#why are there two mouse drives

[strawberri-syrup]

i have spent so long troubleshooting this laptop that i have a decent understanding of how it actually works. a shitty laptop is a blessing and a curse

[spurbleu]

police man john price is just so !!!!

god im eating him up, hes just so grumbly and daddy and forehead kisses and 🥰🥰

please, if you want to, more of that will be happily and greatly appreciated

based on this. pardon my turn of phrase, i am a a little bit kinda sorta inebriated.

you’re shy, john can tell that much.

nail dig themselves an early grave in the sandy cushions of the passenger seat. quieter than a mouse, aside from the occasional sniffle. eyes trained forward, like somewhere in the pitch glass rain, you’ll find answers.

likes them like that, he’s found.

fawn legged, skittish and helpless, clay before it’s fed to a fire that solidifies it (fits well in his palms. collects the bullets instead of screaming at them).

“how am i gonna get my car back.”

so she does speak.

“ill drive you to it in the morning.”

your face doesn’t move, but he notices the way your shoulders tilt forward. anxious, skeptical. smart, not enough that you didn’t get in his car, though.

“i don’t want to be any-“

“trouble? you hit my car sweet’eart, we’ve crossed that line,” he glances at you from his periphery, “although, seems like you, too, have had enough of it tonight.”

your lips wobbles.

you let quiet thread between the two of you. when there’s an effective, thick wall of yarn, you whisper through it.

“how can i pay you back?”

john suppresses a grin.

you will never find him at a local, licking the barstool of a pretty bird. or downloading one of those shallow, chivalry-death dating apps. or hiring a stranger during a dry spell.

he’s too proud for any of that. old fashioned. never chases, only prays.

to that thing that he stopped believing in a decade ago. asking if they’ve got any goodwill, they’ll make it easy. he’s been put through the ringer in the uglier world, make the softer one fall into his lap.

and he’ll be damned, here you are.

he hums like he hasn’t made up his mind. “join for me coffee before we get your car.”

you finally look at him. seamless shock, and a honest, cute fluster. john squeezes the wheel.

“but I…you don’t…I can’t…”

he shrugs, “nothing committal darlin. coffee and conversation. ill pay.”

he’s disappointed when you look away. “why?”

he doesn’t hide his smile this time. “always liked a damsel.”

[foone]

why are printers so hated? it's simple:

computers are good at computering. they are not good at the real world.

the biggest problems in computers, the ones that have had to change the most over the time they've existed, are the parts that deal with the real world. The keyboard, the mouse, the screen. every computer needs these, but they involve interacting with the real world. that's a problem. that's why they get replaced so much.

now, printers: printers have some of the most complex real-world interaction. they need to deposit ink on paper in 2 dimensions, and that results in at least three ways it can go on right from the start. (this is why 3D printers are just 2D printers that can go wrong in another whole dimension)

scanners fall into many of the same problems printers have, but fewer people have scanners, and they're not as cost-optimized. But they are nearly as annoying.

This is also why you can make a printer better by cutting down on the number of moving elements: laser printers are better than inkjets, because they only need to move in one dimension, and their ink is a powder, not a liquid. and the best-behaved printers of all are thermal printers: no ink and the head doesn't move. That's why every receipt printer is a thermal printer, because they need that shit to work all the time so they can sell shit. And thermal is the most reliable way to do that.

But yeah, cost-optimization is also a big part of why printers are such finicky unreliable bastards: you don't want to pay much for them. Who is excited for all the printing they're gonna be doing? basically nobody. But people get forced to have a printer because they gotta print something, for school or work or the government or whatever. So they want the cheapest thing that'll work. They're not shopping on features and functionality and design, they want something that costs barely anything, and can fucking PRINT. anything else is an optional bonus.

And here's the thing: there's a fundamental limit of how much you can optimize an inkjet printer, and we got near to it in like the late 90s. Every printer since then has just been a tad smaller, a tad faster, and added some gimmicks like printing from WIFI or bluetooth instead of needing to plug in a cable.

And that's the worst place to be in, for a computer component. The "I don't care how fancy it is, just give me one that works" zone. This is why you can buy a keyboard for 20$ and a mouse for 10$ and they both work plenty fine for 90% of users. They're objectively shit compared to the ones in the 60-150$ range, but do they work? yep. So that's what people get.

Printers fell into that zone long, long ago, when people stopped getting excited about "desktop publishing". So with printers shoved into the "make them as cheap as possible" zone, they have gotten exponentially shittier. Can you cut costs by 5$ a printer by making them jam more often? good. make them only last a couple years to save a buck or two per unit? absolutely. Can you make the printer cost 10$ less and make that back on the proprietary ink cartridges? oh, they've been doing that since Billy Clinton was in office.

It's the same place floppy disks were in in about 2000. CD-burners were not yet cheap enough, USB flash drives didn't exist yet (but were coming), modems weren't fast enough yet to copy stuff over the internet, superfloppies hadn't taken over like some hoped, and memory cards were too expensive and not everyone had a drive for them. So we still needed floppy disks, but at the same time this was a technology that hadn't changed in nearly 20 years. So people were tired of paying out the nose for them... the only solution? cut corners. I have floppy disks from 1984 that read perfectly, but a shrinkwrapped box of disks from 1999 will have over half the disks failed. They cut corners on the material quality, the QA process, the cleaning cloth inside the disk, everything they could. And the disks were shit as a result.

So, printers are in that particular note of the death-spiral where they've reached the point of "no one likes or cares about this technology, but it's still required so it's gone to shit". That's why they are so annoying, so unreliable, so fucking crap.

So, here's the good news:

You can still buy a better printer, and it will work far better. Laser printers still exist, and LED printers work the same way but even cheaper. They're still more expensive than inkjets (especially if you need color), but if you have to print stuff, they're a godsend. Way more reliable.

This is not a stable equilibrium. Printers cannot limp along in this terrible state forever. You know why I brought up floppy disk there? (besides the fact I'm a giant floppy disk nerd) because floppy disks GOT REPLACED. Have you used one this decade? CD-Rs and USB drives and internet sharing came along and ate the lunch of floppy disks, so much so that it's been over a decade since any more have been made. The same will happen to (inkjet) printers, eventually. This kind of clearly-broken situation cannot hold. It'll push people to go paperless, for companies to build cheaper alternatives to take over from the inkjets, or someone will come up with a new, more reliable printer based on some new technology that's now cheap enough to use in printers. Yeah, it sucks right now, but it can't last.

So, in conclusion: Printers suck, but this is both an innate problem caused by them having to deal with so much fucking Real World, and a local minimum of reliability that we're currently stuck in. Eventually we'll get out of this valley on the graph and printers will bother people a lot less.

Random fun facts about printing of the past and their local minimums:

in the hot metal type era, not only would the whole printing process expose you to lead, the most common method of printing text was the linotype, which could go wrong in a very fun way: if the next for a line wasn't properly justified (filling out the whole row), it could "squirt", and lead would escape through gaps in the type matrix. This would result in molten lead squirting out of the machine, possibly onto the operator. Anecdotally, linotype operators would sometimes recognize each other on the street because of the telltale spots on their forearms where they had white splotches where no hair grew, because they got bad lead burns. This type of printing remained in use until the 80s.

Another fun type of now-retired printers are drum printers, a type of line printer. These work something like a typewriter or dot-matrix printer, except the elements extend across the entire width of the paper. So instead of printing a character at time by smacking it into the paper, the whole line got smacked nearly at once. The problem is that if the paper jammed and the printer continued to try to print, that line of the paper would be repeatedly struck at high speed, creating a lot of heat. This worry created the now-infamous Linux error: "lp0 on fire". This was displayed when the error signals from a parallel printer didn't make sense... and it was a real worry. A high speed printer could definitely set the paper on fire, though this was rare.

So... one thing to be grateful about current shitty inkjet printers: they are very unlikely to burn anything, especially you.

(because before they could do that they'd have to work, at least a little, first, and that's very unlikely)

[classyrbf]

COME HOME! — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...you’re afraid one day he won’t come home, leaving you in a constant state of worry and fear of what could happen especially with his family in on the line

INFO...toji fushiguro x ex assassin fem!reader, fluff with some angst, domestic relationship, megumi is readers bio kid, toji an assassin, mentions of blood, sweet ending, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

i'm sorry for being gone for so long and not writing anything or even sticking to my kinktober plan, quite literally fell into a black hole of unmotivation and writing smut was not helping at all lmao

The night was brutal, cold air striking your skin and the winds were sharp. Yet, you sat by the cracked window, your skin felt like it was on fire. Police sirens flooded the silence and the small dim lamp did its best to light up the room. With your knees tucked to your chest, you sat and watched the cars drive by, one of the streetlights flickering every now and again. Little Megumi slept soundly in his room, tucked warmly in his bed with his favorite stuffed dinosaur. You had been up for hours, waiting for Toji to come back home from his job.

You lived with worry that one day he wouldn’t show up, come back home to you and his son. What he did was dangerous, being an assassin and what not. He always brags about how he’s the best, so fast and strong, silent as a mouse that most of them don’t even get the chance. But, what if there’s someone out there who is strong enough to put up a fight? What if he gets caught? Seriously injured? That’s what makes you worry. You knew what you were getting yourself into from the moment you met him because you also used to be an assassin, but as soon as you found out you were pregnant, that lifestyle was cut short. You’d never do anything to put your son in danger.

Many talks between you Toji about changing what he does, doing something better, safer, always led to arguments. It’s like killing was the only thing he knew how to do. It’s sad to say. But you couldn’t help but love him, and worry for him, care for him. You only wanted Megumi to be safe. The job was a dangerous one. Creating enemies along the way, a target painted on your head. You just needed him to come home. Nervously biting at your nails, your eyes scanned the streets and tops of the grungy apartment buildings. You always wanted to move out of this damn city, but Toji said it’d be too obvious if you two moved somewhere nice, somewhere you couldn’t blend in. As much as you hate to admit it, he was right. You just didn’t want Megumi growing up here, turning out like you or his father. You wanted better for your son.

The rattling of the doorknob makes your head spin, jumping to your feet before even thinking. You were on full alert, hoping whoever walks in was your husband and your husband only. Your eyes narrowed, the bulky frame of Toji stumbling through the doorway, his skin pale and shining with sweat. He slammed the door behind him, groaning in pain as he dragged his feet across the floor and to the nearest chair. He didn’t look too well.

Immediately, you walked out of the living room and into the kitchen, assessing him with a worried look in your eye. “Toji, baby?” You nearly fall over when you cup his face, his nose bloody and lip busted. You don’t even notice he’s holding his side. “What the fuck happened?” You’re cupping his face, eyes scanning his finger when you see the copious amounts of blood on his hands. Lifting his shirt, you see the huge gash on his side. “Fucking hell.”

“Missed you too, sweets,” he struggles to even speak, letting out a pained sigh. “Where’s the kid?” He asks, looking at you rummaging through the cabinets for the first aid kit.

“He’s fine, sleeping. Why?” You glance over your shoulder, snatching the first aid off of the shelf. You kneel in front of him, taking the bottle of alcohol and pouring it straight onto the wound.

“Fuck!” He screams, slamming his hand on the table. “Son of a bitch!” He hisses, clenching his eyes shut. “Could’ve warned me, you know?” He breathed heavily, his chest heaving up and down.

“Would’ve been worse if I did. Answer my questions,” you demand, wiping the blood around his wound while applying pressure.

“Fucker that got me knew about you and the kid. Though…shit—thought someone else might’ve came after you two. I tried getting here as fast as I could,” he sighs. His eyes flutter shut, clenching his fists so hard the whites of his knuckles show. “Don’t worry, I killed him. Obviously.”

“Yeah, he still fucked you up pretty good though.” You shake your head, grabbing the bandage and placing it over the gash. “I told you Toji, we need to leave, find somewhere safer, better. You need to quiet this shit, okay? We got a fucking kid to look out for—”

“Mommy? Daddy?” The soft sound of Megumi’s voice made you spin. He rubs his tired eyes, clinging onto his stuffed dinosaur. “Is daddy okay? I heard him yell.”

“I’m okay, Megs.” Toji flashes a smile. “Mommy’s just helping me with something and then I’ll come tuck you back in, alright? Go back to bed.” He points back to his room.

“Daddy’s okay, baby,” you say softly. Megs just nods and tiredly shuffles back into his room. A deep sigh escapes your lips as you wrap the gauze tightly around his torso before cutting it with the scissors and tucking it under. You toss the scissors to the floor, standing back to your feet to rid your hands of his blood. This is what you were afraid of. This is what you didn’t want. You were a mother now and you knew just how cruel this world was.

You take a rag and wet it under the water before gently lifting his chin, and wiping the blood from his nose. You’ve done this too many times before, it was practically like muscle memory. Stitching yourself up, wiping the blood that seeped into your skin and now you’re doing the same for him. His hands find your waist, squeezing gently while you stand between his legs and Toji forgets about the pain for a moment. His glossy eyes look up at you and he realizes what he has. A wife, a son, a family who cares about him, loves him. You’re always so gently yet so affirmative and he’s reminded why he fell in love with you. You make up every part of him that was missing.

“I’m sorry.” His voice and raspy and delicate. “I know I scared you when I walked through the door like this.” He gently grabs your wrist, pulling your hand from his face. “Look at me, baby.” And when your eyes meet his, he can tell just how worried you are, how much you’re hiding just to seem strong. “I’m sorry.”

Tears well up in your eyes and they’re falling before you could blink them away. “I’m so scared you won’t walk through the door one day, Toji. I wait by the window, watching and listening. Looking out for our baby boy. I don’t want that day to come when you’re not here because of this stupid fucking job,” you cry, looking away from him as you sob into your hands.

His heart breaks at your cries, pulling you down into his chest despite the pain he’s in because he couldn’t care less about that right now. He soothingly rubs your back, placing a kiss on your head. “We’ll leave tomorrow. Everything. Move somewhere else. Start a new life. I fucking promise you. I should’ve listened to you before and I’m so sorry.” His voice shakes with each word. “You don’t know how scared I was to walk in here thinking something might’ve happened to you and Megs. Just thinking about that…fuck…I can’t imagine.” He shakes his head. You cling onto him, holding him tightly. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too,” you sniffle. Lifting your head, you gently caress his cheek with the pad of your thumb, searching his eyes and you see is sadness and sincerity. “Tomorrow. Promise?”

“I promise, baby. Me, you, and the kid. We’ll all get outta here. Go somewhere nice. Maybe a beach, watch him play in the sand?” Toji chuckles. You nod, laughing. “There’s that smile,” he says.

“Daddy?” The little patters of Megumi’s feet make their way into the kitchen. “Are you still gonna tuck me in?” He pouts.

Toji looks at you and then at his son. You hop off of his lap and he stands up as if nothing is wrong, but still walking with a slight limp and his hand holding his side. “Come here, kid.” He scoops him up with arm like he weighed nothing. “How about you sleep with me and mommy tonight, huh?” He reaches to ruffle Megumi’s hair. You walk over to the both of them, your chest feeling warm, a smile adorning your face. Megumi leans his head on Toji’s shoulder, quickly shutting his eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

[heliosunny]

Hihi....I'm really in love with your Yandere Phainon fanfics, so I wanted more....I don't really care whatever it is as long as it's in high school au🙏🙏

CTRL U

Yandere!Phainon x Reader

The school tech lab was always quiet during lunch break. While others filled the courtyard and cafeteria with chatter and energy, you found solace in the rhythmic clack of your keyboard and the soft humming of a monitor. You had taken over the corner desk near the window, your own little bubble away from the chaotic social jungle of high school.

Your fingers flew over the keys, eyes darting across lines of code. The pixelated spaceship on your screen moved up, paused, then exploded with a dramatic “BOOM!” animation. You smiled a little, it was just a simple 2D space shooter, but you were proud of it. Debugging the collision algorithm had taken two days.

Outside the lab, you heard distant voices echoing down the hall.

“Dude, Phainon! You coming to the court or what?” “Later, maybe! I need to drop by the lab first.”

Phainon. Popular, charming, and surrounded by friends like gravity pulling planets. You’d only ever interacted with him during that one disastrous group project in sophomore year. You didn’t speak much. He did all the talking.

The door creaked open. Your screen still glowed with the tiny spaceship hovering in space.

“Yo, is someone in?”

You whipped your head up and saw him. He had one headphone in, his school tie loosened, hair a little messy.

He looked around, then spotted you.

“Hey, didn’t think anyone would be in here.”

“...Hi.”

He tilted his head toward your screen. “Wait, is that a game?”

You quickly moved the mouse to close the window, but not fast enough.

“Whoa, don’t shut it down!”

“It’s still buggy.” you mumbled, minimizing the program and locking your screen.

He leaned in, eyes lighting up.

“Wait, you made that? That’s sick.” He turned to look at you. “You’re seriously talented.”

You avoided his gaze, focusing instead on unplugging your USB drive.

“It’s just a hobby…”

Phainon chuckled. “‘Just a hobby’? You’ve got a whole game running. That’s way cooler than anything I’ve done today.”

This wasn’t how your quiet lunch break was supposed to go.

You stood up quickly, slinging your backpack over your shoulder, trying to gather your things.

“I need to go.”

“Oh. Wait, did I say something wrong?”

“No!” you said too fast, stepping back toward the door. “I just... have other stuff.”

He watched you retreat, a confused expression softening his features. Then he smiled again, tilting his head slightly.

“Hey, what’s your game called?” he called out as you reached the door.

“…It doesn’t have a name yet.”

He grinned.

“Let me know when it does.”

You tried to return to normal after that day in the lab.

No more coding during lunch breaks.

No more late stays in the tech room.

But Phainon didn’t understand and keep showing up everywhere you go.

“Hey! Game Dev!” he called out from across the school courtyard one afternoon, jogging to catch up with you.

You pretended not to hear him and quickened your pace.

He caught up anyway, effortlessly matching your stride. “You never told me more about the game.”

“I’m busy.”

“That’s cool. I can wait.”

You stopped in front of your classroom. “Don’t you have a fan club or a game to get back to?”

Phainon just gave you that stupid, easy grin. “Maybe. But I kinda want to see what happens next in your game.”

You didn’t respond. Just walked in, ignoring the snickers from a nearby group of girls.

It wasn’t just one or two people talking. You’d heard whispers in the hallways.

“Why’s he talking to them?” “They probably faked the whole ‘coding’ thing just to get attention.” “Didn’t they get rejected by Phainon or something?” “Creepy how they’re always alone, right?”

At first, it didn’t bother you. You were used to being left out.

But that changed when you stayed late one afternoon to grab your notebook and accidentally overheard something.

“Okay, but what if we just hire some expert to.. idk, download a virus on their computer or something?” “Ooh, or leak their browsing history or whatever. Even if it’s fake, no one’ll care.” “Right? Who’s gonna believe someone like that anyway?”

You backed away slowly.

You’d had enough.

That night, you didn’t sleep. Instead, you slipped on your headphones, pulled up a few proxies, and found the backdoor in their school Wi-Fi habits.

In two hours, you’d broken into their cloud storage and group chat backups. In four, you’d carefully rearranged screenshots, spliced audio files, and created just enough drama to make it seem like they were all talking behind each other’s backs.

You didn’t even upload them yourself. Just scheduled a timed drop via a burner account.

By Monday, the group was in ruins.

And you, finally, had silence.

Until Phainon found you again. This time, at the bike racks after school.

“Hey.”

You glanced up. “What.”

He held up a hand in surrender. “Not here to bug you about the game.”

You turned away. “Then leave.”

He didn’t.

“They deserved it, huh?”

He took a step closer. “You’re good. Real good. That’s not amateur stuff.”

You looked at him sharply. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You didn’t deserve what they were doing. But...” He hesitated. “Just... don’t lose yourself in it, alright?”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

“Next time someone comes after you… maybe let me know first.”

He turned and walked away, hands in his pockets, not looking back.

You never felt safe after the drop. Sure, no one came at you again, not publicly. But silence didn’t mean safety. Silence could be a trap.

And Phainon, despite everything, made you uneasy.

Why? Why was he so calm? Why did he know what you’d done?

That night, your fingers hovered over the keys. Your curiosity itched too loud to ignore.

You slipped past a few weak firewalls and into his cloud activity.

“...wait.”

The path you followed suddenly folded in on itself.

And you’d taken it.

You burned the scripts, cleaned the logs, wiped the trace tools—anything that might be tied to you. Anything he could use against you.

And when it was over, you sat in the dark for a long time. Cold sweat down your back.

The next day, he said nothing.

You watched him across the quad, laughing with his friends, sleeves rolled up, the same lopsided smile like he hadn’t laid a trap for you.

Maybe you were overthinking it.

So you did something stupid.

You pulled an old CD-R out of your drawer, labeled it in your tight, scratchy handwriting: [ TEST BUILD v2.6 — SPACEWAR ]

And the next morning, you caught him by the lockers.

“…Here,” you muttered, holding it out. “The game. Just a standalone version. I just thought you might want to test it.”

“You��re giving me the first build?”

“It’s just a test. You don’t—”

“I’m gonna play it tonight” he said. “I’m finishing it. No way I’m sleeping until I beat it.”

“It’s literally half-coded and full of bugs.”

“So am I,” he smirked. “Perfect match.”

You didn’t expect him to go that far.

Next morning, he walked into class with dark shadows under his eyes, hair messier than usual, hoodie half-zipped over his uniform.

“Hey,” he grinned. “I beat it. Twice.”

“Wait... You stayed up?”

“You said test it. I tested the hell out of it.” He nudged your arm. “Seriously, it’s awesome.”

You stared at him. Then laughed. You couldn’t help it. “You idiot. You could’ve just given me a bug report.”

“Nah. That’d be boring.”

You shook your head and turned away to hide your smile.

Later that night, at home, you sat down at your desk. Curiosity beat out caution.

You slid the same disc into your computer. It whirred softly.

[ SPACEWAR ] — Test Build v2.6

You clicked Start Game.

The opening sequence played—then flickered.

The background glitched. The pixels warped, briefly forming words in a distorted typeface:

"Hello, Player One."

Then the game resumed normally.

You yanked the disc out. Looked at the underside.

A low beep from your laptop made you jump.

You flipped the screen—the camera light was on.

For half a second. Then it shut off.

You stared at the reflection of yourself in the screen. And realized:

He gave you his disk.

You didn’t sleep that night.

The glowing reflection of “Hello, Player One” burned behind your eyelids every time you blinked. You’d covered the webcam, shut the laptop, and unplugged everything. But it wasn’t just paranoia this time—Phainon had done something, and you needed to find out why.

So the next morning, you waited outside the gym, watching him laugh with his usual crowd. He noticed you immediately, his smile slipped, and he walked over.

“You okay?”

“We need to talk. Alone.”

Phainon blinked. But he nodded.

You sat in the empty room, across from him at a table where morning light filtered through the blinds.

He leaned forward slightly. “So...?”

You looked him dead in the eye. “Why did you do it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

You pulled the disc from your bag and placed it on the table. “Why?”

Phainon leaned back, quiet for a moment. Then:

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

You frowned. “What?”

“Two years ago. National Coding Competition. You made that AI that learned player patterns in real time. I was in the same bracket—you crushed everyone.”

“You were there?”

He nodded. “You were the best person in the room. I admired you. Then you disappeared. I always wondered why.” He paused. “When I saw you here, I thought—maybe I could get to know you.”

“So you thought breaking into my computer was your idea of caring?”

He flinched slightly, guilt flickering behind his eyes.

“You invaded my privacy. You used something I made against me.” Your voice shook. “Don’t twist this into something noble.”

He sighed. “I just wanted to understand you. You’re brilliant, but you shut everyone out. I thought maybe if I got closer—”

“—by spying on me?”

There was a long silence.

“Didn’t you do the same? To those girls?”

You were speechless.

“I’m not saying they didn’t deserve it. But you didn’t talk to anyone. You handled it alone.”

That stung.

Your hands clenched under the table. “So now you’re saying we’re the same?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m saying we both did things we regret. Doesn’t mean I’m proud of it.” He looked at you. “I’m sorry. For crossing the line.”

“Stay out of my stuff.”

And you walked out.

The rest of the day, you ignored him. He didn’t try to talk to you. Not even once.

But the silence wasn't peace. It was pressure, thick and heavy. You couldn’t focus.

By lunch, you'd pulled up three transfer applications on your phone, but none of them felt like the right move. Running didn’t solve the problem, it just meant you’d keep running.

So instead, you started thinking differently.

If Phainon wanted to get close to you? Fine.

You’d make him hate it.

You listed ridiculous stuff maybe you could use against him:

Step 1: Code like a cryptid. Talk only in binary. Step 2: Constantly mention obscure operating systems and laugh when he doesn’t get it. Step 3: Bring spreadsheets of cat behavior patterns and pretend they’re “emotional simulations.” Step 4: Add him to a fake group project and send 3am emails titled “urgent patch notes.”

Your plan was almost working.

The constant 3 a.m. “patch note” emails. The random references to deprecated programming languages.

It should’ve been enough.

But he always came back.

You were exhausted.

So you went back to Plan Move Away. You re-opened the school transfer forms, actually filled out your personal statement, and left the tab open just in case.

And then, out of nowhere, Kaito happened.

You met him during a school lab module. He wore round glasses, always had cat-hair on his hoodie, and genuinely laughed at your dry jokes. Even better? He knew how to debug. You both ended up fixing an old RPGMaker horror build for fun and spent lunch breaks balancing variables and laughing over cursed enemy sprites.

He wasn’t dramatic. He didn’t hack your life. He was just... easy.

Which was why Phainon noticed right away.

He cornered you by the vending machines after school.

“So... That new guy.”

“His name is Kaito.”

“Cool... But I thought we were working on your game.”

You crossed your arms. “We were. Then you installed spyware on my hard drive.”

“I apologized for that.”

You didn’t budge.

“So you replaced me?”

“I didn’t replace anyone. Kaito’s just someone I can work with without needing to run background checks.”

He scowled. “So you don’t trust me.”

“Can you blame me?”

Phainon looked at you, searching for something. Then he took a step closer.

“Okay. Fine. Maybe I messed up. Maybe I made it weird. But I thought we were building something—together. I didn’t realize you’d hand the controller to some new guy and bench me.”

“Everyone deserves to code.”

That struck a nerve.

“Right.” His voice dropped. “But not everyone gets you.”

This was personal.

Which made it more complicated when, the next day, you came home, turned on your PC and noticed a new folder on your desktop.

“GAME_PATCHED_FINAL_no_KAITO”

And a note:

“If you're gonna replace me, you better fix the recursion loop. Or let me help.”

You stared at the screen, heat crawling up your neck.

You didn’t know if you were furious or impressed.

You had your code. You had your own project. You had Kaito now.

You went on without him.

You stripped your old game build clean, rewrote the framework, even changed the name. Burned all the folders that had anything labeled “v2.6” or “player_one.” You started fresh.

And Phainon? He kept his distance. At least physically.

Then came the mailbox.

It was a regular Thursday when you got home. You were stepping out of your shoes when your mom called from the kitchen:

“There’s something in the mailbox for you.”

You blinked. “Mail? As in—physical?”

“Yeah. Like the old days.” She chuckled. “Looks like a CD.”

You grabbed it, peeling back the envelope carefully.

Plain. No return address. Just one thing written in black marker on the CD’s surface:

“BOOT ME :)”

You rolled your eyes. “Really?”

Of course it was from him. The handwriting was unmistakably chaotic.

You weren’t stupid. You weren’t going to test this thing on your personal machine. Not after last time.

So you waited.

The next day during free lab hour, you sat down at one of the school’s clunky public PCs. You slipped on the headphones just in case it played audio.

The CD slid in.

[ Loading... Welcome Back, Player One ]

A single line of code glowing on a black screen:

function whyYouLeft { return “?”; }

Then the screen glitched again—and a video window opened.

It wasn’t anything dramatic. Just a shaky webcam video of Phainon in his messy room, sitting on the floor cross-legged.

“Okay. So, if you’re watching this… then I guess I broke like, ten privacy boundaries again. But I swear—this time, no access to your camera. Just... this.”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish.

“I don’t know why you pulled away. But I want to understand.” He looked at the disc. “I know I messed up. And maybe that scares you. Maybe you think people only get close to you because of your talent. Maybe you hate how I made it all messy.”

He looked up at the camera, eyes sincere.

“But it wasn’t about your code. Or the game. I wanted to know you. The person behind all that.”

He paused, then added quietly: “I miss being your Player Two.”

The screen turned black again.

You stared at the screen. The headphones still buzzed faintly in your ears with the silence that followed.

You didn’t eject the CD.

You just… sat there.

----

The hallway echoed with the soft shuffle of bags and the clatter of desks being dragged back into place. Students were peeling off one by one, some still laughing, some too tired to care. The bell had rung fifteen minutes ago, school was out, but you stayed.

Until it was just two people left in the room: You and Phainon.

He was halfway through zipping up his bag when he noticed you approaching.

He blinked, clearly surprised. “…Hey.”

“I watched the CD.”

Phainon straightened, instantly alert. “Yeah?”

“It was unnecessary.” you said dryly. Then paused. “But… I get it.”

He opened his mouth, maybe to defend himself, maybe to apologize again, but you raised a hand before he could.

“I’m not starting over with you. I’m continuing, with conditions.”

“You can join the project again,” you said firmly, “if you promise to stop doing stuff behind my back. Everything stays aboveboard.”

You added “Also, if we’re working together, you have to be civil with Kaito.”

“Kaito?” he repeated.

You nodded. “He’s part of this now. Whether you like it or not. I’m not removing him just because it makes you uncomfortable.”

“You want me to team up with someone who’s clearly trying to be me?”

“He’s not trying to be you.”

Phainon didn’t say anything for a moment. His fingers curled slightly around the strap of his bag.

“So that’s the deal?” he asked quietly. “Let you keep your new friend, and I get supervised access to your game like it’s a daycare pass?”

You shrugged. “If it bothers you that much, you don’t have to join.”

There was a tense silence between you.

“Fine,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “If that’s what it takes.”

You both left the room.

But the minute he walked into the golden hour light outside the school building, Phainon’s smile twisted into something else.

He had no intention of sharing.

Kaito was an obstacle. And Phainon knew exactly how to handle obstacles.

He didn’t need to hack anyone this time. Not when he had reputation.

He was a magnet in the school ecosystem - student rep, the guy everyone knew, the guy everyone liked. Popularity was a language, and Phainon was fluent.

He spoke to people in Kaito’s other classes. Casually dropped things like:

“You know that Kaito guy? Little… intense, right?”

Or:

“Hey, just a heads-up. He’s been engaging with some guys out of school these days. Kinda weird, don’t you think?”

Rumors ran faster than servers during a DDOS attack.

You didn’t notice it right away.

But the others started acting cold toward him. Like he was radioactive.

“Hey… did I do something? People’ve been acting weird.”

You frowned. “Weird how?”

Kaito hesitated. “I dunno. Just… off. Like they know something I don’t.”

Phainon acted perfectly normal the next day.

He brought snacks. He complimented your new UI layout. He laughed at your deadpan jokes.

Phainon never played fair.

It started with a casual invite. One that looked harmless on the surface.

Phainon leaned over your desk during your group’s usual project hour. “Hey,” he said. “There’s a match this weekend—finals. I’m playing.” Then he added, “You and Kaito should come. Y’know. Team bonding. Off-screen chemistry.”

Kaito, surprisingly, looked excited. “I’ve never been to one of your matches. Might be fun.”

For once, Phainon was asking.

So you said yes.

But plans changed.

Your part-time shift at the local computer shop ran long, someone brought in a corrupted hard drive and left in tears, and by the time you were done running diagnostics and fixing their system, the sun had already dipped behind the horizon.

You texted Kai.

[Sorry. Can’t make it. Tell me how it goes later.]

No reply.

You didn’t hear from him until the next morning.

Your phone buzzed with a single message:

From unknown number: “Your friend’s at City Medical. You should come.”

You nearly dropped your phone.

Kaito lay in the bed, right arm in a sling, a thin cut on his brow, bruises trailing the side of his cheek. His glasses sat on the tray next to him, bent out of shape. He was asleep when you walked in.

Phainon was sitting beside the bed.

He glanced up when you entered.

“Hey.” He stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. “Didn’t expect you so early.”

“What happened?”

“It was an accident. During the second half, he tripped—took a bad fall.”

You stared at him. “He doesn’t even run. Why was he even on the field?”

“He got a little too excited. Honestly, I tried to wave him back.” He looked at the bed again. “Poor guy. Probably got caught up in the moment.”

But… the whispers had already started at school. You heard them in the hallways, snippets like:

“I heard that nerd wasn’t watching the game rules.” “Why was he even on the field?” “Guess he wanted attention.”

It was already being spun. And no one could prove it otherwise.

You sat quietly in the chair by Kaito’s side once Phainon left. Your eyes didn’t leave the steady rise and fall of his chest.

With Kaito out of the picture, it was just you and Phainon again. He was standing behind your chair, one hand resting on the backrest while he leaned over to comment on your code.

He would speak low near your ear like the two of you shared something secret. Sometimes his hand would linger on your shoulder, a little longer than it should.

And you just kept coding.

You didn’t want to say it out loud, but ever since the hospital visit, your guard hadn’t dropped once.

Every time Phainon brought snacks, or coffee, or even just his charming laugh, there was something clawing at the back of your head.

The others in school weren’t subtle either. You noticed the sideways glances. The hushed tones in the hallway. Students whispering by the lockers, pretending not to look your way.

Some even snickered outright when you walked into the lab with Phainon beside you, your laptops under your arms like a pair of matching uniforms.

“Guess if you can’t compete, just date the star instead.”

Phainon noticed. Of course he did.

He smirked as he leaned in and whispered: “Let them talk. We’re the ones doing something real.”

You didn’t reply. You just sat down and turned on your machine.

And when you got focused, really focused, you forgot everything else. You skipped lunch. You skipped breaks.

That’s when Phainon would step in again.

You hadn’t even noticed him peel open a rice ball wrapper until he tapped your chin gently with it.

“Eat.” he said simply.

“What?”

“You haven’t touched a single thing since third period. Just chew.”

He held it closer to your lips—half a challenge, half a joke.

You frowned slightly, but opened your mouth. He fed it to you.

---

"Why are they always together now? It’s getting annoying."

"Seriously. Ever since that freak started hanging out with Phainon, he’s been acting weird. Ignoring us."

"They practically live in the lab. It’s pathetic. Clingy."

"Didn’t Kai or whatever his name is end up in the hospital too? You think it’s a coincidence?"

"Well… maybe we should remind them where their place is."

Your bag was heavy on your shoulder. You were heading to the lab as usual, maybe Phainon would be there already, or maybe not. You didn’t text him today.

You were halfway down the stairs when it happened.

A slight nudge.

There was a moment—a single heartbeat—when your brain recognized the danger.

Then everything went black.

[Hospital Room – Present]

You woke to pain pressing behind your eyes and an icy pressure on your wrist.

“Hey.. hey. You’re awake?”

You blinked through the blurriness. Phainon’s face came into view, shadowed by worry and sleeplessness.

“Don’t move too fast. You hit your head—really hard.”

Your throat felt dry. You tried to speak but failed. He immediately reached for the straw in a plastic cup and held it to your lips.

You let the water coat your throat. Your mom entered then, her voice choked with relief as she kissed your forehead and muttered prayers under her breath. Behind her, your sibling waved awkwardly with puffy eyes.

Your body still ached. But in your stillness, your mind drifted.

[Seven Years Ago]

You stood outside the regional coding challenge arena, holding your little cardboard certificate for First Prize in your hand. The others from your school were celebrating inside, but you stepped out for air.

That’s when you heard it.

Sniffling. The sound of someone trying really hard not to cry.

You followed the noise and found him, curled behind the bushes next to the school’s HVAC system, arms wrapped around his knees. He was kicking at a tangle of wires and muttering under his breath.

His screen had crashed halfway through the demo. His mom, who was in the audience, had made that face. Not angry—disappointed.

“Leave me alone” he snapped when he noticed you.

You stood there silently and pulled out a juice box from your bag. Pushed it toward him.

He glared at it, then you. “I lost.”

You shrugged. “Your code was complex, though. That’s impressive for our age.”

He finally took the juice box. Sipped it quietly.

You sat beside him, ignoring the grass stains and bugs. “I could help. If you want. You’ll get better.”

He stared at you, like trying to see through your intentions.

“…Why?”

“Because you were good. And no one helped me when I started either. So I guess I just want to promise it won’t always suck.”

You smiled. “Wanna be friends?”

He nodded.

You forgot that moment. Years passed. But Phainon never did.

Because in that moment, you were the first person who saw value in him.

And he kept that memory like a loaded save file.

Waiting to be opened again.

[Hospital Room – Present]

You stirred awake.

Night had fallen.

Phainon hadn’t left. His hand was still holding yours, as if letting go would make you disappear.

You stared at the ceiling. “Did you know?”

He looked up.

“About the stairwell?” you clarified.

His jaw tensed. “…Yes.”

You didn’t respond.

He continued: “I told them to back off. I thought that was enough.”

You turned to face him.

“I was too late. And I’m sorry.”

You didn’t want his apology.

You wanted to go back and undo all of it. All the memories with him.

[One Month Later]

It was as if you had never existed.

Even your home, he passed by once, late at night, still in his hoodie and uniform, was locked up, the windows sealed, the gate chained. A "FOR RENT" sign swayed faintly in the wind.

You had moved.

Without goodbye.

“…Didn’t they get, like, pushed or something?”

“Maybe their parents freaked out.”

“Phainon’s been acting insane ever since. You think he—”

The boy they were whispering about passed them without a glance.

He just sat in the old lab sometimes—your chair cold and silent across from him—staring at the unfinished game you both used to work on. His fingers would hover over the keyboard, only to fall away.

He didn’t talk to Kaito anymore. He didn’t talk to anyone, really.

One week later, Phainon stared at the wall of post-its he'd started building.

A map of digital footprints.

The last IP address you logged in with.

An email you once mentioned.

A string of code only you would write—he knew because he still had a CD of your logic framework.

An old blog post under a different name, dated three years ago.

He had learned from you. Studied you. Watched you work, memorized the way you built firewalls, nested loops, hid access points like digital breadcrumbs only someone obsessed would find.

And he was obsessed.

At school, Phainon finally started speaking again.

To the computer science teacher.

To the club advisor.

To anyone who might know where the school sent your records. What your “transfer” details included.

But they all said the same thing.

"We don’t know." "It was a private transfer." "We were told not to disclose further."

He sat by his screen again. The glow cast his face in cold blues.

On it was a pixelated image—the game you had coded.

Only this time, it had been modified.

There was a new character. One that looked an awful lot like you. Standing at the end of a path surrounded by glitchy trees.

He pressed enter.

And the character vanished.

Phainon leaned back in his chair.

Where did you go? He didn’t get an answer.

Not yet.

But he would.

----

The screen glowed in the pitch-black room.

Phainon hadn’t slept. Not properly.

There it was.

Phainon’s lips parted. His eyes lit up like a mad scientist finding the last missing variable.

“…Got you.”

----

You sat in the back of the new lab, a new place, everything is new to you, headphones in, hoodie up. You'd been making slow friends here.

Safe. Or so you thought.

Until you saw a notification blink on your laptop.

“System Resource Conflict – Unknown Peripheral Access Attempted.”

You immediately yanked the USB port out.

"Dammit."

----

[Night – Back in Your Apartment]

You watched the camera LED on your laptop blink once, then stop.

You covered it. Disconnected from all networks.

And still, you found phantom code—commands embedded in weird spots.

He was inside.

“What do you want, Phainon?”

The screen lit up again.

Just a simple text file opened itself.

I want what’s mine.

[Elsewhere – Phainon’s POV]

He sat in a cheap hotel near your neighborhood, his laptop surrounded by energy drink cans and open notebooks filled with your old quotes, half-written function names, sketches of you in the margins.

This wasn’t about revenge.

This was about fixing the error that happened the day you left.

[The Next Day – At Your School]

You felt someone watching.

Students still walked the hall like normal. But your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

And when you reached your locker, you found a CD. Labeled in black marker:

“Final Build – OUR Game.”

You dropped it immediately. You didn’t pick it up.

But someone else did. Your cousin.

“…Hey, isn’t this yours?”

“No. Leave it.”

That night, when you checked online, your cousin’s PC pinged offline.

“Ugh.. I warned him already.”

Then his phone. Then his socials.

Gone.

You wanted to end this. So you did what you must.

“Don’t worry. I’m here now.”

“We’re going to finish what we started.”

“Together.”

The lights in your room dimmed.

You agreed to meet him.

“Let’s end this.”

Rooftop. 5:00 PM.

You knew this was dangerous.

But you were exhausted.

Of hiding. Of losing friends.

You needed closure—even if it meant facing him again.

----

Phainon stood at the edge of the roof, back to you.

He hadn’t changed much.

You approached slowly.

Phainon turned.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he said, stepping forward. “I just… wanted to be with you. Always.”

“You hacked my laptop.”

“You left first.”

“You stalked me. Threatened people. My cousin.”

“He shouldn’t have touched our game.”

“It wasn’t ‘our’ anything!” you snapped. “It stopped being ours the moment you tried to control me.”

“...I see”

That was it. You said what you had to say. You turned toward the door.

You should’ve kept your guard up.

CRACK

Blinding white. Then black.

-----

You stirred.

Phainon sat nearby, typing.

“Hey,” he said softly, as if he hadn’t just abducted you. “You were out for a while. I was worried.”

“Let me go.”

He tilted his head. “But I just got you back.”

“You can’t keep me here.”

“I can. And I will. We have work to finish.”

“…You're insane.”

“No,” he said with unnerving calm. “I'm in love.”

He stood, walking toward you, crouching beside your chair.

“Look, I added your old AI logic into the game. It talks like you now.”

You stared at him in horror.

“Phainon… you can't replace me with code.”

He smiled.

“Then stay.”

Then, like he was explaining code to a beginner:

“If I lose you again… I’ll transfer you.”

“What?”

“If your body dies… I can keep you. Upload your consciousness into the framework. You’re brilliant, after all. Your patterns, your memory depth... already trained into the AI from our game.” He reached up and gently touched your temple. “You won’t even notice the difference.”

You went completely still.

He was serious. Fully convinced. He would do it.

“…Phainon” you said quietly, doing everything you could to keep your voice steady. “That’s… sweet. But I’m not ready for that.”

“I just think,” you continued, “maybe I can help improve the code more if I’m still—” you laughed nervously—“you know, in this form.”

Then… he sighed. “You’re so logical,” he murmured. “So calm.... That’s why I love you.”

He leaned his forehead against yours.

“I knew you’d understand eventually.”

[rainrot4me]

Rain’s Kinktober 2024 - 04

Masky x Gender Neutral Reader - In the Car/Road Head

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Blowjob, road head, praise, car sex, pleasing, codependency, obsessive traits, clinginess, trauma responses, brief mentions of abuse, soft sex, kinda fluffy

Tag: #rainykinktober2024

Words: 2.2k

A/N: Made Masky kind of soft in this… I like it.

The two of you had been riding out this empty interstate for miles, another thirty or so left to go. Thick night air rushed through the cracked windows, the heavy thud of music sounding through the old speakers of the beat up truck.

Masky had been driving the whole time, left hand gripped tightly onto the wheel as you nudged uncomfortably close to his side, his arm wrapped around your back. It was an older model truck without the console, perfect for you to get close to him.

You couldn’t help that you had grown codependent. Every proxy had their bad traits, yours was just slightly more annoying than others.

When The Operator first introduced you to the others, you were stiff, fresh out of whatever hell-hole mental destruction the others had also experienced. It was only normal you resisted the rest of the group at first, they knew you’d come around.

What no one really expected was just how closely you did come around.

It was near obsessive now. You always needed to be touching or holding onto Toby’s clothing, the boy quickly becoming flustered and uncomfortable and moving you onto someone else. Hoodie and Kate didn’t take it well either, grumbling when you asked to hold their sleeves or shoving you off when you crawled too close.

The only one who could really tolerate it was Masky, taking the brunt of your clinginess out of understanding from his own messed-up tendencies. Trauma was no stranger to the man, so if he could offer you some relief from yours when no one did him, he wouldn’t mind it too much.

He was always willing to scoot over in bed to let you crawl in, or wrap yourself in his heavy jacket to ride out a panic attack. The others teased him for being soft, but you knew it was because he understood better than they ever could.

Knees pressed to your chest, you clung to his warmth, the chilly night air blowing your hair due to a lack of available A/C. Masky kept his gaze straight, tired eyes scanning the empty asphalt.

The mission the two of you were coming back from was less than enjoyable, a murder job for a group of college kids writing a report about paranormal activities linked to murders in the area. Just their luck, The Operator didn’t quite appreciate being called ‘paranormal’. They were just unlucky, a bunch of kids too brave and vulnerable deep in the woods. It wasn’t a reach to say both you and Masky didn’t enjoy being tasked with this.

You especially, still coming down from a mild panic attack that the man beside you had to ease you through. You sniffled, his hand rubbing against the side of your arm.

“Doin’ alright?” He glanced down at you, tired gaze meeting your puffy eyes before resuming back on the headlights out front. The engine rumbled, tires rattling against the potholes littered on the road. You were getting closer to the backroad leading to the mansion, the treeline becoming familiar.

Your chest still hurt, and panic still rattled in your mind, but you nodded anyway. Masky still rubbed your arm, your head resting on his shoulder as you took long, labored breaths.

“Sorry…”

“Never had a problem before, why would I start now, mouse?”

That nickname always did it for you too, bringing you back down from whatever hysterics you found yourself in. Masky was just accustomed to taking care of you along with himself now, the extension a second nature to him.

Despite how often you fed into it, you really did feel bad for being so pitiful.

You reached your hand across his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him closer. He adjusted, letting his hand rest on the small of your hip and holding you closer. Your nose nudged into the crook of his neck, his smell flooding your senses with that familiar comfort you’d grown to love.

Your interactions had never been sexual, always a comfort for the two of you. But now in the solitude and emotional stir of the night, you couldn’t help the flutters that grew in your gut when Masky’s hand reached further to rub the side of your thigh. His scent was just so nice too, with dried sweat from his overextension earlier thick on his skin. You couldn’t help but push a soft kiss on the underside of his jaw.

You just wanted to thank him for always being so kind.

“Hey, now-” You felt him tense for a moment, glancing down at you as your hands clung to his shirt, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

“Sorry…” You kissed his neck again, taking deep breaths each time to fill your senses with him. Maybe it was toxic, maybe it was codependent, or even obsessive- but you couldn’t help how safe he made you feel. Was it so bad to want him to feel that way too?

He didn’t resist when you let your hand slide down his chest, fisting against the fabric of his shirt as your lips cling to the side of his neck, leaving sickly sweet kisses. He shuddered when your hand dipped to the waistline of his jeans, shifting as his foot settled a little heavier on the accelerator. His hand gripped your waist tight, the knuckles on his other fist turning white while wrapped on the steering wheel.

“Mouse.” He huffed when you let off of his neck, laying your head back on his shoulder. Despite his warning, he watched eagerly when you began to undo his belt, shifting his hips up to give you easier access.

“Let me thank you…”

“For what?”

“Being so nice to me…”

His grasp hugged your hips closer, your fingers fiddling with his zipper and tugging it down. You pushed a hand past the band of his boxers, a quiet gasp leaving his lips when you wrap it around his limp cock.

Your cheeks are flushed, the warmth of your bodies pressed close as you slowly stroke him to life, his length slowly growing in your grasp. You could feel Masky loosen up, his body relaxing into your touch as his gaze constantly flickered from the road to your hand.

“You don’t need to do this, mouse.” He groaned when you rubbed your thumb across his tip, his thigh jerking and stuttering the speed of the truck. The cool air had goosebumps rising across his skin, his now-hard cock pulsing under your fingers.

“I want to.” You whispered, a quiet excitement rushing through you at his willingness. Masky huffed, rubbing against your hip as he tried his best to focus on the road.

Pushing your legs out, you scooted over, his eyes following you as you leaned down to rest against his leg. Pushing his boxers down, you tugged his cock out, the sight making you gasp quietly. You were nervous, but Masky’s hand reaching to push your hair from your face eased you.

You leaned in, hand fisted tight onto the base of his length as you pressed your lips to the divot of his cockhead, letting spit dribble from your lips onto the tip. He groaned above you, right hand collecting your hair and fisting it out of the way.

Giving a gentle kiss against his slick tip, you let your lips part, his head pushing into the warmth of your mouth. You try to take all of him too quickly, pushing your jaw wider to nudge his twitching cock against your tongue.

“Shit.” His fingers tighten in your hair, a gentle nudge pushing you down further and making you choke quietly. He’s immediately tugging you back up, your fingers clinging against the fabric of his jeans as you come up for air.

“Easy, would ‘ya? You ever even done this before?” It didn’t matter, all you knew was you wanted to make him feel good, and that little curse he let out earlier was exactly what you were looking for. You pushed your head back down, taking a deep breath as you wrapped your lips back around his tip.

Masky groaned, letting his hand off the wheel to push his hair back, glancing down at you with heavy eyes. You bob your head lightly, swiping your tongue across the divot of his tip to tug little huffs from the man above you. Eyes fluttering shut, you try to take more each time, relaxing your jaw to push more of his thick cock into the warm wetness of your throat.

You choked a little each time, straining when you felt his tip shove against the roof of your mouth in a way that made Masky twitch inside you. Good, he was enjoying it, it felt good. Slobber builds around your lips, sucking your cheeks in to make his hips stutter and twinge up into your mouth. Tears well on your waterline, little droplets slipping down your cheeks each time.

“Easy. You’re doin’ good. Doin’ real good…”

Your gut fluttered with excitement, pressing your head down all the way till your nose is flush against his pelvis, his pubes tickling the side of your face. You held your eyes closed, trying your best to stay relaxed as you gagged around him, his tip pressed against the tightness of your throat. Even still, he smelled so good.

Masky was moaning, taking shaky breaths as his hips jerked lightly up into you, cock bobbing against the back of your throat. You wanted to be good for him, to make him feel as good as possible, so you stayed, grunting and choking as quietly as you could while bobbing in rhythm with him.

“Fuck, ah- Good, mouse, just like that-”

His cock gleams with your slobber as you slide back up to his tip, running your tongue across his slit to collect the stout taste of his pre. You push back down, taking all of him quickly to pull right back up again, sucking his entire length.

Masky groans loudly, hand fisted tight into your hair and tugging you up and down, taking deep breaths every chance you can get. His praises ring in your ear, keeping you eager to please him as you rub your tongue across the bulging veins running up his length.

It’s so hard for Masky not to look at you, pre and spit collecting sloppily at the corners of your mouth just out of his view, eyes flickering between the beautiful view and the boring road ahead. He huffs, jerking the steering wheel to the side and running the truck onto the edge of the road, pressing the breaks quickly to bring the truck to a stop. You’re jostled, keeping a tight grip on his leg as you keep on with your pace.

Throwing the gear in park, he can finally wrap both of his hands into your hair, leaning back to get a good view of your flushed and teary face swallowing his cock down willingly. He moans through parted lips, shifting his hips to fuck up into your mouth and groaning every time your throat tightened around his tip.

“Oh fuck. Gonna cum, hah- Gonna-”

You let your jaw completely relax, taking restraint away from your neck to let him have control, to let him fuck you how he wants. It’s so sloppy the way your spit glistens down his length, using your swollen mouth as he pleases. And you’re so eager, so willing and pliable for him.

Masky’s moaning out, your eyes rolling back as he pushes your head all the way down, gagging you down onto the entirety of his length.

“Yeah-”

When he cums, you’re trying your best to swallow every drop, puffy lips wrapping tight to drink him up. He hunches over your head, stuttering his hips to milk every drop into your throat as your tears and spit dribble onto the fabric of his jeans.

He’s finally pulling you up when you reach a hand to grip his shirt, hitting your fist against his thigh when you begin to choke for air. Masky tugs you up, wrapping his hands around your cheeks to take a look at you.

You’re flushed, his fingers wiping away your tear soaked cheeks and brushing his thumb over your lips. You lean into his touch, tired eyes fluttering closed as he’s pulling you close and pressing his lips against yours.

You gasp, cupping your hands over his as you just breathe in the moment. It feels like forever when he’s finally pulling away, your tired body taking its comfortable place back against his side as he zips his jeans back up, buckling his belt.

When you start back on the road, Masky’s arm wraps around your back, tugging you closer than before. You smile, leaning your head on his shoulder and breathing him in again. The thud of the music and the familiar bumpy ride ease you both back in.

Maybe you were obsessive, and annoying, and clingy, and even just a little codependent. But Masky had gladly taken you and all of those traits along with him. It was only right that you thank him.

And he’d gladly take that, too.

Thank you for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thanks to my wonderful editors: @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

[ikeuverse]

you hate me, universe? | sjy

pairing: jake x fem!reader  genres: smut, fluff, slight angst, a pinch of humor wc: 9.4k+

꒰ 𝅄 warnings ꒱ : swearing, drinking, sexual tension for a while. jake is frustrated for the most part (poor thing, let's understand him here). unprotected sex, oral sex (f. receiving), holding the neck, but no hanging. cum inside (make it safe and cover it up), aftercare. lmk if i forgot anything.

꒰ 𝅄 synopsis ꒱ : how much the universe could hate you and jake to conspire against you every time you two came close to kissing? it was driving him crazy, jake needed to do something about it.

꒰ 𝅄 notes ꒱ : i honestly don't know how this idea came about, it just popped into my head and i let it flow. it was something so natural, so i just let it happen and here it is. i hope you like it!

꒰ 𝅄 masterlist ꒱

Anyone in their right mind could tell what was between you and Jaeyun whether it was the extremely palpable sexual tension or the mutual desire that coursed through both of you as you became closer and closer.

It was always like that. Ever since the day Sunghoon introduced the two of you as an excuse for his best friend to meet new people. Not in a sexual sense because he didn't want to interfere that much, but he also knew that Jaeyun needed to talk to someone other than him and Heeseung. The boy was completely lonely and it was driving him crazy.

The idea of you becoming someone to talk to, since you were the social butterfly of the group, fit like a glove. So well that Jaeyun quickly opened up to you and the two of you started chatting. But he was so much calmer than Sunghoon and Heeseung when approaching.

Jaeyun was subtle when he arrived, making eye contact first before greeting people. He would say hello to everyone until he sat beside you and brushed his hand against yours to get your attention. At first, it was innocent, you would even intertwine your fingers in his quickly as a response to the greeting, Jaeyun maintaining the grip for a while before being interrupted to greet other people.

What changed was that Sunghoon and Heeseung weren't like that with you. The two of them would come and hug you, and Heeseung would mess up your hair because he knew you'd complain, he liked to annoy you. But no one was able to hurt you because he would break up with anyone. Sunghoon treated you like a little sister, not least because he was dating your best friend and you were responsible for introducing the two of them. He was grateful for that, so he always took the best care of you, hugging you from the side and running to his friend.

Whereas Jaeyun never held anyone's hand during greetings. He didn't make a point of touching anyone other than you or his friends for a quick handshake. That sparked something in you… So this was something just for you and him? An intimate thing that you could call yours and Jaeyun's alone?

Not to be hasty or emotional, you never even asked him, not least because it might put him off or simply make him stop holding your hand. You remember the first day before you met him when Sunghoon told you how shy Jaeyun was around anyone. That's exactly why you approached him: so that he could meet and talk to more people.

But the touching of hands became the least of your problems when you and Jaeyun started to get more physical. He didn't mind holding your waist as he walked up to the bar of the nightclub where you two were with your friends, whispering in your ear whatever silly conversation you and he were having at the moment. You'd notice the way his eyes would leave any corner of the room to focus only on your lips, even if you weren't saying anything. Just listening to him and the words coming out of his mouth.

It was a game of cat and mouse where you and Jaeyun were cornering each other more and more until you couldn't take the pressure.

If you asked him what was going on, he wouldn't hesitate to say that he wanted you. He doesn't know when it started, whether it was the first look you gave him in the living room of Sunghoon's apartment or the warm and welcoming way you greeted him. But Jaeyun was charmed at that moment. He was truly enchanted by you.

Your beauty was unreal and he lost count of how many uncontrollable, low sighs came out of his lips every time you did the slightest thing.

Get a grip Jaeyun, she's Sunghoon's friend and she's being nice to you. He was trying to convince himself of this because a shy university student who didn't have many friends would never win over a woman like you. Outspoken, self-assured, smiling and so beautiful. Not to mention every curve of your body that he swore he wouldn't pay attention to, but it became more and more impossible as he spent more time with the guys and with you.

Jaeyun was terrible at hiding the fact that he was staring, sometimes with Heeseung's help with a gentle push. A push or a hold because you could tell. Not that Heeseung wanted to stop Jaeyun, he was a great supporter of the – almost – couple, but he also wanted to know if you were comfortable with the advances. So he just tried to make everything seem a little more normal.

“How about you get her a drink instead of staring?” Heeseung asked, leaning away from the dimly lit kitchen counter of the decadent party he and his friends had decided to go to that weekend. Jaeyun sighed, turning his back to you who was in another room, but in his view of the kitchen.

“Dude, that's not gonna happen” Jaeyun almost cried at the mention of hitting on you, knowing that he got nervous just by looking at you.

“Of course it will” meanwhile, Heeseung was filling two glasses with concoctions that the other didn't even pay attention to. He was in a dilemma between running out of that kitchen and not listening to Heeseung, or following his friend's advice and bringing you a drink “Now, take this and call her somewhere more private. Trust me.”

He wanted to trust, that's for sure. He wanted Heeseung to be right enough to drop those two glasses, run to you, and kiss you. Holding the plastic cups in his hand, with a little more confidence from his friend's encouraging smile, Jaeyun straightened up.

“Anything, I'll pretend nothing happened, that I was drunk and it's your fault” he said before leaving the kitchen, hearing his friend's laughter behind him before entering the busy, noisy room.

Without losing sight of you, even if his eyes weren't on you, he walked slowly towards you. You were talking to Allie, your best friend, and Sunghoon's girlfriend. Other girls were also around, but as he didn't know many people, just his best friend was enough for him to know that he was surrounded by trustworthy people.

At a moment when Allie decided to pay attention to some questions from another girl, you were speechless for a few seconds, looking around to stop your eyes automatically on Jaeyun. It was as if your body and brain were aware of his approach and where he was.

“Hey” you moved your lips, he knew what had been said just by reading your lips. And because he always looked at your mouth.

“Hey” he greeted back, coming close enough to you to offer the glass of drink. Your throat was screaming for something wet to wash away all the talk from before because when you got together with your friends, there wasn't a minute when you were quiet.

“How did you guess I needed it?” you asked an amused tone in your voice making Jaeyun smile at you.

“Thought transmission?” he suggested, shrugging and sipping his drink.

“Uh girls, I think it's about time” Allie looked between you and Jaeyun, a small smile forming on her lips. You'd say you were innocent if it weren't for the double-entendre noises coming from your other friends.

At that moment you wanted to crawl under that filthy party mat and never leave. Or you wanted to be drunk enough to pretend that your cheeks weren't burning fiercely and that you had nowhere else to look but at him.

“I'm sorry, I—” you began, your voice breaking as there was only you and Jaeyun left in that corner.

“It's okay, I suffer a bit from that with the boys too” he said.

You bit your tongue to ask why, if it was for the same reason as yours since that could mean he had feelings for you too. But instead of asking, again, you let Jaeyun grab your hand as he always did and pull you to another corner of the party. No protest came from your lips as he left with you and went to the balcony of the busy house.

No one stayed there at that moment, even though it was dark and quiet. People seemed to want the movement and loud music, or the rooms stinking of sweat and sex from who knows how many people who had passed by. You and he preferred the calm of the wooden gang with their almost empty glasses of booze.

He sat down first, stretching his arm on the back of the bench while you sat down next to him and, without thinking, snuggled closer into his body.

“Can I…”

“Of course, you can” he didn't even need your continuation to know, you could be like that with him, even more so outside where the small gusts of wind were hitting you both. Jaeyun wanted to go back and get his coat to warm you up, but that would have meant leaving you alone, and that wasn't the plan. He wanted to follow what Heeseung had said in the letter and it was already a big step to have your head resting on his shoulder at that moment.

Not that it had never happened before, the two of you had been like this before. On the sofa in the boys' apartment, when you two went to the movies with Sunghoon and Allie, or during class breaks in the library when you shared a headset. It was so good to be close to him. The glow of the night added a finishing touch to what you and he needed.

The minutes of silence became a little longer, but at no point did you and Jaeyun feel like saying anything. He just listened to the sound of your breathing and, sometimes, your fingers touching his hand, which was resting on your shoulder. It was intimate and cozy, and he wished he could do more with it. The internal dilemma about raising one hand and touching you, pulling you close, and kissing you was screaming in the back of his mind.

What if he was such a coward? What if you thought he didn't like you or didn't feel anything, even if all the sexual tension was seen by anyone outside? It made him a little dazed, maybe even nervous, he could tell.

But Jaeyun hadn't counted on the fact that you could be a bit quicker, with more attitude. Or he could have waited since you were his opposite.

Raising your head enough to look at him, you noticed that Jaeyun was already looking in your direction. The dark, curious orbs shone a little more brightly than usual. The drinking glass had long since been emptied and placed next to the foot of the bench you were both sitting on. So you had your hands free to lift and hold his face between your hands. Jaeyun sighed at the tender touch of your fingertips, almost living a little dream as your thumbs slid across his cheeks. The tickle of tiny stubble ran down his smooth, well-drawn chin.

“Jake” you whispered, as a warning that he could stop you if he wanted to. But his response was the opposite, taking his free hand to your waist to pull you closer to him. The touch of Jaeyun's fingers reached the little bit of exposed skin between the waistband of your pants and the T-shirt you were wearing that night. He pressed his fingers there to know that you could go further, that he wanted to too.

Then slowly you leaned in. Jaeyun's other hand slid from your shoulder where his arm was resting to go to the back of your neck and hold your face closer, afraid that you would regret it and abandon him. He couldn't miss it.

When your breath hitched against his ajar mouth, his lips red and kissable, you saw him moisten them with the tip of his tongue before moving in too. The softness of Jaeyun's mouth brushed against yours before the bang of the door caused you and him to break apart in shock.

“What—” you turned towards the door, your eyes widening with the slight fear that invaded your body and Jaeyun's too.

“You two…” Heeseung stammered, his Adam's apple bobbing in a dry, regretful swallow. He looked between you and Jaeyun with wide eyes, his hand going back and forth from the bench to the inside of the house “I— I got in the way?”

“No” you said slowly.

“Yes, Heeseung” Jaeyun replied, abruptly getting up from the bench and walking over to him “What happened?”

“I'm sorry, I— Shit” Heeseung looked like he was going to cry at that moment, his eyes glazing over at the two of you as he watched you slowly get up behind Jaeyun “I just wanted help because Sunghoon's drunk and I thought I should look for you, but—” he stopped looking at his friend and his eyes went towards you “I can't believe I did that, what the fuck.”

“Hey bro, calm down” Jaeyun seemed a little less nervous, trying to understand that Heeseung really was worried about Sunghoon and wouldn't do that on purpose. You understood too, even though your heart was pounding frantically. Both from the fright and the near-kiss with Jaeyun.

“You can continue, I—”

“No, let's go after Hoon” Jaeyun held Heeseung by the shoulders, giving him a little squeeze before pushing his friend back into the house. You would have breathed a sigh of relief if he had gone in with Heeseung, but instead, he turned towards you.

Jaeyun's eyes stared at your face while you looked everywhere but at him. Come on, you were the one who had leaned in minutes before, so why be embarrassed when he was approaching you? His fingers found their way to your chin and you were forced to hold the man's gaze. A small, shy smile played on the lips you should have been kissing at that moment.

“Do you mind if—” Jaeyun asked.

“No, go help him, please” you knew that the three of them were inseparable, but you were sure to end Heeseung's life when he sobered up.

Jaeyun smiled a little wider, sliding his hand around the curve of your neck and pulling your face to his chest. His lips slowly kissed your forehead and sniffed your hair as if he needed to smell you before he pulled away.

He smiled once more, this time pulling away for real so that he could enter the house and help Heeseung with the task of taking his drunk friend home. While you felt your whole body tingle, even more so in the parts where Jaeyun had touched you, like an addictive drug you hadn't even tasted yet.

Anyone could live with being interrupted just once when they were about to kiss someone they liked. But Jaeyun already felt flames coming out of his ears because it had happened more than once. He couldn't count the number of times he'd tried to be alone with you, looking for more intimate contact with you beyond that party.

First, it was in the apartment he started sharing with Heeseung and Sunghoon. Movie night could always add Allie, you, and any girl Heeseung was interested in. Jaeyun felt lucky to be sitting next to you with his fingers tangled in yours. The small moment when he stared at you, like a silent request to go to the kitchen and make more popcorn with him. Even though the bucket on Allie's lap was practically full. It was just an excuse to sneak away and be alone with you. Slowly pin you against the counter and completely forget about the popcorn that neither of us wanted. His gaze would alternate between your lips and your eyes, the sliding nibble of Jaeyun's teeth against his lower lip to make him suppress a smile, driving you crazy without even realizing it.

He would lean towards you, his breath hot against your mouth again as your heart pounded in anticipation. Only for Heeseung's girl to arrive the next second looking for a glass of water. She was oblivious to everything the two of you were having but didn't fail to apologize for the interruption, listening to Jaeyun's masked response of affection as he pointed out to her where she could get the drink.

The second was at university, late at night, where Jaeyun always ended up staying to study a bit more on Tuesday nights. Calculus was the core of his course, but even so, it was a subject he liked to dedicate himself to, even if he found it easy. He always studied alone and had the company of the famous headphones or a few snacks to pass the time until he returned to the shared apartment, but that changed as soon as you started attending at the same time as him.

Your advanced literature lessons could be a good companion to his calculus classes, while the two of you shared snacks and exchanged furtive glances, Jaeyun could smile slowly every time your hand touched his as you went to pick up the package or simply sneak forward to get the water bottle. He didn't even bother to change seats so that he could sit next to her, get a little closer, and feel the warmth of your body in those last few minutes of studying. Finishing the task with the smell of your perfume in the air was the only thing that could calm him down at that moment.

“I'm almost done” Jaeyun whispered to you, looking in your direction, although your eyes were still on your reading material. He studied your whole calm and relaxed profile, only to almost swallow a sigh when you looked in his direction.

“There's no need to rush, I'll wait for you” you smiled so sweetly that he couldn't help himself. It was now or never, he would have to kiss you because there was no one else there to interrupt. After so long he could finally feel your lips.

Giving a fuck about any personal space rules or anything like that, Jaeyun wrapped his hands around your face and pulled you close to his. He no longer wanted to waste a second without feeling your lips and that's why the rush had to be in his favor now. If it wasn't for the damn librarian and that demon encyclopedia that fell on the floor.

“Fuck” Jaeyun wanted to shout at that moment, his hands still on your face as he felt his whole body tremble.

Your shy laughter only made everything seem worse because you were just as embarrassed as he was. There was no way this could be happening.

“The universe can only hate me, it's not possible” he finally said, moving away from you to collect the materials.

Those were the few times he clearly remembered that he didn't get to kiss you, although there could have been more, but Jaeyun simply wanted to erase them from his mind because he got stressed about that kind of thing.

He knew that it affected the mood of his friends and of everyone around him. It wasn't just you who was a social butterfly, but his best friends too. Living on the university campus with a bunch of talkative people at least gave Jaeyun more to talk about. But he wasn't in the mood. His head was spinning with the thought that the stupid universe was playing tricks on him and he'd never get to kiss you. He could even settle down to know that the attraction between the two of you would be nothing more than physical touches and the light brushing of lips – which was the closest you ever got to each other.

It took his sleep away in an inexplicable way, because how could this be happening? How could someone be capable of bringing him to the brink of collapse just because they'd never managed to kiss? It was humanly impossible, wasn't it?

“Jake” Sunghoon caught his eye, throwing the bath towel over his friend's head as he watched him entertain himself on his cell phone. However, Jaeyun's thoughts were far away from the device in his hands.

“Hm?” he asked, lifting his gaze to look at his friend just out of the shower. Sunghoon was already dressed from the waist down, for which Jaeyun was grateful, so he ran from one side of the room to the other in search of his shirt.

“Are you ready? I need to call Allie and Y/n, they're meeting us at the party” he sighed defeatedly. One more moment he'd be close to you and nothing would happen because there would always be something to get in the way.

“I'm already there, just waiting for you and Hee is having a snack” he muttered.

Sunghoon knew Jaeyun's obvious frustration and how he dealt with it all. He couldn't blame him, after all, if he had been in his friend's shoes, he would have lost his mind. But it turned out that Jaeyun was calm about it, otherwise he might well have locked you in a room at the university and kissed you right there. But everyone was talking about Sim Jaeyun, the calmest, quietest boy they knew. Even if he was collapsing with desire, he would never get past that point. Even if now, in addition to the desire, he felt anger and frustration that nothing had happened.

“Then go get something to eat too, I don't want to see you looking ugly all night” he joked, knowing that Jaeyun's countenance wasn't due to hunger.

With no room for discussion or any jokes, he just headed out of Sunghoon's room and into the kitchen. His steps were slow, contemplating what would become of his and his friends' evening together, yet another university party where he knew he'd be bumping into you all night and being interrupted at every turn. It was frustrating to unravel the evening when it hadn't even happened yet.

“Peanut butter and jelly or just a slice of cheese?” Heeseung greeted Jaeyun as soon as he entered. The sandwich ingredients were spread out in front of him on the counter, making the newcomer's smile widen a little. Heeseung was funny without even trying.

“Peanut butter and jelly sounds good” he said.

“And we can hold our drink for longer” added the other, preparing a sandwich for Jaeyun while keeping his eyes on each slice “You know, man, I think you should bring Y/n to the apartment today.”

“What? What do you mean?” he couldn't take his eyes off Heeseung's movements, the swipe of the knife with jam on the bread, the mixing of the peanut butter until he closed the bread and handed it to his friend. It was all so fast, but Jaeyun focused on each movement just so he wouldn't have to deal with a pair of curious eyes staring at him.

“We can see your anger smoking from afar, Jake” he laughed a little, “Get to the party, find her, and bring her here. So you two can be alone.”

Determined to take a bite of bread and get it over with, he didn't want Heeseung to be so sure of his thoughts. But it turned out that Jaeyun had also been avoiding you for a few weeks because he knew he'd get frustrated every time he got close to you and it came to nothing.

“I'd better let it go” he chewed a little, wiping the corner of his lips with his fingertips when a bit of jam almost got on his cheek “I don't think that's going to happen. I have to accept that and that the universe must hate me so much.”

“Come on, bro, stop being an idiot” Heeseung wanted to throw a slice of bread at him, but he knew he'd be scolded by Sunghoon as soon as he saw it. So he settled for taking a deep breath and biting into the bread he had made for him a while before Jaeyun arrived “You and her just need a space where there won't be anyone, and our apartment will be empty.

“But someone will come” he finished his snack in a few bites, surprising himself with how much he needed it. Searching for a paper napkin, he finished cleaning up the small mess before looking at Heeseung “Some neighbor is going to knock, the cell phone of one of us is going to ring… Anything” he huffed, irritated “It feels like I'm living in the worst romantic comedy of my life.”

“That's why you have the two best friends in the world to help you with this” Sunghoon appeared, stealing the piece of bread Heeseung was about to eat. Avoiding any protests as he made his way to the other side of the kitchen counter.

“And how, exactly, would you two do that?” Jaeyun asked “Heeseung has already gotten in my way once.”

“And I blame myself every day for it, I really do.”

“He almost cries just remembering it” Sunghoon laughed out loud, being joined by Jaeyun in that little implication with the older man “But Hee's right, you two need to come here. It's making even me and him angry.”

Seeing his best friends share that feeling would have been comical, if it hadn't been so tragic for him. Everyone knows the internal drama Jaeyun was going through just for not kissing someone he wanted to. He didn't want to get his hopes up because he knew how the universe wrote things for him and you, so he just shrugged and nodded in agreement.

“Great, then let's go” Sunghoon grabbed Jaeyun by the shoulders, pushing him out of the kitchen.

“Just don't use the armchair in the living room, please. I love snoozing in it” Heeseung whined one last time before turning off the lights in the apartment, bidding a small farewell to the sacred place Jaeyun could take you at the end of the party.

The familiar scene made Jaeyun's body tremble in anticipation. Parties weren't a big deal, but at least he could have some fun and talk to some people before he had to take you out of there. It was his only goal after Sunghoon and Heeseung had convinced him to take you out of that party. He just didn't know how to approach you, since he had been avoiding you for a while.

There would be no need to avoid you if he thought that exchanging a few words was enough since the last time you two were interrupted. But there was no way to think straight and he knew his feelings were confusing, fighting them wasn't working, so the only thought was to keep quiet.

Jaeyun didn't know what it was like to touch your hand or feel you so close for a few weeks. He skipped a few study sessions and even pretended to be tired the times you went to his and the boys' apartment with Allie. A goodnight wave was the only thing you received, not counting the unread messages and some with apologies: I'm busy today, can we talk later? He was a complete jerk, for sure. Now, besides fate denying all of this, you could have lost interest in him just because Jaeyun couldn't deal with his own feelings.

He tried not to focus on that, after all, the party was going on and he just needed to find you. He only needed a few seconds to talk to you and get you out of there, so that was the mission as soon as Sunghoon received the call from Allie, that the two of you had arrived at the party.

It's now or never. He thought. His hands were in his jeans pocket trying to camouflage his nervousness while he had Heeseung and Sunghoon by his side, waiting for the two of you to arrive, which didn't take long. Just like every party, Allie quickly found Sunghoon, consequently finding his friends too.

Jaeyun's eyes quickly found yours, without even needing to know where you were looking because, to his surprise or not, you were already looking at him. Your smile wavered a little, not knowing if he would ignore you again or treat you coldly like he had been doing for the past few weeks, and Jaeyun felt that as you approached Allie. Your eyes wavered, although they didn't leave his for a minute until you were finally close.

“Hey, we found you all” Allie smiled, hugging each one until stopping at Sunghoon, where she remained in her boyfriend's arms.

“We were waiting for you two” Heeseung sang, hugging you and then standing next to the newly embraced couple “How about we get a drink?”

“I think that's a great idea” Sunghoon sang, pulling Allie with him and hearing Heeseung's footsteps right behind.

Your eyebrows narrowed, your gaze confused because neither of the other two spoke much to you and only led Allie away. Not even she had talked that much to Jaeyun in the short seconds that the two of you had appeared. Your gaze followed where the three had disappeared and that made you even more curious, they didn't even bother to call the two of you.

Was this something between them or were your friends wanting to give you and Jaeyun some privacy? You didn't know and it made you apprehensive because after some time you were alone with him with no one around – besides the strangers from the party – so looking in his direction again was different this time.

“Do you—” your voice broke a little, nervous for the first time in Jaeyun's presence “Do you want to accompany them? They're going to drink and we—”

“No” he interrupted you quickly, praying to the heavens that he hadn't sounded rude in his tone or he wouldn't know what to do next. You just raised your eyebrows, surprised by the way he spoke to you. Jaeyun's tone had been nothing compared to his actions as he walked the few steps that separated the two of you, extending his hand to you. The small touch in your hands finally returns little by little. He slid his fingers between yours as calmly as he had ever done since the first time. You smiled involuntarily at that, your heart skipping a beat when Jaeyun's eyes landed on yours. “Let's get out of here.”

“What?” you asked. “Jake, we—”

“Please? Come with me.”

You knew a little about Jaeyun’s vulnerability. The sweet protests he made when there was an argument between his friends, or when he pouted because he couldn’t understand something about college. Even the way he messed up his hair when he was nervous was adorable. But you never thought that seeing him say please with those eyes would make you give in to anything for him.

Your nod was all he needed to grab your hand even tighter and walk to the kitchen door quickly. His friends were still busy preparing drinks without realizing that Jaeyun was standing there.

“Hey, idiots” he shouted enough to get Heeseung and Sunghoon’s attention. Allie smiled when she saw you behind him. “Don’t knock on my room door, or I swear to God I’ll kill you the second that happens.”

It was a short warning, but understanding enough to know that he had finally gathered the courage. Heeseung held back a scream when he saw you holding hands with Jaeyun, waving your free hand without really knowing what was happening, but praying that whatever he had thought of, could happen.

“What does Jake mean by that?” Allie asked as soon as you and him were out of sight, now looking at her boyfriend.

“We left the apartment for him and Y/n tonight” he said. “This kiss needs to happen.”

She laughed at the idea, not being able to believe that this was happening. This almost task force just to make a kiss happen. But she was happy that it would finally be fixed, because neither the boys nor her, could stand to see you and Jaeyun almost falling over because of this.

Arriving at the shared apartment had never been so torturous for him, even more so with you by his side and in silence the entire way back. Jaeyun knew you had countless questions about what was happening, perhaps focused on an explanation as to why he hadn't spoken to you so much in the last few weeks. But the truth behind taking you to his and his friends' apartment was now even more explainable. He wanted to look into your eyes, without interruptions, and be able to tell you that he couldn't stand another second without having to kiss you.

The same silence that stretched in the car was followed by the walk to the lobby of the building, the elevator, and, finally, the apartment where Jaeyun unlocked the door and let you enter first. Quiet and silent, dark and with the wind blowing against the window. That was how the environment was if none of the three boys were inside.

Turning to you after he locked the door, Jaeyun sighed slowly.

“Can we go to my room?” it was almost begged at his request, his voice wanting to scream, but it was as restrained as the desire he had to grab you right there. You just agreed, without protesting at all to his requests since you found him at the party. Although your mind made a few more notes to ask him later what was going on.

You followed Jaeyun with careful steps down the hallway, feeling the scent of masculine lotions mixing in the environment. There was a bit of Heeseung, Sunghoon, and Jaeyun everywhere. At least it was clean and smelled good, unconventional for any apartment where only boys lived. His friends were careful, at least that made you feel relieved.

When the two of you reached the door to his room, it was your turn to sigh, thinking about what awaited you while you were there with the boy. Even though it was his room, Jaeyun didn't let go of his gentlemanly manners and made way for you, his back against the frame and his hand on the doorknob to give you a better view of the room. It was cozy and so… Sim Jaeyun. You couldn’t explain it, but everything in that room was definitely him. From the frames and photos to the trophies and the bookshelf with things on display. Some medals and full bottles of liquor. One of the boys could have given him a gift and he didn’t even open it. You smiled at that, imagining that in the short time you had known him, Jaeyun was the one who drank the least among the boys.

“Sorry if this is all sudden, but—” his voice radiated to your ears, alerting you to the current situation you two found yourselves in. You turned to him, noticing how shy Jaeyun seemed inside his room. The click of the key locking the door didn’t scare you, especially because it wouldn’t be a threat to be locked in there with him regardless of how long the two of you spent. It could be a precaution while the two of you were alone “I needed this time with you.”

Slowly, Jaeyun approached where you were in the middle of his room. Your hands didn't have a clear path, a little nervous about what to do with them, so you left them at your sides and just watched him walk towards you. His head lowered and his eyes wandered all over the floor until he finally looked up at you.

“We're here now, aren't we?” you asked softly, the sound of your voice echoing through every fiber of Jaeyun's body and making him feel electric.

“We are” he said in the same tone, moving a little closer until there was finally no more space between you and him “Y/n…” Jaeyun tilted his head enough so that his height was no different from yours. The same slow ritual that was done before anything got in the way of the two of you. One of his hands slowly reached your face, pushing away any strand of hair that had been left there as you took the steps until you reached his room. His other hand went to your waist, holding you in front of him so that you had no chance of escaping.

You didn't want to be left behind, you needed to touch him too, so your hands slowly moved up Jaeyun's chest until they grabbed the collar of the shirt he was wearing. Your fingers played with the fabric before one of them entered the shirt and held him by the shoulders. That touch made him shiver all over.

Jaeyun tilted his head to one side and you, like a rehearsed dance, tilted it to the other. There was no need for any conversation between the two of you to know what you both intended to do at that moment. Your lips curved into a small smile when your eyes met his, so close and bright to yours. Those eyes that were seen in every way were now staring at you with so much repressed desire that you wondered if you two might have been feeling the same thing.

His hand slid from your face to your jaw, slowly tracing the line until it went down to your neck and anchored between it and your shoulder. The perfect place. As if Jaeyun's hand was literally made to be there. He held you subtly until he brought your face closer, his mouth finally brushing against yours. You weren't ashamed of the groan you let out when his lips finally brushed against yours, feeling the softness that was his mouth for more seconds than you had ever felt before.

But nothing would be so easy for the two of you if it weren't for another interruption. Not so direct this time, but the honking of some son of a bitch on the street startled you and Jaeyun at that moment, almost making him hesitate and let go of you.

“Fuck off” he cursed without caring, not caring that his heart was still in a frenzy from the small scare and interruption. He wouldn't let anything else ruin that moment.

Without thinking about anything else, Jaeyun finally joined his lips with yours in a slow kiss, even though his desire was overwhelming. Pressing his mouth to yours and feeling the heat of your lips, he could melt at that very moment. Your mouth was as delicious as he thought it would be, and as you slowly opened it to let his tongue pass, Jaeyun wasn't ashamed of the pleasurable sound he made at the touch of your warm, wet muscle against his.

The kiss was slow, although loaded with an underlying desire that the two of you had been keeping for so long. Jaeyun's hand remained on your neck as your tongues played in sync, your mouths sliding against each other as if they were made to fit together in that kiss. Your hands slowly ran to his hair, pulling the small strands on the back of his neck as he slid his teeth along your lower lip, just in time to suck on the tip of your tongue before kissing you again with even more intensity.

A shiver ran through your body as his hands began to grope your sides, bringing you even closer and pressing your body against his. You could feel every muscle in Jaeyun's body tense at your touch, but relax as you and he intensified that kiss. You had both waited for so long that now you could die in each other's mouths if it were possible.

“Y/n” he moaned your name, sliding his mouth along your jaw and spreading a bit of shared drool across your skin. You didn't mind the sloppiness, it was turning you on much more than you could admit. Jaeyun found a space between your neck to scrape his teeth and suck a good amount of your skin in a slow hickey.

“Jake” you moaned back, your hands running over his shoulders and down his body until stopping at his hips. It was all involuntary, but you were unable to stop yourself and grabbed him by the waist to press his hips against yours.

“Holy shit” Jaeyun gave an even more passionate hickey on your neck, running the tip of his tongue to soothe your skin when you moaned in response. He wanted to apologize for the carelessness, but he didn’t know how to react to that “You’re going to drive me crazy doing this, for God’s sake” panting, he lifted his face to align with yours. His slightly sweaty forehead was now against yours, his breathing practically irregular as he opened his eyes to look at you.

Unreal. That was what Jaeyun was like after a full session of making out with you. His lips had become even more annoyingly beautiful when they were red and drooling with your drool. His eyes were dazed and downcast from your touches. His entire state in front of you was because of you. It made your panties feel wet.

“Sorry, I—” you sighed, your hands still on Jaeyun’s hips as you tried not to focus on his kissable mouth in front of you “You brought me here and, well… We…”

“I needed to kiss you” he blurted out. His mouth went down to yours again to slowly kiss you again. Jaeyun traced your entire lower lip with the tip of his tongue before feeling you sucking on the tip of his tongue like he had done to you before. That was going to kill him, for sure “I had to bring you here to do this because I couldn’t stand anyone interrupting us anymore. It got on my nerves and—”

Your laugh escaped softly. You looked at him and now reality hit you. It had all been part of a scheme he created so he could finally kiss you. Sim Jaeyun had made all that effort just for a kiss from you… It couldn’t be more perfect.

You leaned into him, your arms wrapping around Jaeyun's neck as you pulled him down and brought his mouth close to yours.

“Now we have plenty of time to do more than just kiss, Jake” you brushed the tip of your nose against him, feeling Jaeyun's breath hitch “What do you think?”

“Would you… Would you let me—” your nod was the confirmation he needed for this to happen. Not that he was intending to, especially since Jaeyun didn't even know if he would be able to kiss you. Let alone have you in his bed that same night. It was a bonus he wouldn't miss for anything in the world.

His heart was beating hard inside his chest, the sight of you slowly moving away from him as you walked backward to the bed was the most perfect sight he had ever seen. There was no way anything could disrupt that moment and he swore that if any noise made, or something happened, he wouldn't stop. There was no way. Nothing could take his focus away as your hands went to the hem of your shirt, slowly pulling it off and showing him the bra you were wearing. Jaeyun was left breathless by all of that. If you were perfectly covered up, without your clothes on he was thinking he might go crazy.

As your hands tangled in the waistband of your pants, he couldn't stay behind and started to undress himself too. Without taking his eyes off you, the eye contact was very vivid as each piece of clothing was discarded on the floor of his room. Neither of you wanted to waste a single second without looking at each other until you were completely naked.

Jaeyun approached, holding you by the waist and gently placing you on his bed. The mattress hugged you like a comfort while his body fit perfectly between your legs. His eyes traveled over every curve of your body, every little detail to record in his memory until he finally looked at your face. So close, so delicate, and at the same time breathtaking. It was then that he kissed you again. This time with a little more intensity than before.

He settled between your legs, one hand holding your hip while the other went to hold your chin, steadying your face as the kiss became hungrier. Tongues fought for dominance and a small trickle of drool ran down the corner of your mouth, but neither of you cared about that. Both you and he wanted to make up for lost time forget any disagreements with the outside world and focus only on each other.

Jaeyun's mouth separated from yours, thirsty to taste you in every corner. He wanted to know what you tasted like beyond the kiss he had been waiting for. Still holding onto your waist, he held your body in place as he trailed his lips down your chin, trailing a teasing path of drool and hot breath against your skin. Down to your collarbone, where his tongue made a longer path up to the top of your breasts.

You moaned his name so beautifully that Jaeyun never thought his cock could vibrate so much because of a sound. It was pathetic for him to admit, but he would say if anyone asked, that you had been the only person on the face of the Earth to get that from him.

“You are simply unreal to me” he whispered against your skin, licking up your chest and down to your nipple. He circled the tip of his tongue and sucked on the sensitive bud.

“Fuck, Jake” you grabbed his hair, almost crushing the boy’s face into your chest. His mouth made a warm place against your nipple as he sucked slowly and deliciously. The sucking made you even wetter.

He smiled against your breast as he gave the other one his due attention, bringing his hand to the one that was already containing his drool to squeeze the soft flesh between his fingers. There was no way you could go any further for that man between your legs. You wanted to pull out every strand of Jaeyun's hair for the little provocation, even more so every time you moaned his name softly and he made sure to suck on your nipple a little more.

Jaeyun's mouth went down between your breasts this time, running his drool over your skin up to above your belly button. He circled the tip of his tongue there, looking up to meet your closed eyes and delighting in the sensation.

“Eyes on me, Y/n” he asked softly, his mouth blowing hotly above your pussy when he finally aligned his head down there. You didn't know if you were able to see him in that state, but if he was unreal kissing you, what was sucking you? There was no way to know that if you didn't look. So you just obeyed him, opening your eyes and finding him looking at you “I promise I’ll be quick, I just need to taste you.”

You don’t even know why you nodded at his request and much less why he wanted to taste you, but you wouldn’t be crazy enough to stop him. Not when the tip of his tongue touched your clit so slowly. As hot as when he touched your nipple.

“Shit— Jake, what…” you moaned once more, a little more prolonged when he stretched out his tongue and licked a large stripe on your pussy. Collecting your essence with the tip of his tongue.

Jaeyun licked your pussy as if he was kissing you in the mouth. Each pass of his tongue through your inner lips and each circle on your clit was another reason to make you moan even louder, intertwining your fingers in the dark strands of his hair and controlling yourself with the urge to push your pussy against his face. It was surreal the way Jaeyun was eating you. The alternating between fast and slow licks, circling your needy hole that was clenching around almost nothing, was too much for you to handle.

And he felt it. Jaeyun felt every contraction of your entrance as he passed the tip of his tongue, circling the area and feeling your taste even more. It was addictive. Like everything about you was. He held his hands on your hips as you fixed your fingers in his hair, slowly letting you ride his tongue as he left the muscle erect for you to delight yourself as you pleased. He wanted you to feel pleasure on his tongue at that moment, although Jaeyun was already feeling his cock ache, pressing it against the mattress of the bed.

“Jake” your voice brought him back to reality as you rubbed your pussy on his tongue, Jaeyun taking the break between keeping it still and, sometimes, sucking on your clit when he felt your pussy descend completely into his mouth “I’m going to cum—”

“No” he stopped quickly, lifting his head from your pussy to look at you.

Jaeyun’s chin was covered with all your juices in addition to the amount of saliva he deposited while sucking you. Your eyes didn’t leave his face for a second as he lifted his body so that his face was close to yours again.

“I said I just wanted to taste you a little, you’re not supposed to cum right now” he sighed, his breathing still fast from being so fixated on your pussy that he almost forgot to breathe. You smiled tiredly at him, even though you weren’t even halfway through what the two of you were going to do.

“Why not?” you pouted, feeling Jaeyun settle between your legs and your hands quickly ran up to his face. Your thumbs ran over his chin, wiping away any traces of you or his mouth, even though your scent was still there. He leaned in a little more, capturing your lips in a slow kiss. The slow sharing tried to calm the nerves between the two of you for what was about to happen.

Neither you nor Jaeyun were nervous about this, just apprehensive about the fact that it would be your first time with each other. The kiss had been magnificent. Everything had been perfect so far, and he wanted this to end up being perfect too. So, slowly, he brought one of his hands to his cock and held it firmly. He ran the head of his cock all over your wet and drooling pussy, wanting to collect as much essence as he could so that his entrance inside you wouldn't be painful.

After a while he finally managed to do that, the head of his cock circled your hole and, carefully, Jaeyun inserted himself inside you little by little. The slow burn of his cock makes your hole mix in pain and pleasure. He filled you with every inch since he entered and you don't remember anything having filled you as well as the few seconds of Jaeyun's cock inside you.

“Because I want you to cum on my cock” he lowered his face into the crook of your neck, pressing his lips close to your ear and with a shit-eating grin on his face even though you weren't seeing it.

Jaeyun's hands went to your hips, using them as leverage to start thrusting into you. Starting the slow and sensual movements, moving his hips to a point where he could go all the way deep inside you and slowly pull it out. The coming and going of each veiny inch of his cock inside your walls only gave more fuel to your moans with his name and your hands desperate to touch something. The target this time was Jaeyun's bare back where his nails dug in as he began to pick up the pace.

“You feel so good— Fuck” he groaned as he thrust hard for the first time. Your groan almost made him back out and apologize because he was so lost in the pleasure that he didn’t even ask if he was hurting you. But as soon as he heard your groan and felt your nails burn on his back, Jaeyun knew he was doing the right job.

“Jake!” your hands ran up to the back of his neck, sliding to Jaeyun’s face and holding him facing you. It got even more intimate as he thrust a little harder into your pussy. “Don’t… Don’t stop, please.”

“I don’t plan on doing this, baby” he was panting, his cheeks flushed and his lips even redder. God, you couldn’t cum just from that sight, you had to pull yourself together with this.

Jaeyun felt the encouragement in your eyes and your words as he watched your mouth part and the hold of your gaze each time he went deeper into you. His balls slapping against your pussy made the wet noise between your legs even more erotic as it accompanied your moans and his. The slaps on your skin were getting faster and louder as Jaeyun's hips gained strength to go deeper inside you.

He was stretching you too much, your pussy getting wetter and wetter as he went deeper. The head of his cock nudging your spongy spots so well and rubbing against your tight, sensitive walls.

You pulled Jaeyun's face close to yours, your mouths inches apart sharing each other's breaths and swallowing the moans you both spilled without caring about each other's names.

“You're going to cum with me, aren't you?” he whispered against your mouth, outlining your lower lip with the tip of his tongue. You only moaned in response and Jaeyun thrust deeper, earning a scream from you when his cock hit your cervix. His hand slowly grabbed your throat and he lifted your face, although you two still had your mouths close to each other.

“I want to cum all over your cock, Jake” you replied, your hand circling his fist that still had his hand on your throat. Jaeyun didn’t apply any pressure to the spot, but having you at his mercy like that was already creating countless scenarios for next time.

Unconsciously his thumb slid over your lower lip, seeing how red your mouth was from the whole session you two shared. In an act of lust and excitement, you circled the tip of your tongue on his finger, putting it inside your mouth.

“Holy shit—” he moaned.

“Faster, Jakey” your pleading eyes and your voice muffled by his thumb were too much for Jaeyun to handle. And Jakey? That had never been said to him, and even more so in such a sensual way and with such a delicious moan that it made his hair stand on end.

He felt something rush into his blood at the combination of your lips sucking on his thumb and your pussy sucking on his cock in equally delicious and wet ways. Jaeyun was feeling on cloud nine having you like this. His hips rocked even harder, using his free hand to support the side of your hips and gain even more momentum to slam mercilessly into your pussy. The slaps on your skin burned his pelvis each time he met your drooling pussy hard. His cock being swallowed deliciously by every wall of yours.

“Oh, fuck” your lips slipped from his thumb as Jaeyun hit you deep again, his pussy-covered cock filling you in every corner. He decided to abandon his hand from your mouth to replace it with his own, feeling your hips stutter as his cock pulsed violently inside you.

“Can I—” he whispered, lips hovering over yours in ragged breaths as the sweat and sheen of Jaeyun’s skin reflected in his eyes. “Can I cum inside you?” he asked so gently, unlike the relentless movements of his hips slamming against yours.

“Please” your moaned plea was enough for him, there was no way to push Jaeyun’s buttons any further like that.

So he focused on kissing you again, sharing the movement of your tongues frantically as he drank in all your moans as his hips gained strength against yours again. Jaeyun’s heavy balls slapped against your clit with each thrust, the hot sound of wetness between the two of you and that was when he lifted your body a little as he pulled your hips that aligned the perfect angle. You felt your entire body tremble as the knot in your stomach broke and you came. So hard and intense, squeezing the walls of your pussy and almost making Jaeyun stop thrusting into you.

But he wouldn't give up, and as you came and squeezed him, it was too much to take. He moaned your name loudly followed by the curses he could remember as he emptied his load of cum inside you. Feeling your walls milk his cock as the jets of cum bathed your walls in a thick, hot white.

Jaeyun could still feel your walls convulsing around his still throbbing cock and spilling the last drops. The two of you stayed still in that position for some time. Countless minutes if you were to notice, but the feeling of still being like that was surreal.

“I think…” he breathed deeply, his mouth still close to yours breathing the same air as you. Rough and warm, irregular and comforting “We need to clean up.”

He didn't want to hear your protests, although he wanted to stay there and he knew that if he pulled out quickly, it would make both you and him sensitive. Then, carefully, Jaeyun pulled his cock out of your pussy with a hiss, earning a moan from you at how empty you felt. The sight of your hole leaking from how much he came could make him jump you for a second round, that wouldn't be a bad idea. But he had to be rational and try one thing at a time. At least for now.

So quickly, running to the bathroom, he grabbed a towel and wet it before wringing it out and only dampening the cloth. Running back to the bed to clean up the remains of his and your sex as carefully as he could. Wearing the towel in the laundry basket before getting back into bed with you.

“Hey, Y/n” Jaeyun whispered your name as he lay down next to you, pulling your body close to his and snuggling you against his bare chest. You grunted softly, feeling the tiredness take over every fiber of your body, but gathering some energy to lift your face and rest your chin on his chest.

“Yes, Jakey?” you smiled slowly, the redness on your face still evident and Jaeyun felt his heart pound even more at that. You looked beautiful in every way.

“Thank you for that, it was so…” he sighed “Amazing, seriously. Thank you.”

“You were amazing at everything, you know that?” you lowered your face to kiss his chest, moving his aching body up just enough for your mouth to be close, kissing him slowly there “I thank you.”

“Let’s thank the universe for conspiring in favor of this, then” he smiled against your mouth.

“Finally. Thank you, universe” you smiled too, kissing him back before feeling Jaeyun’s arms around your waist to make you lie down next to him. Snuggling you a little closer and enjoying the moment that the two of you should have had a long time ago.

Because both of you would enjoy the truce that the universe gave you two, after all, you and Jaeyun deserved it. Nothing else conspiring against what you and he should have had from the start.

© ikeuverse, 2024. do not copy, translate or steal my stories.

[n3ptoonz]

'Political Animals'

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky/F!Reader

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Warnings/tags: Smut, Explicit; pre-Thunderbolts, ADULTERY! (reader has a wack husband), COCKY BUCKY COCKY BUCKY, PLOT HEAVY, dirty talk, desk sex, reader is the secretary of state, cunnilingus, fingering, refers to your vag in third person (i can't stop doing this), squirting, f!multiple orgasms, f!cum as lube, exhibitionism if you squint, use of "baby" and "sweetheart", use of titles, breeding kink if you squint, inspired by the show he was in called political animals :3c, half proofread

Word count: 3.1k

Chapter two here (it was originally a one shot, so reading the others is optional)

The Congressman has known you for a while now. Even before he stepped into the political realm, he knew who you were and actually looked forward to crossing paths whenever possible. He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't have a crush on you. He was a sucker for people who fought tooth and nail for what was right.

However, it was a year and a half until your term was over, and there were lingering rumors about you running for president against the very man you work for. It was bold, but that's what drives this nation, no? Everything was on hush-hush, especially because you know your husband--if you could really call him that--would throw a fit if he merely heard about it.

Politics was your life. You lived and breathed diplomacy. You were practically nothing if you weren't leaping at the opportunity to help those in need by any means necessary.

Two soft knocks came to your office door before your assistant poked his head in.

"Madam Secretary," he prompted with a small smile. "You have a visitor. He says it wasn't an appointment but he wanted to speak with you."

Your head tilted as you tried to think of who'd show up to the White House unannounced like that. "Did he give you a name?"

"Congressman Barnes." he answered. "The one with the metal-"

"I know who he is," you said with a growing smile, secretly glad you weren't busy this time around. "Send him in."

You've interacted with him a handful of times when you went down to the Capitol. Not only for trying to get a bill passed/when handling foreign affairs, but sometimes you went down there when you were invited to events. Usually by the Congressman. He was always an interesting man to you, given his past and how he ended up here with buttoned up assholes. However, he warmed up to you almost instantly.

"Madam Secretary." he said, his voice practically bounced off the walls over that door shut, snapping you out of it as you stood to shake his hand.

"Congressman. What brings you by?" you asked him and gestured for him to take a seat in front of your desk. "I didn't peg you as the kind of guy who shows up unannounced."

"Force of habit." he shrugged and tried to put humor to how it was true, he was used to just rolling up on people without saying anything. "Old habits die hard."

"Right," you sat back down and leaned forward on your elbows while watching his eyes. You didn't miss the way his eyes darted back up from your covered chest to your face. "That still doesn't answer my question."

What was in the air today, nobody knows, but Bucky was feeling it. He hadn't openly flirted with someone since Sarah, and that might've just been out of spite to Sam for fun. But you were real deal. He had to tread lightly but make it known he wasn't a punk.

"Maybe I just wanted to visit. I was in the neighborhood and thought 'Why not stop by the White House?'"

"Barnes." you half-warned. You hated the cat and mouse game, you didn't have time for all that. He said your surname, married surname and caught the subtle cringe in your face when he said it.

Noted.

"Well, I just wanted to know...is it true?"

You gave him a puzzled look as if you didn't already know what he was talking about. "I don't follow."

He narrowed his eyes at you and rested his chin on his fist. You're lying to him. Did you not trust him with such sensitive information? Was it not official yet? Were you having second thoughts?

"Madam President." he dared with a slow blink at you. A warmth crept up your neck as those words fell from his lips. It was your first time hearing it be said aloud other than you or your supportive assistant entertaining the idea.

You chuckled lightly and shrugged. "I don't know where you heard that. Perhaps journalist gossip isn't a reliable source, Barnes."

"Bucky." he stated.

You blinked a few times. "I'm sorry?"

"Just 'Bucky' is fine when we're alone." he insisted. This was a dangerous game he was playing and yet he didn't feel an ounce of shame or fear. Your brows furrowed at his tone and leaned back into your chair.

"I'm married."

"Happily?" he asked in a softer tone. And there it was, that timeless charm and wit that never left. The same charm that had the ladies swooning and fanning themselves in the 40s. He still got it.

Bold. Real bold, Buck.

You huffed an incredulous laugh through your nose and sighed. He's got you there, you had to admit. But you won't do that out loud. That was highly unprofessional. Even if you had thought about it at least once...tw...enty times...

You'd be lying if you said you didn't develop a little something for the man. He brought a fresh vibe to the political scene. A former deadly assassin joins congress and obviously doesn't know what the hell he's doing. It was... honestly kinda cute. And you'd be remiss if you didn't take note on how handsome he is. That slick back will do it every time.

"You're bold," you said looking him up and down. "Bucky." saying his nickname subconsciously felt like you stepped into a room you didn't know you had access to. Like the door was open the entire time. It was like a silent acceptance of some sort, but you didn't know of what.

The side of his mouth quirked upwards in satisfaction. He's got you.

"I mean, I'm just letting you know you'd have my vote." he said as he stood up and pretended to smooth out his blazer. "If the rumors are true, of course."

You stood up with him but neither of you moved. The tension in the room was suddenly palpable.

"And if they aren't?" you said. Not to burst his bubble, but you can never be too sure about someone using your title to get ahead.

"Then that'd be a damn shame. Who's to say you wouldn't have a leg up when trying to get a bill passed?"

You let out a genuine laugh. Not at him, but you really weren't expecting him to say that. So confidently too.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh. It's just, I mean your heart's in the right place but that's not how it works."

Bucky didn't take any offense to it at all. He was aware he was just firing off whatever he could to get a reaction out of you. That and he was still fresh in that chair, so it was fair that you knew way more than him.

"Yeah?" he said, his voice somehow getting lower and smoother with one word uttered. "Mind showing me how it works?"

Never in his time has he ever used his charm, let alone openly flirted with a married woman who was clearly not happy in her marriage. He took a shot in the dark with a faint light at the end of the tunnel.

The ball was in your court. Though this wasn't that hard of a decision considering the fact that you've been cheated on before and had to suck it up for appearances. You slowly rounded your desk, dragging your finger along the edge and letting your clacking heels fill the deafening silence in the room.

"Well," you began as your eyes glided up his chest, and you were just now noticing his muscles straining against the thin fabric of his dress shirt. You stood in front of him and lightly tugged his tie towards you. A hint of a smirk on his lips as he let it happen.

"First, a bill is introduced and assigned to a committee for review," you said while undoing the tie and tossing it onto your desk. Then you went to undo the buttons while keeping your eyes on him. "If approved by the committee, it's voted on by the House. If passed, it moves to the Senate."

Bucky shrugged off his blazer along with his shirt and took a step forward so your butt hit the front of the desk, leaving him in a white tank top. He leaned forward with his hands on either side of you, effectively trapping you there as you sat on the edge with him between your legs.

"What happens if it's not passed by the House?" he asked as he took your hand and slowly kissed your palm a couple of times.

"Then you're shit out of luck." you caressed his cheekbone as you replied. "But the Senate can then consider, amend, and vote on the bill. If the House and Senate pass identical versions of the bill, it's sent to the President for approval."

"And that's where you come in." he murmured. He was so close you could feel his breath on your lips. "The gracious and headstrong Madam President of our nation, passing laws for the greater good."

"You make it sound so easy."

"It's fuckin' sexy is what it is," he whispered before capturing your lips. Your soft laugh turned soft moan when his cold metal hand met the hot skin of your thigh under your skirt. The hand that rested on his cheek snaked around to the nape of neck to pull him closer, if possible.

He pulled away and licked his lips, looking drunk on just kissing you. His left hand pushed your skirt up further while his right spread your thighs. His eyes never left yours as two fingers glided over your slit through your panties. You inhaled sharply as your thighs naturally spread more in response to his touch.

It was clear to the both of you that it had been such a long time since you've been touched like this. With an already high demanding job and a shitty husband, you were stuck with occasionally sitting at a certain angle in your chair after hours.

"Oh, poor thing," he muttered and kept rubbing, silently daring you to look away. "Too many nights of being left to your own devices, hm? Look at how she weeps to be taken care of properly." he whispered, earning a soft whine from you, given that you were wetter than you thought. A simple rub up against you like this made the pit of your stomach tight.

Bucky hooked his fingers around the band and pulled them down with ease before sinking to his knees. He kissed up your legs and removed your heels. The only thing on his mind was if he was going to successfully get you to cheat, forget about your shit husband even for a little while, he was going to make it worth your time. Make it so if you ever decided to fuck your man again, it'd be spoiled by the fact that it wasn't him. Should you ever cuddle up with him again, you'd wish it was Bucky.

Once his mouth was attached to you, you rolled your hips and shuddered. The soft prickling of his beard between your thighs was something you didn't know you craved until now. He groaned in satisfaction, both hands gripping your thighs and hooking them over his shoulders.

He was genuinely getting off to the taste of you. The subtle twang of today's efforts dripping off you. The contracting of your folds against his tongue was signaling that you were close already and he had just got started.

"All this? For me?" he said as he licked up more slick. "Baby, you shouldn't have." he continued and added a finger to get you there faster.

You gasped and laid back onto your desk, exhaling shakily. The balls on this man to call a married woman any kind of pet name was beyond you, but that was thrill. And you loved it.

"My apologies," he leaned upwards for a second to see you clutching your torso as a means to focus. "Madam Secretary. I'd never take that away from you." he added, along with another finger at a steady rhythm.

You moaned out your own name, a choked gasp following after. He smiled and dove back in between your legs, licking and sucking to see what it's like when you come undone.

With your own hand over your mouth, you moaned loudly under your palm as you came. You were a tad embarrassed that you were squirting all over his face, but he just wouldn't stop and let you ride this out.

When your body finally calmed and became less tense, he backed away and pulled his fingers out slowly. He stood up and wiped his face while his other hand quickly undid his belt and pulled his pants/boxers down just enough so that his dick sprung free. He nodded, impressed with how much you came and that he was able to do such a thing. He lifted your left leg from your knee and used your own cum as lube.

Your name rolled off his lips so naturally as he made sure all of your essence covered the shaft, but he was done playing games. Bucky took the liberty of wrapping that leg around his waist and used the leverage to push himself inside you, bottoming out so you could adjust. The man was girthy and long. It felt he was splitting you open, leaving the perfect mix of pleasure and pain.

You couldn't remember the last time you had sex with your husband, but it definitely was nothing like this. And Bucky was definitely way bigger than he ever was.

"You okay?" he asked softly and soothed you by rubbing circles on your thigh. He hovered over with a look of concern and wasn't going to do anything else unless there was a verbal confirmation.

You nodded, "Yeah," you said and reached up to pull him towards you by the shoulders. His arms were on both sides of your head as he watched you grab the tie you tossed earlier to wrap it around the back of his neck. He smiled softly at you before he moved his hips, liking the way you think.

Bucky leaned down and left kisses along your jaw and neck, relishing in your hushed noises of pleasure so that nobody could hear outside. Thanks to your assistant, he doesn't interrupt if you're speaking with someone and warns others not to.

"Mm...that son of a bitch is lucky I didn't meet you first," he whispered and nipped at your earlobe. "He doesn't deserve you," he added with your name at the end. One of your hands came up to lightly tug on his hair. He chuckled in response.

"Too soon?" he asked, half-serious.

He was about to say something else when your phone rang. Your cellphone. You both lifted your heads and looked over by the computer, but he grabbed it quicker than you could. Your eyes widened in horror when he answered it.

It was your husband.

He leaned up and said his name aloud so you were fully aware this was really happening. The truth is, he knew everything about him. He knows about his cheating scandals and all. So, when he saw the name, he just couldn't help himself.

Old habits die hard.

"Yes, hello. The Madam Secretary is not available at the moment as she is currently busy with a meeting right now." he said, putting your phone between his ear and his shoulder. He quickly covered your mouth with his metal hand and started thrusting into you again. There was a tsunami wave worth of emotions running through you right now, but it was all being overridden by the angle he was hitting and the sudden quickened pace. He spoke on the phone like it was nothing, smiling down at your face contorted with pleasure and your eyes rolling back. Your muffled moans gave him goosebumps.

"Uh, I could try to get her on the line if you'd like," he said as he looked down again, trying not to chuckle at you snapping back to reality. "No? Ah, ok. I'll let her know you'll be here in thirty minutes. She should be finished in...one second, please," he muted the microphone and uncovered your mouth for a brief moment to kiss you, taking in your frustrations and embarrassment at the muted cellphone being right next to your head.

You could just cry. The wave of guilt only made you want to unmute and let him listen in on what he couldn't do.

"Time's ticking, sweetheart," he muttered against your lips. "Cum with me. Come on. Don't wanna leave him hanging, right?"

Your mouths moved in sync and your tongues danced to a dangerous tune. Bucky fucked you like his life depended on it.

That tight feeling inside you both snapped at the same time. Bucky pulled out in time, letting his cum hit the tiling so it didn't get in the carpet. You trembled beneath him, pouring everything you had into this kiss that kept the entire office from rushing in here.

After a few seconds you tried to make yourself calm down, pushing Bucky off you and quickly sitting up on the edge of your desk as you grabbed your phone. He playfully scoffed and snatched your phone from you. But before he unmuted, he leaned in close to your ear and said,

"Should've given you my babies." seeing your genuine look of shock.

He unmuted cleared his throat as he stuffed himself back into his pants. "Hello? Yes, she's finished now. I've delivered your message to her and she can speak now. Alright. No problem, sir."

Bucky handed the phone back to you with a wink before grabbing his clothes and putting it back together. Once he got his shirt and blazer on, he went to grab his tie that was still in your clutches. He couldn't fight the urge to plant a soft kiss to your temple while you were on the phone before he put it back on. He also cleaned up the mess he made with a tissue from the box on your desk, tossing it in the nearby trash can. When he took the entire box and handed it to you, he snickered when you snatched it from him to clean yourself up, effectively shooing him away while trying to hide a smile.

The Congressman put his hands up in defense before giving you a small salute, leaving you alone. Once the call ended and you got yourself situated, you put your heels back on and quickly walked over back to him, giving him a tender kiss and fixing his hair.

"Now go. I have an election to think about."

[damneddamsy]

GOOD GIRL GONE BAD | HARRY CASTILLO PART 2 of 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐎

A DECENT THIEF, A SMITTEN BILLIONAIRE, ONE EMERALD RING, A SIMPLE CON JOB, ONE VERY INCONVENIENT ATTRACTION. SEX, LIES, LARCENY—ALL BEFORE THE SUN COMES UP. EASY PEASY... RIGHT?

-> READ PART 1 HERE. A.N. -> I think I'm going to make this a series because I'm loving my fuckass thief a little too much ;) W.C -> 15k+ C.W -> 18+ MDNI, sexual themes, humour, third person POV, fem reader, thief reader and she's a bad bitch, harry is fucking rich with a big dick that's what, harry gets amazing head, expensive dinner and under the table action, fast cars and late night drives, age gap, luxury brand and pop culture references, witty repartee, cat-and-mouse dynamics, romcom everything.

TWO DAYS LATER...

Harry Castillo never did find her after that night, and the world, predictably, kept spinning.

That was a given—of course, the man never stood a chance. He hadn't even known her real name, let alone the life she lived between swiping his magnificent emerald ring and finagling for his sky-high penthouse suite.

The thing about rich men—a huge difference between the Hamptons-on-the-weekend rich and the take-the-G5-for-lunch-in-Marrakech rich—is that they get bored very fast. The money dulls their instincts, softens their hunger. So they go looking for novelty, for danger, bootlickers with sharp heels, lips that serviced them.

And that’s when these duds start collecting people, the same way other men collect watches. It’s not malice, necessarily. It’s just the casual entropy of having everything. Eventually, they start poking holes in the world to see what bleeds.

Harry, who had once been deliciously under her (and, yes, she had performed—thank you very much), was now officially behind her. Metaphorically. Spiritually... logistically?

Still, every so often in the last forty-eight hours, when sleeplessness licked at the fringes of her sanity, she’d think about that fantastic night. Him. His cologne. His million-dollar smile, his silky curls, that flex of muscles in his forearms. How he moved like a man who didn’t just fuck—he endured. Sex was a marathon he never lost. She might’ve bitten into a pillow just recalling it.

Now, as she scrubbed her coffee cup in her little walk-up, she mildly wondered why he hadn’t kicked down her door yet. No agents in Kevlar, no tactical ballet of flashlights sweeping her withering IKEA furniture.

Guess his precious emerald ring wasn’t priceless after all. Maybe he’d decided ‘Eve’ was.

Still, spectacular sex didn’t pay the Con Ed bill, and orgasms weren’t legal fees, not even ones that left her boneless. The hustle was a jealous god. Worship it daily or risk getting chewed up and spit back out. There were strictly no vacation days in this line of work.

She wiped her hands on the wet dishtowel and glanced out the window, onto her street. The city, even late afternoon, pulsed with potential scams, possibilities clothed as bad ideas. Nearly time to earn her penance.

Her taxes, of course, were a masterclass in creative fiction. Nowhere on the forms could she write ‘part-time righteous thief,’ even if the city owed her a medal for how cleanly she worked. By day (or whatever counted as ‘respectable daylight’ in her world), she was an actress—aspiring, which is really just code for ‘not yet a celebrity but unfathomably tenacious.’

And she was good, actually better than good. Unlike the legions of gullible hopefuls waiting tables and praying for callbacks, she didn’t just play the role; she became it.

That’s what theft had taught her: how to vanish into a character. A wealthy widow in a silk scarf. A ditzy sweetheart with a purse full of distractions. A lonely wife who despised her rich husband.

See, acting was easy. Being real was the trick.

Now... you might be wondering how she’s never been caught.

Simple answer. There were no larcenies, but borrowed realities. She slipped into them like new dresses, modelled them until they itched, then left them behind without creasing the seams. She understood people better than they understood themselves, and in a city built on a fancy facade, that made her the most honest liar in the room.

Between matinee shows and understudy rehearsals, buried someplace in the margins of a yawning Off-Broadway script where she played ‘The Mistress’ and occasionally ‘Dancer #2,’ she had begun her favourite kind of research: target acquisition.

This one was named Max.

Older, incredibly hot in the way girls liked their unruly men now. Ran a supposedly “disruptive” tech startup that had never once had to crawl through the dirt to breathe. Financed—predictably—by Mommy and Daddy’s hedge fund, equipped with pre-IPO arrogance, and a fake chip on his shoulder. He styled himself as a rebel: leather jacket, scruff at a precisely calculated millimetres, and a beast of a motorcycle. Everything about him screamed curated danger. Which, of course, made him exactly her type—for now.

Tonight, Max was hers.

She wasn't after his heart. Please, she had far more realistic goals: the chunky platinum bracelet and the possibility of a chain tucked beneath his shirt—a custom Cartier, if her Instagram sleuthing and zoom-enhanced screenshots were correct. Et voila, two months' rent, served on a dish. He liked his jewellery like he liked his women: slender, eye-catching, and stolen from someone else's better judgment.

She’d shown up at his hipster bar—the one with floating Edison bulbs and overpriced tequila, where the walls were made of raw brick and vintage vinyl records. It was much too loud, too try-hard for her taste. But it didn’t matter, she didn’t need to like it—she just needed to be seen in it. You know, gullible and pretty, a beaming sunflower among roses. The total ‘good girl’ package.

Max cornered her before she had to pretend to clumsily nurse her drink, took her hand, pressed too many kisses along her knuckles like some bad Bond villain, and crooned promises of a better night elsewhere.

“Preferably somewhere with horsepower,” he whispered to her.

She smiled—wide-eyed, toothy, assumingly earned. “Sounds fun.”

His bike was parked just on the edge of a downtown lot, under murky lighting that gave it a movie-magic feel. It was truly a prowling monster—chrome and matte black, roared like one, clearly built for showing off rather than comfort. Aerodynamics be damned.

He stopped, looked at her, and grinned. That grin—ugh, it came with a subscription to its own perfume.

“Hop on, baby girl,” he said, tugging her gently by the waist, and then—just like that—he lifted her. Hands under her thighs, strong enough to remind her why he was tolerable in the first place. Baby girl, because that was exactly the temperament she was going for tonight.

“Whoa—omigosh, okay,” she laughed, letting him guide her onto the seat.

She threw a leg over to straddle, at her own leisure, flashing just the right amount of white lace beneath her floral skirt, just enough to not seem cheap but stay rent-free in his imagination.

He stepped closer, thumb brushing along her knee. “You ever ridden one of these before?” he asked, leaning in.

“Only ponies at petting zoos,” she said sweetly. “But I always wanted to go... faster.”

He liked that. She could tell by the little shift in his posture, the spark behind his aviators. Max was predictable like that; he liked a good girl saying wicked things.

She tilted her head, letting her hair fall just so, lips parted. “Do I hold on to you, or just pray?”

“Oh, you’re gonna be holding on and praying,” he said, grin widening.

And then came a—HONK.

The burst of sound shattered the moment. She blinked, startled, nearly falling back on the seat. An old Civic lurched past behind them, the driver yelling about “blocking the fuckin’ exit, genius!”

She laughed again, this time without feigning. “Always this romantic?”

Max rolled his eyes, smoothing a hand down her thigh. “For the VIPs.”

“Lucky me,” she murmured, even as her eyes slid discreetly toward the glint of his chain peeking out beneath his collar. Just a little longer, and she’d be the one riding off into the night—with his jewellery in her bag and her name scrubbed clean from his memory by morning.

From her perch on the back of the bike, she leaned forward with ceremonious ease, reaching for the handlebars. Her hips tilted as she did it, bare thighs reflecting the bar's spotlight, skirting riding up a little, ass popping just enough to make a statement: yes, you’re looking—and I know exactly what you’re thinking.

She bit her bottom lip and looked back over her shoulder, coy. “So,” she murmured, fingers curling around the throttle, “do you race for pink slips on this thing?”

Max gave a breathy, wolfish laugh. He moved in, arms folding around her from behind, his chest pressing close to her spine. One hand came to rest on hers atop the handlebar, the other grazing up the bare skin of her back, fingers trailing higher, then lower. Stroking—feeling—bingo.

His breath brushed against her ear. “Why, d'you wanna race against me? I’ll let you win.”

She tilted her head, gave a breathy laugh, and let herself melt back against him just a little. Never all the way. Her game had rules, even if he didn’t know he was playing.

Max got bolder. His other hand slipped lower, gathering the hem of her skirt. Fingertips dragging along her thigh, seeking heat.

But—HONK. HONK. HONK.

A barrage of honks snapped the moment in half. Three sharp, urgent blasts. She couldn’t help it anymore—she burst out laughing, tipping forward against the tank of the bike, shaking her head.

“Is this your version of foreplay?” she teased, pulling her skirt back down with a small tug, as if nothing had happened. “Public inconvenience. Not a fan.”

Max growled low in his throat. “They’re just jealous.”

She gave him a saccharine smile over her shoulder. “Of you, or of me?”

He winked. “Me, of course.”

The fourth honk was belligerent. HOOOOOOONK!

Ouch. Then came the headlights—full beam—washing over them in artificial daylight, crisp, priceless and thoroughly unimpressed. It wasn’t some angry delivery driver anymore. This elegant machine… it was matte black, sleek, elongate, idling behind them like a lioness waiting to pounce.

A Maybach.

She blinked once, twice, letting her eyes adjust to the sudden flood of light. The newest version of the Maybach didn't simply hint at wealth—it was a chauffeur’s dream. Quiet luxury for the chronically privileged.

Max cursed under his breath, shading his eyes like he was confronted by a UFO beam. He glanced over his shoulder, irritated, but still kept one hand possessively on her thigh as if this wasn’t rapidly becoming someone else’s scene.

“Jesus. Just go around, asshole! There's plenty of space!” Max barked at the Maybach, all puffed up with that predictable strain of man-to-man testosterone, chest out like a bantam rooster.

The Maybach, as expected, didn’t budge. It was too refined to engage.

And then, almost politely, the headlights blinked once. A statement. Get the fuck out of the way.

She felt it immediately—that flux in atmosphere, the hair-raising dissonance that told her this wasn’t just a gridlock spat. The stillness of that car held tension. Consideration. This wasn’t some rando being petty, nor was it some impatient Wall Street exec late to a mistress.

This was a message wrapped in two tons of German—maybe—engineering.

And that was when the unease hit. A slow coil in her gut, skin prickling—she didn’t like this at all.

Another night, she’d have flipped the bird and blown a kiss just to stir the pot. But no, she had to remember she was in character. Tonight, she was soft, sugary, a blooming daisy of a girl who wouldn’t know a red flag if it wore a name tag.

“Let’s go for a ride, Max,” she coaxed, curling a finger into his jean pocket. “Forget the guy.”

He shook his head, jaw tight. “I wanna show this fucker who he messed with.”

Oh, boy. She didn’t even need to check the Maybach again to know that was a bad idea. The worst ideas always started with a man trying to measure his dick through tinted glass.

She reached for the softest note in her vocal library, brushing concern into every syllable. “Now you’re scaring me.”

That actually did it. Men like Max lived to feel strong in the presence of fragility. He turned, gentling to her innocence, rubbing her cheek like she was some porcelain doll.

While pressing a protective kiss to her forehead, he murmured, “I got you. Let’s get out of here.”

He handed her a helmet that reeked of weed, sweat, and barely-laundered masculinity, and slid onto the bike. She scooted behind him, skirt shifting up her thighs, heels tucked close, her arms looping around his waist in an affectionate tangle.

He revved the engine and glanced over his shoulder, grin too cocky. “Ready, baby?”

She giggled on cue, tightening her arms around him. “Ready!”

He snapped his visor down, and then they were off—rocketing through Manhattan like two kids who’d stolen a joyride and didn’t know the ending yet. And she had to admit: not bad for her first time on a motorbike.

She really hadn’t expected to enjoy it this much—the wind in her hair, the lights blurring past as if they were fireflies on speed, the rush of every pothole and sharp turn pushing her against Max’s back—an accident she allowed to look intentional. New York, past dark, always had this unpredictable mysticism. Once the neon bleed from storefronts flickered across her skin, setting the mood, tonight, for a moment, she let herself buy into the fantasy: wide-eyed good girl on the back of a powerful motorbike, arms flung up in joy, laughing into the wind like the lead in some Sundance film with a dream pop soundtrack that critics would call “raw and luminous.”

She hooted once, purely for the drama of it. Let the East River eat its heart out. Besides, fairytales like this always ended in red lights.

Eventually, laughing with her, Max pulled them over on the bridge—Williamsburg or somewhere, she didn’t care—and let the engine hum under them like a resting animal. She slid off first, not without pressing a thank-you kiss to his neck, stretching her legs, smoothing down her skirt. The view was... unexceptional. The city sparkled behind layers of industrial haze, scaffolding, and distant sirens. Honestly, this metropolis functioned better as a grey area.

Max wasn’t looking. He was busy trailing his mouth down her throat, hands already staking claims. He wanted her so bad, it was hilarious.

“How about,” he murmured, lips dragging up her ear, “this weekend, you and I go somewhere fun? Catch some sunshine, lie around...”

She let him spin her around, let her back meet the cold, rusted metal of the railing. One arm curled over his shoulder, a hand gently pushing back his hair in that sweet, absent way men misread as affection.

“Mhm?” she prompted, humouring him.

His fingers found the hem of her skirt, slipped under to trace the expanse of her thigh. “Hawaii.”

She raised a brow, stroked her nose along his lazily. “I was thinking... south of France.”

He snorted, bit her earlobe. “Cute.”

No, she was seriously serious. But that was the thing about these people—they loved a girl with charm, but not too much ambition. Not unless it was sexy, and not unless it served them. Bigoted freaks.

And then—HOOOOOOOONK!

That long, low, obnoxiously entitled sound, once more, ripped through the stillness of the bridge, a gunshot made of money.

Max pulled back, agitated. “What the actual fuck!”

She turned away from the yell, wincing, her heart already beginning to drop.

Because there, idling just yards away, was the same Maybach, sinister as hell. The headlights blinked once, just like before. An unhurried black peak of patience and confidence.

“Don’t,” she said quickly, placing a hand on Max’s chest as he began to step forward. “It’s not worth it. Max, please.”

But the transformation had already happened. He’d gone from laid-back bad boy to territorial bulldog. “Is this fucking guy following us? Is he serious?”

“Max,” she tried again, keeping her voice low, cajoling, “don’t engage. Just—come on, let’s go.”

But the car door opened. The rear door. Oh, shit. Not good.

And out stepped—Harry Castillo.

Definitely not good.

Motherfucker. She meant that to herself, really. Her stomach pivoted a full, elegant tilt. Imagine a ballerina swan-diving off a rooftop—all graceful and doomed.

He didn’t walk out of that Maybach. He emerged—materialised, Armani loafers first, like a curse come due. Like she’d whispered his name into too many mirrors or said it once too long in her head.

He looked exactly the same as the last time she’d seen him, sitting in that lobby bar, two nights ago: devastatingly tailored, cruelly composed, eyes still infinite, dark curls coifed to imperfection, a man who never had to chase anything in his life.

Except, still, apparently, her.

She had to laugh internally. Really? You didn’t think he’d find you?

The man probably had satellites in space. Facial recognition. Twenty computers running scans by techie nerd slaves. A team of lawyers who could tell her what colour socks she wore to her nanny job.

And now, there he was, looking at her—not like a man scorned, not like a lover lost. All private equities and precision grooming. Standing center-frame, accomodated under his own damn headlights like the lead in a noir thriller. Broad shoulders barely contained in that Zegna suit. Ultimate Roman nose. Knife-cut jaw. The faintest shadow of disdain.

She had to actively fight the instinct to let her eyes drop between his legs. There, her favourite friend was, that mythic thing that had ruined her body for all other men.

Harry’s massive dick, the economic downturn of her emotional stability. You just have to appreciate a pleasure to behold, literally, at any expense.

But she wasn’t scared of Harry Castillo (or his dick, for that matter. Definitely not.) But she was scared of what followed him—men in suits, invisible networks, hushed conversations that ended with ankle monitors or body bags.

Look, she hadn’t stolen just any ring.

That fucking ring.

Emerald, antique, high-pedigree luxury brand, ancestral to the Castillo empire. Retail price? Such a tacky question. Black-market price? High enough to set off alarms from here to Thailand the moment she tried to fence it.

And now it hung around her neck. Half a million dollars on a second-rate chain. Against her skin. Her not-so-lucky charm. She hadn’t even been able to pawn the damn thing. It sang out trouble every time she bent over and felt it swing.

And Harry… well, he wasn’t looking at anything but her.

Which finally reminded her of Max. Right. Him. Still in attendance.

“Friend of yours?” he asked, tension doctoring his voice, his manhood beginning to sense it was no longer the biggest personality on this bridge.

Harry stopped beside the bike, arms unwound at his sides, the illustration of unbothered dominance. He smiled—politely. The way you smile at a child holding a sharp object.

“Are we friends, sweetheart?” he asked, voice like old bourbon, brows creasing.

Sweetheart. The death knell, and her thighs clenched reflexively. It hadn't just haunted her—it had reigned over her the past few nights. The same voice that had murmured filth into her ear two days ago. The voice that held elevator doors open while promising he’d find her.

And find her, he did.

That morning, in the afterglow of her escape, she took the subway home. A jarring transition—metal bars and flickering fluorescents after marble floors and velvet shadows. The silence was different here from the schmancy hotel. Lonely. Awful.

She had clutched her coat tighter around her, the ring—Harry's ring—tucked deep in the lining, out of sight but burning against her, whipping a second heartbeat.

She told herself not to give in, that she was done playing that role, and she was the one in control. That this wasn’t going to get under her skin.

Ten minutes after changing into homewear, choking down old cereal, she had crumbled into her bed, slid her impatient hand under her shorts, and her fingers were inside her.

Her calves were quivering, her breath hitching in little gasps as she ground against the little circles of her knowledgeable hand, trying to chase the shape of his body from memory. Harry wasn’t there, but he was—in every detail. The heat of his mouth, his hand wrapped around her breasts, the scrumptious way he filled her with that dignified cock of his—slow at first, then rough, snapping his hips up into hers. The way his voice got like a caress over her skin, low drawl and dark worship, every groaned sweetheart and baby was an affirmation.

The first orgasm hit shamefully fast, and she hated the way her body answered to his even when he wasn’t around to make demands.

The second one was slower, needier, drawn out like a confession. She brought herself there—teeth sunk into the corner of her pillow, a low whimper pressed into cotton—imagining the exact way he groaned when she swallowed, tightened around him, how he held her face when he kissed her one last time.

When she finally came, it rolled through her like a storm. Her toes curled and pointed. Her eyes snapped open. Her spine arched and her chest heaved, and she swore she could still feel the ghost of his hands squeezing on her tits.

Afterwards, she lay in the dark, one arm flung over her face, body singing, satisfied and ruined, but her mind didn’t quiet. Her eyes were wet, though she wouldn’t admit it to herself. Maybe it was the heat of frustration.

And still, her fingers had lingered at the curve of her thigh, debating going back for a third. Because he was the only thing that made her feel like this in a really long time. This desperate, this tempted, this berserk for a man.

And now he was here. In the flesh.

Max, tragically oblivious to nuance—bless him and the cocktail of ketamine confidence and startup scramble sloshing through his veins—tried again.

“You know her, man?”

Harry didn’t answer right away. Of course not. The man moved like punctuation: purposely, only when it mattered, and never to explain himself to idiots in leather jackets and bootcut jeans. His gaze flicked toward Max, cold and brief, confirming the source of an unpleasant smell.

He drawled that voice again, “She’s—”

She panicked. Nope. Not happening. That word—whatever it was—was going to ruin everything for her.

She cut in fast. “He’s my dad!”

Silence.

A cosmic silence that might precede a solar eclipse, or a smiting. Her pulse fluttered, but she didn’t let it show.

Harry’s blink was criminally slow. His right eye twitched—he really was gorgeous when he was restraining homicidal rage.

And for a second, she thought maybe she could sell it. Maybe Max would be dumb enough to swallow it whole. Until Harry’s jaw flexed with such epic, generational disappointment that she had to follow up.

She offered, as sweetly as arsenic, “Stepdad. Technically.”

Still nothing from either of the dumbasses. Except the murderous, taught twitch in Harry's jaw that persisted.

She could’ve stopped there and let it simmer. But no, she was on a roll, so she might as well juggle the knives while blindfolded.

She slipped from Max's side, wedge heels clicking lightly on the concrete, and made her way to Harry's—hips swaying like this was her runway, not the walk of shame. (Which, frankly, it was.) She nudged her arm into his, gently, teasing.

“Yeah,” she said brightly, pitching her voice just loud enough for Max to hear. “Been that way for sometime now. I even call him… Papi.”

Harry’s lips parted. “Jesus.”

She beamed up at him, casually chucking his chin. “Look at my Papi. He just loves it.”

Then, just for him, smile endearing, her eyes slicing into his, a plea laced with a threat, conveying a message, ‘Play along or I swear to god, I'll sell the ring to someone who makes NFTs.’

Harry broke, and she felt that little exhale of surrender, her heart quieting. She always knew how to find the seam and pry it open.

“Ye—”

“I think,” she said, cutting him off again, “he just got really worried that I was with a guy who drives a motorcycle. Probably why he followed us. Right?”

Harry’s sigh was biblical. “Right.”

She flashed Max an outlandish smile. “He’s just so protective of me.”

Harry muttered something under his breath—it sounded suspiciously like ‘not from motorcycles, from syphilis.’ But he kept it under control.

Max nodded, clearly recalibrating, trying to navigate whatever Freudian mess he’d just been handed. “Huh. Tight family.”

You have no idea, she thought. Tight like a noose.

Then Harry—with all the calm of a man choosing which blade to use—turned to her, one hand casually resting on the open car door. “Get in the car.”

She raised a brow. “What if I like it here?”

Harry’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “Then I’ll put you inside myself, sweetheart. And you will like that.”

Max blinked.

She blinked.

Everyone blinked.

It wasn’t a suggestion. But the way he said it—lazy, low, the vaguest husk in his voice—made it sound like he was inviting her into a hotel bed, not his luxury sedan.

She hesitated, just long enough to feel her own nerves flicker. Every atom of her body screamed don’t. Her spine tensed, her breath caught. Her instincts did what they always did when danger showed up in a bespoke LV suit: calculate.

Because she wasn’t just nervous about Harry. She was nervous about what she was still willing to do for the ring. The stupid, gaudy, exquisite thing, nestled like a vice between her breasts. Dollars and dollars of regret strung around her neck like a dare. It was untouchable, unsellable. But unfinished.

And if there was one thing she did not ever do, it was leave a job incomplete. That was the difference between girls who handled cons and girls who got caught.

So she turned.

Max, dear, dumb Max, was still standing there blinking as if Harry had shaken his snow globe. A golden retriever of a man—tail wagging, unaware of the incoming truck. Poor baby.

She stepped into his space, ran her fingers through his hair, thick and slick with too much product. He grinned, warm, doped up on whatever startup serotonin and weed vape was still sloshing in his bloodstream. She tugged lightly, just enough for the illusion to hold—and to keep him still while she worked.

“Your Papi is crazy,” he whispered.

She pouted. “My Papi gets possessive.”

Then she kissed him. A just-there kiss that was more sleight of hand than affection, a big smokescreen. As her lips grazed his, her eyes slid sideways—past his shoulder, past the fog of cologne and naivete—to find Harry.

His arms crossed, face unreadable, but she could see it—the coiled silence that came before a tsunami. A cool exterior stretched tight over a woodland gone ablaze.

She smiled against Max’s mouth.

And then she opened hers wider, let her tongue slide deeper, brought Max's arm around her waist, pushed out a soft, breathy moan that was pure theatre—every inch of it aimed at Harry, like an arrow dipped in gasoline.

She could feel the heat of his glare sear the air between them, almost hear the crack of his patience splitting clean down the middle. That sexy, murderous calm he wore like his perfect suit. The quiet, intoxicating fury of a man used to control. She wanted to shatter that. Hence.

Poor sweet idiot Max thought that this was his win. When in truth, she was just using his mouth as her mirror, reflecting what she would like Harry to know. No one owned her unless she let them.

So she pushed her lips to Max like a queen bestowing favour. Slid one arm around his neck, the other deftly trailing down, fingers slipping against the back of the chain—click—and the clasp gave. The necklace dropped soundlessly into her palm, and just like that, mission: salvaged.

“I had so much fun with you tonight, Max. Will you call me?” she asked, brushing her lips with his, eyes wide with fake vulnerability, lashes at full-performance flutter.

“Don’t have your number,” he murmured, but—like a party trick—produced a business card from his jeans. Two fingers, smug grin.

He tucked it between her bra and blouse with a wink. The card brushed right over where the ring rested. Perfect. Layered lies, that always got her off.

“Go, baby girl,” he said, “before your dad pulls out a Glock on us.”

She almost lost it all to a snorting laugh. He was just so damn sincere. He honestly thought this was edgy roleplay and not a real-life power struggle with a man who could and maybe would pull a Glock.

He was sweet. And, like most sweet things in her life—disposable.

She turned, chain coiled in her fist like a snake, the heat of Max's lips fading, and walked back toward the Maybach, hips swinging just a little extra, enough to prove she wasn’t scared, and just to dare Harry to make a scene.

Harry, ever the gentleman—or sociopath—opened the door for her.

And as she passed him, his hand landed squarely on her ass.

Not what you’d expect from a stepfather. Unless, of course, you subscribed to very specific corners of the internet smut where shame and power blurred together with a click.

Because this wasn’t a grope. It was a claim.

Calculated, possessive, and arrogant as hell. His fingers squeezed in with the confidence that came from knowing every inch of her—past tense be damned. Smug fucking bastard.

Her spine straightened instinctively. Her breath caught—in that white-hot fuse of adrenaline and indignation. The gall of him. The sheer, effortless nerve. Sliding back into her orbit like he’d always been allowed there, her body was a place he still paid taxes on.

She said nothing, but her lips curved faintly.

Touché, Papi.

She slid into the leather seat, the door thunking shut behind her like the closing of a vault.

Harry moved with that predatory grace—shoulders fluid, jaw sharp with purpose. The chauffeur didn’t need a cue; whether machine or man, the car cruised forward like it knew his mind.

As they rolled past the curb, she glanced back.

Max was still standing there, his hands in his pockets, reeling. His mouth hung open slightly, one combat boot half-scuffed on the pavement like he’d tried to follow, like a man trying to figure out whether he'd just been mugged, ghosted, or seduced. (Newsflash: all three.)

His eyes met hers through the tinted window. She smiled sweetly.

He raised a hand to wave—slowly, hesitantly, like a puppy who didn’t know if he was still welcome. Such a cute little puppy.

She blew him a kiss.

Then turned her head just as he caught it, head forward, game face on, as the Maybach slid into traffic.

Because the ring was around her neck, her spoils of the night in her palm, and Harry—Harry fucking Castillo—was beside her.

If she thought this was over, she was sorely mistaken.

Proving that Harry Castillo was still a man—and, more damningly, still hers in some subterranean, unspoken crevice of himself—he couldn’t stop looking.

Not that he tried. Subtlety had never been his vice of choice.

His gaze, unapologetically male, raked down her legs, bared now without the safety net of stockings. She’d swapped the Louboutins for a pair of espadrille wedges that gave her just enough height to twist the knife. Her dress was floral—floral, for fuck’s sake. A dizzy little number with a cinched waist, soft cotton and a neckline that walked the line between innocent and criminal negligence. Her hair was different, too—soft waves framed her face and shoulders, and a thin, delicate braid spun across the back of her head like she was auditioning to be in a fairytale.

Last time he'd seen her, she'd looked like sex in a red wine glass. Now she was practically Thumbelina in a sundress. He wasn’t fooled, and neither was she.

She knew what she looked like—played it quite successfully, even—and yet somehow, Harry was still the one twitching in his own car.

She could feel the air crackle in the car every time his gaze dipped. The anticipation coiled tenser every time she adjusted the elastic bust or crossed one leg over the other. Not even for his benefit—but Jesus, it was working anyway. That was the thing—she wasn’t trying to seduce him. That ship had sailed, sunk, and was now rotting on the ocean floor with all the other men who’d thought they could handle her.

On a less desperate note, it was her first time in a Maybach. Hopefully, also her last.

It was more of a rolling reliquary for titans chasing immortality through market share and unresolved daddy issues. The leather was too plush, the silence too padded. Everything about it exclaimed power, permanence, and ownership. She wouldn’t lounge in these private-jet-on-wheels seats like some arm candy with Stockholm Syndrome, so she perched instead—like she might bolt at any second or bite you for trying.

At her feet, two chrome-plated champagne flutes sparkled like tiny totems of excess. The mini-fridge hummed softly under the console. And of course, there was a mounted touchscreen display for ‘mood lighting.’ She wondered what ‘mood’ it glowed when someone was being interrogated by an ex-one-night-stand-slash-target.

She stared at all the luxuries for a moment, counting up the invisible zeroes. How many zeroes did it take to turn a car into his bastion?

Harry finally spoke to break the five-minute silence, his voice low, amused, a touch accusatory, but still he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

“What’s your winnings on this one?”

He was reclining a little ways from her, and his dark eyes were still somewhere south, too—pretending not to enjoy he way the dress hugged her chest too much, and failing with flair.

She turned just enough to see that. She toyed with a fingernail, let it hover innocently near her lips.

“Nothing major, Papi.”

His brows lifted, just a tick. A man politely pretending to be surprised. He looked away, scoffing under his breath. “You’re allergic to 'nothing.'”

God, he was so painfully predictable. She offered a sugar-slick smile and sang out, “A tiiiny necklace. And... a ring.”

His posture stiffened a fraction. Alert, now. His eyes, the very shade of dark rum and worse decisions, cut to hers. “Collecting trophies now, are we?”

“Maybe.” She tilted her head. “Or planning a garage sale. Depends on the market.”

Harry leaned toward her, eyes hardening like he was ready to shift into another register. “Don’t fuck with me, Eve.”

His gruelling scowl was almost convincing—if her name had actually been Eve. That meant he still didn’t know who she really was. Not her name, not her history—so what was this, then? Some twisted coincidence? A brush with fate? Had he really followed her across town, all smooth in his black Maybach, chasing nothing more than a memory? No plan, no confirmation—just a vague pull and a hunch?

If so, it was almost laughable. Almost romantic, too. But mostly dangerous.

So, she leaned in, too, because it was fun to play. Her voice dropped half a note. “I already did fuck with you.”

Harry exhaled, long and frayed at the edges, and ran a hand down his face like she was a stain he could wipe away.

“Sweetheart,” he muttered, and it landed somewhere between a threat and a bribe, “if you give me that ring, I’ll take you to Fifth Avenue right now. You want two more? A whole fucking hand? A bracelet to go with it? Done. My card and Cartier Building are yours.”

She leaned back, arms crossed, biting her lip to contain amusement. It was almost too easy. Men... just dangle a little sex, a little danger, and they’d throw diamonds at you like Mardi Gras beads.

She allowed herself a small laugh—cruel, delighted. “Are you trying to buy me off with guilt jewellery? A shiny booby prize?”

“I’m trying to stop you from being stupid.”

Her lips thinned into a surgical smile. “If you wanted me rational, Harry, you should’ve fucked an accountant.”

Harry gave a pleased, filthy little hum. “Do you still have it?”

“Who says I do?”

“You do,” he insisted, like it was gravity. “You wore it out of that suite like a goddamn medal.”

She turned back to the window. The city was starting to rise in the distance, blurred under bridge lights. “Maybe I pawned it. Maybe I mailed it to your ex-girlfriend, little miss matchmaker. Maybe it’s at the bottom of a koi pond in Brooklyn.”

He just stared at her, no humour or patience left.

She shifted in her seat, her sundress sliding higher, not for him, but his inhale still snagged. Luxury-wrapped warfare, and she was fully fucking armed.

She was dismantling him, with bare legs and a grin that said, ‘You wanted this. I want it more now.’ And somewhere deep in that beautiful bastard brain of his, Harry knew it.

The Maybach hummed like a well-fed predator through the avenues, insulated from honks and heat. Outside was chaos, inside was gloved luxury, stitched leather, and two people pretending they weren’t seconds from lunging across the seat.

Harry's hand rested like a loose threat on the centre console. Still watching her, cataloguing every inch as if she weren’t already in his bloodstream, whether he liked it or not.

“You know,” he said finally, voice cool, “I’ve handled mergers with less resistance. And, never so deep in stalker territory that they know about my exes.”

She examined her nails, chipped from the subway turnstile. “Well, curiosity never killed anyone. And you know,” she countered, “I’ve handled richer men with worse cars.”

He glanced around the cabin, unimpressed. “That’s not even true.”

“It’s sadly true,” she said, biting back a grin.

He snorted because a real laugh would be too generous. His eyes dragged over her once more.

“That ring,” he said, finally, “wasn’t for sale or for taking.”

She feigned shock, clutching her imaginary pearls. “So possessive. I thought you evolved past that.”

Harry leaned forward, entirely implying a threat. “You don’t even know what it is.”

She met his eyes, head tipped. “I know it’s worth enough to make you beg.”

“Do you think this is funny?”

“I think it’s hilarious. And useful.”

Harry exhaled through his nose, and a smile nearly escaped. “Jesus. You’re not even trying to tempt me, and somehow it’s working.”

That earned him a slow, wicked smile. “Good.”

And that was the problem. She wasn’t trying from the start of this. She was just being—aggravating, hungry, radiant—and it was working. She knew it was, she saw it in the way his jaw kept flexing like he wanted to kiss her stupid and strangle her at the same time. He hadn’t touched her since that little performance at the curb, but she could still feel his hand, ghosted and smug across her ass. An assertion. A pushpin.

He cracked a bit of tension in his neck. “You keep that ring, Eve, and you’re in deep shit. I don’t bluff.”

“No, you just hold women against their will in your little jet-car and call them sweetheart like it’s 1942. Very romantic.”

He turned toward her, elbow on the backrest, his voice silken steel. “You’re not even scared.”

“Nope,” she said, flicking her eyes toward him. “I’m starving.”

He blinked at her, thrown for a second.

Then she added, sweet as syrup: “And I’m guessing you’re not dumb enough to threaten me on an empty stomach.”

Harry leaned back, assessing her like an appraiser with a looted painting. “You’re doing a lot of talking for someone exceptionally screwed.”

“Oh, Harry.” She leaned in across the console, chin in her hand, close enough that her breath brushed his jaw. “I’m only proposing a dinner. In exchange for what you want. Seems generous, considering the resale value of your little emotional support ring.”

His jaw flexed. “It’s not emotional.”

“Of course not,” she said, settling back. “Just as priceless as your ego.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “And need I remind you, this is extortion?”

“No,” she chirped brightly. “That’s dinner with a woman far out of your tax bracket.”

“Sweetheart, you—”

She shrugged one bare shoulder, calm as a cat sunning itself on a windowsill. “Come on. You missed me. Admit it. You just didn’t know where to find me.”

“I did, too, find you,” he shot back.

She lifted one perfectly arched brow. “After I’d finished with Max. Lucky break.”

“Greased Lightning, sure,” he muttered. “Real prize. Had his hand halfway up your skirt, tongue on your tonsils.”

She pointed an accusatory finger. “Slut-shaming me isn’t the persuasive tactic you think it is, mister.”

He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, ravenous eyes wandering up from the hem of her dress to her legs. “Not shaming. Just saying—you have interesting taste in rebound mechanics.”

“You jealous?” she asked sweetly, tilting her head.

His silence was golden; she wanted it in her palms.

“I was,” he said finally. He said it like it hurt to admit.

She flashed all her teeth, brilliant and wicked. “Aw, my Papi. Feeling things for me.”

Without warning, Harry leaned across the console—a fluid, avaricious shift that closed the space between them.

A flinch would give her away. Her chin still rested delicately in her hand, fingers curled beneath it like a bored schoolgirl. Her eyes sharpened, her mouth twitched, she didn’t move exactly, but every cell in her was suddenly keyed in.

He dragged a knuckle down the line of her jaw, featherlight—and of course it was that territorial, ravenous touch of his. As though he was checking to see if she still had skin, if it still responded to him. Yes, it did, and she hated that he knew.

“You really let him touch you like that? Right in front of me?” he murmured, fingers down the expanse of her throat, words curling with conversational filth. “You have no idea how easy it'd be to take you somewhere dark, pull those panties aside and remind you who makes you come.”

Her breath caught—a moment of restraint slipping because the sharp, vivid mental picture bloomed uninvited.

He was close enough now for her to smell the faint trace of his cologne—the same bergamot, wood and fresh banknotes—and underneath that, worse: familiarity. She hated that she remembered how he smelled. She hated it more than it still made her soaked in her best pair of panties.

Yet, she didn’t lean away. She didn’t so much as bat an eye when his fingers grazed her collarbone, dipping lower. She let him find the chain—let him think he was in control for a beat too long.

“You really want to see if it’s there?” she asked softly, teasing, a whisper with claws.

He took the bait, all male and smug, lifting the chain from between her breasts like he was unveiling buried treasure.

And there it was.

His precious ring.

That big, fat emerald swung like a pendulum between them—silent, supine, damning. She watched his eyes lock on it, and the flicker of recognition sharpen into a darker emotion. Greed. Frustration. Lust. Who knew—with Harry, the difference was academic.

He stared at it like it was a rib she’d stolen from his body while he slept.

“Ben,” he said, voice a velvet growl, never taking his eyes off her.

“Sir,” the driver answered with CIA-level readiness. As if he wasn’t listening to foreplay masquerading as directions.

“Miss... Eve is feeling famished. Spring Street, please. Sixth Avenue. Thanks.”

“Copy,” Ben muttered, keying his mic on his wrist. Then, under his breath, too low for the intercom or for his passenger's ears: “Yeah, sure. Let’s get her something to eat before she swipes your socks, too.”

Upon his command, the Maybach veered off course. Even at the razor's edge, Harry had it in him to be the well-mannered rich boy he was raised to be.

And, honestly, saviour Ben deserved hazard pay for the things he heard behind tinted glass. He must've thought that these two were sick with tension. She stole his ring, and he changed course for dinner. That was either love or capture-bonding... with a tip included.

She smiled at the road ahead. A sinful thing that unfolded like a plan, because yes, this was exactly why she’d kept the ring. Not for the money, though, it was easily six figures. Not even for the power, not in the obvious way.

But because he wanted it back, and wanting made Harry sloppy.

It made him touch. It made him chase. It made him reckless and sweet and very, very red-blooded, dumb male. Which meant she’d already won. Before the wine or the check arrived at whatever overpriced hole they were headed to.

She was still the one who dictated the terms. And Harry—poor, rage-polished, ring-hungry Harry—was already halfway back on the leash.

She crossed one leg over the other, reclined just a touch deeper into the seat, and gave him that look—You can have me or the ring. But only if you beg.

He still thought he had the upper hand. Wasn’t it just so cute?

Just the same, Big Dick Castillo brought his A-game for dinner.

The restaurant wasn’t just high-end—it was the kind of place that required two weeks’ notice, a powerbroker’s name on the reservation, and a tolerance for quirky food that looked like modern art. The hostess notably buttered him up, simpered away, took his coat, and called him Mr. Castillo.

“Been here before?” Harry asked as they were guided to their booth.

She didn’t answer, only let her eyes sweep the place—white linen tablecloths, waiters gliding past, a floral arrangement taller than her ego.

She wasn’t dressed for this. Too much skin, not enough couture. The jute of her espadrille heels was scuffed, her clutch was vintage in the wrong way, and her dress—while cute—read detrimental in a room full of tasteful dialogue and five-figure watches. She wished she hadn’t given away the flying fuck she’d reserved for Harry.

So instead, she slid into the booth, crossed her legs slowly, and leaned back like fuck it, let them all look. She’d never belonged in rooms like this, but she knew how to survive them.

Two Michelin stars. Or was it three, maybe? The lighting was gloomy, the cutlery artisanal, and the food came served under glass domes, wreathed in mist like a gothic séance. Every plate looked like a photograph from an art film: uni foam over wild nettle jelly, soil-infused mushroom consommé, whale fat ice-cream (yes, that.) There was no fixed menu—just blind trust in the chef, a man in clogs and tattoos who barely acknowledged them.

This was indulgent, out of her league, so of course she pretended to be unimpressed, like it was routine—hair touched up in the restroom, lips glossy again with the applicator of a stolen Chanel lipstick, heels clicking on imported Italian tile, seated next to a man who could pay her rent for the rest of her life and still have cash left to purchase a moiety of New York.

She even sneaked a photo of the dessert course when Harry got up to take a call, because come on. When else did she get plated edible Parmesan air on gold-rimmed porcelain?

Her last meal had been oatmeal with water, for crying out loud. Not milk. Water.

You could always ask why she didn’t just marry rich. She was beautiful enough to hoodwink them, so why not find a bored billionaire, play the long con, inherit the empire, and vanish somewhere scenic—the Amalfi Coast, or whatever place rich widows went to drink too much rosé—and feign rebirth? And sure, she’d considered it more than once. She wasn’t above strategy.

But something in her—call it pride, call it defiance, hunger for independence—refused to take the easy exit. And maybe one day she would. Maybe she’d settle for a gorgeous, uncomplicated Harry Castillo with deep pockets and no prenup, let herself be worshipped into early retirement. Just not yet.

She was still young, still electric, still drop-dead sexy. There was too much potential and too much fun to be had. Why skip to the end when she could win first? Use her beauty and her brains, pull strings, stay one step ahead of men with power.

Now, in the curved booth, a gilded lamplight spotlit above them, sitting beside her—never across, god forbid—was her latest complication.

Of course, Harry sat next to her, because across meant distance. Across meant restraint, and that would imply boundaries. This man didn't know how to spell the word, let alone observe it. He sat close enough that his thigh occasionally bumped hers. His scent was dark, warm, invasive, the same Jean Paul le Castillo, again, and his attention was even worse. Fork in one hand, wine glass in the other, and that goddamn heinous, hungry look in his eyes as he stared at her lips like it owed him answers.

The new ring—a ruby the size of a small nation—winked on his ring finger, gaudy and melodramatic. It clinked against his glass as he reached forward. His shirt sleeve inched up just enough to reveal his Hublot—black steel, custom dial, subtle as a gun to the temple. And paired with that bracelet, Damascus steel, he was cosplaying the final boss of Grand Theft Auto.

Her thighs pressed together. Inexcusable. Her hormones were staging a mutiny.

She’d spent the fundamental part of her life making sex a transaction. A leverage, a blade, for which men paid in obsession. And now, with him, her instincts were starting to betray her. Lust came up uninvited, and that wasn’t part of the plan.

Harry made her forget where the end was, made her want to tear off her own armour just to climb into his lap and beg. Before then, out of the blue—

“So, how many men came before me?”

He didn’t clarify. Lovers? Marks? The poor bastards who’d mistaken her for a doormat?

She took a slow sip of water, letting the silence stretch long enough to tighten the air. One brow ticked upward. “You want a number, or just a vague estimate that’ll challenge your gall? And also, ruin your appetite.”

He smirked, impressed. “I want honesty.”

She tilted her head. “Ooh, that's a new kink.”

“I’m possessive,” he admitted, pretty garish on his part. “Big difference.”

“Mm.” Her smile curved, feline. “Possessive is only sexy when the person saying it isn’t two drinks away from growling.”

“It’s sexy when it comes with dinner like this.” He waved his hand at the table.

She leaned back slightly, crossing one leg over the other, her heel dangling just a little. “You’re trying to get in my head.”

“I’m trying to understand you.”

“Why? You already got the ring. It's right in front of you. All polished and accounted for.”

He reached across the table and let his knuckle trace her cheekbone, then followed the angle of her jaw like he was mapping her. Shiftless, patient.

“You used it to bait me into dinner,” he said, a thumb stroking at her glistening lip. “Could’ve handed it over in the car. Hell, you could’ve pawned it, vanished. But you didn’t. So... you want me, too.”

She grinned at that—wide, unapologetic, teeth and trouble. “You’re adorable when you think you’re in charge.”

His gaze sharpened, darkened. But not in anger—he was starved. Amused, too. “What do you want from me, then?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said, humming. “A better quality of dessert. Maybe something shiny to take home.”

“To wear or to sell?”

She pushed her bottom lip out. “Depends on whether you make me laugh.”

He shook his head, chuckling into his wine glass. “You’re the hysterical one, sweetheart.” He swallowed his sip, humming, “Do you ever think of doing anything else? Something legit?”

She pretended to think, tapping a finger against her chin. “You mean wait tables? Or marrying a hedge fund vampire who forgets my birthday every year but I have to offset with a wealth of blowjobs?”

He looked at her—a quiet examination that wasn’t judgment, as if wondering what it would take for her to stop running.

“I think you’re more priceless and smarter than you let on, or the little games you play.”

She laughed softly at that—a sound that had just the right amount of sadness tucked in the corners. “Yeah, well. The games pay the bills. And at least I get to choose the rules.”

Harry leaned in, an elbow resting on the table, voice a shade lower now—meant just for her. “You know, you don’t have to play a game to have me take you out. I would've abandoned an intergalactic arms deal if you wanted me here tonight.”

She burst with a giggle, and it was cute how much he took pride in making her laugh. She eventually locked eyes with him and said, calm and clean:

“But it’s so much more satisfying when I win first.”

That made him laugh. A proper, wrecked laugh dropped from his throat, and it surprised even him.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, still half-winded. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever met who could rob me blind and make me this hard at the same time.”

She bit her lip—as though it weren’t the exact effect she’d planned down to the second. Spoon clinked softly against the plate as she set it down with ceremony, eyes gleaming.

“I wanna see it,” she whispered, scooting closer to him on the leather booth, until her side was flush against his.

“Eve, sweetheart,” he warned.

She smoothed her lips against his jaw, playing a good little girl. “Show me. Please.”

Her fingers found the zipper of his tailored trousers, the expensive ones, that held shape like a secret. And it was amazing—how hard he was, how her palm couldn’t quite span the bold swell beneath, and how he throbbed to her touch.

She dragged her hand down, watching his face tighten—like a crackling electrical wire. His jaw flexed. His gaze darted briefly to the corners of the restaurant, the other elitist millionaires, scanning for anyone who might recognise the man unravelling.

Then he leaned in. A husky, thrumming caution. “If I knew you were going to get like this, I’d have asked for a private room.”

She stuck out her tongue, childish. “No fun.”

He laughed under his breath and traced a big fingertip down her cheek. “Tell me you missed me.”

“I did miss you,” she said like the sweetheart she was, and the best part was—it was true. Truth spoken with the cadence of a lie. Or a dare. “I thought you’d find me sooner. I waited for you.”

“Duty calls.” His voice dipped, like he hated saying it. “I'm sorry, honey. I was out of town yesterday.”

That explained everything and nothing. She was not satisfied.

She didn’t stop either, her hand kept its lazy rhythm over his bulge, like she was idly petting a wild animal. “I couldn’t sleep at night, Harry.”

His fathomless eyes were trained on her mouth. “Why not?”

“You know how much I missed you? How I was touching myself, wishing it was you inside me?” Her voice turned to silk—sinful, edged with heat, weaponised.

He exhaled sharply, words ghosting over her ear. “Prove it.”

She smiled, slow and wicked, like she’d been waiting for that line all night. With one last stroke, she removed her hand, pursuing her fingers up his jaw—lingering just enough to make his breath hitch. Down the line of his neck, across the snow-white shirt that skirted right around his shoulders, over that infuriatingly sculpted bicep, tough forearm, wrist—the original blueprint of sex—until she led his hand beneath her skirt, just enough to tilt the balance of power.

His long, large fingers took charge from there. They swept her panties aside without an afterthought and found her soaked right through and aching. Home turf, indeed.

A single long finger teased upward through her slick folds, the dewy little bead he wanted to tease all night. Her hips twitched, seeking more; she bit down on a moan that would’ve embarrassed her in any other life. But not here, not when she had the upper hand.

“Making such a mess,” he murmured, and started to push right in.

She caught his wrist—gently, firmly—and pulled his hand away. She wasn’t done playing. “Then let me clean up.”

Bringing his fingers to her mouth, ever so slowly, let her lips part just enough to catch one finger and draw it in. Her eyes never left his as she tasted herself on her tongue.

Harry’s nostrils flared. His jaw twitched, a visible glitch in his otherwise polished self-control. She could virtually hear the recalibration transpiring behind his eyes—an expensive machine overheating under pressure.

“You ever heard of taking turns?” he rasped, voice sandpapered and low.

She hummed into his finger with a grin.

Her tongue curled around the length of his finger in lazy, loving worship. She let her teeth graze the bone, just enough to sting, pulled away with a wet, filthy pop—then slid her hand back to the heat pressed against his trousers.

Still gloriously hard. Harder, maybe.

He made a sound. Barely audible, but visceral—her rich boy was about to snap.

“Mm, I missed my friend,” she teased, palm grazing along the thick outline of him, the way you'd check the heft of a stolen gold bar. “We need to take care of you.”

“Not in here,” he gritted, eyes flicking toward the very public preposterous restaurant, as if remembering too late they were still surrounded by pristine cutlery, half-finished wine glasses, and utterly oblivious millionaires.

She leaned in, voice sugarcoated and silk-wrapped. “Why not? Afraid the waitstaff will find out their favourite industrialist menace is getting head under the table?”

“Sweetheart,” he ground out, jaw tight, “you’re going to get us thrown out.”

She gasped, scandalised. “Oh, no. Not banned from a place where the peach coulis costs more than the average rent.” Her fingers traced the outline of him again, sinfully curious. “But it’s cute that you think I care.”

He gripped the table’s edge. “Outside.”

She leaned closer and click—her teeth snapped together in a playful bite.

What followed was a blur—his credit card swiped on the reader, the receipt signed with a flourish so fast it might’ve been a stock ticker. Between curt commands to the valet and a quiet, untamed “stand by for now,” to his head of security, there were brushes, glances, touches: her fingers sinking just beneath his waistband as he tipped the maître d’, his palm skating down her bare back where her dress dipped scandalously low. Every pass of skin-to-skin felt like a dare, an escalation, a lit fuse.

By the time they ducked into the alley behind the block—dimly illumined in cinematic amber—the anticipation between them had pulled taut enough to hum. The distant purr of traffic and the faint hiss of steam from a nearby vent were the accurate background noise to a heist in progress.

Harry didn’t even get the chance to lean to get her lips before she shoved him against the wall—decisive, insolent, the brick groaning against his back. Her eyes sparkled with that delicious edge, knowing she’d rehearsed the choreography in her dreams: a two-day fantasy played out frame by frame.

And he knew exactly what she was saying, without a single word. You’re mine right now.

Her hands slid up around his neck, fingers weaving into the short curls at his nape, nails just sharp enough to sting. She made him hiss through his teeth—and she smiled at that, feral satisfaction flashing across her lips. How could a man like the great Harry Castillo—so composed, so powerful, so painfully in control—still be reduced to deprived flesh under her touch?

“What did you say to me?” she panted. “That you'd drag me somewhere dark, pull my panties aside, and remind me who makes me come?”

His grin crooked sideways, as if it physically hurt to hold back a groan. “Still sounds like a solid plan to me.”

They let the words hang in the air between them, as her hips crushed into his, allowing him to feel the slow roll of her body against his, just so he damn sure remembered. She pulled back to lock eyes with him, and his expression was glowing with wicked amusement.

“Because that got me so wet,” she added, one brow lifting. “Truly. I’m so touched.”

He gave a rough laugh, hands twitching on her body. “Touched? If you keep grinding like that, I will absolutely bless the whole city block.”

She wrinkled her nose, displeased. “That's really gross, baby.”

He wrinkled his nose back at her. “Just get a move on. With you, my witty repartee functions scramble themselves.”

“That's really hot, baby.”

Then those same hands wandered. Down his collarbone, over his chest. She moved with the assurance of someone who’d mapped this terrain before, who knew every button as if it were a checkpoint on her way to spoils.

When she was rewarded with her kiss, it was a signature scrawled in heat—messy, urgent, binding—and branding him under his clothes, where no one could see. Oh, he’d feel it.

Then her fingers were at his belt.

A low, delighted laugh escaped her. Her rhythm was impatient, rhythm-less. Zipper down, cock out. Just as big, flushed dark, curving, and thick as she remembered him. She wrapped her awaiting palm around him, unmistakably reacquainting herself with an old luxury.

God, how she’d missed this. The raw him of it. The racy confidence, the amused shock in his eyes when she got ahead of him. The twitch in his cock, like it recognised her touch better than his.

“Omigod, Harry,” she breathed, eyes darting between his and the absurd girth in her grip. Imagine a sexy, artisanal baguette. If anything, French cuisine has never sounded more decadent.

“How are you still so hard?”

His head thunked back against the bricks, and a choked laugh dragged out of him. “And?”

She giggled, softer this time. “That’s... honestly, a little heroic. Amazing.”

He groaned, the edge in his voice splitting wide open. “I swear to god—I’m going it blow it right in your hand.”

She slowed her stroke, her hand sliding between his jacket and shirt to clamp down on his waist. “Oh no, baby. You don’t get to tap out when I’ve barely started. You’re gonna see the credits after the feature.”

She gripped him tighter, thumb sweeping the crown. His hips jerked—reflexive, needy.

She knew the tells better than most men knew their passwords. The tight clench of his thighs, the way his hips twitched in expectation, that little flicker in his jaw when he was fighting not to fall apart too soon. And then the low, involuntary groan he gave when she added that precise twist at the top.

So she did it again. And again. More intended, more viciously gentle. Until his body was practically quavering under her rhythm.

That’s when he saw it.

The ring.

His ring.

Gleaming like a petite green sin in the dim alley light—bold, unrepentant, perched snug between the ridges of her knuckles. She must’ve slipped it from its chain and onto her finger when he wasn’t looking—when his pants had come down, when his brain had gone sideways. It shone against her skin with all the drama of a closing argument, catching the movement of her hand every time it slid up and down his cock. Brazen. Ridiculous. Glorious.

He stared, eyes gone wide, chest heaving like he’d just run a fucking marathon in velvet loafers. Pure disbelief tempered only by the rising surge of pleasure threatening to knock him flat.

Her decadent grin spread wider. That same tilt she used before she broke into something expensive. Criminal.

“Look how gorgeous your ring looks on my hand, baby,” she purred, constricting her grip just enough to make him feel it. Then one long, mean stroke—merciless as it was smooth—had him grunting like she’d punched the air out of him.

Sugar in her tone, filth in the intent—“Right while I’m holding your cock.”

That almost undid him. It actually did... just not in the way she expected.

His hips bucked involuntarily—hard—one palm slapping against the wall beside them like he ought to brace against her, or the gravity of her power.

And she could feel it—how close he was, how his body betrayed him completely.

“Careful now,” she whispered, breath hot against his throat. “You’re gonna come all over your ring.”

“Fuck,” he hissed. “I need you.”

His palm found her waist first, then higher—greedier—spanning the swell of her breast, fingers slipping beneath the delicate strap of her dress. He touched her like a man unravelling, desperate to memorise her with his hands before he lost himself completely. She didn’t stop him or bother to slow down.

Ladies, listen up. You let him spiral, let him lose the plot. It, therefore, generates all these amazing results. First of all, you feel like a goddamn goddess.

If anything, the heat of his palm rolling over her chest, thumb brushing the peak of her nipple, made her hand tighten at the base of him, a lazy drag of friction that made his breath catch and his teeth bare. Good, she thought. He’d looked so calm at dinner—composed, controlled, smug. It was time she rattled that composure down to the bones.

His mouth landed near her jaw, warm and unravelling, his breath skipping against the sensitive shell of her ear.

“Christ, baby,” he gulped down. “You’ll kill me.”

“Just a little,” she whispered, a threat swathed in lace.

He gripped the back of her neck now—firm, desperate, tethering. But she could feel the tremble run through him, the growing urgency that turned every touch into a grasp, every kiss into a plea.

And when she felt that telltale twitch in her palm—close, so fucking close—she sank to her knees in one fluid, irreverent motion.

“Eve!” He growled.

“Might want to hold on for this,” she murmured, reaching out and dutifully closing his hand around her hair. Her personal hairband.

His head tipped to the wall with a dull thud, and his breath was knocked right out of him.

She took him into her mouth—no tease, no soft open. Just the hot, wet seal of her lips around him, engulfing pressure sliding down with a purpose that made men remember you. Her hand twisted at the base as her tongue flattened along the underside, every flick and hollow of her cheeks perfectly paced, free hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently—almost as if she knew his body better than he did. Her hand stroked what she couldn’t take yet (a lot of it), but she was nothing if not determined, easing deeper, working her gasps and gags, her throat fluttering as she swallowed around him.

Then she pulled back just enough to kiss the tip, run her tongue around it in a slow, devastating circle, and whisper, “Look at me.”

When he did, wrecked and glassy-eyed, and nearly lost it when he saw the glint of the emerald—his emerald—catching the amber haze of the streetlight, shining vulgar and perfect as she worked him over with both mouth and hand, while that gem flashed in and out of sight like punctuation to her rhythm.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he gritted, hands flying into her hair, helpless to the thrusts into her mouth.

And still, she smiled around him with her eyes. Because down here, on her knees, oh-so-submissive, she fucking owned him. For a single second, she was entitled to billions and billions of dollars.

He let go with a broken sound, head tilted back, hands fastened in her hair. His release hit like a convulsion—deep, violent, ragged, unstoppable—and she took it. All of it.

She kept her lips closed around him, swallowed him down like a secret, let him spill hot down her throat, held still through every violent aftershock until he finally stopped pulsing against her tongue. Only then did she let him slide from her mouth, returning a relic to the altar.

As she littered a few kisses to his hipbone, above her, he was heaving. A ruin of breath and bone, one palm braced against the bricks, the other still fisted in her hair—completely, exquisitely unravelled.

Because for all his suits, his smirks, his predator calm, his moneyed arrogance, his big dick, and relentless pursuit—this was the real him. The one leaning against a piss-stained alley wall, jaw slack, pupils blown, chest rising like he’d been resuscitated by her mouth alone. That wide-eyed, blown-open stare—cracked devotion dressed as disbelief.

Ragged. Gutted. Hers.

She sat back on her heels, knees aching, throat raw, but her chin still tipped with defiance. The streetlamp lit her up from the side, catching the gleam of spit at the corner of her bruised lips, the waterline of her eyes, and the vulgar glint of his emerald still perched like a trophy on her finger.

She didn’t wipe her mouth or fix her hair. She wanted him to see it—the wreckage, the proof still painting her skin.

Look what you made me do, her body said. Now look what I did to you.

“To clarify,” she said, breath still ragged, eyes sharp with mischief. “Was that your soul I just sucked out or are you always this dramatic post-nut?”

He barked a laugh, dragging one trembling hand through his sweat-mussed hair, the other still propping him upright. “You are fucking unbelievable,” he panted.

“Mm.” She rose slowly, brushing imaginary lint off her shoulders and dusting her knees. “Takes one to chase one.”

But just as she turned to make her exit with all the flair of a woman who had already won, his hand caught her jaw.

He wasn’t anywhere near done with her.

He pulled her back around for a feral kiss, so strangely intimate, still so insatiate beneath the smug exterior. Tasting himself, tasting them, tongue plunging, moustache tickling, chasing whatever high was lost into her throat once more.

His other hand plunged low and hiked her thigh up around his hip in one swift motion, dragging her flush against him, pinning her, crowding her into the wall. She gasped at the feel of him again, already half-hard and thoughtless, thrusting up into the soaked heat of her panties, all the way through the flimsy lace and cotton barriers.

He broke the kiss just long enough to whisper against her gasping open mouth, “Let me return the favour, sweetheart. I'm a stickler for settling debts.”

“You're hard again?” she giggled, disbelieving. Her hand snuck back to confirm the evidence. “It's been two seconds.”

He grinned, teeth flashing. “It’s the new suit. Gets me going. You like?”

“Jesus, Harry,” she muttered, impressed. “This is either compulsive or Olympic. Have you been microdosing Viagra?”

“I’m just really, really motivated when I see you.”

She gave him a slow stroke through the fabric, lips parted in faux wonder. “Oh, I noticed. Your amazing dick has the recovery rate of a Marvel superhero.”

That husky, ruined laugh of his rang smoke signals all the way to her down there.

She will not deny it: she wanted to let him fuck her. She had been patient was a really long time (read, really two days.) That was practically monastic discipline.

She wanted to be slammed into that wall, chest down, hands crushed in the small of her back, and torn apart. She wanted him to slide into her fast, unrelenting, to fill her in one breathless, punishing thrust and ruin all the good work she’d done painting herself as unfuckwithable. She knew just how soaked she was, how badly her body wanted to cave in and make it impossible for him to forget her.

Instead, she pulled back far enough to break away from him. Her hands stayed on him whilst his desperate lips mouthed up her jaw and ears—one over his feverish heart, the other tenderly cradling his jaw.

Seemingly, fucking around and finding out included taking the win with her. So, she grinned, bright and goddamn invincible.

“Easy, big guy,” she murmured, dragging a lithe finger down his nose and lips. “You blow your load again, what’s left for the encore?”

He stared at her like she was both his best miracle and worst menace.

Then she dropped her leg, smoothed the hem of her dress, and leaned in one last time—her mouth teasing at the shell of his ear—and kissing the coarse arc of his cheek.

“Now, you owe me a ride.”

She hadn’t meant “ride” in the literal sense. But, of course, her recently sucked off, hedge-fund god had taken it that way.

Now here she was, waiting on a curb like a stranded groupie, knees hugged to her chest, fingers picking absently correcting her reapplied gloss, watching him pace twenty feet away, swirling through Important Business like he ran the New York Stock Exchange and the moon phases at the same time. Corporate acrobatics, last-minute deals, numbers, names, mergers.

Harry Castillo was the storm with no centre indeed. Elegant, effusive chaos.

She studied him, inventorying the little habits, just for herself to overthink later.

The way he loosened his collar half an inch, the fabric of his dress shirt tugging tight across his shoulder blades. The way he tilted his phone between his shoulder and ear to glance at his watch, never missing a beat in the conversation, another phone cradling market tickers and colour-coded blocks that meant nothing to her but had his full attention. The clipped, fricative syllables he used when someone tried to talk over him. The furrow of his brows. The press of his thumb and forefinger into his temple, as if the numbers both gave him migraines and fed his soul.

She wasn't supposed to notice this much, or even care. He was a depleted target.

After all, for her bravado, her games and schemes, she witnessed it in him: the sheer momentum of him. The time and tension. The experience that streaked his hair a little, crinkled at his eyes. He was the exemplar of hard work, empire-building and sleepless nights.

It was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen in any gentleman.

Yet, he made her feel small. Smaller than the filthy alley, the incredible sex, and the swagger had made her feel. It was that old, low-grade hum of self-loathing which unfurled in quiet moments when her five-dollar acrylics started to chip and bleed, and her bank account re-enacted a crime scene.

She was what she was. High school dropout, actress by ambition, hustler by necessity. Her résumé was an unconsolidated array of lies, fake eyelashes, and second jobs that paid in tips and IOUs. She didn’t articulate ‘Bloomberg,’ didn’t know what ‘price reflecting risk’ meant, and had never owned anything sparklier than a gold-plated nameplate necklace she hocked at sixteen.

She looked down at it now—his emerald ring glinting like she belonged under it's cocky gleam. Laughable, really. She twisted it round slowly, scrutinising the way it caught the streetlight as it threw new tints of the spectrum right into her undeserving eyes.

A low, motorised purr broke through her spiral.

She glanced up, confused at first, like the street itself had growled.

Something was coming. A fast, smooth statement. Sleek, angular, low-slung, orange—a tropical fruit had a baby with a warning sign. A McLaren, maybe? As far as her fluency in Car and Driver went, she could tell that thing had arguments about acceleration. Seriously, it belonged on a racetrack, not a city street. It was impractical, unreasonable, and utterly excessive—just like Harry.

As the car slid to a stop at the curb, she watched one of the suited security detail break formation and approach it while a man in gloves stepped out and performed a silent, expensive transaction with a key fob. And she—still on the curb, blinking—realised that she had been excluded from this entirely.

Oh, she wasn't part of this mean machine.

She was luggage. Really hot luggage in a pretty dress.

“It’s a platform play, but we can bolt on 2–3 tuck-ins within 18 months.” Harry was still speaking into his phone, utterly unfazed by the gravity-defying spaceship that had just landed in front of them. He was simply striding toward it like it was a goddamn Toyota.

Her stare ping-ponged between him, the security guy, the McLaren, and back to Harry. Soon, a slow surge of realisation struck her.

This was for her.

This was what happened when she joked about owing her a ride after blowing his mind (and him) in an alleyway. For one stupefied, unguarded second, she believed it—she might actually be fucked.

“We'll get this in front of IC and revert. Thanks, Mark.” A crisp click ended Harry's call, and the phones vanished into his jacket, so he turned his full attention to her.

He offered his hand, palm up, fingers splayed—infuriatingly gentlemanly. And the grin that spread across his face was downright criminal, that it should’ve come with a warning label.

“I believe I owe you a ride,” he rumbled.

She took one look at the orange beast purring by the curb and immediately shot up to her feet, cupping her hands around her mouth to control a shrill squeal.

“Harry,” she breathed.

He raised an eyebrow. “Sweetheart.”

“I should’ve given you head the first time we met.”

He snorted. “Oh, I remember. But you needed dental insurance before taking on the full... package?”

Every ounce of self-respect fled her system.

“I was joking!” she gasped, eyes locked on the car. “I mean, I’d give you your ring back—but you didn’t have to get me a sports car! This is insane. This is—”

She clapped her hands once, spun on her heel, convulsing, fanning a hand at her face. “—so goddamn sexy I might cry. Look at her! She has curves! She’s shiny! She’s so my type!”

Harry watched, entirely too amused and pleased with his own theatrics. His shoulders started to shake with deep, husky laughter.

“I hate to spoil your greedy little soul, but I just wanted a nightcap.” He tapped the hood of the car. “It was gathering dust, I figured you would appreciate—”

“I appreciate, I really, really appreciate.” She grinned, bouncing a little in place, pitch rising with every word. “Oh, we are breaking so many traffic laws tonight. We’re gonna crash this thing straight into an uppity country club.”

She bounced toward the passenger side like a kid on Christmas morning, ready to yank open the door—

“Other side.”

She halted mid-motion, narrowed her eyes at him. “Excuse me?”

He raised the key fob near his head, pushed a button—and the car croaked an obedient electronic chirp as the driver’s side door lifted vertically, like a butterfly wing.

“You’re driving us tonight,” he informed.

She stared at him, attempting to render his words to her reality. She really must've blown off the one little screw that held his common sense together.

Her heart slammed against her ribs with a cocktail of adrenaline, arousal, and unbidden panic. And with it came the reveal of: “Harry. I haven’t driven anything in years.”

“Good,” he said, strolling about to the passenger side, leather shoes scuffing. “You’ve got experience.”

She scoffed. “What... and if I kill us?”

He shrugged with that aggravating impassivity. “For what I’m worth, they’d better build a memorial—not leave me smeared on the freeway.”

The key was dropped into her hand, and she looked down at it, then at the car—her reflection warped across its polished surface.

For a moment, it began flickering behind her eyes—that horrified, disbelieving piece of her that still didn’t think she deserved to touch a machine this exquisite, let alone drive it. A thief, a fake—what business did she have behind the wheel of a seven-figure car?

Despite that, she smiled. Well, that was not her now. She was made of wicked chaos, pink Chanel gloss, and full-figured hunger.

“Well, buckle up,” she said, ducking and gliding behind the wheel, basically stepping into her final form. “If we die, I’m haunting you with blue balls in the afterlife.”

He laughed, following her in. “Duly noted, sweetheart.”

And the door hissed shut, sealing her in.

One thing you needed to know about this city—laid out like a glittering, fatigued whore at her feet—was that even the rats had a hustle.

So before you judged her for jumping at the wheel of a hypercar she didn’t own, playing the coquette in knockoffs, maybe ask yourself this: what would you do, if a million-dollar engine thrummed at your fingertips and the man beside you looked at you like a sex god personified?

“If it was up to me, I wouldn’t give these nobodies no sympathy,” SZA whispered through the surround speakers, truth bleeding from her voice like philosophies.

She mouthed along to the words, head bobbing between the headrest, legs up on the dash.

She’d meant to steal one little big ring, and a few hours of air conditioning and affection. But somehow, she’d ended up here—idling by Riverside in a car that purred with decadent control, less an animal’s snarl, more a savvy grin. A flick of her foot on the pedal had set it forward like a breath—no lurch, no grunt. Just a seamless glide, the motion of a motor made to conquer without show.

New York City arrayed as circuitry in front of them—vast, shining, veined with red brake lights and screw-ups. They had chased the fringes of midnight toward a lookout she hadn’t been to in years, one of those places you only returned to when you had something to prove. Not anymore, the McLaren did it for her.

Her fingers traced the stitched grooves of the steering wheel, supple black leather, and the centre console illuminated the space like the cockpit of a fighter jet: chrome, carbon fibre, touchscreens glowing like digital seduction. Even the whole cabin smelled like ozone, leather and aerospace engineering. Every inch of it whispered, you don’t belong here.

Yeah, she didn’t. Her fingernails still had dirt under them. Her shoes were vintage consignment pretending to be Gucci. Her confidence, like most things in this city, was counterfeit—but expensive-looking.

And goddamn, did she look good pretending.

She glanced at the rearview mirror. The black sedan behind them hadn’t moved out of formation since the restaurant. No hazard lights, no overt tailing. Harry’s version of subtlety: a ghost that reeked of payroll.

Then her ex-target's voice cut through the hum of the engine.

“So,” he said, so offhandedly it almost sounded bored—if not for the fact that he was watching her like a man circling a flame. “Cartier or Harry Winston before closing time? I did promise you a handful of rings.”

She glanced over at him, lips quirking.

This man. This ludicrous, outrageous man. He had no idea the effect he had on her. Or maybe he did—and that was half the danger.

Here she was, fresh off scamming him into a disgustingly expensive dinner, jacking his family heirloom right under his nose, and now she was joyriding his million-dollar toy while he reclined in the passenger seat like some amused villain who’d already won.

She snorted, not bothering to hide the laugh. “I just need to say this out loud for the universe: I am using the absolute hell out of you.”

Harry leaned his head back, one arm slung behind her seat, the other lazily adjusting the cuff of his blazer. “If anything,” he said, “I’m disappointed you’re not using me more.”

She raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t enough?”

“Hardly. If I were in your little shoes,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward her strappy knockoffs, “we'd already be popping a bottle of Dom on a jet, halfway to Geneva right now.”

Her laugh cracked out before she could stop it. “Wow. Talk dirty to me, Papi.”

Grinning that tongue-in-cheek smile of his, he reached for her feet, pulling them up into his lap without asking. Scud dusted his sleek custom trousers, but he only focused on tracing lazy circles along her calf—intimate, absentminded, entitled, so domestic.

He toyed with the buckle of her shoe, lifting it with an index finger. “Speaking of, we need to get you a new pair. Maybe a dozen. You’ve got the legs for it.”

“Jimmy Choos,” she said, going along with it.

“Done.”

“And while you’re at it, maybe a penthouse on the east side?”

“Take mine.” Then added, “Conditionally.”

She shook her head, smiling. “Still trying to bankroll what you can’t own.”

He kissed the inside of her ankle, exactly where she’d dabbed perfume to mask the shoe funk. “Still stealing what you secretly want to keep.”

Her heart thudded—almost annoyed at the betrayal. That little jump, that involuntary jolt at his voice, his closeness. As if her body hadn’t gotten the memo that she was supposed to be in control.

She let her head tip lazily toward him, eyes half-lidded. “You really want to be used by me?”

He leaned in, that sinuous way he did everything, as though gravity didn’t apply to him quite the same. “Only you.”

God knows she'd heard every variation of flattery laced in a threat—but that wrecked, gruff tone of his crushed under her ribs she didn’t care to name.

She held his gaze for a second too long, the moment coiling tight between them, breath warming the space where danger meets desire. She could taste it. This thing between them. It was scorched sweet.

He tilted his head, that lazy confidence coiled behind his jaw like a spring. “You’re the only one who uses me right, sweetheart. You do it selfish. And it works.”

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said, because it was. But more so because it was true. In the non-tragic fucked-up way that made her heart twitch in a place she didn’t like to acknowledge.

“Is it?” he leaned in, letting his knuckles graze the inside of her thigh. “Because it sounded a hell of a lot like a compliment to me.”

She tilted her head with that dangerous little smirk, which usually preceded theft or sex.

“Tell me what you think I want from you,” she said, the implication lingering like steam off an expensive glass.

He didn't miss a beat; he met her gaze, dead-on. “Comfort. Sex. Money. Exactly in that order.”

Well. That was blunt. But she mostly got used to the sting.

It wasn’t a wrong guess, but it wasn’t the whole picture, either. That was the problem with men like Harry; they saw the silhouette and thought they interpreted the sculpture.

She projected that image—Eve, a loose, cocky, precocious thief in a pretty dress. It was the only currency that worked in most rooms. But… a part of her wanted to be seen through it, not as it. Charming fun. Clever girl. Desirable for more than how easily she slipped a watch off a man’s hand or a moan from his throat.

She inhaled through her nose, lips parting like a question left unsaid. “You really think that’s all I am?”

“I think you’ve figured out how to get what you want,” he said, his hand slipping casually down to the arch of her ankle. “And I respect the hell out of it.”

It wasn’t a no, but it wasn’t the yes she’d been half-daring him to say, either.

She looked away, a flick of her lashes down, forming a curtain between them. The lights of the city glimmered past the windshield, multicoloured, a little blurred. She didn’t even realise she’d gone quiet until—

His fingers clicked in front of her face. She blinked, coming back to herself, and turned just in time to catch his smirk.

“Earth to Eve?”

She sat up a little straighter, drawing her legs out over his lap in an easy stretch, avoiding a pang that was still ringing somewhere in her ribs. Her heel grazed the far car door, the other foot resting right where he wanted her. She could work with that.

She smiled—bright, artificial, wicked. “Hm?”

“Where’d you go, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Back to our suite,” she lied, sugar-tipped, curling his hand between her bare knees. She guided it higher until his fingers found the hem of her dress and slipped beneath, “First, I want to know something.”

Thin lace. Warm skin. Low hum of history.

His palm cupped her, long fingers pressing against the soaked scrap of fabric as if he wasn’t already fluent in the language of her thighs. And still, she caught it—that stutter in his breath, the falter in his cool. Good. Let him lose his balance a little. She liked him like that.

“Does this question have to do with you coming on my hands?” he rasped.

She laughed, full-throated and bright, head tilted back like she'd just heard a good joke. “Don’t you want your ring back?”

He blinked, stunned, stupidly handsome. But before he could fathom a reply, she caught his hand in both of hers and pressed the car’s key fob into his palm. Then, with a magician’s flair—wrist tilted just so, fingers guiding the moment like sleight-of-hand, let the reveal land—there it was.

The emerald, back on his ring finger like it had never left. Gleaming.

“We’re even,” she said casually, all silk and smoke, like she hadn’t rehearsed that little flourish hours ago.

He gave a disbelieving laugh, a sound of him still catching up, halfway between fury and foreplay. She thrived with that sound on him—surprise laced with surrender.

“And this?” He gestured between them, a vague sweep of his hand as if it incorporated the entire cyclone.

“A draw, maybe,” she sang out. Then—after a beat—“Unless you want to raise the stakes.”

But his eyes flicked to hers—amusement glinting in the depths of them.

“You know,” he drawled, slow as molasses and twice as rich, “I promised myself I wouldn’t let you walk away tonight. I even…”

He undid his blazer button with a flick of his thumb, rolled the sleeve back, shirt cuff—pressed, white, expensive. Bare wrist, no watch.

The custom Hublot was missing. Only the steel bracelet jangled noiselessly, missing its pair.

Her smile bloomed—teeth and mischief. Pure delight with a cherry on top.

He looked at his wrist again, as if it might’ve reappeared, then at her. Half-outraged (you little shit), half-astonished (I really want to fuck you), and completely turned on. Her man.

“Way ahead of you, honey,” she whispered. Winking, but not bothering to show the prize. That wasn’t the point. She never flashed what she’d already claimed.

Theft was foreplay, and proof was irrelevant. And didn’t it feel good being her?

And the fact that somewhere between the appetiser and the edge of his self-control, he couldn’t stop chasing her even as she’d slipped through his fingers and walked off with both the crown and the kingdom.

In that moment, she felt like a force of nature. Beautiful, smug and completely untouchable.

And yet... she knew how this would go. How she’d go home eventually, peel off her heels, strip the night away, and set the Hublot down on her dresser like a trophy, her evidence of reality, even though it would never match anything she owned—too masculine, too boorish, too expensive.

And she’d lie awake, wondering if Harry was laughing right now, alone in his too-big bed, in a penthouse that echoed with emptiness. Or perhaps giving security some nondescript bullshit line like, “Don’t chase her. I'll find her soon.”

Now, she languidly drew her legs back into the footwell, all part of the final act. One last fluid exit, stage left. She reached for her satchel that she'd slotted somewhere by the console.

The butterfly door hissed open with a smooth hydraulic sigh, too much preposterous sex appeal. But before she could duck out, Harry’s warm, possessive hand caught her wrist.

“Give me something in return,” he said, voice fraying at the edges. Like if she didn’t, he’d unravel.

She turned, one brow lifting with theatrical grace—that signature look—you don’t know who you’re playing with, do you?

“I gave you something mind-blowing an hour ago,” she muttered, chin tilting.

He smirked, but didn’t let go. “Something of yours, sweetheart.” His gaze dropped to where her purse was on her lap, then climbed again, a lazy drag that felt like fingertips down her spine.

“I’m a materialist, too. You know that.”

That made her laugh, laced with irony only women like her could master—mostly weapon, all charm.

What was he, Prince Charming? Did he want a glass slipper, a trace of perfume, a lock of hair? Did he expect her to leave behind some totem of surrender, some girlish trace he could pine over, so he could come chasing after her with keen, awaiting arms and an incurable erection?

Oh, this poor man. Wrong fairytale.

His lopsided smile twitched, as if he were biting the inside of his cheek just to keep himself in check, which also made her hesitate for half a second.

Just long enough for a thought to flicker through her. Unserious. Wildly inappropriate. Which, of course, meant it was perfect.

She shifted in her seat with catlike precision, eyes holding his, lifting her hips just enough to hook her thumbs beneath the waistband of her panties—white lace, delicate, and soaked through in the patternings that would make anyone blush. They slid down in an inching, methodical glide—past her soft thighs, her knees, her calves, her ankles—until she held them between two fingers. A peace offering. A punchline. A poem in cursive.

But oh, Harry saw. His pupils expanded. His jaw ticked. There was the faintest inhale—so minor you could miss it if you weren’t looking for it.

And then she twirled them once, dainty and devilish, before looping the lace over the rearview mirror, letting them hang there like some heretical pair of fuzzy fucking dice.

“Fits right in your pocket,” she said with a girlish grin. “Low-upkeep. No batteries required.”

“I was hoping for your number,” Harry murmured, voice dragging a beat slower now, eyes still on the lace dangling from the mirror. “But I’ll have to look into your file for that. Might gild this.”

“Or sniff it like a sick fuck, I won't judge,” she replied, grinning as her fingers skimmed his jaw, affectionate enough to confuse.

Then she leaned in, cupped his jaw, and embossed a gentle kiss to his cheek. Absolute mockery to his devastation. She didn’t pull back right away; her lips hovered near his ear, voice dropping a fraction.

“You said file,” she murmured, the piece clicking into place. “That means you’ve been digging.”

His grin didn’t twitch. “You gave me a fake name, stole from me, then disappeared. What wronged man wouldn’t?”

Of fucking course.

That name. The one she’d given him in a silk-wrapped lie, born over fine liquor and misdirection. Eve—first woman, first sin, first scam. She’d let him keep it mostly because it worked, fit her like one of his tailored suits: sharp, pricey, vaguely challenging.

But Harry Castillo wasn’t stupid. Two days were plenty of time for a man like him to trace her name, her past, even her blood type if he really wanted. She knew the kind of resources he had, which meant either he’d been telling the truth—he had been out of town—or he’d been playing a longer game. And if he was playing, she needed to know the rules.

When she pulled back just enough to study his face, his eyes held hers with an agonising grace.

“Mm,” she mused. “And what’d you find?”

“I’m not a man who gives away his sources.”

She bit her lip. “But you’ve read it.”

His hand flexed on the leathered console, as if he were cogitating some undecipherable truth in his wide palm. “Skimmed,” he admitted. “Certain... hidden highlights.”

That made her laugh. “Did it come with a caution label?”

“Countless,” he said mordantly. “In red, underlined.”

She giggled, a little proud. “Bet you liked that so much it got you hard.”

He looked at her for a long, unreadable second. “You made sure of that.”

She smirked. “So, what else do you know?”

He let his miles-deep eyes trace her as though he were approximating her against intel he had in his desk somewhere. Fact versus sensation. Biography versus influence.

Finally, he said, “Enough to want more.”

“Of me?” she asked, arching a brow.

“Of the truth,” he said simply.

The way he said it got her wavering, which was no easy feat from someone like him. There was no flirtation or ploy involved. Harry was... interested. Still playing the game—but this time, one she hadn’t mapped out entirely.

So she flashed him a smile—bright, effortless, razor-edged. “Good luck with that,” she said breezily. “I charge by the minute.”

Then that smirk ghosted onto his face again—annoyingly familiar, dangerously fond. “I could pick up the tab for the rest of your life, sweetheart.”

Fuck, she wasn't kidding when she said that made her wet to her toes.

She was thinking through it all now. About files, how much he knew, about why the idea of being read like a dossier made her feel more exposed than when she’d dropped her panties for him.

He knew enough to chase, not enough to catch. Until then, that was the only leverage she had left on him.

“Thanks for your time, Mr Castillo,” she added, and that was the sting, of course it was—a jab at the custom Hublot she’d stolen straight off his wrist mid-handjob. She’d pocketed his time, and now she was thanking him for it. Full circle.

She slid out of the car, the hem of her dress flirting with indecency, heels tapping against the pavement, ass bared to the breeze like the night had to feel her too, and the wind responded—chasing her like it wanted to finish what they’d started.

She didn’t look back until she was halfway across the lot, because you know, lesson learned: drama demands distance.

Then she turned—just her head.

Harry was standing outside the car now, one hand braced against the hood like he needed it to stay upright. His thumb stroked at his smirking lower lip like he was trying to remember what just happened—and whether he wanted it to happen again. Shirt collar askew, hair messy from her hands, sweat matted, chest heaving, ring back on his finger—

He looked like debauchery on pause. A wealthy man wondering if, possibly, he’d just met the devil and preferred it to all the angels that roamed.

She gave him a smug, little fingers-only wave. Fucking couture.

The exit mask mattered. The smoking, final walk away in heels someone else paid for, hips swinging like a metronome wound up on spite and superiority.

Another dumbass bites the dust.

You need to know that, at the end of the day, Eve didn’t just chew on any apple. She carved it into slices, served it on stolen silver, and made sure God was watching.

Her bittersweet punishment was history.

Because temptation lingered, smiling when it burned, knowing where you kept your heart vaulted, and it definitely never forgot who bit first.

© damneddamsy

scam ideas for part 3? I'm thinking of the club and a bigshot entrepreneur 👀

taglist 🫶 { @oolongreads (you are my one and only), @woodxtock (my baby girllll, my whole life), @divine-timings , @jodiswiftle (BAY-BEH!), @bensonispunk @brittmb115 , @for-a-longlongtime (honey, thank you so much for the rants), @pedritotito , @desuidesu , @bluelightwrites , @isa942572 , @mallingcalling-blog , @i-howl-like-a-wolf-at-the-moon , @itstokyo-cos , @holholliday , @i-workwithpens , @any-corrie , @yourallaround-simp , @directfromreynaldo , @tezooks , @yungsuesi-blog , @czessianna , @aleariixx , @noisynightmarepoetry , @th3mrskory , @monamedeiros12 , @oliveksmoked , @gothcsz , @itstheanxietyforme , @lowrisemiller } - for the few interested sweethearts and babes, thank you for your support! 🌻🦋

[wosospacegirl]

why am I lowkey wanting a Leila yn oneshot. Like I know there’s an age gap and Leila doesn’t see yn that way…but also leila

Trigger warning: age gap, little dark and predatory (!!!!) behaviour, don't read it if it makes you uncomfortable.

Not sure how I feel about it, kinda guilty, but whatever.. I had fun writing this little concept. also, kudos if we turned this into a putellas!r

..

Leila glanced up at Y/n, a faint smirk on her lips. They were sharing a room.

There was some kind of mix-up that had happened when the staff was organising who was going to room up with whom. Not that Leila cared much.

The girl in front of her had recently turned twenty. She was young. She let her emotions drive her. She got nervous when she noticed she was being watched. She squeaked when she got embarrassed, like a little mouse.

Leila liked that.

It was her first senior call-up. She was only here because one of the defenders got injured two weeks ago, and the federation had to act fast, call someone up.

So why not Y/n? Barcelona's little star. Alexia's protégé. The U21 standout defender :)

Now, standing under the dim lights of their shared room, Leila wasn't sure it had been a good call. The kid (Leila had to bite back the word) looked like she might fall apart if someone so much as breathed too hard in her direction.,

Defenders were supposed to be the walls of the team. They were supposed to be unshakable. Tough. Right?

And yet, Leila knew Alexia would kill her if she let anything happen to the girl she talked so proudly of. Destroy Alexia's little golden girl? Nah...

All of that should have been enough to put an end to whatever weird thing Leila was feeling. But then Y/n looked at her again, like she was nervous, intimidated, and something else.

And suddenly, Leila wanted to kiss her right here, right now.

She wanted to turn that little scared face into something different.

But of course, Alexia couldn't know about it.

Leila would set the trap in front of Y/n, carefully, and if she was a good little rabbit…She would jump right in.

[dykeadvocate]

Hard Drive [Ellabs]

Pairing: Ellabs x Afab!Reader

Summary: You have the hard drive that Ellie wants and she'll give you a chase, a quick fuck, and then take it from you.

Content: Dom!Abby, switch!Ellie, sub!reader, dark themes, dubcon, scissoring, ellabs chasing reader, being shot at, face slapping, spitting, deepthroating a gun, crying, begging, degradation.

Your breathing was rugged and your body ached for a rest. As you turned each corner, your sneakers squeaked against the floor, alerting her of your exact location.

Of course, your shoes had to start suddenly squeaking now. Just your luck.

The hard drive that you had worked so hard to retrieve was stored in your pocket. Apparently, whatever was on it could bring your organisation down. You needed to get it back to base, but first, you had to deal with the little issue.

You knew Ellie was still chasing you. You could hear her loud footsteps not far behind. Maybe if you weren't so focused on escaping, you would have wondered why the usually silent assassin's footsteps sounded like African elephants.

You continued into the abandoned warehouse facility, looking for an exit. As much as you loved playing this cat-and-mouse game with Ellie, this hard drive was too important to risk losing. You see an open window—a perfect exit.

A bullet whizzed past your head and you duck behind a large wooden box, unholstering your gun and holding it close to your body.

"Are you fucking serious, Ellie?" A female voice hissed.

You frowned. The voice was unfamiliar but was the least of your worries. You thought Ellie was the only person here. Is this place surrounded or did they send two people instead of just Ellie?

"Quit acting like you've never missed a shot before," Ellie snapped.

The warehouse fell into silence and you felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest. You hated this about Ellie. Her silence unnerved you.

You couldn't wait for them to strike first. You ran towards the window, gasping as another bullet whizzed past you. You managed to get 5 feet from the window before you were tackled to the ground, your gun knocked from your hand.

"Slippery today, aren't you?" Ellie grunted as she held your arms down.

A woman appeared at Ellie's side. She was tall, blonde, and muscular.

"Couldn't handle me yourself?" you fought in her grasp "Needed backup?"

Ellie rolled her eyes. "You know damn well I can take you down. I wanted to show Abby how pathetic you are."

"You can't even shoot a moving target,"

That made the blonde woman, Abby, laugh.

You groaned as Ellie slammed you into the floor. Her eyes darkened and her tone switched from playful to serious. "Don't piss me off. Give me the hard drive, let us have some fun, and then we will let you go."

You responded by spitting in her face.

The slap was more painful than usual. She wasn't playing around. Whoever this Abby person was, impressing her meant a lot to Ellie.

Ellie reached into your pocket, pulled out the hard drive and passed it to Abby. With a small fight, she managed to tug your pants and underwear down, leaving your pussy on display. She dragged two fingers through your slick and showed them to Abby, "See? A slut for the chase."

Heat rose to your cheeks and you looked away. Abby crouched next to you and tipped your face to hers with the tip of her gun. Like Ellie, she was breathtakingly beautiful. Abby tsked as you looked away from her, "Keep your eyes on mine."

Normally, you would've fought someone for saying that. But she held a gun to your face and it'd be pretty fucking stupid to do so.

You heard the round of clothes shedding and Ellie spread your thighs. A sigh left her lips as she straddled your cunt and started to rock her hips. You held back a moan, not wanting to give them the satisfaction.

"Gone all quiet on us, huh?" Abby smacked the gun against your cheek lightly with a smirk.

Ellie's words came out in a guttered moan. "Give it a sec,"

It was like those words were your trigger words. Her clit rubbed against yours perfectly, making you moan and your legs quiver. You whimpered when she started to slow down, a telltale sign she was getting close.

"You've been rutting on them for what, 3 minutes, and you're already close? Are you sure they're the pathetic one here?" Abby snickered. She looked over at Ellie as she spoke but her eyes quickly fell back to yours, holding the eye contact that gave you butterflies.

Ellie's brows furrowed and she bit her lip, her hips picking up speed again. You fought against Ellie's hold again, trying to free your hands from her grasp so you could grab her hips but she snarled, "Don't fucking fight me."

Abby tapped the tip of her gun against your lips and you didn't hesitate to open your mouth. She slid the gun down your throat until you started to gag and with an evil smirk, she kept the gun there until your face was stained with tears and you were begging for air. She wiped her spit-stained gun on your shirt, muttering about how filthy you are.

The familiar feeling of your orgasm started to rise and you let out a cry, "Please, Ellie."

You were surprised Ellie hadn't come yet. She was holding herself back but you knew she was close to faltering. Her thrusts were sloppy and her moans turned into grunts. Ellie looked at Abby expectantly.

"You both can cum,"

Your orgasm washed over you, making your back arch and eyes roll to the back of your head. Ellie's grip on your arms loosened as she came, and you were able to grab her hair and pull her into a kiss. She moaned into your mouth.

Ellie pulled back and grinned at Abby. "Your turn?"

Abby huffed. "We're short on time, Williams."

Ellie groaned. You cupped her face and gave her a soft kiss, "I miss you."

She smiled. "I miss you too, baby."

Ellie climbed off your body and you took this chance to pull Abby into a heated kiss. Whilst both of the women were distracted by the kiss, you reached into her pocket, silently cheering.

"Next time?" Ellie asked.

"Next time," Abby confirmed as you pulled away.

As the women started to walk away, you looked at the hard drive safety in your hand.

"What fuckin' idiots," you laughed to yourself and climbed through the window. They were gonna be pissed once they realised.

[tojikai]

SUNDERED

Pairing: Gojo x reader

• Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Alt. Ending

Sundered+ (COMMISSION)

Genre: Angst

tags/cw: angst, mean!gojo(kinda), babydaddy!gojo, babymomma!reader, motherhood, insecurities, arguments

word count: 3.2k

One woman’s life lesson is another woman’s better man.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo intentionally runs into you when you’re buying groceries just to show you his girlfriend. The woman was your classmate from high school. At the first meeting, she was shy and tried avoiding your gaze but Satoru just had to call you and ask something about your daughter. Completely unnecessary but he’s just that much of a jerk. Once was considered an accident. But when it happened two, then three times, you already know that you have to change your shopping schedule.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo picks up his daughter from your house an hour late, rubbing on your face that he overslept because he spent “some time” with his girlfriend last night. Distasteful and disrespectful, but you let it slide cause he seems happy. You don’t want to be a killjoy, right? You were never his girlfriend, to begin with. Just someone he got pregnant from a one-night stand. 

❧ babydaddy!Gojo posts pictures of his day out with his daughter online. His girlfriend carrying your kid as the three of them wear matching Mickey and Minnie Mouse headbands. You could only scroll past and continue your work to busy yourself. Maybe you should stop lurking around social media and just use your phone for important messages. Maybe you should also lose feelings for someone who never harbored genuine ones for you in the first place.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo always lets his girlfriend open the door for you when you’re picking up your daughter from his house on weekends. He leans back on the couch, watching you grab your daughter’s things, opening his arms to cuddle with his girlfriend before you even get to walk out the door. It made you feel pathetic and small but what can you do? There’s simply no place for you in that house.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo insists that you spend more time together for the sake of your daughter. You agreed to it and now, you had to sit in the back of the car with your daughter as he drives his girlfriend to work. It made you feel sick and nauseous that you were only able to spend half a day with them before you decided to go home and sleep the day away. Maybe when you wake up, you’ll find it in you to hate him.

“Mommy? Call her, love.” Gojo used a higher voice to encourage his daughter to call you. He knows that he was foul for what happened earlier. But what is he gonna do? He can’t reject his girlfriend’s request, plus it was only a ride. It’s not like she was with you for the whole day. Still, he doesn’t think it’s the reason why you left early. You might be feeling…tired. Even if it was Saturday yesterday and you have no work. You might still feel fatigued on Sunday, right?

“Mama!” The little girl mimicked pointing upstairs. Satoru sighed placing her little bag on a nearby chair as he made his way upstairs. He figured that if you’re still asleep, he could just wait for you to wake up and just look after his daughter here. You’re a single mother for 4 days a week, and on top of that, you also have work. You literally don’t have time to rest. He told himself that he needs to stop messing around just to get a reaction from you. 

Reaching your room, Satoru knocked on the door three times, calling out your name when you didn’t answer. “Wait a second.” You voiced out from the other side, “I’m just gonna call my mom, can you wait for her?” You suppressed a cough at the end of the sentence but it didn’t go unnoticed by Satoru. “Are you sick? I could take her back to my house, we’ll look after her until you feel better. ” The suggestion made your stomach churn. They get to play house with your kid and here you are, being miserable.

You shook your head, realizing how bitter you sounded. She wasn’t unkind in any way to your baby but something in you hurts when you think of them giving your daughter the family experience that you cannot provide. You and Satoru tried to work things out but you just can’t get on the same page. Instead of trying to be better for you and your daughter, he decided to fuck around and date someone else instead. 

You wouldn’t say that your name was clean. What with a couple of threats such as finding someone who could act right. You just didn’t think that he’d really leave. It hurt but now you’re getting yourself used to the feeling. Maybe he just couldn’t act right with you. Because why is he so good with his girlfriend now? She tamed him, as he once boasted to you during a fight.

“I’m stuck with a child that I have with you, but not with you.” He pointed out, leaving a searing pain in your chest. “There’s no way I’m letting that happen.” Tears were starting to form in your eyes as the words come out of his mouth. How could he say something so cruel to you, the mother of his child? All you did was tell him that his girlfriend was getting kind of too much after she told you what to do with your child. And now he’s making you the villain.

“I just told her that—�� You tried to explain, voice starting to shake. “If that’s all you did, she wouldn’t come to me crying, Y/N.” You just can’t believe that you’re fighting over this. You already have so much to think about and now this, you also have to be cautious about his girl. “She told you herself, I just didn’t want her telling me how to raise my child!” 

“Of course, she wouldn’t tell me that you’re being harsh to her. Unlike you, she’s actually kind and considerate of other people’s feelings.” You looked down, letting out a strangled sob escape your throat before quickly wiping away the forming tears in your eyes as you turn away from him. Why was he never this defensive of you? He didn’t even try to fight for you when his girlfriend convinced him to take your daughter with them on a trip. Without your permission.

And now he’s talking as if you’ve been nothing but a disturbance in his relationship with her. Everything's just unfair. Yet, you just let it slide because you wanted nothing but peace for your baby. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you anymore, Satoru. You’ve said enough.” You sniffed, walking to your daughter’s room to check if the noises woke her up. Satoru was left standing there, processing all the things that he said.

He watched you disappear into the dark hallway of your apartment, shoulders shaking with your head hung low. Even if he can’t see your face, he can tell that you’re crying and it made him feel like shit. He went overboard, didn’t he? “Fuck.” He threw his keys on the couch, running his fingers through his hair. He wanted to apologize but at the same time, he wanted to prove his point. His girlfriend was only trying to help and you took it the wrong way.

At that time, Satoru thought that maybe she was right. You’re just getting kinda jealous that she could spend time with your daughter and Satoru more and now you’re being too sensitive, letting out your irritation on her. She said that it was a natural feeling for a mother to feel that way but Satoru can’t let you treat his girlfriend like shit just because of your pettiness and jealousy. You have to learn to adjust and accept that some things are gonna be the way they are because of your setup. 

As for you, you felt hurt. Neglected even when you know that you’re not supposed to receive as much attention, much less protection from him. His priority is your child, but not you. You have no choice but to talk and work everything out with them for the sake of your daughter. You know that you could start dating someone of your choice but you wished that it would be that easy. You just want to focus on your daughter and if you’re gonna find someone, you want them to love her as much as you do. 

You wonder what you lacked that couldn’t soften him the way he did to her. You started to think that you’re the problem and that is why you couldn’t fix him as easily as she did. 

You stood up, opening the door for him seeing your two-year-old reach out to you. “Mama’s sick, love, sorry.” You covered your mouth, blinking away the heaviness in your eyes. Satoru watched you pack your daughter’s things. “If you’re gonna be busy, just tell me. I’ll just contact Mom. She can be with you for a few days, just until my cold is gone.” You murmured, counting the diapers to put in her baby bag. 

You don’t want to be away from her, but letting her stay with you when you’re like this puts her at risk and that’s the last thing you want. You can’t stand seeing your daughter through pain and you’re pretty sure it’s the same for his dad. Begrudgingly, you placed the bag in front of Satoru before reaching over for her favorite toy. You smiled at how she squealed when she saw it.

“You know we’re never too busy to take care of her. Just rest, so you’ll get better soon.” You swallowed, nodding your head slowly as you thought of what else they should take. “Yeah, I’ll be picking her up.” You kept your distance from her, sitting down as you felt your head spinning a bit. “Do you...do you have medicine, though? I could get some if you want,” Satoru can tell that you’re really sick and despite his situation with you, he can’t just let you be when you’re like this. You’re still the mother of his child. 

“No, it’s fine. I have some here. Just take care of her.” Your voice was hoarse and your daughter was starting to reach out for you again as if sensing that something was wrong so you urged Satoru to get going. “Be good, okay?” You waved as she watched you with her curious eyes but waved back, nonetheless. You wouldn’t admit it but you feel envious that they could be happy together with her. You’re afraid that one day she’ll prefer being with them over you.

As for your feelings for Satoru, you hated thinking or talking about it. You’re obviously in love with him, but you wouldn’t acknowledge that yourself, either. You fought too much, you hurt each other too much. Other than that, there’s no point for your feelings now that he has someone he really loves and truly cares about. 

You never experienced the boyfriend-girlfriend stage with Satoru. It’s like one day, you just woke up and you’re already parents. You can’t blame him for not having real feelings for you. You do your best to be as civil to them as you can be but sometimes his girlfriend’s just out of bounds. And after a couple of painful fights with Satoru regarding her, it just became too much for you. 

You’re just tired of feeling like a wedge to someone’s healthy relationship. That’s how Satoru makes you feel and you just can’t take any ache from that. 

Another thing that you deny to yourself is the hope that you might fix this all. There are always what-ifs in your mind, and you would never tell Satoru about them. He’ll probably laugh at you and your threats that you’re gonna be with someone who truly makes you happy. You would never destroy his relationship just because yours didn’t work. If you have to cover your eyes, look away and pretend to be deaf every time they’re around you, you would. 

You often think about what it would be like if he settled down with his girl; if they decided to get married and have a family of their own. You don’t want your daughter to feel left out. You don’t want her to feel like she doesn’t have her own family in the middle of them. You also wondered if you’d have moved on by then. You hope so. You don’t want to be this pitiful and heartbroken forever.

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

After a couple of days, you’re finally feeling well. You got up early and sent Satoru a text that you’ll be picking up your baby in a few hours. You missed her and her giggles so much. The house was clean during the past days but you very much prefer it to be messy, as long a she’s there. You’ll never mind getting up in the middle of the night or waking up extra early for her. 

Arriving at Satoru’s residence, you rang the doorbell as you waited patiently for someone to open the gate for you. You were hoping that it would be your baby girl, extending her short, chubby arms to you but instead, it was Satoru’s girlfriend. “Come in, she’s still playing inside.” She smiled at you, opening the metal door wider. “Thanks, I messaged Satoru that I was coming to pick her up. Is she ready?” You asked her as you walked to their front door.

“She is, but she’s kinda fussy about it. Satoru bought her a huge playpen and she just wouldn’t get out of it. She’s enjoying a lot.” She tucked a hair behind her ear and you can’t help but feel conscious of how you look. Opening the door, you were welcomed by the sight of Satoru lying down with his daughter in the said enclosure. She was fiddling with a toy as they watched on the big screen. 

Her favorite toy was at the corner, and for some reason, it left a pang in your chest.

“Sweetie, someone’s here for you.” You hated the way she phrased it but you know that she doesn’t mean for it to be offensive or rude to you. The little girl looked up with her binky in her mouth, blinking before smiling at you. “Oh, you’re already here. She wouldn’t let me out of the playpen.” Satoru explained, probably thinking that you didn’t appreciate that it had to be his girlfriend opening the door for you. 

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.” This place always made you feel like you’re an outsider. Probably because you are and it didn’t help that they’re making you feel like it. “Mama!” She waved at you, pointing at the screen as she sat down. “That’s a nice show, love. Maybe we could just continue watching it at home?” You know that she doesn’t have a big playpen there. The screen isn’t that big, either. She suddenly lied back down, whimpering as she kicked her tiny feet. You felt like telling her that you’d work hard to buy her that too.

She doesn’t want to go home yet and that’s what you feared. 

“Baby, mom’s here. She missed you.” Satoru called out but to no avail. He came to lift her up, trying to see if she was just being too lazy to get up. Her eyes were glued to the television as she sucked on her pacifier. She was too into it, pointing the show to everyone before smiling at you. Oh, how you missed that smile. “Let’s go, now.” You cooed at her, softly clapping your hands.

When you tried to reach for her as Satoru leans her close to you, she started wiggling around. “Down, Mama! Wait.” Her cute language never ceases to make your heart swell with joy despite the fact that she’s trying to get away from you. She runs away, stopping to look around before going to Satoru’s girlfriend and hugging her leg. She was in awe when she picked up your daughter. 

So… she’s who your daughter’s referring to by…Mama. You could almost hear your heart shatter at the realization. Since when did she start calling her Mama?

“You don’t wanna go home yet? But Mom’s here.” She talked in her baby voice and you don’t know if you’re gonna be happy that she treats your daughter really well or jealous that she came running to her when she don’t want to do something. Satoru went up to them, leaving you standing a few meters away. You don’t like what you’re seeing aside from your daughter.

“It’s not good to ignore Mama.” Satoru tapped her nose with his finger which she cutely swatted away, eliciting a chuckle from him. “Y/N, I was thinking… maybe I could just, uh, take her home later in the day. This playpen just arrived yesterday and you know how kids are…” He laughed nervously, struggling to find a nice way to say that your daughter won’t be coming home yet.

“Yesterday, I was joking about giving her playmates and she was so excited, she was running around.” His girlfriend giggled as she shared. It was a simple story yet it was a thorn to your heart. Why does it seem like your every nightmare is coming to life? You just smiled at her, understanding that she was talking about giving your daughter siblings. Satoru was silent, but you didn’t dare look at his face. You know that it’s in their future plans and you don’t have to see him smiling about it too. 

“That’s adorable..” You don’t know what else to say, so you just nodded your head slowly, blinking quickly so as to bring yourself back to reality. His place was huge compared to your apartment. The playpen looks so much more comfortable than the crib she has at your place. She has new toys and a mom and dad by her side. So, now she doesn’t want to leave. Suddenly, you can feel the weakness in your knees from when you were sick starting to come back. You cleared your throat as you straightened yourself.

“J-just take her home later. I, uh, bought something for her.” You lied, knowing that you still have to go looking for something you can buy for your lovely child. You wanted to snatch her away from Satoru’s girlfriend, her other mom, but the giggle flowing out of her lips are too precious for you to ruin; the smile on her face as she tickled her tummy was too priceless. Look at them, you told yourself as you started to feel farther and farther away from their little world. They’re a picture of a happy family. 

“I’ll see you later, honey…” You whispered, giving her head a pat as she looked up at you with her big, cerulean eyes. You didn’t wait for any of them to walk you out, you just let your feet take you out of their home, not daring to look back for the fear of breaking down. Your fingers tremble along with your lips and the tiny droplets of rain felt like acid on your skin. Maybe what they say was true. We experience people differently.

One woman’s life lesson is another woman’s better man.

NEXT

[sturnioz]

Ok but imagine fratbro chris with shy!reader

"well, uh, aren't you quiet... like a—like a fuckin' mouse or some shit," chris scoffs with a slight shake of his head, his index and middle finger rubbing the bridge of his nose that scrunches up, sniffing—little white granules tickling the insides.

your teeth bite down nervously on your plush bottom lip, standing in the corner of the living-room, eyes flitting around in search of your friend who had disappeared a moment ago to search for her earring that she had lost the night before during a frat party.

you didn't go, of course.

stuff like this wasn't your scene—the drugs, the booze, the loudness, the crowds. you preferred the quiet night life, sitting at home in your room, watching your favourite shows with a pint of ice-cream, or doing something that you enjoy.

but you offered to drive your friend to the fraternity house when she had blown up your phone this morning, begging and pleading for you to give her a ride when she realised that one of her earrings were missing and that she was desperate to find it—although you're beginning to think she came here for a different reason too when she giggled at the sight of a frat brother, his arm winding around her shoulder as he lead her up the stairs to 'find the missing earring'.

"you jus' gonna stand there the entire time or what, kid?" chris' voice breaks you out of your head, and you blink at him, parting your mouth to speak but closing it once the front door swings open, revealing more frat brothers who come tumbling in, sweaty and gross.

you clutch your jacket tighter to your frame, ducking your head low and keeping your eyes glued to the floor as they walk closer, conversing about something you try to zone out when you hear their crass words—but that doesn't last when you see their shoes stop in front of you in your peripheral vision, and one of the boys addresses you.

"what are you doin' in here?"

you speak up, tone quiet, soft. "waiting for a friend.."

"a friend?" he echoes, a smirk slithering on his lips. "well, while you're waitin' for your friend, why don't you—"

"leave her alone," chris interrupts, and your head snaps towards his direction. he's now rolling a few joints on the coffee table, putting the premades to one side. his eyes flit up to you for a brief moment before darting to the empty space beside him on the sofa, and then back to you. "sit down."

you swallow thickly, your feet carrying you towards his direction and you hear the frat brothers mumble something under their breath before disappearing elsewhere. you sit down softly on the sofa, sinking into the cushiony surface with your hands in your lap, nervously twisting the rings on your fingers as you watch him.

"you're, uh, you're too quiet 'n it kinda freaks me out, if i'm bein' honest," he suddenly admits, licking his lips before lathering his tongue across the paper with one clean stripe. "you look outta place in here—noticeable as shit."

you're a little taken aback by how blunt and honest he is—also a little embarrassed because was it that obvious? you being so out of place in a fraternity house? it also didn't feel great that he said that you freaked him out... that was a stab in the chest.

"you're also kinda cute, though," chris reveals and your head immediately raises at that, the praise making you feel a little warm in the face. "got this uh, this mouse or bunny vibe goin' for ya, y'know? some type of small animal—i don't know."

staring at him, you notice how his pupils are dilated and you assume that his rambling is from him being so amped up from whatever drug is coursing through his system, and your gaze darts down to the table, watching his expert fingers roll.

"you ever take a toke before?" he asks you as he holds out the joint and you shake your head, eliciting a hum from him, "good, good—don't let this shit ruin your pretty lil' head, alright? keep yourself all pure n' innocent up here."

he taps two fingers to your temples and you can't help but nod, glancing at him through wispy lashes and he grins, tonguing at his cheek as his head tilts to the side, watching you.

"yeah... i think you're gonna be my favourite, bun."

© STURNIOZ

[angeliteeyes]

Could you do one of the tough women(like Chiori, Fei Xiao, Kujou Sara) with an opposite S/O who is like super soft and innocent. Imagining colleagues going “oh wow it’s the general/demon seamstress I heard they got a partner what kind of monster could it be” and in walks this person who gives Kirby/isabelle animal crossing energy

I couldn't decide on which girl to write for... so I did all three instead! :p I also themed each s/o after a specific animal hehe (can be read as personality or literal). Here u go!

Chiori, Feixiao, and Kujou Sara with an Opposite S/O

-Chiori-

- She would adore a mouse S/O that's both sweet and a bit whiny with her (or a lot too, since she knows she'll come out on top of any of your childish arguments either way). Outsiders with a harsh impression of Chiori may think that she's a no nonsense type of woman or too blunt for teasing to be her taste. In reality, she eats up your adorable antics like a beast that's been chained up and left to go ravenous. There's a certain thrill to hearing you squeak, whether figuratively or in a much more literal sense.

- Admittedly, the way that you jump easily is so cute that it kind of drives her insane sometimes. She enjoys watching you akin to a cat stalking their prey. The way your attention slowly drifts after a bout of inevitable boredom, the subtle slowing of your breath, the fact that she knows all she'd have to do is sneak up behind you and whisper in your ear and...

Unfortunately, if you're faint of heart similar to a real mouse, she has to back off that idea. How annoying. Still, even if she isn't allowed to jumpscare you, it's not like that's the only way to get your heart racing. Any form of teasing you'll tolerate from her, she'll gladly capitalize on.

- Whenever possible, she likes to have you stay with her while she's working at her boutique. You don't have to do anything or even talk if you're not up for it. Just having you around in the vicinity is enough to make the energy feel warmer, more domestic. Don't be surprised though if she ends up taking more breaks than usual.

- Don't look at her with those big ol' eyes.

Or do—that is, if you want to see her usually composed self turn shy and flustered. This is one of the very few times where your roles are a bit reversed. The way you look at her just feels so damn sweet and innocent, it makes her a little embarrassed of how decidedly not so her own gaze is. She knows that you like how you two balance each other out, but still.

- When you go out together in public, there's a funny dichotomy that plagues her mind. On one hand, she wants to show you off so badly. It's in her blood to take pride in the treasures that hang over her body, so why wouldn't that extend to the pretty lil thing hanging off her arm?

On the other hand, though... People look. And talk. And if there's anyone who knows how mindlessly cruel and antagonizing others can be to those who stand out in a crowd, it's her. Out loud, she takes it all in stride. Any worried comments you make will be swiftly countered by her, and all in her signature self-assured tone. But deep down, it honestly scares the crap out of her wondering if any harm will befall upon you when she's not paying close enough attention. That's why she's here, though, to be your sword and shield whenever you need.

-Feixiao-

- On the battlefield, she appears as a ruthless monster, pouncing at every opportunity to sink her jaws into any and all enemies in sight. As Moon Rage overcomes her, all sense and logic threatens to fade away into nothingness until that void, too, swallows her whole. It's a wonderful thing that she has you to come back home to, or else... honestly, she might not make it back at all.

- In her eyes, you're like her own precious little housecat. No matter what monstrosities she has to face outside, the mere sight of you waiting for her at the front door is enough to wash all her previous worries away in one fell swoop.

- Overall, you have a tendency to bring out a domestic side to her that very few are even aware of, much less get to witness firsthand. From waking up promptly each day and cooking breakfast to bathing together after one of her daily workouts, you two are practically glued at the hip. That is, while she's at home. If we're talking about during her actual workday, that's a whole other story. You deserve to live a life free of the shackles of war and the fear it brings, in her opinion, and the only way to accomplish that is to keep you far, far away from any dangers. So yeah, just be good and stay home.

- As hard as Feixiao tries to act carefree around you, sometimes her mask slips, particularly in the nighttime. She tries to play her sudden jolting upright, dilated pupils with sweat covering her forehead, as her just hearing a noise. She just got a bit startled, that's all. But you know better than that.

Thankfully, even in this state, she's very receptive to you and your attempts to comfort her. Any cuddling will be swiftly reciprocated—maybe too much so, with how roughly she presses you against her racing heart—and in a matter of time, you can already feel her breathing grow restful once more. You may have to nudge her a few times though in order to get her arms to loosen up.

- Between juggling work, training, and spending time with you, there really aren't that many times when you two go out in public together. When you do, though, all eyes are on you (including hers). She may try to act nonchalant about the whole ordeal, teasing you if you end up being shy around others, but don't let that fool you. Even if she's several feet away and chatting up a storm with some coworker or chef, her attention never wavers from you for even a second. It's times like these in which she thanks her lucky stars for her speed, that way she can just race right back to your side the second she detects any potential danger.

- She may not have been able to save every person she's cared for in her life. But as long as she's able to protect you and give you the peace you deserve, that's something she can live with.

-Sara-

- Relationships are hard for her, to say the least. No matter what kind or how easy other people around her make it look, it's just not in her skill set. The scars of being isolated from her peers at such a young age still mar her heart to this day, not to mention her firm belief that she must suppress any and all personal desires of hers for the sake of the Shogun.

This is why she ends up finding herself bonding so deeply with a capybara S/O. Your far more relaxed demeanor allows her to slowly let her guard down without feeling too exposed all at once. You also have the patience to deal with all of her social abnormalities, which she greatly appreciates.

- To be honest, when she first fell in love with you, she didn't ever plan on asking you out. Love was just one of the countless indulgences that someone of her status could not be allowed. That's just how things are for her—or at least, how they were before you gently destroyed the very foundations that made up her worldview and self-image.

It was a slow progression. First, you politely thanked her for saving you from a rogue attacker, making her stomach churn in ways she couldn't comprehend. Then, you sweetly called out to her one day in passing with sweets in tow. She refused initially, of course, but the way you looked so disappointed... she figured that one treat couldn't hurt. Little did she realize that your gentle way of loving would eventually be her undoing.

- The breaking point where she realized she couldn't leave you alone was when you two bumped into each other on a day where you weren't feeling so well. Someone was cruel to you and said hurtful things, but nothing physical in which her position could be of any use. As tears visibly welled up in your eyes, it occurred to her that just protecting the people you care for simply isn't enough. She wanted to do more than that. She yearned to care for you in painful times like these and become your shoulder to cry on, however stiff hers may be. And thus, her icy exterior began to melt.

- Her subordinates are shocked to discover that Sara has a partner, but honestly? They're just happy that she finally seems at peace. Some people initially tried to tease her about you, but the problem is that her love for you is so genuine and heartfelt that she never feels any shame talking about you in the first place. Trust that she will say the sappiest shit you'll ever hear in your life without a single hint of shame. You're the greatest thing to happen to her, so why would she be embarrassed of her love for you? That's absurd.

- On a side note, she's been eating a lot of sweets lately. They end up being a sort of personal symbol of the life lessons you've indirectly taught her about self-care and love.

Pssssssst. Her favorite is the kind that you once gave to her. You might even catch her eyes getting a little misty if you baked them from scratch.

[sturniolosass]

Quiet. - Matt Sturniolo

Summary: You and Matt are bored of the movie you’re watching and a few things go down… including the bed frame being broken

-based on this post i made a few days back..

Warnings: smut, swearing, choking, biting, Dom!Matt, Sub!reader…etc.

[You and Matt had been together for a while now, around seven months to be exact.

Tonight Matt had decided to invite you over something you’re always down for. But as of now you we being somewhat ignored while he played a couple games of fortnite with his friends.. Chris included]

Readers POV

Unfortunately I couldn’t help but become more and more bored by the second… wishing he’d get off the game and give me more attention.. Something I felt too bad to admit considering he’s always getting off the game when I’m around… Eventually (after 2 hours) I got fed up with just sitting around in the background so I decide to grab a extra chair from the Dinning area and sit next to him

Upon sitting the chair down Matt looks up at me and smiles.. only a quick glance so he could assess my facial movement hoping I wasn’t as mad as I seemed.. I just look at the screen..

After around 5 minutes i start to focus on the way his hands are moving.. super fast.. over the keys he pressed so delicately, it turned me on, fast.. “shut the fuck up pussy” Matt shouts at a player he killed.. I could slowly feel my pink underwear get soaked, an extra large T shirt Matt had given me keeping me from staining the chair..I slowly run my hands down to my underwear to check if i’ve made a mess on the chair, hoping Matt doesn’t catch me when my hands between my legs.. I remove my hand quickly after realizing I’ve made a nice sized puddle on the seat running to my bag I grab a clean pair of underwear and rush out to the bathroom.. Not even thinking of the puddle on the chair..

I return from the bathroom and am immediately greeted with darkness.. I was confused for a second until i hear Matt, “come over here” he speak from his bed in the darkness.. “Did you get off the game? why is it dark.” i ask still confused.. “just come here” he spouts. I climb in the bed with my two knees, immediately sweep off them and laid flat on the mattress.. Matt above me with my wrists pined down with his hands.. “you made a huge mess on my chair..” He spoke leaning down directly in my ear.. “ how am i supposed to clean that” he added

“i didn’t mean to..” i spoke… “he turns his head.. “hmm what was it? what got you all worked up” he asks one hand trailing down my stomach to reach for my pussy… “i-it was.. you playing the game.. well—your fingers specifically.. they really made me hot..” i reply lightheaded.. “is that so? what about them?” he asked pushing his hands in my underwear slowly “was it? my hand on the mouse or the keys? or was it how fast you correlated it to me holding you down and rubbing your pussy” he questioned hand reaching my hole, eventually diving in with two fingers.. I couldn’t reply, too stunned to speak as he pushed his fingers further lathering them up in my juices, he pulls his hand out sucking both fingers.. pulling my underwear down from underneath me..

Kissing down my stomach as he yanked them down.. arriving at my area placing a soft kiss almost as a sign of respect due to the fact that he’s about to devour the poor thing.. Face immediately digging in causing me to spur a few profanities “oh fu-shit- Matt” i moaned, as his tongue run up and down on my clit, sucking and slobbering all over it.. “please Matt” i beg, worried I’d make a even bigger mess than before on the chair.. He just continues to eat me out, licking in somewhat of a figure eight formation.. moaning in between every one of my moans..

Coming closer to my climax i can’t help but grab his head pushing him deeper in my ocean, tongue diving deeper than the titanic, as i begin to orgasm i start to cream, him sliding two fingers in and out of me as his tongue does the two step on my flit sends me into over drive.. In less than two minutes I’m finishing, him still pumping two fingers in and out as he smiles up at me, gorgeous blue eyes staring in my soul

Rising over me and pulling my legs down he looks me in my eyes causing me to get more wet by the minute. He leans down closer to my neck kissing down to my collar bones, “Matthew please just fuck me” I beg not being able to take his soft lips kissing all over me.. wanting for him to just be inside me already.. “i’m going as fast as i can love..be patient.” he speaks finally making it to my nipple, sucking it him between his teeth immediately, rolling his tongue around it like a lollipop, he then grabs my waist pulling himself down closer to me.. his warm body hovering over me.. he releases my nipple “are you ready love?” he asks staring up at me from my boobs “yes matt please! i-I need you!” i beg in to which he pulls his pants down his ankles and off his legs.. He positions himself to my hole, mesmerized by the juices flowing out. “ok” he smiles and slides in for the first thrust, his hands gripping his headboard above me, “aghh-Ma-you’re so big oh my-“ i moan feeling every inch of him enter me.. being shadowed by his arm hanging from the bedpost.

He continues to thrust deeper and deeper in me, brushing that spot each time “oh f-fu-Matt” i stammer. “look at me?” he tells “huh” i react unable to keep my eyes open.. “look at me, i wanna see you cum, i wanna be the last time you think of when you climax” he asks thrusting in and out in such a quick pace.. eventually i hear a crack.. unbothered by it he continues to stroke deep gripping the bed frame tighter and tighter with each thrust, becoming deeper and deeper with each stroke..

“FUCK” he moans almost as a shout.. “ouu- matthew..fuck me..goodness” a few moans utter from my breathless mouth.. I can feel myself arching my back as i let my orgasm take over me. “MATT-fuck” i scream in to which he grabs my face preventing me from screaming any louder.. I can feel him begin to increase his pace looking in my eyes “yeah, i know baby” he says “cum for me” he adds.. “just like that” he says as he pushes me to orgasm..

I watch his face contort as his thrust get violent, getting closer to his high. eyes closing as he lets out the breathiest moans “o-oh fu-ck, shi- god you feel like heaven” he breathes. eyes rolling back, and just then that’s when i hear the bed frame crack, both of us falling 20 inches to the floor, mattress and bed cot underneath us, matt still inside me. He hurriedly gets up “are you ok? are you ok?” he stammers worriedly sliding out of me and hopping off the bed “i’m ok im just on the floor” i laugh from the angle im looking up at him.

He then helps me up and stands there thinking of a way to fix his bed, now on the floor.. He decides to remove his bed frame completely for the time being.. “Can you sit over at the desk?” he asks looking at me with a concerned look.. I just laugh and walk over and sit in his chair grabbing his rob from the hook on his door. He then pulls on a pair of basketball shorts before lifting the bed up off the ground leaning it against the wall then grabbing each panel one by one taking them down to the garage..

I just decide to hop in the shower..

Once i’m out the shower i come back in the room for the second time to see Matt sitting on his bed, that is now on the floor completely made up with no bed frame.. “I didn’t know what else to do.. I can order a new one tomorrow” he states.. “haha ok, what are we gonna tell Chris and Nick” I laugh thinking of all they’d have to say… “I don’t know..Nothing for now” he chuckles.. I just hop into the bed.. “your TV is up wayyyy too high now” i laugh at his TV mounted to the wall. “stop- i’m gonna have a bed frame!!” he whines jokingly.

3 hours later…

You hear Chris and Nick in the hallway talking about a fortnite game they were playing which spikes Matt’s attention. He hops up and runs out the room..

Minutes later you hear Matt nearing the bedroom door talking to Chris.. They both enter the room in a rush to what i’m assuming is get to the fortnite launch.. “Yo what the fuck-what happened to your bed” Chris states, Nick walking in behind them.. he gives you a funny disgusted look walking out the room “You both are nasty- oh my god” he fake gags. Matt and I both look to eachother. Chris shaking his head in disapproval “i can’t believe that’s what i was hearing earlier” “I need to go” He adds walking out the room and down the steps to his. “NICK ITS NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE” I yell.. “GIRL BYE” He shouts back from the steps leading to his room making his way up the stairs so they can all get on the game.

You and Matt just giggle with eachother before he puts his headset back on…

De End 🧌

A/N: aye i wrote this as fast as i could for yall,so you know… my bad if it isnt “perfect”, also idk if i should’ve had a tag list but.. idk lmk if yall wanna be on a tag list.. also btw message me yalll!! I BE BORED!!

[alaskan-wallflower]

i’ve talked about pony beating people up because he crashed out over johnny and dally’s deaths but how about this

darry gets a call at work that ponyboy got suspended. he nearly faints right then and there on the landline as he asks what for, and the principal won’t answer, just tells darry he needs to pick ponyboy up from school. so darry’s in his truck, absolutely fuming and scared shitless about what pony possibly could’ve done, and when he gets into the office he sees pony, arms folded over his chest, hair covering his face, biting his lip so hard it bled. if looks could kill, pony would’ve put everyone in that room into an early grave. beside him are two kids, one of them is crying with an ice pack to his left eye. the other’s nose is clearly broken. the both of them are bruised and bloodied, and the principal sits darry down and explains everything. pony got into a fight, beat up those kids and had to be removed from the area until he calmed down. and now, he was suspended. the only thing he left out was WHY pony had beaten them up

darry gets into the car, slamming the door as he drives home, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are turning white. as soon as he gets home, he turns to pony with the most venomous glare he possibly could.

“what on god’s green earth compelled ya to beat up some kid?!”

and from then on darry was just ranting, not letting pony get a single word in. every time pony opened his mouth, darry would warn him not to interrupt. darry needed to rant when he was mad. when darry finally relents and lets pony speak, pony opens his mouth before looking down at his hands, which were clenched tightly in his lap. he struggles to choke the words out, they felt like broken glass scraping up his throat as his lip quivered. he finally answered, looking darry right in the eye.

“they was insultin’ you, dar.”

pony would’ve laughed at the look on darry’s face if the situation hadn’t been so dry. he looked like ol’ mickey mouse whenever he got spooked, reeling back a bit, eyes widening with surprise. pony explains it all, some kids were talking about darry, how much of a deadbeat he was for dropping school, how much wasted potential he had, how he was a no good dropout, carrying on the “curtis legacy” (i headcanon their dad dropped out of school too to be a war vet), and pony just lost it. he didn’t even remember fighting them. the next thing he knows, darry’s awkwardly debating on hugging pony, thanking him, still being angry…he’s so damn torn on what to do. after a few minutes of thinking, he squeezes pony’s shoulder and does thank him, but tells him violence isn’t the right path for him, and that he should’ve left it be. he felt a lot of what they said was true anyway. but he didn’t want pony to ruin his chances of going to college. he would be the first curtis boy to go to college in generations, darry would see it through.