alcohol, so he was taking care of everyone. 

You could still understand everything going on, but you were drunk. 

Jeno was only focused on you. “Do you need anything, water or something?”

You shook your head. “Nah, I think I’ll just head home.”

Jeno grabbed your hand gently. “You could also… stay in my room. We never really had that talk, remember?”

You smiled at Jeno. “You want me that badly, that you’d even take advantage of me being drunk?”

Jeno shook his head furiously. “I’d never do that!”

You chuckled as you threw yourself into his arms. “Okay, I’ll stay in your room then. But you’ll have to carry me.”

Jeno picked you up bridal style without a second thought. “I’m going to go put him to bed now.”

Renjun winked at Jeno, “Just make sure to not make too much noise.”

Jeno blushed. “It’s not like that!” He carried you off into his room before Renjun could tease him anymore. He carried you with one hand, as you wrapped your arms around his neck so he could open his bedroom door. Gently, Jeno laid you onto his bed on your back. You looked up at him as he hovered over you.

“Do you wanna kiss?” You asked softly.

Jeno locked eyes with you. “Like so badly. But you aren’t in a good state of mind, we shouldn’t do anything that could lead to that…”

You sighed. “Jeno, you wanna be my boyfriend?”

Jeno nodded.

“Then fine, we’re boyfriends.”

Jeno hugged you tightly, putting his body weight onto you. You felt every part of him as his crop top slid up his torso while he hugged you. 

“Now that we’re boyfriends, we can kiss and whatever.” 

Jeno pulled away, “are you sure that’s what you want?”

You pulled Jeno into the bed and rolled on top of him. His face was initially shocked but moved into awe while he stared at you slip your shirt off. You pick up his hands and place them on your hips, and he takes the signal to let his hands run across your body. You slowly swing your hips, pressing your ass against his clothed cock. 

“It hurts…” Jeno moaned.

You stopped. “I’m hurting you?” 

“No! No, please don’t stop!” Jeno squeezed your hips and moved you the way he wanted. "Mo-more please." He pleaded.

You let your hand slip under his waistband and into his boxers, making direct contact with his cock while you kiss him. You started moving your hand up and down his cock, his hips fucking into your hand. Your body starts to stick as you get faster. 

Jeno throws his shirt aside before coming back to kiss you across your chest, stopping to focus on your nipples. 

You slide down his body, his legs hanging off the bed as you start to unzip his pants and take his belt off.

“Let’s not get too carried away with a head this time?” Jeno laughed.

“You couldn’t handle head and this ass.” 

“I totally could–”

You kiss him again as you slide his underwear and pants off, he does the same to you.

“Hold on, I’ll get rubber.” Jeno lifted you, but you didn’t let him put you down.

“You can skip if you want.”

Jeno looked you in your eyes. “Sex and it’s raw? You’re crazy… and now you’re all mine too.” He slips his finger into your ass which slips in with no resistance. “You came ready for me?”

“Of course I did.”

“So you always meant to be with me?”

“Well duh.”

Jeno laid you on the bed with your legs in his hands as he held your ankles. He climbed on top of you and slipped in his fat cock. He slammed his body into yours with power and sleep, he smirked as he watched your face change from pain to pleasure. Each mean stroke was deep and hard, making you some at a brutal pace. The sounds of skin-on-skin slapping were so loud, Jeno’s grunts mixed with your moans. 

“Am I too big for you baby? You were so confident I wasn’t the one who could handle you. Jeno kisses you again while still fucking you, your body was overloaded with sensation. Your toes scrunched, your legs shook, and you even started drooling uncontrollably. “Cum for me, do it now!” 

Your whole body reacts to his command as you cum so hard you shoot onto your face. You’re body tenses, mostly your ass, making Jeno fuck you through your orgasm feel even better. 

Jeno flipped the two of you over so that he was on the bottom and lifted you up and down onto him, fucking you like a fleshlight. Your hands were holding his pecs for balance, nails scratching him. 

“Please, baby, cum soon. I can’t take much more…” you begged.

That was all that Jeno needed to have one of the strongest orgasms he’d ever felt. He held you down as he pushed himself as deep as possible, shooting into you. Your brain was blank, your body was acting on instinct; hole clenching repeatedly to milk Jeno, your head was thrown back, and your eyes were sealed shut.

Jeno gently helped you lay down on the mattress. “You going to be okay?”

You mumbled back, “I don’t know if I can get up…”

“I can carry you to the bathroom.”

“Don’t bother… Just keep it in me, I’ll deal with it later.”

Jeno moved, pulling out slightly, and it made you almost scream like crazy.

“I told you–”

“I know, I’m sorry baby. I couldn’t help myself. I won’t leave.” Jeno moved back into you, leaving his warm cum and his cock inside of you as you fell asleep. “Goodnight, baby…”

[bbyseok]

this time, i’m thinking about lifeguard!bakugou. i’m pretty sure i’ve also seen a post or two about him, but lemme get my brainrot out cuz he’s driving me insane..

lifeguard bakugou doesn’t give onlookers a show they don’t deserve, but people will take what they can get with his classic black tank tops and those bright red swim trunks that hang loosely on his hips.

and really, he’s only wearing the red trunks to follow the uniform rules and look the part of being an actual lifeguard. he’s taken up the job over the summer for whatever reason.. and everyone eats it up in the end.

whether it’s at the beach or a pool, he’s on one of those tall, white lifeguard chairs designated for people like him on duty obviously. he’s got his legs spread out, his right knee swinging inward every down and then with his form reclined back as he surveys the water and the area.

there are some days he’s got a towel draped over his neck and shoulders for him to wipe his sweat away, or a pair of tinted sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose to hide his carmine eyes from the world.

it’s sight to see most definitely. and you can confirm—as you’re one of the many people who come to the water solely to look at him. okay, well- that’s partially true. you come with your friends often to actually enjoy a bit of swimming—so what if you know exactly when bakugou’s shift starts and ends?

anyways, it’s not like you’d actually initiate anything from your attraction. you’ve seen the way he’s already turned down multiple flirting attempts from the more bolder people willing to shoot their shot—it wasn’t pretty.

“i’m the fuckin’ lifeguard who’s supposed to watch your asses and you’re givin’ me a reason to drown you,” he had snapped at some particular person who thought that they had a chance. “scram.”

the lifeguard team only tolerates his blunt behavior because he’s actually pretty damn good at the job when he needs to be, and let’s be honest—he attracts a lot of people.

it’s another day of lounging by the water with your friends, relaxing on one of those typical white beach chaise chairs. you spend your time alternating between chatting and reading a spare book you had brought—paired with sneaking glimpses at bakugou, of course.

but something’s different about today. ‘cause you swear he keeps looking at you too.

you don’t wanna get your hopes up too high; perhaps your daydreaming’s getting a little too out of hand or something, but it’s a little too difficult to ignore his burning stare.

perhaps there’s something on your face? is something wrong with your swimsuit? it’s nothing too raunchy or revealing—it’s something you normally wear for these kinds of outings. or maybe he had heard you say something?

before you know it, his shift is ending soon. it’s actually so bad how you’ve got it memorized. he gets replaced with this redhead that’s definitely way more friendlier than him—kirishima, you think is his name, and you and your friends usually linger around the beginning of his shift before leaving.

“psst,” one of your friends nudges your shoulder, sitting up from the chair. “bakugou’s totally looking at you. like—he’s staring in your direction.”

you blink and sit up as well. okay so, you’re not imagining things. “what-? really?” you don’t dare cast your gaze to the lifeguard, refusing to make eye contact. “but- but why would he?”

“i dunno. maybe he-”

you finally glance over and catch sight of the the blonde heading down from his towering seat, and he tucks his rescue tube under his arm. your eyes follow him and his movements as he walks and—oh shit. he’s walking towards you.

your eyes can’t help but widen as he finally reaches your chair and tilts his head down at you, blazing eyes scrutinizing and narrowed. you’re pretty sure you almost drop your jaw on the floor. he’s even more stunning up close.

“oi,” he says gruffly, glaring down at you in some sort of expectance. “quit your gawking at me. you do that way too fuckin’ much.”

oh god, did he really come over to you just to say that? “oh- oh,” you stammer out, “i’m so sorry- i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable, i just-” you want to drown out of embarrassment, so it’s a good thing that the water’s right there so you’ll just-

“oh, shut your yappin’,” bakugou dismisses you quickly with a roll of his eyes, and you blink up at him, still a bit embarrassed that he had called you out. there’s a pause that lasts for two seconds before he says, “i’m not gonna be workin’ this shift anymore.”

and now you’re blinking up at him in utter confusion because what? why’s he telling you this? did you make him so uncomfortable to the point that he’s letting you know that he’s altering his work hours? “i don’t understand, i-”

“if you still wanna gawk at me, i’m switching shifts with the dude with the red shitty hair who usually works around this time.” the blonde clears his throat and turns his head away, letting you process his words.

wait. wait. he’s letting you know he’s changing his lifeguard shift with kirishima beforehand because he wants you to. he wants you to be there. he wants to see you there. “o-oh.”

bakugou meets your gaze again. a raspy chuckle falls from his lips then, and you let the image of his small smirk settle into your head as he offers it. “you better be there, pretty.”

(you learn later on that the days he was wearing those tinted sunglasses, he was gawking at you too.)

[mydarlingclaudia]

taste like the fourth of july

note : dividers are from @/rookthornesartistry. I FUCKING LOVE LANA DEL REY AND I LOVE HER UNRELEASED SONGS GUESS WHAT THIS IS INSPIRED BY!!!!!! SUGAR DADDY CHRIS!!!!!!! OOC DONT WORRY ABOUT IT!!!!!! this is really short but I've had this in my drafts since 9/9 and I finally got it of motivation to write it so it was either getting written tonight or not at all and if you saw this as a wip in a wip tag game and you thought it was gonna be smut sorry lmao

wc : 1.2k

tags : @lottiies @luvrgreyy @withonly-sweetheart @onlyasimp4nobody

desc : sugar daddy. established-ish relationship, fluff, a bit suggestive, age gap (mid twenties - late forties), fem!reader, re8!Chris, not proofread

You love him ‘cause he tastes like your favorite liquor, and also because of the fat wad of cash he’s willing to hand over if you just bat your eyelashes at him. Well, that might be the reason, anyway. Not one of the sweetest men you’ve ever been with, but definitely one of the best.

Chris will buy pretty much anything for you. Expensive shoes you’ve been staring at in magazines? Yours. A watch that’s way too expensive but you like the color? It’s on your wrist the next morning. A cute new swimsuit? It’s yours as long as he gets to watch you model it.

There seems to be only perks when it comes to continuing on with whatever is going on between you and Chris; the money, the gifts, the vacations, the sex. Only downside is him going away for work, but that’s only a small downside, it doesn’t scare you away. Chris isn’t leaving you uncared for, anyway. The $1,000 he gives you the night before he heads out is supposed to be an apology, that’s what he says, at least.

Chris isn’t totally sure why he’s still doing this, he always thought of himself as a more traditional guy, you know, get a girlfriend that would eventually become a fiancée and after that a wife. But when he met you at this nice little restaurant, sitting all alone at the bar, eyeing him the whole fucking night, what was he supposed to say to you when you tapped him on the shoulder and asked him for a cigarette? No? It was a lucky enough guess that you even assumed he had cigarettes on him, maybe the smell of the smoke clung to his clothes more than had thought.

You hadn’t even asked if he was married, you probably saw his ring finger that lacked a wedding ring and took that as a green light.

It’s probably better this way, Christ, you’re twenty-six and he’s forty-eight. Chris could waste a few thousand dollars on you, give you a few years of his time, there’s not much else that he does besides work.

And you’re pretty, you’re worth the money.

So who is he to deny you? It really is a win-win.

But it’s not like you and Chris are exclusive, you were both able to sleep with whoever you wanted, no hard feelings if you do or don’t. And you did, for a little bit, before you started questioning whether or not Chris did the same. You never noticed another woman's clothes in his apartment, no lipstick-stained shirts in his hamper, nothing. You stopped seeing other men maybe a week after Chris had found a few fading hickeys on your hips and left darker ones where they once stood.

Okay, saying you love him might actually be a bit of a lie, but you’re pretty sure he’s lying to you too when he says it back. You’re not one to look things over too much, even if he does truly love you, that just makes your situation better.

Another great thing is date night.

You love vacations just as much as the next person, but Chris' job doesn't guarantee any amount of time longer than a week off. So vacations are a treat, typically a birthday present for either you or Chris, go somewhere with a great beach and greater drinks.

Date night is at the very least once a month, Chris always calls you a few days before, tells you the time and place and you just stand there and nod before blowing him a kiss over the phone as a goodbye before hanging up.

He takes you out, buys you dinner, gets you a new dress or a new necklace depending on how you're feeling that night, then drives you through the city before heading back to either his or your place.

You will admit that you find it funny when he doesn't know how to react to what you do. If you want something, say it, okay? Don't send him nudes, he's told you time and time again that he prefers seeing you face-to-face and not on a tiny screen that doesn't capture the whole view. You think he prefers it that way because then at least he can reach out and touch you instead of trying to type things out on his phone only for them to end up being deleted seconds later.

The morning after date night is never awkward, at least not usually. You either spend the day at Chris' or he takes you out shopping again before dropping you back at your place. You still feel sore most mornings.

This is one of those mornings, you can still feel the burn between your legs and the sting of bites, scratches, and beard burn left behind. Chris isn't there when you grope around for him in bed, but he's quick to come to your rescue as you hear the sink in the bathroom turn on before the door opens and he steps out.

"You up?" He's straightening his shirt out when he asks you, not looking at you as you sit up in his bed.

You stretch and rub your eyes, "Mhm," You mumble, Chris finally looks at you.

"You usually sleep like a log."

"Can you blame me?" Another mumble and he smiles, walking over to you and placing both his hands on the side of your face so he can lean down and kiss the top of your head. "Goin' somewhere?"

"Got called in, something important, apparently." He sighs, you push forward and lean against his ribs as he brushes through your tangled hair with his fingers.

"It always is."

"Mm, don't pout."

"Don't want me to miss you?" As always, whenever you tease him, he only responds to you with a light scoff before he smiles. Chris pulls you away from his ribs so he can cup the back of your neck and get you to look at him, his thumbs trace over the edges of your jaw and you hum.

"You still want something from me?"

"A pony," Chris rolls his eyes this time, kneeling so he can wrap his arms around you once you giggle.

"We're going out again once I get back." You think you hear him murmur, "Not to get a fucking pony." under his breath even though you can feel his breath in your ear, but you know he's saying that more to himself than to you.

"Surprise me?"

"Sure," Chris pulls back and kisses your cheek before his lips meet yours, his kisses are as slow as they always are. Chris breaks the kiss for a second only yo mumble, "Do you feel alright?"

"Yeah, I'm just gonna go back to bed for a bit." You press a kiss to his closed mouth as you play with the ends of his short hair.

"I gotta go," You sigh and kiss him again before you pull away from him, he kisses the corner of your mouth before he stands up. "Go have fun today."

"I will."

"Good, I wanna see what you bought later." You lay back down again as Chris starts to pull his jacket on and head for the bedroom door.

"Don't be too late," Your back is already turned towards the door when you call out to him, you don't see the smile he shoots you over his shoulder before he leaves.

[biting-miguel-ohara]

Work - Wade Wilson x ftm!Reader

A/N: The evil brain thoughts are back, so I’m just gonna post this and run 🫣 I hope this is good. I’m not too good at fics like this, hence the evil brain thoughts, but I hope it’s decent. Let me know if I missed any warnings

I did ftm!Reader with no smut, but I’m more than willing to write something short and smutty about the aftermath of this fic. It just didn’t really fit with the tone I was trying to go for in this one, you know?

Written for this request

CW: blood mentions; killing mentions; keeping secrets; Reader is called babycakes, baby boy, and babes; lots of blood mentions; exposed secrets; hugs; murder mentions; implied exploration of a new kink; implied smut; possibly ooc Wade

797 words

Ever since you and Wade officially started dating, he’d stopped taking jobs as much. Or, if he did take them, he’d hide them from you. Completing them in secret and showing up without a spot of blood on him.

You knew why he did it. Living the life he did wasn’t easy. He killed people. Mostly bad people, but sometimes the line between good and bad wasn’t so easily drawn. Sometimes he was the bad person.

And he didn’t want to drag you into that.

You’d talked about it once. Late at night, during one of his vulnerable moments. He’d mentioned how he was trying to do better for you. So that you wouldn’t have to live with the knowledge of what he’d done.

You’d been too shy to say anything then. You’d just barely started dating. How could you bring up your secret, especially when he was being so vulnerable for you?

So you kept quiet and let him do his thing. Most of the time, it worked out. He’d do his jobs on the side and it only bled into your life sometimes.

But that sometimes was dangerous.

It all had to come to a head eventually. You just didn’t expect it to happen the way it did.

It started as it normally did. With a bang.

You’re in the kitchen of your small shared apartment when the front door slams open with a crash. Wade stands in the doorway, fully suited up and dripping blood.

Your first instinct is to gawk. Then to panic.

“Oh my god! Wade! Are you alright?”

You hurry over to him, helping him over to the couch. He sits down with a groan, patting your shoulder. “Hey, hey, babycakes. No need to worry. Most of it’s not mine.”

That makes you stop in your tracks. It’s not his blood?

You stare at him. He’s sitting. On the couch. Covered in a mix of his and someone else’s blood.

You scramble to the kitchen to grab a washcloth. Both with the intent to help and to hide the heat that shoots through your body.

It’s not something you’re proud of. Especially knowing how Wade feels about his job. But you just can’t help it. Even just the thought has you wet enough to be uncomfortable.

You wet the washcloth in the sink and return to the living room. Wade’s peeled off his uniform, letting you see the full extent of the blood smears. It’s all over his chest and thighs.

You swallow thickly. This is going to be tough.

You start to wipe the blood off his chest and he leans back against the couch. “Babycakes, you know I can just take a shower, right?”

“Yeah, but…” you falter. What are you supposed to say? Hey Wade, I know you like to keep your murder job from me, but I actually find it really hot.

“What?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. You have a habit of mumbling when you think. You forgot he liked to listen. “Nothing.”

“No, no. You’re not getting away from this so easily. You clearly said—“

“Yeah, well—“ You can feel your face getting hot. Embarrassment and shame creeping up your spine.

Wade notices. “Hey, hey, hey. Babycakes, calm down. Just talk to me.”

He grabs your hands, pulling you down into a hug. You bury your face against his rough skin. “I just… I know how you feel about your job and all. So I tried to keep it hidden. I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“Uncomfortable? Uncomfortable? Baby boy, you just said I look hot! How am I gonna find that uncomfortable?”

You pull back, giving him a confused look. “But, I thought—“

“Babes, I was worried about you.” He gives you a comforting smile. “If you’re not worried about the murder, then I’m not worried about the murder. It’s gone from my mind.”

You relax a bit. “You sure?”

He nods. “It’s gone. Vanished from my mind. In fact, what were we talking about again?”

You laugh and fully relax against him. “Okay, I get it. No need to be worried or whatnot. I get it.”

Wade hugs you, just resting for a moment. Just holding you close. Then he speaks, a michevious tone to his voice. “You really think it’s hot?”

“Wade!” Your face heats up.

He laughs. “Hey, all I’m saying is if you find it hot and I find it hot…” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

You hesitate for only a moment. “Alright, fine. But I get to be on top this time.”

“Deal!” You’re scooped up and carried into the bedroom without a moment‘s hesitation.

Wade starts taking more jobs after that, coming home covered in blood more often than not. And you? You fucking love it.

[wearyeyebrow]

Worthy In Blue

Summary: You’ve been working on a little surprise project for Lucifer involving navy blue rope and a mahogany chair. You know Lucifer has a penchant for ropework, so what if you gave him an evening to put those skills, and your own, to good use?

Tags under the cut.

Tags: submissive lucifer, dominant MC, rope, restraints, MC is in rope, Lucifer is restrained, pegging, cunnilingus, gn MC, afab MC, mutual possessiveness, romance, established relationship, pre-nightbringer

-

Tonight is the long awaited Grimte Banquet where all the noble houses gather. Relationships are maintained, new ones started, and it’s all Lucifer can do to keep his brothers in line. Luckily, he has you to keep Mammon by your side and Beel full of food.

The night drones on spent managing many noble advances. He spares you a weary glance and you wink at him from across the hall. He can’t help the quirk of his mouth, a slight smile amidst everything. You’re impossibly charming.

A few moments later and he hears your voice in his ear. “Meet me in the coat room, I have something to show you.”

You slip away and disappear somewhere in the crowd. Eventually he manages a moment alone, horribly curious as he finds his way to you.

You close the door behind him, nearly hidden amidst coats of all sizes. “Hi gorgeous,” you wrap your arms around his waist.

"A coat closet?" He muses.

“I won’t keep you. Pretty sure Beel is looking for me too… Here.” You hold up your phone, “What do you think?”

You’re showing him a picture of… rope? “This is what you wanted to show me?”

“I could hardly send it to your phone right now, what with the entire royal court surrounding you. Plus, I’d rather explain its implications in person.”

“Implications?”

“Mm. Are you free next Friday night? Around 10pm?”

“I…” he allows himself a small smile, “I might be able to spare you some time.”

“Oh might you?” You smirk, “Well, if you’re too busy I completely understand. I’m capable of appreciating my own hard work.”

He acts affronted, grabbing you by the waist and kissing your hand. “Would a willing participant not please you more?”

“Isn’t that why I asked you in the first place?” He’s captivated by the crinkle of your nose, by the warmth of your smile.

“You’ve caught me,” he chuckles, “I’m all yours.”

“Then it’s a date. Do you like the color?”

You show him your phone again and he hums appreciatively. "Did you get it from Cloven Boutique? I didn’t think they stocked colored rope."

“They don’t, I dyed it myself."

“Truly?” He looks closer, in want of his glasses. “It looks like a professional job."

"Well, I had to get the color just right - I love the look of you in blue."

"Oh?" His tone softens.

“Mhm…” You appreciatively sweep your eyes up his body, lingering the gold peacock tie-clip you got him last month. You reach out and adjust his collar, “I love seeing you in things I’ve bought.”

“You have good taste.”

“Do you really think so?”

He frowns. “I wouldn’t wear something if it didn’t suit me.”

You laugh, “I know, I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“You’re horrible.”

“I’m charming.”

He fondly rolls his eyes. “I suppose both descriptors are accurate. I will look forward to it all week.”

“I think it’ll be worth the wait.” You lean up and brush your lips against his, “Don’t dance with too many nobles now.”

“Haven’t you noticed? All eyes are on you tonight. It’s taken everything in me not to whisk you away.”

“Likewise, darling.” You wink at him again and his heart certainly doesn’t flutter.

-

Lucifer knocks on your closed door, waiting for you to beckon him inside.

The first thing he notices is an old mahogany chair in the middle of your room, stolen from the hallway. It sits odd against your comfortable furniture.

You make a show of locking your door, brushing against his shoulder as you pass by. Then you cast a noise canceling spell - nothing but an emergency could disturb you now.

When you meet his eyes you're delighted by his wanting expression, unguarded and open in his desire. "I wonder…" you walk over to him, "how much you've thought about this night, curious about what I've planned?" You straighten his tie, close enough to see him swallow.

"It has been on my mind." He takes your hand in his own and kisses your knuckles, looking every part adoring.

You chuckle fondly, "Especially in the evenings, when you think of me?"

His cheeks heat up but his gaze is steady. “I won’t deny it."

“Honesty suits you." He goes in for a kiss just as you pull away. "I want to show you something."

He makes a curious sound and you leave him to open your dresser drawer. "Now, you knew I'd be using rope tonight, but for what exactly I didn't tell you." You gather the rope in your arms, "It might not seem like much of a deviation."

"Oh?" He eyes the rope you've picked.

"You still like it?"

He turns the rope over in his hands, "It’s richer than I remember. How did you do it?"

"Blue mangled beetles - kind of like carmine, but the process is simpler. When dried and crushed they make a beautiful dark navy dye that doesn’t bleed."

"You did your research."

You chuckle and take the rope from his hands. "Only the best for you. Gloves off."

He slips off his right leather glove, finger by finger - wait. “Blue?” You look at him inquisitively. His nails are a rich navy blue, perfectly manicured and glossy.

His eyes flicker behind you, cheeks dusting pink. “I painted them a few days ago.”

You're confused for a minute, then it hits you. “Wait - because of me?”

His voice drops, “You - you mentioned-" He clears his throat, "I thought you might like them.”

"I love them, Lucifer…" You kiss his knuckles, his palm, his wrist, before pulling him in for a proper kiss. His hand cups your jaw and he makes a small, plaintive sound. He really had been thinking about your words all this time.

You pull away with reluctance. "It's time I tell you what we’ll be doing tonight. Shall we start the scene?"

He clears his throat again and sweeps his own magic over your door. "Let us begin."

"Any titles are allowed tonight, you can address me however you’d like. Red to stop the act, yellow to pause, and green for all good. Fire if you want to stop the scene entirely."

"Understood.”

“Then…" the glint in your eyes makes him a little weak in the knees. "I know you have a penchant for ropework. And I know how much you enjoy earning my praise. So, I had a thought - tonight I’d like you to use your ropework skills and tie me up, but I want full range of motion, you know, a design strictly for aesthetics.” You pull the rope taught in your hands, “And then, if you do a good enough job, I may reward you with some rope of my own. What do you say?” You hold out the rope to him.

You smile and oblige, settling into the cold wooden seat. He eyes you and then the rope, contemplative, before loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves. He circles you, and you admire the focused, pointed look on his face as he carefully plans an intricate design in his mind’s eye. He’s completely in his element and you love to watch him work.

“What an intriguing idea...” He takes the rope from your hands with soft reverence, feeling the rough texture between his fingers. “You really got such a nice shine to it,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. He breathes out slowly and gestures to the mahogany chair, “Please dear, relax.”

“Ah,’ you suddenly realize, “This might help.” You lift up your shirt and drop it next to the chair before shimmying out of your bottoms, leaving you bare before him.

“Yes…” he murmurs as his eyes roam your skin.

You feel a pleasant tingle up your spine when he brushes his fingers through your hair, gently gathering until he can put it up properly above your neckline. Your body relaxes under his touch.

The first knot is an anchor tie just below your bust, he uses four strands and divides them into two, slipping each half over your shoulders and back down to meet your back. The rough texture warms you from the outside in but his careful touch is cool against your skin.

You watch him as he works, loving the interplay of shadow that falls across his sharp features. He catches you staring.

“Am I pleasing to look at, Madam?”

“Yes, very much so.”

Your pact mark sings and you chuckle, bemused at the sensation. “You like it when I compliment you, don’t you, my little black bird?”

His cheeks heat up and his eyebrows furrow, as he’s put off by the pet name, but the humming in your chest only continues. “I can feel it, you know? Honesty really does suit you best - your face is much prettier wearing it.”

The tips of his ears turn pink but he circles you, wrapping his arms around your midsection to finish fixing a knot in place. Suddenly his warm lips press into the crook of your shoulder. The deep undertones of his voice make you shiver as he whispers in your ear. “You will be the death of me.”

You turn to meet his eyes, coy mischief in your own. “I think you’ll survive.” He chuckles and you kiss him once, twice, just to make him simmer. He almost goes back in for a third but you brush your thumb over his bottom lip. “Not yet.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He kisses your shoulder once more.

Time passes in a lovely, hazy sort of way. Lucifer relaxes into the process as you'd hoped he would. It’s a gentle sort of focus where his mind is set on something, a place where nothing else can bother him or tear away his careful attention. He loves taking your direction, easing him out of his mind, constantly wound too tight.

Finally he kneels to finish the job, gingerly maneuvering one of your legs up and over his shoulder to wrap a strand around the back of your thigh. His eyes wander this time, following the line of your body until he lingers between your legs. As if he can’t help himself he kisses your skin, leaving a delicate trail up the inside of your thigh.

You cup his jaw in one hand and he kisses your palm, eyeing between your legs. “After you finish,” you murmur, “You’ll have to earn what you get tonight.” His eyes flicker to yours and he continues moving, finishing the tie he started.

“I believe I’m finished, will you stand?”

You do so, feeling the bend and flex of rope. Nothing feels too tight, everything is snug, hugging the curves of your body. You admire what lacing you can see, particularly the delicate design around your hands and wrists. He truly had taken his time, a glance at the clock proves that an hour has passed.

Finally you turn around and examine his work in the mirror. Your eyes light up at his intricate ropework. You’re beautiful, elegant, fully mobile and yet covered in faux restraints. You admire yourself, making a show of your appreciation. His chest puffs out and the pact mark on your chest rumbles. You gently circle your clit with one finger and enjoy how he shifts uncomfortably behind you.

You want more from him. Your body aches from an hour of foreplay.

You cup his jaw with one hand. “Kneel.”

“Yes Sir,” he murmurs, almost breathless.

His willing, almost eager demonstration of your power over him, of his own lack of control, further spurns you on, and you know he can hold your weight.

"Show me, then, devotion to your work." You prop one leg up on the hard mahogany seat, exposing yourself for him. Rope hugs your thighs, indenting and highlighting what he wants most.

His eyes flicker between your face and your clit. He licks his lips. "Thank you, Sir."

You run a hand through his hair and brace the other on the back of the chair. As soon as his tongue touches your clit you gasp, unable to help yourself. You’ve been on edge for so long now, throbbing at every new rope and delicate detail. You savor his mouth, rocking your hips into his face gently. "Yes…" he sucks and licks as you drip onto his tongue and he moans softly at the gentle tug of your hand in his hair.

You'll come quickly and you know it - you rock against him faster now and he wraps his fingers through the ropes on the back of your thigh before squeezing your ass and petting between your legs.

You look down at him, at his disheveled appearance, tousled hair, and too-tight pants. “Lucifer, darling, you - ah - you don’t have to say anything, no thoughts, no control, just take what I give you."

He groans and claws at the backs of your thighs, pulling you forward against his mouth.

You tilt your head back. "Good man, good job-" he whines and flicks his tongue with renewed vigor, "fffuck, right there…"

You fuck his face, shivering and shaking, chasing your orgasm. He holds you upright and supports your body, grasping at his own ropework. You moan and twitch. A glance at the mirror brings you closer still, “Look baby, look at you, making me feel so fucking good… shit-” Your grip on his hair tightens as you twist your hand, pulling him forward. He moans, high and breathy, harshly breathing through his nose.

His right hand supports your waist while his left squeezes your ass. Just a minute more, a second more, finally, finally his palpable desire sends you over the edge, and god how it fills the air. He takes it all and you don't fall, even as your legs lock and your grip falters. You shake and shiver in his tight grasp, palms holding tight to his shoulders. He keeps licking, just enough to keep you there until tension dissipates and you’re overstimulated. Only then does his grip loosen, following your body as you stand on your own, knees shaking.

There's an unspoken tenderness in his eyes - your baby takes pride in service.

You step away from him when you can, fixing his hair and cleaning your cum from his lips. "Sit on the chair, darling."

His knees crack when he gets up, stiff from his place on the hardwood floor. He sits, bulge straining against his trousers, watching you with rapt attention.

"I think…" you turn around, "You've more than earned your reward - as if there was any doubt in my mind."

“Oh?” He practically glows at your praise.

"And…” you walk over to your nightstand once more, "I'm not done with this yet." He swallows, gaze fixated on the rope in your hands. You smirk, "You like that idea?"

He shifts again. "Yes I - very much."

You reach into your nightstand and pull out a matte black silicone dildo, smaller, elegant even. You hold it up. “What about this? Are you up for it tonight?”

“Yes,” he nods, “I prepared myself for the possibility.”

“Perfect,“ you breathe, already excited. “Then…” your smile is nearly wicked as you regard him and his cock throbs in earnest. “Clothes off. Hands behind your back - hold your forearms.”

He acquiesces, knowing exactly what you want.

Soon he’s sitting naked on the chair, hands held behind his back, willingly at your mercy. Your ties aren’t nearly as elegant, but they restrict his movement and hug his body. You restrain his arms behind his back with a chest harness, carefully distributing the weight of the rope, adding just a touch of flourish. Even in such a simple design he looks lovely. Blue really is his color, you think, admiring him. He catches your eye.

“I was right,” you say, tilting his chin up for a chaste peck on the lips, “You look lovely in blue.” He groans and chases your lips this time. You let him, just once, and deepen the kiss yourself, before grabbing him by the hair, wrenching his head up. “Not yet, darling.”

“As you wish.” He’s breathless and kiss bitten.

You leave him and stack two large pillows on top of each other. You motion for him to stand before grabbing him by the restraints. “I will help you get into position,” you chuckle darkly, “I want you face down.”

His cheeks feel hot but he nods, “Yes Sir.”

“Good man. Lie down.”

It takes a moment since he can’t move his arms but you finally have him exactly where you want him, chest pushed into the bed, hips and ass raised by the pillows beneath him.

He tilts his head to look at you with one eye, eyebrow raised as you appear with more rope.

‘Can’t have you squirming too much, now can I?” He groans into the pillow beneath him and nods.

“Tell me if you’re ever uncomfortable or need to readjust, this position might get tiring after awhile.”

“I’m sure I can take it.”

“I’m sure you can, but I’m not asking. Tell me.”

He shivers. “Yes Ma’am.”

“Good.”

You uncap the lube on your nightstand and snap a glove on. He shivers at the cold feeling of your lubed finger rubbing against him, but as your hand warms so does his body and he slowly starts to meet your gentle thrusts as you enter him. You love this part. It’s incredibly intimate, almost more so that the ensuing sex, because anyone else would have been thrown out long ago - he has only ever done this with you.

Once you’re up to two fingers comfortably you withdraw your hand and replace it with your lubed up strap. “Ready?”

“I’ve been ready.” You smack his ass and he gasps.

“What was that?”

“I apologize, yes I - I’m ready.”

“That’s better. One more remark like that,” you murmur, pressing in slowly, “And I’ll rethink your reward.”

He hisses, wiggling his hips, “A-Apologies - it won’t happen again.”

‘I know it won’t,” you smile, “because you love this too much.” Finally, finally you move your hips, slow at first, until finding a gentle rhythm. You use his bound legs as leverage, pushing deep inside of him as his low, desperate moans fill the air.

As his body strains against the rope it holds tight, digging into his skin - this heat, this pleasure, your power over him is dizzying. For a few blissful moments he can’t think, all he can do is feel you surround him and hear your haunting voice in his ear.

It is easy to admire him, Lucifer Morningstar splayed out before you, rocking his ass into your hips, wanting more, more. You grab the rope holding his forearms tight against his back and pull, arching his back against the sheets. He cries out, and you lean down, pushing all your weight on top of him.

“That feel good, baby? Heh, you love it don’t you?” Your hips are slow and deep, grinding on his favorite spot, “You love being fucked like this. Wrapped in my rope, under my hand-” He moans, long and debauched. “I’m the only one who gets to fuck you like this, you belong to me, don’t you?”

“Yes-!”

You’re breathless above him. “We belong to each other, right, love?”

His eyes open and he gazes at you in the adjacent mirror, “Yes…” You dip and kiss the back of his neck, soft and sweet, "Hnn…" he takes in a shuddering breath and lets his head fall forward.

“That's right, no one else deserves to touch you, no one else is good enough, worthy enough.” You whisper in his ear.

He gasps your name and pushes his ass against your hips, pathetically fucking himself on your strap. Every slap of your skin sears welts into his body. You grab his hair and jerk his body up.

“Eyes open, look at yourself.” He didn’t think he could get any redder, but the sight of you behind him, fucking his ass with slow purposeful thrusts, restraining him while tied in his own ropework, it's too much, he can’t - he’ll -

You wrench his head up, “Keep looking,” you pant, “look at the face you make when you come for me.”

He can’t help it, he comes fast and hot, hips stuttering, mouth open and gasping. You slow but you don’t stop. He whimpers but dutifully stays, taking it all.

“Good man,” you praise him, “So. Fucking. Good-” you punctuate your words by digging your nails into his back. You slowly drag them downward and tiny specks of blood bubble to the surface. He hisses but his cock jumps beneath him. “You like a little pain, don’t you?” You slap his ass with an open palm. “Answer me.”

“Yes, yes Ma’am -”

“Yes what?”

"Fuck - more, please-!”

“Filthy.” You bite, before indulging him with another slap on the ass.

You run your nails gently over the welts and he sighs in bliss. In this moment of calm you use all your strength to hoist him upward again, until his back is flush against your chest. You wrap a hand around his throat and start to bounce him on your cock. His eyes roll back and he groans, reaching around to grab your hip as he rocks back into you.

“When I cut you loose,” you pant, “I want you to lie down on your back, legs spread, waiting and ready for me again. Do you understand me?”

He swallows breathlessly and nods.

You lean him forward and gently pull out. You untie his legs, and then his arms before dropping the rope next to the bed. His body is tinged red with slight rope burn, just how he likes.

He rolls over onto his back, finally making eye contact with you. You smile at him, gentle, and his pupils pin. “Spread your legs for me.”

Lucifer grabs his own knees, and spreads his legs while you refuse to let him lose eye contact. His red flush is delicious, and so is his twitching cock, clearly enjoying this.

You grab more lube from the nightstand and quickly reapply before holding one of his legs to your chest and slipping back inside. He groans and rocks his hips forward, savoring the feeling.

You slowly snap your hips forward, reaching deep inside him, you keep repositioning until he gasps and then you hold there. Little thrusts of your hips grinding against his ass. He gasps low, moaning sweetly in his deep voice as sweat trickles down his temple.

“Kiss me-” he croaks, reaching for you. You melt into him and grind against him as his hands roam your body. He doesn’t realize he’s whimpering and shuddering, or if he does he doesn’t care.

You continue like this for a while, enjoying his gasping deep moans in your ear, his lips and teeth on your neck. Finally, at your mercy, you gently trace your fingers over the head of his cock. The noise he makes is agonizing, and you have half a mind to continue neglecting him. But he has your heart as you keep up that gentle, light contact, and he doesn’t ask for more. His head is spinning, filled with thoughts of you, you, just you.

You speed up your hand as your hips get tired and he grips your back, rocking into you. Finally you feel him tense, feel his blunt nails dig into your back.

“There you go, my pretty bird,”

He gasps, light and beautiful, shuddering as he comes, keening as each slow, deep thrust of your hips milks another dribble of cum out of him.

You kiss again and again, covered in sweat, cum, and specks of blood, ignoring the passage of time.

-

Darkness blankets your bedroom, barely lit in deep navy shadow. Your fingernails fall up and down rhythmically over the rope burn on Lucifer’s back.

“I heard you were approached last week.” He murmurs.

“At the Banquet…? Oh, did Asmo say something?”

Lucifer chuckles, "He said something akin to "Everyone here is itching for their chance, don't let them out of your sight."

You feign exasperation. "And what did you do, you let me out of your sight. Now I'm in bed with a demon."

Lucifer snorts, "The very same demon you propositioned in a coat closet."

"What can I say? I know who I want," you kiss his temple.

Lucifer leans into you further, draped across your body. "Don't you have plans early tomorrow morning?"

“You yawn again, “Solomon said he has something important to talk to me about. What exactly, I’m not sure… he can wait until I've had breakfast.”

“That sorcerer…”

“He wants you so bad,” you chuckle, “I mean, it isn’t up to me, but I enjoy acting as if it is.”

“Rest assured,” he kisses your shoulder, “he’ll never have me, not like you do.”

Your smile is gentle. “I love you, Luci.”

“And I you.”

Lucifer closes his eyes and relaxes his sore body, satisfied and calm. He resolves to make you breakfast in the morning before seeing you off to Solomon.

Truly, he thinks, there's nothing he can’t face as long as you’re there when he wakes.

[moonlightspencie]

But You’re Friction

Chapter 2 of ‘treacherous’

Pairing: Remus Lupin x fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Weeks passed, and each one seemed better than the last.

The connection Remus had made for you with the herbologist was a perfect match, come to find out. You got along with Nemora incredibly well, not only in the work sense but personally as well. She was a sweet, older woman with insanely untamable hair and an equally indomitable spirit. Her fire and passion for not only herbology, but the ways in which magical plants could be used for the good of everyone, inspired you entirely.

When she found out you had a similar desire for good, she hired you immediately and put you to work just as quickly. Not that you’d complain; it was nice to have something to do with your days, especially when that something felt more like a fun hobby than work. It was delightful, to say the least.

You were wandering Diagon Alley during one of your days off when things seemed to get even better.

You looked into the shop window, noticing that everything was run down. It hurt to see all of the shops that used to be so lively end up reduced to nothing. But one of your favorite places for a quick meal was back up and running, and you were glad for it.

You meandered around the street, nearing your destination, when a familiar voice called your name. You turned, your face lighting up, when you saw him.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

Remus shrugged. “Just fancied a walk, I guess. What are you doing here? Isn’t much to see, is there?”

You shook your head. “No, there isn’t. It’s so sad.”

He hummed in agreement, nearing you.

“But,” you continued, "a place I’ve always loved that has the best coffee and sandwiches in the world is back up and running now.”

“And what would that be?”

“Have you been to Flora’s?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t.”

“Have you eaten yet?” you asked, checking your watch. Just about noon. “It’s lunchtime now, you know.”

He smiled softly. “Is this an invitation?”

“Only if you say yes,” you added with a cheeky smile.

“I’d be honored,” he nodded.

You smiled again, taking his arm, leading him towards the small restaurant. You made some small talk, sure to thank him for the job recommendation while you were at it.

He opened the door for you when you got to Flora’s, more than willing to let you lead the way in the unfamiliar space. You got in the short line, explaining various sandwiches to him, though ultimately he made you choose for him, claiming he was ‘too overwhelmed’ by the choices. You laughed to yourself, ordering two of the same, though leaving it up to him to pick a drink for himself.

Just as you were about to hand over the money for it all, he shoved your hand out of the way, getting to it first.

You shook your head, leading him to a table by the window.

“You shouldn’t have done that. It was supposed to be my treat to you.”

“We never established that; I think it’s only fair that whoever is the first to get to it should pay,” he said, sitting across from you.

“Entirely not fair. I dragged you here, after all.”

“You didn’t drag me, I agreed to have lunch with you. There’s a difference, you know?”

You made a small noise of disappointment, looking out into the street. A small family passed by, with the toddler swinging from his parents’ hands. You smiled at them, your chin falling into your palm.

“What is it?” Remus asked, noticing your gaze. He looked to where you did, a matching smile on his face. “Ah.”

“That’s so sweet,” you said, watching as they turned the corner. “Have you ever considered that?”

He raised a brow. “What? A family?”

You nodded your head. “Yeah. You seem like the type.”

“I don’t know,” he said, fiddling with his hands. “I suppose I’ve thought about it. I don’t know if it’s for me, though. Nobody has ever seemed to really… Click.”

“Click?”

He nodded. “That connection, the right kind, that would… I don’t know. Feel right. It just hasn’t happened with anyone yet, I suppose.”

“Really? I, for one, have been convinced that you and Siri are secretly together.”

He laughed. “Ah, well. Maybe in another lifetime, but certainly not this one. He is a charmer, though, isn’t he?”

“He sure is,” you said with a small laugh. “I’m shocked he stayed on my parents’ good side, him flirting with their twenty-year-old daughter. Ridiculous man.”

He laughed. “He finds a way to sneak his way into everyone’s heart, even if they don’t want it.”

“It’s a talent, really.”

He hummed, nodding in agreement. You got up a moment later when the barista called your name, taking up your latte and his tea. You set the mugs down on the table, then took your seat again.

“I’ve never had tea here. You’ll have to tell me how it is,” you said, then started blowing gently on the liquid in your own mug. You tried taking a sip, but it was far too hot. “Ugh. I just want my drink.”

He snorted a laugh at the sour look on your face. “Patience is a virtue, you know?”

“One I don’t often have,” you noted with a raise of your brows. “On the plus side, it smells delightful.”

“It does. I can smell it from here,” he said, taking in a deep inhale. “I’m afraid I should probably stay away from caffeine, though, after the three cups I’ve had this morning.”

“Ooh,” you said, “rough night?”

“Long night,” he corrected. “I was up for far too long, enraptured by a book I picked up last week.”

You smiled. “You read often?”

“As often as I can allow time for.”

“Nice,” you nodded. “I’d like to have a large home library myself one day. Even on days I don’t feel like reading much, just the presence of books surrounding me is calming, I think. We always had plenty of old books in my home growing up.”

“I don’t have the largest library, but I do have a shelf full,” he said, looking from his tea to you. “Maybe one day I can have you over to peruse. Or, just sit next to them, if you really please.”

You chuckled. “An enticing offer. I may just take you up on it sometime.”

He merely smiled to himself, looking back out the window.

Weeks passed, and Remus found himself at 12 Grimmauld Place, head in his hands at the dining room table as Sirius talked at him. Sirius was convinced that joining the Order wasn’t a big deal for his ‘sunshine girl’. Remus disagreed.

“Are you sure about this?” Remus asked in a small voice.

Sirius nodded. “You aren’t? You know she’d be phenomenal. I’m sure with all her parents have done for me, Dumbledore would be more than willing to let her in.”

Remus swallowed, shaking his head. Sirius tried meeting his eyes, huffing to himself when Remus wouldn’t look back at him. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This is ridiculous. I need someone on my side, here.”

Remus scoffed. “Why bring her into danger like this? Has she even expressed interest in the Order?”

“Yes,” Sirius exclaimed, taking a moment to collect himself after the small outburst. “She has. I don’t want to be the only one advocating for her or making her feel welcomed if she’s sworn in.”

“I just don’t know, Pads,” Remus said after a beat.

“Why not?”

“I’ve already told you why not. It’s dangerous.”

“Oh, and you’ve always been so protective of her,” Sirius scoffed sarcastically. “You’ve had no problem with anyone else joining. Why is she any different?”

Remus stood, hands on his hips, as he started pacing.

“Because she is. You, of all people, should be the one wanting to protect her in this. You should care more about her safety.”

“You think I don’t?” Sirius asked, quirking a brow. “Don’t be ridiculous, Remus. That’s not what this is about, and you know it.”

“What’s it about then? Enlighten me,” Remus huffed, pausing his pacing to stare ahead at his friend.

“You fancy her.”

Remus merely stared for a moment, then scoffed, shaking his head.

“No, I don’t.”

“You can lie to yourself all you’d like, but you’ve never been able to lie to me. Don’t start trying now,” Sirius stated, putting his feet up on the table.

Remus merely shook his head, plopping back into his seat. A silence fell over them for a few moments before Sirius was lowering his legs again, scooting a little closer as his hands clasped on the tabletop.

“Mooney, I need you to support her in this. She’s smart. She’s not the type to run into danger, you know?”

He nodded, his voice quiet. “I know.”

“Please. Her knowledge of herbs and medicine alone could do so much for us at the Order. She’s smart enough in a fight, too,” he said, catching Remus’ eye. “You know I’d never do anything to put her in danger, but the world is dangerous right now. Might as well keep her by our side in it.”

Remus sighed, scratching at the tabletop for a moment before he looked up at Sirius. He nodded slowly.

“Alright. I’m in.”

Sirius paused for a minute, then, “She’ll be here in an hour, by the way.”

“What?” Remus asked, his eyes widening.

“I invited her for tea. So she can see this place, too,” he said, sighing softly. “It was supposed to happen a month ago, but you just had to connect her with that job of hers.”

Sirius smirked, hoping he could lighten the mood a bit. He let out a breath when he saw Remus smile slightly.

“Has she told you about that yet?” Remus asked, still tracing the scratches on the table.

“A bit. Only that she’s enjoying it.”

“Nemora’s really taken a liking to her, apparently. They’ve been working on breeding a new plant species. Some hybrid of… I-don’t-know-what that’s supposed to really help with burns when it’s juices are extracted.”

Sirius smiled a little wider. “Look at that. You know more about her than I do, now.”

“Just about the job.”

“When did she tell you?”

Remus looked up, slightly nervous. “What?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “When did she tell you about all of that?"

“Oh,” Remus shrugged. “We ran into each other in Diagon Alley. Decided to get some lunch.”

Sirius hummed thoughtfully. Remus hated it when he did that.

“What?” he huffed.

“Nothing. Just think it’s funny you told me you don’t fancy her when you went on a date.”

“Wasn’t a date.”

“You two got lunch. Just the two of you.”

“You do that with her, too.”

“That’s different. We’re established friends, and she always tries to pay for herself. Tell me, did you get away with paying for her meal?”

“That’s not important and doesn’t make it a date,” Remus protested. “Nothing romantic between us at all.”

“Except that date,” Sirius teased. “Not to mention the way you look at her every time she walks into a room. Or the fact that I never see you smile like you do with her. Mm, maybe I should bring up the fact that any time we’re in a room, you find any chance you can to be next to her.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I think that’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?”

Remus shook his head wordlessly. He decided to give up on arguing, knowing it wouldn’t go anywhere productive. He never seemed to win arguments with Sirius, even when he knew he was right. Though it was much worse when Sirius was the correct one. A know-it-all in troublemakers’ clothing.

He decided to switch topics, wanting to shift attention away from the crush that he was too embarrassed to admit he harbored. It was a bit ridiculous, and he knew it. To start having feelings for a girl who, frankly, he felt could do much better than him. It was part of the reason Sirius’ teasing was especially annoying: he, of all people, should know why it was a bad idea to have feelings like those ones. For someone who had their whole life ahead of them. He shook it off, not wanting to get in his head more than he already was.

Thankfully, Sirius granted him the mercy to move on from that conversation fairly easily.

You walked up to Grimmauld Place that afternoon, knocking on the door and hoping that Sirius would pay enough attention to hear it. It was a fifty-fifty chance, really.

You waited, shuffling your feet a little as you did, until the door swung open.

“There she is,” Sirius said with a cheeky smile and a wink.

You smiled immediately and stepped into his embrace.

“How are you?” you asked quickly.

He broke away, moving around you to shut the door.

“Fine. Good, even,” he corrected himself. “I’ve been having a nice talk with Remus. Remembering a time we pulled a marvelous prank on old Snivellus.”

You chuckled, letting him lead you towards the dining room with an arm around you.

“I’ll never get over that nickname.”

“Quite fitting, isn’t it?”

“It is,” you agreed emphatically. “Remus is here?”

He smirked. “Why? You excited to see him?”

“Curious,” you corrected shortly. “Quit trying to make something out of this.”

“All I’ve done is notice the obvious, my darling girl,” he said, squeezing your shoulder. “Can’t blame me for being observant.”

“You’d be surprised at the things I could blame you for,” you stated with a smirk of your own.

He laughed, tugging you along into the room where Remus sat. He stood as he saw you, standing near the dining table.

“Hello,” you greeted, breaking away from Sirius to give him a brief hug.

“Hello to you,” he said back, one arm wrapping around your middle for a moment. “How are things?”

“Great. How are you? Siri told me you two have been joking about Snape in my absence.”

He chuckled. “That we have. It’s terribly easy to do; we just can’t seem to help it.”

“I’ll get the kettle. It should be about ready by now,” Sirius said, tossing you another wink before leaving for the kitchen.

“What else have you been talking about? Anything interesting?”

He sort of nodded, sitting back down. You took the seat next to him, raising your brows in question.

“Talked about the Order a bit.”

“Ah,” you nodded. “Has he told you, then?”

“That you’d like to join?” he inquired.

You nodded your response, leaning back in your seat.

“Yes, he’s told me. Managed to get me on board with the idea, even,” he said, though he didn’t quite look convinced. “You’re sure about this, though?”

“I am. I feel like I’ve really taken to herbology, especially learning about the healing agents of plants. It could be good for someone like me to be around for when things go… If things go wrong.”

“That’s what Sirius said, too.”

“You don’t seem entirely sure about it,” you noted.

“I have my concerns. But if this is what you want to do, I am sure you’ll be brilliant.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that you’re willing to support it,” you said, sighing. “I worry that not everyone will be comfortable with my interest. I know that I’m coming in a bit late to all of this in comparison to the majority of you all.”

“So many of the members already love you. I’m sure it won’t be terribly difficult to convince anyone who has doubts,” he said, nudging your shoulder.

“Plus,” Sirius added, walking in with a tray. “You’re just so adorable, they couldn’t possibly say no to that face.”

“Right,” you snorted a laugh. “I’m sure I’ll just need to give them some puppy-dog eyes in order to sway their acceptance of me.”

“Well, it would work on some of them, I’m sure,” Sirius said, pointedly looking at Remus with a self-satisfied smirk.

He set down the tray, and you immediately started on your tea as he took his seat on the other side of Remus.

“Do you plan on giving me a grand tour?” You asked casually, busying yourself with the tea.

“I do." Sirius nodded. “I’m sure the memories of my terrible childhood will be quite exciting for you.”

You deadpanned. “Siri.”

“Sorry,” he said, though you knew he didn’t mean it.

In some ways, he’d become too comfortable around you. Joking about things like—well, that—had become commonplace with him in the time you’d been friends. Normally you’d laugh around with him, but something about being in the house… It felt different. Scolding him seemed like the only good option, really. At least it deflected your discomfort. He knew that, too. You could tell by the lingering smirk on his face after he’d “apologized”.

You sipped at your tea after Siri’s tour of the house, falling into easy conversation with the two men. You observed them as they bantered back and forth, a smile on your face as they proved their childhood bond to hold true. It was nice to see them both take on that childish way of behaving; you almost wished they didn’t pull you into their interaction after a few minutes of your silence.

“You could always stay here, you know?” Sirius said, setting his cup down on the table.

“As much as I love you, Siri, I also love having my own place.”

He sighed dramatically. “It gets so lonely here. I just know you’d brighten up the place, sunshine.”

You chuckled. “You could always come visit at my flat, you know?”

“Not the same,” he grumbled playfully, then sat up straight. “Consider it, at least. Maybe you’ll end up disliking your neighbors; you never know.”

“Silly man,” you said, shaking your head with a grin. “Why not ask your best friend, here?”

You tilted your head at Remus, raising a brow.

“Already tried. He doesn’t like me enough, tragically.”

Remus scoffed. “I did not say that.”

“May as well have, mate. Living in some run-down cottage—”

“It’s not run down.”

“But it is small. Why cram yourself in there when you could be with me here? I’ve got plenty of room.”

“Well, for one, I’d have to listen to you run your mouth all hours of the day,” Remus smirked.

You chuckle at that, drawing attention to yourself by accident.

“You’ve got no right to laugh. Off living in some one-bedroom flat surrounded by neighbors. You might as well be here, it wouldn’t be that different,” Sirius said, crossing his arms.

You sigh. “Ever heard of a lease, Sirius?”

He rolled his eyes. “You just don’t love me like you say you do.”

“Okay, drama queen,” I scoff a laugh. “If you want me to visit more, all you’ve got to do is ask. But I’m not going to try to weasel my way out of my lease when this is the very first place I’ve lived in alone. You should be proud of me for being so independent.”

He hid a smirk. “I guess.”

“Let the girl live, Sirius,” Remus said, rolling his eyes.

“Maybe if you weren’t whisking her away on little dates, she’d make more time for me, and I wouldn’t have to complain,” Sirius said, raising a brow.

Remus swallowed, glaring at his friend. You, on the other hand, let out a small laugh.

“Dates? When have we dated?” You asked incredulously.

“I know about your little excursion to lunch in Diagon Alley,” Sirius said, looking a little too smug. “Don’t play coy with me, now.”

“That was not a date,” you said, laughing again, though you couldn’t deny the slight heat in your cheeks. “We ran into each other, and I simply invited him to lunch.”

“Still sounds like a date to me,” Sirius said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Remus sighed heavily, dropping his face into his hands. He shook his head a little bit.

“You’re insufferable. You have to know that,” he muttered.

Sirius merely laughed. “Come on, am I not allowed to poke fun?”

“You’re being ridiculous, Siri,” you say, shaking your head with a smile.

“What’s so ridiculous?”

“Please,” Remus said, rolling his eyes again. “I should have never told you about that in the first place. Plus, girl like her, I’m sure she has plenty of people chasing her. Why not ask about that?”

You straighten up. “Plenty? Well, I think you severely overrate how interesting my dating life is.”

You chuckle at that, as does Sirius. Remus merely looks a little confused.

“How do you not?”

“Why do you think I would?”

He froze up a little, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times with nothing to say. He decided on a simple shrug.

“Don’t know. Just assumed.”

Sirius smirked again. “No, please, Moons. Come on, tell us what your reasoning was.”

“Cut it out,” he said quietly, shaking his head.

“Enough teasing him. He’s just trying to be nice,” you scolded Sirius, noticing how uncomfortable Remus had begun to look.

Sirius hummed, then changed the topic completely. You snuck a few glances—maybe a few too many—at Remus until he finally looked up and joined the conversation. He gave you a grateful smile after a few minutes, though you couldn’t help but wonder…

Why had he thought you’d be so busy dating?

Why did he seem to blush whenever there was any indication of something happening between you?

Why even bring up the not-date to Sirius?

More than anything, why did you find yourself thinking so much about him?

Chapter 3 ->

[writeforfandoms]

Puppy Love 8

Find the series masterlist

Well. Here we are. The last chapter of this fic. I may return to revisit this lot, especially if anyone has any prompts or requests. But this is the last chapter of the main story. 

There is an unspecified time jump here. I’ll leave it to y’all to decide how long they’ve known each other now. 

Warnings: Overwhelming fluff, a teeny bit of spice. 

Word count: 1k

Gaz didn’t even see Ghost coming. He was just minding his business when he got collared and dragged into a side room.

“Need your help,” Ghost said without preamble, releasing Gaz. 

“With what?” Gaz asked, rubbing a hand over his chest, willing himself not to have a heart attack. 

“Need you to keep Price busy today.”

That got his attention, and he narrowed his eyes a little. “How busy?” 

“Busy enough that he won’t notice a visitor.” 

Gaz’s eyes narrowed. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing.” Ghost sounded like he was smirking under his usual mask. “I’m just an accomplice. You gonna do it or not?” 

Gaz huffed out a sigh. “Consider it done.” 

Ghost nodded, clapping his shoulder before striding out of the room. Gaz looked down for a moment before he perked up and trotted off to go get Price. 

Cupid made an excellent distraction. And he had a lot of energy. 

Now he just had to get Price out of his office. 

He grinned as an idea occurred to him. Johnny wouldn’t mind getting thrown under the bus this once. 

–

“You’re sure this is fine?” you asked Simon, yet again, as he grabbed one of the bags from the back of your car. 

“Yeah, I cleared it.” He nodded once, absently patting the top of Sasha’s head when she whined a little. “This way.”

You followed him, one bag in hand and Sasha’s leash held tight in your other hand. You were a little nervous, but just a little. John didn’t know you were here, wouldn’t know until you were ready for him to know. Simon had assured you it was taken care of. And you weren’t going to question his methods. 

The briefing room was mostly empty, with just a few chairs and a single table. That was enough. There would only be five of you, after all. 

You’d come prepared - food was already cooked and kept warm in the insulated bags, and you’d made a pie. (John had commented once that most cake was too sweet, and you’d managed to wheedle his favorite pie flavor out of him. That had been fun.) You weren’t going to bother with decorations. Really, this wasn’t a big thing, because you knew John would hate a lot of people fussing over him.

Especially since you’d missed his actual birthday by a week and a half. Dangers of the job, you supposed. 

Simon glanced at you once everything was set out on the table, Sasha sniffing the air hopefully. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Just need to do this.” You fished something out of your pocket, taking a moment to clip it onto Sasha’s collar where you knew John would see it. Better than attaching it to her harness, at any rate. “Okay, let’s go.”

You kept Sasha on a short leash as Simon led you outside and to the field. John stood with his hands on his hips, Kyle and Soap in front of him and Cupid in between them. Only Cupid was… a lot more white than he should be. You nearly gave yourself away with the hiccuped laugh that tried to escape, Simon flapping an impatient hand at you. 

“Okay Sasha,” you whispered, crouching down next to the Lab, who had spotted her favorite person and was straining against the leash with her desire to get to him. “Go get John! Go get him!” You unclipped the leash from her harness and she bolted, bounding straight for John. 

He didn’t stand a chance.

She slammed straight into him, fifty pounds of pure muscle and energy, and he went down with a yell. She pounced, feet planted on either side of his head as she enthusiastically licked him all over, undoubtedly going to nibble on his muttonchops too. You grinned as you and Simon approached, able to watch as John finally shoved Sasha off enough to sit up.

“Where’d you come from, girl?” John asked quietly, tousling Sasha’s ears. You saw the moment his gaze caught on her collar and, more importantly, the key hanging from a little carabiner. He lifted his gaze, eyes wide, until he spotted you. You twiddled your fingers at him in a playful wave as you sauntered closer. 

You were not expecting John to grab you and pull you down with him, kissing you within an inch of your life (much to the amused cheering and whistling of his team). 

Someone got Sasha clipped back to her leash and the group of you trooped back inside. John didn’t say a word, slanting a look at you, but he didn’t object, either. 

Dinner was everything you had hoped and more. The team devoured practically everything you’d made. The dogs mostly behaved. And Sasha’s collar jingled, reminding you and John both of the key hanging there. 

As soon as dinner was done, Soap and Kyle jumped to volunteer to take things back to your car. Simon already had your key (and you swatted his arm for that) and in moments all three of them were gone. 

Leaving you, John, and Sasha.

“It’s yours, now,” you murmured, pulling a couple treats out of your pocket and getting Sasha to sit. The key caught the light, plain silver. 

“You’re sure?” John took the key off her collar, laying it flat in the palm of his hand.

“Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.” You smiled at him, reaching over to curl his fingers closed over the key. “Happy birthday, love.” 

John pulled you into his chest, kissing the breath right from your lungs.

[onmysluttyknees]

Can’t Get Over You

Pairing: Peña x reader.

Rating: E 18+ (minors dni). This is for mature audience only! By continuing reading you agree that you are over 18.

Words: about 7k.

—

“Can we please not do this now? I need to go,” he says, looking at me. The mask of indifference is back in place as he pulls his jeans back on. I thought we had moved past this. But apparently not. What I want and what he expects are not the same.

”I just want to know what I am to you!” I raise my voice louder than I intend to, but it’s so damn frustrating. He wants me, but he doesn’t want to commit to me.

“Don’t do this now; I’m running late.” He huffs, and he pulls his clothes back on. I feel so used. He wants a warm body to fuck when he feels like it. And I want more. I can’t do this anymore.

“You know what, Peña? Let’s not do this ever again. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.” I sigh, get out of bed, and start pulling my clothes on. I keep my body away from him as I do so. If I look at him, I’ll give in, like I always do.

“I thought we were on the same page about what this was, were we not?” He asks, and I hear him moving closer to me, but I don’t turn around.

“And I thought that I meant more to you than just a good fuck whenever you’re in the mood. But I suppose we both were wrong.” I walk into the bathroom and slam the door behind me, locking it to keep him out. I want so much more than what he’s willing to give me. I get that he has a lot on his plate. After coming back from Columbia and taking on the job as the sheriff in Laredo, a lot of people expect him to clean up the town and get the drugs out of here. But when he came back alive, all I could think was that maybe this was our chance at a second chance together.

We had been together when we were younger, before he left for Colombia, and I understood that when he left, what we had was over. I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for him while he went down there, since neither of us knew when he would be back.

But that didn’t stop me from hoping and wishing that he would come back one day, and maybe we could pick up where we left off. How silly of me to think that what we once had meant more to him than what it does now. I was still just a warm body for him to sink his cock into whenever he needed to blow off some steam. And frankly, I’m over it.

A soft knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts.

“Nenita, please don’t be like this. What we have is good, right? Why do we need to make it into something it isn’t?” His voice is like butter on toast. It’s hard to resist him when he’s like that, but I deserve more. I want more from him, but if he isn't willing to give it to me, then I can’t give him more from me. I need to protect myself before I give him more than I already have.

“Just go, Peña; I can’t do this anymore. Please just go.” My voice breaks at the end. I try my best to keep myself together. He can’t see me when he’s on the other side of the door, but I know he can hear me.

“I’m sorry, nenita." That’s the last thing I hear from him before I hear the front door open and then close. He’s gone. Again. Only this time, I will still see him around town. Fuck!

4 months later.

With a glass of rosé wine in my left hand and the music playing loudly, I’m looking through my closet, trying to decide what to wear for my date tonight.

I’m not even sure I should go. I’m still not over Javier, but they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. And since nothing else seems to have worked in the past 4 months, why not try going on a date?

Nick is cute; he’s kind, and he’s been asking me out for a date several times over the years. So here I am, getting ready for a date. With Nick.

My hand drifts over a white sundress with sunflowers on it. I used to wear this dress all the time. It was one of my favourites, and sadly, one of Javier’s too.

“I love the way this dress hugs you, ass, and your titts,” he whispered into my ear, his lips gently grazing down my neck.

“Stop it, Javi; we need to go or we’re going to be late for our reservation at ‘Hal’s’.” I tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but not much effort was put into it since I didn’t really want to step away from his warm body. He pressed his front against my back with more force, making it very clear exactly how much he liked the dress. I could feel him through his jeans as his cock pressed against my ass. A soft moan escaped my lips as he pressed himself into me again, harder this time.

“Are you sure you want me to stop querida?” His teeth scraped gently along the shell of my ear, and his hands gripped my hips tighter as he let out a low groan of pleasure as I rubbed my ass against his growing erection once again. “I say we skip dinner and go straight to dessert instead.”

We never made it to the restaurant that night. Now that I think of it, we hardly ever went anywhere; we were always at his place or mine. I didn't mind because I got to have him all to myself without the other women of the town ogling him, but now, in hindsight, it feels like he didn’t want to be seen with me. Not that that mattered; in a small town like Laredo, everybody knows everything anyway. And people knew, just like they knew the moment we stopped seeing each other. In the first month or two, people would stare, and I would hear them whisper about me when they didn’t know I was in the next aisle, or perhaps they knew and wanted me to hear?

It was always the same comment: “Perhaps he got bored of her." “A man like that can’t be tied down; why did she think she would be able to get him to settle down?”. And it hurts. Far more than I care to admit. Because it was all true. In the end, I wasn’t enough for him.

I shake my head as if to try and clear the memory from it. But I’m not an etch-a-sketch, so the image of us in bed that night and all the other times stays burned into my brain as I try my best to get ready for my date with Nick. I down the rest of my wine, and out of spite or defiance, I don’t know, I grab the dress with the sunflowers. It’s just a dress, one of my favorites, so I pull it on. It still fits nicely, though it’s a little looser around my midriff now than it was before, but that is to be expected. I have been exercising more lately and eating better, so I have lost some weight.

Not that I did it because anyone told me that I needed to, but what else was I supposed to do with all my free time when Javier stopped coming around? Correction: When I told him to leave, he actually, for once, listened to me. I had to find something to put all my time and energy into. So I started running. It’s a good distraction. I keep pushing myself further and harder. The burn from running makes the hurt from not being with him a little bit easier to handle. And it usually tires me out pretty good. It keeps me from making dumb decisions like texting him late at night when I’m lonely.

A loud knock on my door startles me just as I put the last touch of lipstick on. I put the cork back on and set down the lipstick, walking over to open the door, putting on a bright smile as I do so.

“Wow, you look beautiful.” Nick looks me up and down before he settles on my face, a big smile on his lips as he hands me a bouquet of flowers. “These are for you.” He says.

“These are beautiful, Nick. Thank you. Let me just put these in water, and then I’m ready to go.” I take the flowers, and he follows me as I walk into the kitchen to find a vase.

After I’ve put the flowers in the water, I look over at Nick to see where he’s standing in the doorway to my kitchen. He cleaned up nice, in a pair of slacks and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And he trimmed his beard too; usually it’s a bit more wild, but tonight he has it neatly trimmed short. It suits him better. But for some reason, I can’t help but think about how I prefer a defined moustache over a full beard.

“Are you ready to go?” Nick asks, bringing me back to my kitchen and the man standing in front of me. The man that is not him. But that’s the point; Javier didn’t want more, and I do. So I give Nick a soft smile and nod.

The restaurant is nice, although I wish he hadn’t taken me to Hal’s. But the odds of him coming in here tonight are hopefully low.

We order food and drinks, and we talk about everything and nothing. And just as I am starting to relax and enjoy the date, I feel him. I can tell that he is there before I even see him. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot him over at the bar. He just walked in and is ordering a beer. I know he’s already seen me. The way he looks over at us tells me everything I need to know. And he looks pissed.

I try to concentrate on what Nick is telling me, something that happened this week at his work, but honestly, all I can think of is him. Javier is standing less than 10 feet from me over by the bar, but he might as well be standing next to me. The air in the room is electrified, and with every breath I take, I find it more and more difficult to breathe.

“Will you excuse me for just a second?” I get up from my chair and all but run towards the ladies room, not even bothering to think about the fact that I left Nick hanging in the middle of a sentence about whatever he was talking about. I need to get out of the room and away from Javier.

I lock myself into one of the ladies rooms and grip the sink with both hands so tightly that my knuckles turn white with the effort. My breathing is ragged, and I try my best to slow my racing heart. This is not what I had envisioned for my first night out after Javier and I broke up. Well, to be broken up, one would have to have actually been a couple in the first place, which we never were. He didn’t want anything serious, and I was dumb enough to think that if I stayed around long enough, he would change his mind. That he would want me just the same way I wanted him. Sadly, that never happened.

After several minutes of hiding in the bathroom, I pull myself together enough to stand up straight, run my hands down my dress, and look at myself in the mirror.

“You can do this. He is just a man you once knew. You can do this.” I tell myself the same thing over and over as my breathing evens out and my heart slows back down to somewhat normal. With a final, steadfast breath, I unlock the door and walk out, and straight into someone.

“What the...” I stop myself the moment I look up and my eyes meet his. Dark brown eyes I could drown in, if only he’d let me.

“Querida.” His voice is low and strained. He looks me up and down, widening a little when he sees the dress I have on, before he looks me in the eyes.

“You lost the right to call me that, Peña.” I try to sound strong, but my voice is wavering, and I have to look away from his piercing gaze before I do something stupid. Pushing past him to get away from him, just as I’m almost past him, he grabs a hold of my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.

“Please, don’t walk away,” he pleads, his hand still in a firm grip on my wrist.

“I’m not the one who walked away, remember?” I turn around and yank my hand from his. When my eyes meet his, he looks lost, even sad. But I can’t break. Not here, not now. “You’re the one who didn’t want what I had to offer.” The rage bubbles up; after being pushed down for months, it’s finally breaking free. I’m done blaming myself for what happened. He made me believe we could be more. He’s the one who made me feel like what we had was more than just sex, with his sweet touch, filthy words, and the way he would look at me. He’s the one who would hold me tight, night after night, as we fell asleep next to one another after we had our way with each other in bed.

“I...” He takes a step closer, but I back up. I can’t. I won’t survive him one more time.

“You what, Pña? You don’t want me. Not really—not all of me, at least. You only want me when you can’t have me. Or am I wrong? You haven’t called me in months. But tonight, the first night, I’m actually out with someone else. Now you care? Just leave me alone; I can’t do this again with you. I won’t survive it a third time.” It’s like my words burned him. He backs up a few steps. His eyes meet mine. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then he closes it again. Just like I thought, nothing has changed. He doesn’t want more, or maybe he isn’t capable of more. It’s only sad that it took me so long to figure it out. Having the man I love break my heart not only once, way back when we were kids, but again four months ago. And in a way, now, all over again, tonight hurts more than I care to admit. But I won’t let him do it again. I can't, and I won’t survive it one more time.

Without saying anything else, I turn and walk away. There is nothing more to say. He doesn’t stop me, either. So if that doesn’t tell me exactly everything I need to know, then I don’t know what will.

I walk back to the table where Nick is still sitting. He looks uncomfortable, shifting slightly in his seat, but doesn’t say anything about how long I was gone or that Javier was gone for a part of that time too. He really is a good guy. And for the rest of the date, I try my best to pay attention to what he says and not look over to my left, where I know Javier is sitting still at the bar, nursing beer after beer. I smile and laugh, and I can almost fool myself into believing that this night isn’t that bad.

The date actually turned out pretty well. When we finished eating, Nick drove me back to my apartment, but I didn't invite him in. I need to do this right this time. So instead, I let him kiss me goodnight. I thanked him for a lovely evening, and when he asked me if I would like to go out with him again, I said yes. And I meant it. I did have a good time.

But the moment I’m alone in my apartment, my mind drifts back to the way he looked at me. Javier, not Nick. Not that the way Nick looked at me was bad. Just the way Javier always looks at me is like a sizzling fire that burns underneath my skin. And the only way to quench the flames is when he has his way with me and pulls orgasm after orgasm from me.

But tonight he looked at me like I was something he had lost, and he wanted it, me, back. But he didn’t do anything or say anything. At least nothing that changes what happened between us or how it ended.

That night, I got little to no sleep. I tossed and turned for half of the night, and the other half I dreamed about the one man I can’t have.

3 months later

I keep running into Javier. Almost on a daily basis, I see him across the street or run into him. I can’t get away from him. I can be in the supermarket, and I turn around, and there he is. Or at the gas station, filling up my car, and there he is. Even when Nick and I go out on dates, he is there. Everywhere I turn, he is always there. Not in a stalker way, though. Not like it's that strange; we live in the same town, but still. It’s unnerving. I’m trying to move on from him, but all I see is him everywhere I go.

It’s late, and I’m getting ready for bed when my phone pings with an incoming text message. So I walk out of my bathroom, one towel wrapped around my body and one towel still in my hand as I’m drying my hair after the shower, when I flip my phone on my bed with the other hand, and I freeze mid-motion.

It’s a text from Javier. I sit down on my bed before I open the text and read it.

I stare at the text. Not knowing what to reply or if I even should reply. I’m with Nick now, right?

Just when I’ve almost convinced myself to not reply and ignore the text altogether, the bubble with the three dots appears, and with anxious breath, I wait for his next text. But nothing appears. No more texts come through. And as I stand there with my hair dripping down onto my bed, my phone dies.

Fuck! I was supposed to have plugged it into the charger when I came home from work, but work had been hectic today, so I forgot. I scramble off my bed as quickly as I can, grab my charger from on top of my dresser, plug it into the socket, and then plug the other end into my phone. It feels like it takes forever for my phone to light up. And who knows how long it takes for it to power back on? Without my damn phone, which is also my clock in my bedroom, I don’t know how many minutes tick by before it actually lights up again.

I open up my phone to see if he has sent any more texts, but no. Only the one from before my phone died. What am I supposed to answer? He misses me? Should I even answer? Before I have any time to think more about it, a loud knock startles me. Looking down at my phone to check the time, 11:43, I highly doubt that it is Nick. We didn’t have plans tonight, and he wouldn’t just stop by unannounced like this, at least not this late. Which means…

“Querida, please open the door.” He’s speaking louder than normal, but not quite shouting yet. But I still don’t want my neighbors to get mad. Having someone half-yell in your stairwell isn’t most people's idea of fun at almost midnight on a fucking Thursday night. So I stumble my way to the door and yank it open.

Javier is leaning against the doorframe, looking worse for wear but still hot as fuck. No one should be allowed to look that good when he looks so disheveled and his hair is a mess. Like he has been dragging his fingers through it over and over for hours. His shirt is wrinkled, and his jeans are dirty.

“Javi, you can’t come here like this anymore.” I don’t even realize I used his nickname until he looks up at me with those big brown, sad eyes.

“You called me Javi.” A soft smile spreads across his lips, and that damn dimple appears on his left cheek. He knows how much I love that damn dimple.

“Slip of the tongue, what are you doing here?” I try to redirect the conversation, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to know what he’s doing here. He texted me not that long ago, and now he’s here, at my door, in the middle of the night.

“I’d like to give you my slip of the tongue.” He says it under his breath, with a smirk playing on his lips. He knows I heard him. It’s too quiet around us for me not to have heard him. And his words do things to me. I press my legs together in an attempt to ease the throbbing that's begun to grow. He always had a way with words. He could probably get me off with his words alone. But I can’t let my mind wander too far down the rabbit hole. I need to know why he is here. I don’t say anything about his comment.

I don’t know if I should invite him in or ask him to leave. But I do know that I don’t want to have this conversation in my doorway for any of my neighbours to hear or walk into. So I open the door a little bit more and let him in. He walks past me and straight into my kitchen, where he comes to a stop and casually leans against the kitchen island.

“It’s late; what are you doing here?” I ask again, trying to put some power behind my words.

“Nick isn’t here, I suppose, since you let me in.” He drawls, still with that dimple on his cheek, begging me to touch it, kiss it, and lick it.

“Is that what you came here to talk about, my boyfriend?” I ask, letting a strained laugh out. This is so surreal. My somewhat ex and I are talking about the man I’m currently dating.

“Does he make you happy?”

“What?” I stare at him. I'm wondering where he’s going with this.

“Does. He. Make. You. Happy?” He punctuates each word while simultaneously taking a step towards me with each word. I look around my kitchen, trying to find the words, and maybe even something to look at other than him. His eyes are on fire, and they are burning me with every lingering look. With every caress as he sweeps his eyes over my body, I just realize I’m still in nothing but my towel, and my hair is still damp as water trickles down my back.

“I...he...” I can’t get the words or sentences to form in my mind, let alone get them out of my mouth, when he’s looking at me like that. I am his prey, and he is the hunter. With a final step towards me, he has me between him and the kitchen counter. His hands land on either side of me, effectively caging me in. All I can see is him. All I can smell is him. All I can feel is the heat coming off his body, but that doesn’t stop my skin from breaking out in goosebumps all over. But I doubt it’s because I’m cold. Quite the opposite. I’m burning up, and all I want to do is lean a little bit, close the distance between us, and lock my lips around his.

“I know I said I couldn't give you more. But the thought of not having you at all is killing me. I can’t think, I can’t sleep, and I can’t breathe when I’m not with you. And every time I see you around town, all I want is to walk up to you and kiss you. I feel like you are the reason I made it back from Colombia in one piece, and I will die unless I get to spend the rest of my life with you. I want you. Please tell me it’s not too late.”

“Javi...” I’m stunned. I never expected to get as much from him in words as I just did. I try to think of that to answer him, but no words will come out.

"Words, querida, use your words. I asked you a question.”

“What...what question?” I ask, shaking my head. My mind is a mess from what he just said. He wants me? Why now? What changed?

“Does he make you happy?” His hand softly pushes my damp locks back behind my ear; his fingers move to gently caress my cheek; and I instinctively lean into his touch.

“Not like you do. No one can compare to you.” I confess. There’s no point in lying anymore, to myself or to him. He’s here for a reason. He’s told me as much. He wants me back.

“Please give me one more chance. I'm yours; say you’ll be mine.” His eyes search mine as his hand travels from my cheek down my neck. He can feel my pulse beat rapidly beneath his thumb, where his hand is now on my neck.

Without thinking, I reach up on my tippy toes and kiss him. I shouldn’t be doing this. I know I shouldn't. It’s wrong for so many reasons, but I can’t seem to stop myself. My hands move on their own accord and drape around his neck, pulling him closer to me.

His hands find their way around my waist and pull me in closer. The kiss grows heated, and he drags his tongue along the seam of my lips, asking for entry. I grant it, opening up and letting my tongue slide along his in a battle for dominance. His hands drift lower until they reach the bottom of the towel and slide in under it. Grazing the back of my thighs and up my bare ass.

“Mierda, you’re fucking naked under here?” He asks, his voice strained, before he grabs a firm hold of my ass. He lifts me up and sets me down on the kitchen counter, and in doing so, the towel comes loose, falls down, and pools around my waist. Leaving my breasts on full display. He breaks the kiss to look down at my exposed body. “Fuck querida, you’ll be the death of me.” He growls, unable to stop himself. He leans down and takes one perked nipple into his mouth and sucks on it. Dragging his teeth over it, one hand finds the other and plays with it between his forefinger and thumb, pulling a breathy moan from my lips.

My own moan startles me from what we're doing, and I put my hands up against his chest and push him away. Even though all I want is to pull him closer.

“We can’t, not like this.” I quickly grip the towel and pull it up over my body again as I jump down from the counter.

“You’re right.” He takes a step back but then changes his mind and grabs the back of my head as he pulls me in for another soul-searing kiss. When he finally breaks the kiss, he looks at me dead in the eye with his hand still on the back of my head, not allowing me to look away. “Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you’re mine, and I’ll wait. I’ll give you anything you want; be anything you want; just tell me you’ll be mine.” His chest heaves, and he breathes heavily.

I stare back at him. He’s finally saying all the right things. The only problem is that I have a boyfriend.

“I need to talk to Nick first.” I answer. “But, yes, Javi, I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. Give me a few days to sort through this, and I’ll call you, okay?” I don’t even know how to sort through this mess without someone getting hurt. Sadly, that seems to be Nick in this equation. But I can’t do anything more with Javi until I’ve ended things with Nick; I shouldn’t even have kissed him. We can’t start this time around with something like that. We need to make this right.

“I get it, but can I come over once it’s over with you and Nick?” He looks hopeful; his hand finds mine, and he interlocks our fingers and lifts my hand up to his mouth, where he lays featherlight kisses on each and every knuckle on my hand.

“I’ll call you. But I need you to go now before we do something really stupid. Like let you bend me over the couch and rail me while I still have a boyfriend.” I give him a soft smile while I gently push him towards the door.

He reaches for the door but turns around at the last second, grabs me by the waist, and pins me to the door. “I do, however, want to do that at a later time. But promise me you’ll call me after.” He leans in and plants soft kisses along the colom of my throat. My knees feel like jelly, and if he hadn’t been holding me up, I would have fallen to the floor.

“Yes, I promise.” I let out a breathy moan. “Now, go, baby; for mine and your sanity, go.” I beg.

“Good night, querida.” He gives me one of his devilish, lopsided smiles.

He moves me to the side, then steps away from me so he can open the door and let himself out. But before he’s out of sight, I notice his hand reaching down to readjust himself in those sexy, tight jeans of his. I can’t help but let the smirk on my lips grow as I think that he is as fucked for me as I am for him. Now I just have to break someone's heart before we can be together for real. And that’s not really something I’m looking forward to. But before I go to bed, I take another shower to cool off.

The next day I call Nick after work; I want to get this over with as soon as possible. There is no need to drag out the inevitable. I asked him to come meet me at a café near North Central Park. He had first asked me to come over to his place, but I thought it would be best to do this in public. If he got upset and wanted to leave, he could.

With my tea in my hand, I sit at the table, waiting anxiously for Nick to arrive. I have no idea how I’m going to break it to him, so I suppose I’ll just rip the bandage off the moment he sits down.

I see him coming down the sidewalk; he looks anxious too. He probably heard it in my voice when I called earlier. Nothing good ever comes after the dreaded line “can we talk” which is exactly the one I used earlier when I called him.

“Hey.” He leans in to kiss me, but at the last moment, I turn my head, and his kiss lads on my cheek. My pulse is racing, and my hands are clammy. I grip my mug tighter in an attempt to ground myself. “Everything okay?” He asks.

“I...” I begin, but I can’t seem to get the words out. Fuck, this is so hard! So I just open my mouth and hope I find the right words. “It was never my intention to hurt you, Nick. Please, you have to understand, and to be honest, I never expected Javi to...well, change.” I’m rambling, and when I look at Nick, he looks almost happy? Is he smiling at me?

“I understand. I mean, how can I compete with that guy? You love him.” I’m at a loss for words. Did he just tell me he understands?

“Say what now?” I ask. I must have misheard him. I stare at him with a dumbfounded look on my face, trying to figure out what’s happening.

“Everyone here in Laredo knows about your story. Kind of like star-crossed lovers, always out of reach of one another. And to be frank, I think the whole town has been waiting and hoping for him to get his shit together and realise it's you that he wants. That it’s you he needs. And judging from the conversation you wanted to have with me today, I can assume that he finally came to his senses?”

“He...yeah, you could say that.” I let out a small laugh. The absurdity of how quickly this conversation unfolded is beyond me. I don’t know if I should laugh or cry.

“And you want him.” He asks. It’s not really a question, more of a statement.

“Yes, I’m so sorry, Nick. This is not what I had planned at all. You have to believe me that I never thought that he would change. It’s not like we haven’t tried before. But I don’t know; something is different this time. He’s different.” I reach out across the table and grab his hand in mine. “Please forgive me.”

“I know you didn’t mean for it to happen this way. And honestly, I’m happy for you. If you’re happy, then that’s all I want for you.” He says and squeezes my hand once before letting my hand go.

I don’t know how he’s taking this so calmly, but I appreciate it nonetheless. “Just promise me one thing.”

“What?” I ask.

“Don’t let him take you for granted this time. You deserve the best, and I hope he realises that.”

“I won’t, and thank you, Nick, truly. I hope you find someone who will care for you the way you deserve.”

He stands up and gives me a gentle smile.

“Thanks; I guess I’ll see you around town then.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you around.” I reply. And with that, he walks away. I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding in. This went way better than I expected.

After Nick leaves, I jump into an Uber and tell him where to drive. I have someone I need to go see. My whole body is buzzing with excitement as the car takes me across town and out to the countryside. When the car stops in front of the house, I get out on shaky legs. What if last night was just a dream, and this is all in my head? Or what if he changed his mind? Maybe he just wanted me when I wasn’t his to have? I don’t have to think about it long, though. The door swings open, and out steps Javi. My Javi, or at least, I hope he’ll be mine.

“You’re here. Does that mean...?" He doesn’t finish his question. Instead, he looks at me intensely, his eyes roaming all over my body before landing on my face. Like he’s searching for something and hopes he’ll find the answer in my eyes.

“I’m yours.” That is all I say. And before I know it, he closes the distance between us and pulls me into his arms.

“Mine.” He breathes as he squeezes me tighter to him. Hands drift down my back and land on my ass, lifting me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he all but runs back into the house with me in his arms. Pushing the door open and then kicking it closed behind us, his lips find mine, and he claims my mouth with his. Never once does he let go of our connection as he walks me into his bedroom with me still in his arms. Walking up to the bed, he stops by and lowers me down on top of it softly.

He climbs into bed on top of me. I scoot back further into the middle of the bed, and he follows. Deft fingers start to unbutton my jeans and then pull down the zipper. Leading in, he lifts my shirt up and kisses my exposed skin before he grabs the hem of my top and pulls it up and over my head, discarding it somewhere behind him on the floor. Sneaking one hand around my back, he unclasps my bra and flings it over his shoulder. Next, he grips my jeans and panties off in one swift movement and tosses them to the floor as well.

A deep goran vibrates from his chest as his eyes drink me in; now I’m naked in front of him, in his bed.

“Fuck baby, I can’t believe I almost lost you. I’m never letting you go again.” He says it so low, I almost don’t hear him. But I do, and my throat feels thick with emotions. He never used to be like this before.

“Say it,” I plead. I know he feels it; I need him to say it. “Say it, and I’ll be yours forever.” He knows what I mean. The thing I so desperately wanted him to say 7 months ago. But something I think maybe he didn’t know he truly felt until after he saw me moving on. Or attempting to move on. How can one truly move on if one never lets go of the one they really want?

His hands roam all over my body, moulding me like clay. Claiming me as his. He bends down, locks his lips around mine, and kisses me like his life depends on it. Like only my breath can save him from certain death. Tongues, teeth, and breath mix, and when his hand slips in between my thighs, I can’t help but arch into his touch, and the moan that tears itself from my throat sounds borderline feral when one finger slides in between my slit.

“I love you.” He kisses me again, stealing my breath, when he eases one finger into me. “Fuck querida, you’re so wet. Is this all for me?” He asks as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of me at a leisurely pace.

“Oh God! Yes!” I pant. His movements stop.

"No, my love, not God, Javi, I want you to scream my name. I’m the one who makes you feel this good. It should be my name that comes from your lips when you cum. Now, be a good girl and cum for me.” He picks up his pace, adding another finger. My mouth falls open, and moan after moan pours out of me as he keeps hitting that spot inside that I can’t seem to reach myself most of the time unless I use a toy. And even then, it’s not as good as when he pushes his thick fingers inside me.

The waves of pleasure build quickly, and I can feel it coming. I won’t be able to keep it down for long. He knows my body better than I do. Angling his hand just a little and pushing deep inside again and again when his other hand reaches up to punch my nipple sends me over the edge, and I crash into the waves of the oncoming orgasm.

I scream out his name as my walls pulsate around him, but he doesn’t let up. He lets me ride out my orgasm, still pumping his big fingers in and out of me just so until I finally come down from the high.

I open my eyes to find him looking right at me with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on his lips.

“I love it when you scream for me, baby. Now, let’s see how many times we can make you cum before you beg me to stop. I have some time to make up for, don’t I?” He bends down before I even have a chance to respond. He licks me from the top of the slit all the way down to my entrance. Making me arch my back off the bed.

“Oh, fuck. Javi.” I breathe out. His tongue circles back up and flicks my clit, making me jerk in reaction.

“Say it.” He demands. Before he seals his lips around my clit and sucks. Stealing the breath from my lungs. My hands find their way into his hair, a firm grasp on his locks. I grind myself into his mouth as his fingers pick up speed again. Lifting his head back up, his fingers pull out.

I whine in protest. “What are you doing?” I question.

“Say it, say it, and I’m yours. I’ll give you anything you want.” He begs. Javi is not a man who begs. But he’s begging me. I know what he wants. He said it, and now he wants me to say it. How can I resist this man? All I’ve ever wanted was him, so I give him what he wants.

“I love you.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say that, querida. I love you so fucking much.” He replies, then bends his head back down, circling and licking at my clit while he pushes his fingers back inside.

He quickly works me up to another orgasm, and when I come back down again, he moves up on top of me, his moustache glistening with my arousal.

He moves to get up and stands next to the bed as he quickly sheds his cloths, dropping them on the floor where he stands. Before he crawls on top of me again, this time completely naked, his cock nudges against my hip.

“Kiss me, then fuck me, Javi.” My arms wrap around his neck, my legs wrap around his waist, and the heels of my feet push him closer to me.

“For you, my love, I’ll do anything.” And he does. He kisses hard and fast, then slow and soft. Then he lines himself up with my entrance and pushes inside, and I’ve never felt so goddamn good as I do in that moment. I’m right where I’m meant to be. With him.