#without the secondary name

[front-facing-pokemon]

[just-someone-online]

I think it'd be fun if a non-Cure from one season got a transformation item from another season.

Like, if the HapCharge and GoPri Cures were fighting some new guy near Noble Academy and Yui ends up getting her own PreChange Mirror. Or if Regina (I like Cure Joker but just ignore her for a minute) got a Sky Mirage from Ellee. Or if the Max Heart Cures are helping protect the Healin' Garden and Shiho and Rina get their own Healin' Animal partners. Maybe Syrup could get a PreHeart and be a mailman themed Cure.

And design wise, they could all pull a Cure Echo and mix each season's designs. Yui could have the distinctive vest of the Happiness Charge Cures and everything else would be in line with the Go! Princess designs. Regina could maybe share some design cues from Cure Ace? I'm not completely sure what Hirogaru aspects she would get. But functionally, they would have the powers of whatever season their transformation device comes from.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! House Monster x Reader (II)

It’s officially a smutty sitcom: you, the oblivious gamer boyfriend, and the tentacle monster lurking in dark corners.

[First part]

Content: gender neutral reader, monster smut

Do monsters have a sense of humor? This creature seems to be greatly amused by the little "game" you've devised behind your boyfriend's back. Although you don't have much input in the affair, and most of the time you're merely a witness to the events unfolding before you (or in you).

First, there's the mild, inoffensive annoyances. "Babe, did you see my controller? I swear I left it on the couch". Some pranks are harder to swallow than others, such as the occasional lack of Internet. You know exactly when it happens, because you can hear your boyfriend's enraged shouts and rattles. It's always during important matches. No one knows why it happens. The repairmen who cross your threshold can only scratch their heads in confusion, confessing that nothing is out of the ordinary.

Then, the unfortunate coincidences. "How about we have some fun after my game?", the boyfriend will suggest with an anticipative grin. Alas, moments after he stands up, he is overwhelmed by a nauseous feeling. His stomach twirls and throbs, and he curses under his breath. "Some other time, perhaps", he concludes begrudgingly. You see, the creature is very possessive. The only thing that has saved your beloved partner from being torn to shreds already is his crassly comical obliviousness.

The mischief aimed towards the boyfriend is, however, a secondary source of entertainment. Nothing could ever come close to spending time with you. Yet another irony to this ridiculous situation: you haven't been caught yet, despite the rabid clinginess of the tentacled monster.

It just loves surprising you. For example, when you exhale dramatically at the end of the day, relaxing in the bathtub and enjoying your peace. Just as you hear an impatient knock on the door, you notice a familiar dark tendril slithering its way out of the water. You won't be leaving the bathroom anytime soon. "Did you steam yourself over there? You look like a lobster", the boyfriend will remark with a raised eyebrow upon seeing your panting, feverish face. "Y-yeah, I guess so." You limp outside, struggling to hold the towel around your body. Or more specifically, around the many marks left on your skin by hundreds of suckers.

In fact, its shamelessness reminds you of a poorly written erotic scenario, the likes you'd see on some adult website with a clickbait title. How would you name this current setup? You grip the edge of the table, pursing your lips to prevent any moans escaping your mouth. Your boyfriend is, once again, scrolling on his phone, indifferent to your presence. The water boiling on the stove drowns the wet, slippery sounds of the appendages pumping in and out of you underneath the table. “You might want to give it a stir in a moment, or it’ll overflow”, the boyfriend remarks without lifting his gaze. You mumble in agreement, slapping a hand over your mouth. You’re at your limit.

One may be tempted to ask, is this entity bound to its house? You pondered the same question until your recent IKEA visit. You and your boyfriend had been looking for a new wardrobe. "What do you think of this one?", you asked, closing the door and turning around. Your eyes scanned the empty model-bedroom. The jackass had wandered ahead without you. You sighed and were about to go find him, when a cold grip suddenly tightened around your wrist. You winced and snapped your head back. Thick tendrils had made their way out of the closet, tugging you to join them inside. So it can follow you around, you thought, climbing into the cramped space. Between the silent whines and breathy begging, an idea emerges from your dazed mind. New hypothetical video title: mercilessly molested in the IKEA store by monster partner.

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

Life imitates art - Dr. Jack Abbot x amputee!reader

Summary: 2.6k words. Jack is sent into a tailspin when the woman he’s been eyeing for months at his amputee support group arrives at the Pitt in a gurney. Based on this request by @seasiren212! (this is now a series! Here's the master list)

Warnings: canon-typical depiction of wounds and medical situations, cancer in remission, some medical jargon, reader’s history of BKA, Jack’s history of BKA & accident, age gap, angst, etc. The most unrealistic part of this fic is a doctor spending this much time with one patient (live laugh love the U.S. healthcare system).

a/n: ugh I cried a little bit while writing this. I’m so passionate about oncology care mwah. Abbot is working day shift in this fic. Surrender yourself to the plot and pretend he’s covering for Robby if you must. Divider credit!

At 23 years old, your leg was amputated just below the knee. You’d been fighting bone marrow cancer for a while now, and you were running out of treatment options. To mitigate the risk of significant metastasis, your oncologist recommended an amputation.

So it was off with your leg.

Before the amputation, you’d spent months in and out of the hospital. Somehow, despite the fatigue, aches, and genuine existential crisis over whether this reality was a fate better than death, you graduated with your Master's degree in art history after completing most of the program virtually from your hospital bed. You got special permission from the dean of your university’s college of the arts to defend your thesis from the hospital. Your nurses arranged for you to use a conference room on the floor and made sure everything was thoroughly cleaned to prevent the risk of secondary infection.

Your IV was hooked up to some medications you couldn’t pronounce, but by now, you’d learned how to wave your arms around wildly without letting the tubing hinder you. The thesis committee didn’t go easy on you during your defense just because you were sick. Good. You didn’t want them to. You’d researched and studied your ass off, and earned the right to defend your thesis. The one you’d spent countless sleepless nights and nauseating days working on. So what if you were presenting at UPMC’s Cancer Center?

The oncology unit staff were the first to celebrate you as soon as you made it out of the conference room with happy tears in your eyes. In the time you’d been presenting, the halls had been decorated with streamers. Balloons surrounded your hospital room, and you were given an elaborate bouquet of artificial flowers. You did it.

The RN who’d been caring for you the longest was the one to push your wheelchair across the stage during your hooding ceremony. The oncology unit staff lined the front row of the audience and cheered louder than you’d ever heard.

“MA” looked pretty damn good after your name in your email signature. The Master of Arts degree hung proudly on the wall of your apartment, a forever reminder of your resilience through it all.

It took grueling months to find the right prosthetic and get it fitted properly, and even more years of physical therapy to allow you to be here today, giving narrated walking tours through the Carnegie Museum of Art.

Jack met you at his amputee support group.

At first, he assumed you were there as a student. You were quiet. Observant. Some of the local clinical psychology degree programs assigned students to attend open support group meetings. The large, structured tote bag that followed you to every meeting supported his theory. He imagined you had a laptop, a textbook or two, and a can of Red Bull in the bag, if he had to guess.

You didn’t take notes like other students Jack saw in the past, but you didn’t seem like the type that needed to take notes in the moment, anyway. You were a breathtaking wallflower at the meetings, it was hard not to notice you. The floor-length dresses that complemented your body and draped across you in all the right places were delicate and dainty. Jack was dying to know if your personality matched your exterior.

If Abbot had to guess, he’d say the mystery girl at the amputee support group was in her mid-to-late twenties, though she didn’t necessarily dress like it. Your wardrobe was all maxi skirts and long flowy dresses, cardigans and cable knit sweaters, statement earrings and small chain necklaces. Jack overheard one of the younger group members complimenting your clothing style one day, describing it as “serving cottage core meets coastal grandma chic.” Whatever the hell that meant.

At one of the meetings, you barely showed up on time. You were flustered and a bit disheveled, blowing a stray strand of hair out of your face, but still beautiful as ever. An intricately decorated lanyard and your employee badge hung out of the purse’s wide mouth.

Your name, MA. Art Historian, Curator, and Guest Guide. Carnegie Museum of Art.

Hmm. Jack wasn’t really one for the arts. He was most creative when figuring out how to perform complex medical procedures in unconventional situations. He was methodical and analytical in his life. He approached situations and his work with scientific precision, but he could be tempted to give the museum a visit if it meant he might run into you.

The Pitt’s ambulance bay was never empty for long. Gurneys rolled in and out of the ER all day and night. After all his years in emergency medicine, few things surprised Doctor Abbot anymore.

Until you rolled in.

Dana was the first to reach the EMTs, taking report as she guided them to an available room. Doctor Abbot watched from the provider desk, his mouth slightly parted as his eyes tracked you the whole way across the Pitt.

The charge nurse barely made it out of the room and assigned the patient to Abbot before he jumped out of his seat and bee-lined to room five. “On it,” he said, to no one in particular. Dana stood back and observed his uncharacteristic movements for half a second with her hands on her hips before returning to her millions of other tasks.

Doctor Abbot pulled back the exam room curtain to reveal you sitting on the gurney, fidgeting with your museum badge and shaking your exposed shoe back and forth.

“Hi, kid,” he greeted, donning gloves. He took note of the prosthetic leg covered in floral designs resting next to your hip. Not a student. An amputee. Abbot hummed inwardly.

“Oh. Hi, Jack,” you responded, surprise gracing your face. You knew he was a doctor; he mentioned working at the hospital a couple of times during support group meetings, you just didn’t know he was a doctor here. You took him in. Frustratingly, he was handsome as ever in his black scrubs with toned, muscled arms that threatened to burst out of his short sleeves, with a badge that read Dr. Abbot. Attending Emergency Medicine Physician. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.

Despite the situation, you couldn’t help but notice that his gray curls were a little more mussed than usual, like he’d run his hands through them at least half a dozen times. You yearned to follow suit.

Mateo followed Doctor Abbot into the exam room not long after and glanced between you and the physician a couple of times, trying to decipher the dynamic. It was obvious the two of you knew each other, but he kept quiet and set up the WOW for orders in case Doctor Abbot needed it.

Jack sat down smoothly on a rolling stool and scooted close to your bedside. Maybe closer than was necessary, but no one in the room objected to it.

“What brings you in?” He swept his eyes over you analytically. You looked fine on the surface, sans the removed prosthetic accompanying you against the bed rails.

“Bum leg,” you sighed. This was embarrassing. Even when you leaned back against the gurney, unsuccessfully attempting to relax, you never broke eye contact with Jack.

“Figures. Mind if I take a look?” Abbot replied without missing a beat. He rubbed his chin, eyes darting between your face and the raised slope of your leg underneath your dress.

You hesitantly pulled up your skirt to reveal the angry red skin surrounding what was left of your knee joint. For some reason, exposing your thigh felt intimate, even in the hospital. It didn’t look good, and it admittedly had Jack concerned, but he wouldn’t let you know that. At least not yet. It didn’t look like cellulitis, at least not on the surface. There was no wound weeping or skin dimpling. He’d still run cultures just to be safe.

“Are you resting your leg often? Do you remove the prosthetic?” He ran through a slew of questions. Sure, he knew more about amputations and prosthetics than the average physician, but he wanted to know more about your story.

“Well, I’ve given roughly 8 hours of walking tours through the museum every day for the past week, plus 2 hours today,” you rattled off your schedule. It was strenuous, but this was the life you worked and studied and fought to build for yourself. You had no regrets.

Jack gave you a stern look, and you shrank under his gaze. You almost reminded him that he was being hypocritical, with his 12-hour shifts at the Pitt, but decided against it.

“What else?” He pressed. You sighed.

“I can put my socks and sleeves on, but they’re tighter than normal. The prosthetic will fit on, but it hurts.” The a lot was silent, but you both knew it was there. “I was limping this morning, and I eventually fell while giving a tour,” you continued. Doctor Abbot immediately scanned you for signs of any other fall-related injury. No bruises or bumps as far as he could see. “But a guest caught me. And the museum director insisted that I get checked out. Even though I’m fine,” you finished, exasperated.

“You and I must have different definitions of ‘fine,’ my friend,” Jack exhaled and leaned back, just far enough to not topple off the stool.

A comfortable silence fell between you two while Jack weighed treatment options. This was more of an outpatient specialist matter, but he was glad you came in. He’d learned more about you in the past 15 minutes than he had in the past 3 months of staring longingly at you during the amputee support group meetings.

Mateo felt like he was intruding on a private moment. He cleared his throat and started preemptively entering orders in your chart.

“Cultures? For cellulitis rule-out, Dr. Abbot?” The physician nodded thankfully to the nurse. Jack didn’t miss the flash of fear that crossed your face. Doctor Abbot ordered an ultrasound as well, just to make sure there wasn’t an underlying abscess forming, potentially evidenced by the edema at the end of your limb.

You cleared your throat. “Could you also run a CBC?” you asked, wringing your hands together. Abbot nodded again and stood, dusting his hands on his pants to keep them busy.

“Why?” It wasn’t accusatory. He’d do it anyway if you asked for it; he just wanted to know why.

“I’m in remission. Bone marrow cancer. Doesn’t hurt to check for signs of recurrence when funky things happen,” you shrugged, though you were obviously tense as you gestured to what was left of your left while pulling your dress skirt back down.

The room went silent.

That definitely would’ve been added to your chart’s medical history if you hadn’t come in by ambulance and instead had the pleasure of meeting Lupe at registration.

Up until now, why you attended the support group meetings wasn’t Jack’s business. Now, you were his patient. Your health and history were absolutely his business now.

Doctor Abbot offered a small smile and agreed to the additional test. You didn’t want his sympathy, he knew that better than anyone. He knocked on the door frame on his way out with a promise to be back shortly.

For a minute, Jack pondered what it would’ve been like to know he’d be losing his leg before it happened. When he had his accident, the decision was made for him. The blood loss had been near fatal. He’d long since passed out when the military medics realized they were forced to decide between his life or his limb, the lesser of two evils. He wondered if he had the time to plan a new reality beforehand, if things would be any different. Any better. He didn’t think they would.

He thought you must’ve been young when you were diagnosed with cancer. You were young now, notably younger than him. He wondered when you had the amputation, how old you were—how young you were. The ‘stump’, as you called it, was healed. The multiple incisions left silvery scars on your marred skin. You had lived without the leg for quite a while now.

Mateo drew your blood panel and cultures. He carefully added the bottles and tubes into a stat biohazard lab bag with the promise that an ultrasound tech would be by soon.

“Good news and bad news,” Doctor Abbot strolled back into your exam room with results as soon as he could, true to his word.

“Good news: Blood cultures were negative and the CBC was all within normal limits. And the bad news,” he continued, scrolling through your chart on an iPad before looking up at you. You nodded with a sharp inhale and gripped the gurney’s side rail, prepping for whatever diagnosis he might deliver. His eyes softened.

“Bad news,” he said quieter, “is you’ll need to stay off that leg for a while. At least until some of the inflammation goes down. I’ll leave the specific guidance up to your prosthetist. But for now, doctor’s orders are to cut back on the 8-hour walking tours. You got a wheelchair?” He asked with his arms crossed over his distractingly broad chest. He was solution-oriented, but not convinced you would heed the medical advice. You were strong-willed, that much was evident.

You groaned and threw an arm over your face to cover your eyes. You thought of the wheelchair you’d shoved to the back of your closet years ago. After a few beats of silence, you nod. You’re not happy about the plan of care, but you agree to it nonetheless.

“Do you have someone to take you home?” Jack asked, shuffling your discharge paperwork to keep his hands busy. Otherwise, he might give in to the urge to reach out to you. 

Everyone you knew was either working or busy. Internally, you felt like a burden. The people in your life didn’t feel that way, but it didn’t make the guilt go away. You chuckled inwardly. What doesn’t kill you gives you a dark sense of humor.

“I’ll figure it out,” you replied nonchalantly, already opening the rideshare app on your phone. Jack frowned. If he weren’t in the thick of his shift, he’d offer to let you hang around in the lounge and take you home himself, but that wouldn’t be for another 5 hours. At least.

“I’ll come check on you after my shift,” he resigned. It wasn’t a question or an offer.

“You don’t have to do that,” you looked up at him from beneath your lashes, shocked that he would even suggest such a thing.

“I insist. It’ll make me feel better knowing you’re okay,” Jack replied without missing a beat. So he cares about you. Hmm. His hands found his hips, only adding to his inherent sass factor.

“You don’t know where I live,” you retorted. The banter was fun. God forbid a girl take advantage of her amputation to flirt with a silver fox trauma doc.

“I’m literally two taps away from finding your address in your chart,” Abbot smirked. He wasn’t lying. A couple of gestures on the iPad later, he was parroting your address back at you.

“Fine. But you better bring food with you.” It was your turn to leave no room for argument. You eyed him up and down, watching the way he squared his shoulders with confidence.

“It’s a date,” Jack replied easily, without thinking. You couldn’t tell whose cheeks were more flushed, yours or his. He didn’t dare take it back, though. Either way, you agreed.

“It’s a date.”

a/n: At the risk of sounding desperate, I'm begging y'all to leave comments and interact with my work. The likes are so super duper appreciated but I kind of feel like I'm posting into a void when 99% of the engagement is likes with no comments. anyway!! COMMENTS ARE REALLY APPRECIATED!! They keep me motivated to write more <3

Find more of my writing on my master list.

Turn on post notifications @thesewordsxupdates to get notified when I release new fics.

[sprenthecreator]

D.A | LUV N DEVOTION / obsession.

Male reader x Wonyoung, Karina, Giselle.

🔙 Previous update (for now) | 📄 LUV N DEVOTION / obsession |

word count: 19.7k

tags: fluffy and princess treatment for wony, cum slut rina, bi, car blowjob, foursome, triple blowjob, elevator sex, daddy kink, fingering, anal, overstimulation, squirt, creampie(s), rough sex, pussy eating, anal fingering, facial

━•✦•━•✦•━

━•✦•━•✦•━

You knew that after that night in Tokyo things with Wony would never be the same, but not so drastically different.

Saying you were in love was not doing justice to what you felt for that damn girl now. Without going any further, the best way to describe it for you was obsession. Devotion. Not in a sick way, or toxic; you weren't that kind of guy. But since that October 12th, the only girl you thought about every day, 24 hours a day, was her. Only her.

In a way, that made you feel bad about yourself, because you had never felt that way for a person, not even for Hanni—from whom you were forced to emotionally detach yourself for a while at her request—or for Sully—who had simply started to like another person named Lee Chaeyoung and who was her girlfriend.

However, Wony made you happy on so many levels and facets that thinking about that had become something secondary. Something unimportant. Things were the way they were, and they happened because they had to happen that way. Period. Your conscience was clear: you were not to blame for your now failed relationship with Hanni, and you were not to blame for Sully's feelings leaning towards someone else. After all, you still loved them both, and their happiness was your happiness.

But if there was one thing you had to be thankful for, it was that all that chain of unfortunate events had brought you to where you are now: at the feet of a girl who reciprocated what you felt for her and who radiated perfection through every pore.

Wony turned out to be the antithesis of everything she seemed to you during all that time in which you felt hatred for her. You claimed left and right that she was a pretentious and spoiled bitch (she was just spoiled), and that you could never be her friend because she repelled you. Nothing could be further from the truth. While she had her bad attitudes like basically anyone, her virtues overshadowed everything; she was easily one of the sweetest and most caring people you had ever met in your life. Every single thing she did had you either sighing or smiling like an absolute idiot, and throughout the time you had spent together both in October and right now in November, you realized that she was everything you wanted and more.

And there was nothing more pleasurable and fulfilling than feeling reciprocated by her. By that monument made woman.

It was awards night. MMA's. You couldn't see each other on the day of the MAMA's because she had a pending appointment the next day and she didn't get permission, but things for that night were different: if everything went well, you would take her to dinner and then spend the night together. You were mad excited about it, and you couldn't wait for the hours to pass quickly so you could see her.

But for now, the priority was your damn job.

For some reason you had decided to do your daily stream at night, which was pretty stupid of you considering you knew you'd have to miss the red carpet as well as the awards and performances. Then you told yourself that just wasn't going to happen, and after only four hours you decided to cut it off just so you could turn on the TV and watch her.

You didn't regret it. Of course not. You had put on the stream just in time to see her and her members come out onto the carpet, and you didn't know how the hell you were going to function like a normal person again after seeing how outstandingly beautiful she was that night, with that high bun and that tight dress that hugged her curvy body and made it look like a total delight. You were so stunned that you couldn't help but take out your phone and record her through the TV screen until she left.

And with the phone in hand you couldn't help but text her either. You knew she wouldn't be able to answer you for a while, since you knew she was also going to be MC during the start of the awards. But you still had to let her know. You had to let her know how obsessed you were with her.

It was funny, because as soon as you sent the messages and read them you realized how screwed you were with that girl. It was a problem to fall so much at the feet of a person, it always was. But fuck it. If you were in a free fall into a bottomless abyss you were doing it with a big grin. It was something you talked about a lot with Sohyun and Hayoung. They had both insisted that you were giving yourself too much of a hard time with the matter, and that there was no point in thinking about the past or the future if your present was being this pleasant. Of course you objected using your recent history as an argument, but if there was one thing those two were good at it was giving you a good ass whooping so you would stop being a dramatic bitch.

In the end, well, you shut up and lowered your head to listen. Dealing with stressful situations rationally was their forte, not yours.

Time passed and eventually the awards show started. Wony came out as MC, looking radiant and charming as always to introduce the awards and welcome them. During all those segments, about an hour passed, and she didn't show up anymore. Then you got texts from her.

You swore to god you were going to throw the phone out the window and follow it closely. Instead, you opened that picture and stared at it with a rapt smile until you snapped out of the trance.

Screwed up. You were really screwed up and two steps away from asking for her hand in marriage. You had to fucking control yourself a little.

But god, she was like a fucking angel fallen to earth. She was your princess. Yours alone. She...

Stop. You really needed to stop. You were letting your feelings carry you along and you weren't thinking with your brain.

Now, that didn't stop you from feeling jealous when Wony, at the beginning of her performance, danced and was picked up by another guy. Wonderful.

She looked beautiful, yes, and you were extremely proud and happy for her. But that damn guy's hands... you were going crazy. It burned inside you, like you had lava pumping through your veins. It really wasn't that big of a deal, you knew the guy was just being professional. Still, you expected his hands to fall off for some mysterious reason right after that performance.

And now it was your Italianness that was thinking for you. For the last time, you had to calm down.

After that, the hours passed normally. You were able to see many of the performances you wanted, like IVE, Aespa and tripleS, but you were forced to miss others like IDLE and ATEEZ because you had to get ready to go out.

The occasion of the night was special, and that called for you to dress as such. But you had a little block, so you had no choice but to call your trusted seamstress. Well, one of them. You didn't want to talk to the other at that moment.

"Do you have some Bottega Veneta?" Danielle Marsh asked on your phone. You had been on a video call for about twenty minutes, and you had dedicated yourself to showing her almost your entire closet. "The winter collection is gorgeous."

You chuckled and looked to the right of the closet-room.

"Well, it's funny you say that, because..." you walked over and took down the tobacco-colored bonded leather trench coat from Bottega Veneta's latest winter collection. You showed it to Danielle, who opened her eyes wide and brought her face closer to the camera.

"Oh my god!" she sighed. "That thing it's like 11 thousand bucks, Ezio."

“It’s worth every penny,” you said, removing the hook. “The leather quality is insane.”

Danielle was about to say something, but apparently someone else entered her room and her attention was diverted. Unfortunately you recognized the voice, and your expression darkened.

“Do you know where my AirPods are? I can’t fucking find them,” you heard Hanni ask Dani. “Who are you talking to?”

“Uh...” Dani looked at the screen to see you and then back at her. “With… Ezio.”

There was silence for a few seconds.

“Okay…” another small silence. “I’ll keep looking,” Hanni finally replied, and you heard the door close.

Dani once again focused on you.

“Sorry about… well, that,” she said, visibly uncomfortable being in the middle of your conflict.

“Don’t worry,” you shook your head, forcing yourself not to think about it. “We got the most important thing done, now we just need to pick out a good pair of shoes and accessories.”

The coat you pulled out ended up being the final choice, along with black wool trousers, a black Versace turtleneck sweater, and black brushed leather Prada lace-ups. As accessories you opted for rings: a Bulgari Serpenti on one hand and a Buccellati from the Opera Tulle collection on the other, in this case shaped like a green flower made of emerald. Nothing modest. But you weren't interested in being modest; you loved to show off.

Besides, you had a gift for your princess. What you had spent on it you preferred not to remember, but you were sure it was the first time you had genuinely spent so much money on a person (the Rome vacation with Sohee in September didn't count, the expense had been on yourself too). To you that meant a lot. But she deserved it, you were sure.

Now dressed you went out to the living room to wait for Wony's message. You expected a text, but instead she called you.

"Hi?" you answered the call, with the car keys in your other hand.

"Hi dear," Wony answered on the other end of the line. "You can come pick me up now."

"Aight on my way," you said, standing up. "But why didn't you just text me?"

You walked over to gather everything you were going to bring, which was your wallet and the gift box for Wony.

"Because I had something to propose to you."

"Huh?"

"You see, I know the normal thing would be to pick me up at the service entrance, but..." she paused briefly. "Why don't you pick me up at the main entrance?"

You chuckled. That was ridiculous.

"Good joke sweetheart, now tell me what you want."

"Baby, it's not a joke," she replied, and from the tone she used you could tell she was serious.

You stood there dumbfounded, staring at the wall.

"Vicky, sweetheart, have you gone crazy?"

"No!" she protested. "Just hear me out. We don't have to be so brazen, but I don't want to sneak around either."

"You're an idol, baby. Shit, you're like a goddess here in Korea. You'll get into trouble, a big one."

"Ezio, I know what I'm doing, and there's no media covering any group's departure here. It’s gonna be fine!"

"You don't know that, you know what those Dispatch bastards are like."

"Starship has no dating restrictions! I mean not for me at least, I don’t give a fuck about those asholes."

"And that saves you from your weird fans? Look what they did to that poor Riize guy!"

"Darling, I'm shielded from all sides, and I don't give a shit what those weirdos think about me or not."

"I know, I know," you sighed. "But honey, keep in mind who I am and the things I do and say on stream. I don't want to make the problem any bigger because I am the one dating you. You don't deserve that."

Wony giggled.

"Oh baby, being you is the main reason why I don't want to hide you, are you even listening to yourself and how cute you are?"

And just like that, she ended the entire argument. It felt like a prime Mike Tyson uppercut, but instead of knocking out a tooth from you, it made your cheeks blush. That was called being beyond down.

"I-I… should go out and pick you up right now?" you asked.

"Yes, silly, that's what I just said. Come here and pick up your princess."

Your fucking princess. Why did that shit sound so good?

The level of obedience was such that you didn't even warn that you were going to hang up. That had to leave her baffled and maybe a little angry, but you were determined to get the hell out of there and hurry to pick her up just to plant a big kiss on those perfect lips.

After a little check of your look and the things you had to bring, you went down to the parking lot of your building complex and got in the car to head to the venue where the MMA's were being held. The security belt was well established from corner to corner, and from what you could see there were no visible photographers covering the idols' departures. Wony was right, but that made the anxiety you felt about it lessen.

In order to get through the security belt you had to make calls, one to Wony and another to the IVE manager so they could get you the authorization. The situation reminded you When you had to pick up Hanni in Milan from the Gucci event, but here they were much stricter and more protocolary when it came to managing everything. It was a bit of a headache, since the lack of cooperation from the guards was coupled with the refusal of the girls' manager to let Wony go with you there, in full view of everyone. The situation was a mess, but half an hour later, all the parties involved agreed and you were allowed to enter with the only condition that your license plate would have to be covered, which was even better for you.

You parked the car diagonally at the entrance of the venue, behind a couple of vans that were being loaded with boxes. In the distance you saw familiar faces, which was to be expected, but only a few recognized your car; Seonghwa, Mingi and Yunho from ATEEZ, Seoyeon and Nakyung from tripleS, Shuhua and Miyeon, and you thought you saw Karina and Winter behind a couple of people. Everyone stared at you in bewilderment, and rightly so, because you weren't supposed to be there.

The only ones who dared approach you—with proper supervision from a member of their staff—were the guys from ATEEZ, who you'd hung out with a couple of times since that IDLE party last year. You rolled down the copilot window so you could talk to them.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Mingi asked, dapping you up. "Someone's gonna kick your ass."

You almost answered him in English, since you'd been talking to Wony in that language all day. You had to switch to Korean.

"I'm expecting someone," you replied, as you dapped the other two up. 

"You're expecting someone? Here?" Seonghwa said with a chuckle. "Isn't that a like too reckless?"

"Tell her that. She's just itching to get into trouble."

"Woah, and you look expensive today," Yunho said, tugging at the fabric of the coat on your shoulder. "Dinner maybe?"

"You're right," you smiled, and behind them you could notice a new silhouette walking towards you. "Ah, and I think she's coming."

The boys moved aside and your line of vision was clear. Wony was walking towards you, in the exact same dress she had worn to the opening of the awards and with the same cute high bun. Her walk was confident; she knew she was untouchable at that moment, that she was the center of attention and all the spotlights were on how beautiful she looked. As soon as she met your gaze you both smiled, but her lips remained in a slight graceful curve to maintain elegance.

"Alright move aside apes," you said, and in a move even more risky than just being there, you got out of the car and walked around the front to open the passenger door the moment Wony was only a couple of meters away.

"Ah, this guy hit the gold mine," Mingi muttered in disbelief before bowing in greeting to Wony, Seonghwa and Yunho imitating him. "Hi."

"Hi!" Wony bowed back to the three boys before locking eyes with you. "Hi sweetie, thanks," she said, now in perfect, pretty English, before climbing into the passenger seat. You closed the door and saw the ATEEZ guys.

"I'm off, gentlemen," you said, walking past them to circle back around your car. "Take care okay?"

"You too!" the three of them said at the same time.

"Oh, are you doing anything tomorrow?" Yunho asked you. "We were planning on going to a club, a couple of the guys from Boynextdoor and Riize are going too."

"Uhm..." you opened the door and leaned in to look at Wony, who was looking at you with a raised eyebrow. Yes, you were definitely doing something tomorrow. "I can't, I'll be busy," you replied, looking at them over the roof of the car.

"Of course you will be," Mingi said with a laugh, stepping away from Wony's window and the curb.

"Yeah, sorry. But hey, you like FIFA right? You can come over sometime."

"Yeah that would be cool. We'll call you. See you later Tiramisu boy!" Mingi said goodbye, and Seonghwa and Yunho waved goodbye as well.

You finally got into the car, rolled up the tinted windows and looked at Wony, who was staring back at you.

"Tiramisu boy?" she asked with a chuckle.

"They met me eating tiramisu at a party last year, that's the explanation," you replied, adjusting your coat and making the car's engine roar a little to warm it up.

"Mmm, interesting, are you going to kiss me or not?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Oh yeah come here."

You leaned towards her and cupped the side of her face with your left hand before bringing your lips together. Wony took that hand and caressed the back of it with her thumb, while the other one held onto your forearm. You could have kissed her for a while longer if it were up to you, but because of the location you had to settle for a few seconds.

"You did amazing tonight, my sweet girl," you said as you pulled away from her lips, looking into her eyes with your faces barely separated. "And god, you look fucking gorgeous."

"You think so? Thank you darling," she replied, looking at you with a sparkle in her eyes worthy of the most beautiful starry night. Then she looked you up and down. "You look very handsome too. Almost as perfect as me."

You let out a laugh, and you settled back into your seat to put a hand on the steering wheel.

"Sure, sure," you said, backing up and then squeezing past the vans and driving down the street. "You looked like Jesus Christ walking on water back there, and getting into a Ferrari on top of that. Not discreet at all."

"Honey, what can I do if I'm that pretty and you decided to have this thing?" she asked with a hand on her chest. "It's not my fault."

"I know it's not, but getting you out of there was a fucking problem," you said, looking at the road. "I really hope you're not in trouble, baby."

"I won't be, silly," she said, placing her hand over yours on the drive mode levers. "Is everything set up at the restaurant?"

"I called on the way to the venue to make sure, so yeah, there won't be any problems."

"Will we have company?"

"Uh... yeah, a baseball player and a model or some shit, with their dates of course. No one who cares about us being there."

"How do you know that?"

"I asked!" you replied, as if it were a stupid question. "Imagine if there happens to be a newspaper editor, we're screwed!"

Wony giggled, leaned over to cup the left side of your face and planted a delicate peck on your cheek.

"My sweet boy, you worry too much," she said, still close to your face. "Let yourself go and enjoy the night with me, please?"

You shouldn't have because you were on a busy road, but for a moment you took your eyes off the road only to turn your face and give her a quick succession of pecks on the lips.

"Hey!" she pulled away laughing, grabbing your chin to turn your face forward. "Don't kill us, donkey!"

You just smiled, and drove for a little over a minute until you remembered something you weren't going to let slide.

"Oh, were that guy's hands comfortable or...?"

"Huh?" Wony turned to look at you, having been caught off guard.

"The hands of the guy you danced with," you said. "They must have been really soft because you looked extremely comfortable in them."

Wony let out a laugh.

"Honey, are you jealous of a dancer I'll never see again?" she asked in disbelief.

"Nah."

Yeah you were. Not in a serious way, but you were willing to tease her about it for a while.

"Well, it's good you mention it because yes, his hands were quite soft," she said, shifting her gaze to her window.

It was serious now.

"Oh, okay," you nodded slowly, and tightened your hand on the steering wheel. "You should tell him to take you to dinner then."

Wony looked at you, and out of the corner of your eye you noticed the mischievous smile on her face.

"I can actually call him right now if you want."

"Yup, go ahead," you nodded with a carefree wave of your hand.

Your face must have been a picture at that moment, because she made a move to take her phone out of her handbag but quickly retracted.

"Honey, I'm kidding!" she said with a giggle, shaking your arm to get you to take your resting bitch face off. "Don't be like that!"

"Don't talk to me right now."

Wony was quiet for a moment, waiting for you to say you were joking too.

"Are you serious?" she asked, and your response was silence. "Alright, I won't talk then."

Then, in a move you should have expected, Wony kicked off her heels, climbed onto her knees in her seat, and bent over your crotch in a perfect arc that highlighted her wide hips and cute ass.

"What are you doing?" you frowned, lifting one arm to rest on her back.

"Just what you asked me to do: no talking," she replied, and began working on the button and zipper of your pants.

"That's not what... oh fuck you," you gasped, as Wony pulled out your limp cock and licked it from balls to top.

You couldn't form a single word of protest from then on. Wony took you into her mouth, sucking you several times until your cock grew and hardened between her spongy lips. Now fully hard, she placed both hands on your thighs and slowly pumped her head up and down the length of your shaft, using her tongue to lick the front with each pump.

Wony's blowjobs were usually messy and frenetic since she was prodigious at it, but you were surprised when she now opted for a slower, more leisurely pace, allowing you to enjoy the silkiness of her lips and the texture of her glossy lipstick in detail. It was perfect, because it was driving you crazy and at the same time it kept you from getting dirty for your night.

When you stopped at a red light you could finally look down and admire how she pumped her head at different angles to suck and lick every possible corner of your shaft. Then you turned to the right to see her raised ass. You couldn’t lift her dress up, so you had to settle for groping over it. Wony purposely moaned around your cock, and then you couldn't help but remove your hand from her ass and put it on her neck to push her down. She was forced to deepthroat you, but it wasn't a problem due to her skill at it, so she effortlessly held you there for a few long seconds until she pulled you out with a soft gasp.

"Are you sucking my jealousy off or what?" you gasped, forced to look at the road again.

Wony certainly didn't respond, she was determined to make you cum as fast and hard as possible, so after a few kisses and licks around your tip she took you back into her mouth, now helping herself with her hand to jerk you off at the same time.

She brought you to the edge of climax in no time, and the only possible place you could reach your hand was on her slim waist, while you unconsciously twisted your hips upwards and let out soft moans. Deducing that you were close, Wony dispensed with her hand and went back to using only her mouth, now with slightly faster and shorter pumps. Not even ten seconds passed when you exploded inside her mouth.

"Oh god!" you moaned, tempted to put your hand on her head to push it down if it weren’t because that would ruin her bun.

Jets of cum were discharged one after another into Wony's mouth, who pumped her head very slowly over every inch of throbbing flesh. You used all your brain power in order not to swerve and drive as straight as possible, in fact, you had to use the steering wheel manettino to put the driving mode on comfort, but that caused you to slow down and a couple of cars behind you to honk. You couldn't do much about it, since your toes were still curled and your legs tense as you filled her mouth.

When your climax finally passed you came back to your senses and stepped on the accelerator so as not to disturb the cars behind you, still breathing heavily. After swallowing your entire load, Wony pulled you out of her mouth with a soft pop, and raised herself to get closer to your ear.

"You're not just the only guy I've ever let cum in my mouth or on my face," she whispered with a hand on your thigh. "You're also the only guy whose cum I could have for breakfast every morning without getting tired. Keep that in mind before throwing another jealous fit," she then licked your cheek from jaw to cheekbone. "I fucking belong to you, and I have zero interest in anyone else."

Another fucking hook straight to the chin, and this was your knockout. There was no way you were recovering from that.

"Do you have anything else to say besides 'I'm sorry'?" she asked, tucking your cock back into your boxers and adjusting your pants back up.

"I... no," you shook your head slowly. "Sorry, babe."

"Good boy," she said, giving you a peck on the cheek before settling back into her seat.

There was still a long way to go to the Shilla hotel and there wasn't much else to talk about at the moment, so you opted to connect into the car's sound system and put on some chill songs from your playlist.

It was a nice trip, one of the most peaceful and satisfying you had ever had with someone. Even though you weren't talking, the simple fact of knowing that you had each other fulfilled you, that was evident by how you constantly sought out each other's contact, whether it was holding your hands or placing your hands on your thighs. Ironic to say the least. Three months ago, imagining yourself in that situation with her would have seemed unpleasant, almost blasphemous, and now it felt like a lucid dream from which you didn't want to wake up.

For fucks sake, you were in love. And it was all thanks to her and the time you had spent together since that night in Tokyo. At first you were a little skeptical, but you made the excellent decision to give her the benefit of the doubt. Of course, she didn't disappoint you, as she took advantage of her opportunity to show herself just as she wanted you to see her. From that moment on, it only took a couple of weeks for her to take over your heart and secure herself with iron feet

She was your princess now, she belonged to you and you wanted to give her everything. Fucking cheesy, but you loved it.

"Alright, this is what we're going to do," you said, already a couple of minutes away from arriving at the hotel. "A bodyguard will accompany you inside while I park the car, then we'll meet in the lobby."

"Can't I just stay with you to park and then go in together?" Wony asked, annoyed.

"Honey, we already took quite a risk picking you up from the venue, and that was even in a controlled environment."

"Ugh fine," she said. "But just this once!"

"I think you keep forgetting who you are, what country you live in, and what kind of fans you have," you replied, turning a corner after a stoplight.

"Fuck that. Someone needs to normalize it someday."

"And you wanna be that someone? In the prime of your career?"

"It happened to Jennie when she dated Kai!" she protested. "No one cared and everyone got over it."

"That's a completely different context."

"In what way?"

"Jennie dated a guy who is deified here, and you are dating a guy who makes a fool of himself on the internet and has more than one stupid controversy for the stuff he says. Do you think that benefits you right now?"

"Honey, how do you know if it benefits me or not?" Wony asked.

"You're perfect in front of the cameras. Literally the perfect idol."

"So what?"

"I don't know," you shrugged. "I am... I don't know."

Wony chuckled.

"Your problem is that you're not as exemplary as I am in the public eye?"

"Aha."

"Why do you care?"

At that point you made a left turn and entered the slope that curved across the hill towards the hotel, which took up the entire view in the distance.

"Fuck, I don't know Vicky," you sighed. "I just don't want it to lead to anything bad for you, that's all."

Wony put her hand on yours, squeezed it, and then brought it to her lips to kiss the back of it.

"Gosh, what did I do to deserve you," she said. "Just trust me darling, I wouldn't be so sure if I didn't know what I was doing."

You remained silent as you made your way through the last stretch of the hill and rounded the bend to park in front of the smaller, wider, traditionally-styled building that housed the hotel lobby and a few luxury shops. The bodyguard who was supposed to escort Wony inside was already waiting by her door, hands clasped together and eyes scanning everywhere.

"I'm going to ask you one last time..." you said, and turned to look at her. "Are you sure about all of this? About everything you've told me? We're getting into murky territory, darling."

"Thousand percent," Wony nodded, looking into your eyes.

You nodded back and then looked at the bodyguard, who was still waiting behind the white line that delimited the drivable area from the walkable area. You were thinking about something, seriously considering it, and if you did, there was no turning back. Maybe it was a stretch to think so, but it could be a life-changing decision.

Fuck it, you were no weakling.

"Aight, just for the record, you asked for it," you said, then reached an arm in front of her to roll down her window. The bodyguard immediately leaned when he saw you looking at him. "Good evening, Mr. Cho. Are any of these spots free?" you pointed behind him.

"Oh, yes," he nodded. "Follow my directions, please."

The bodyguard walked over the white line and stood in front of your car, then began walking backwards to guide you to an open space in front of a sedan with tinted windows.

"Uhm... what are you doing, sweetie?" Wony looked at you with a frown. "Wasn’t I supposed to...?"

"Stai zitto, amore," you said, focused on not running over Mr. Cho.

"Non voglio!" she replied back in Italian, and you laughed.

"You've been practicing huh?" you raised an eyebrow, finally parking in the spot you were told to.

"Well yeah! I want to be able to scold you in your language someday."

You pressed the touch button on the steering wheel twice to turn off both the engine and the car.

"You can do it in Japanese, and without me knowing what the fuck you're saying," you said with a smile, grabbing the car's remote to put it in a pocket of your coat.

"The point is that you know what I'm saying, baby, not the other way around."

"We'll have to work hard at the private lessons then," you winked at her, then got out of the car to walk around and open the door for Wony, offering her your hand.

"Huh? Really?" she asked, looking at your hand, her mouth agape and a cute glint in her eyes.

"You have my unconditional trust, my sweet girl," you said.

Wony looked into your eyes, blinked a few times, and took your hand to slide her legs out of the car. Then, as soon as you closed the passenger door, she stood in front of you with her hands on your chest and planted a sweet kiss on your lips, in full view of whoever was passing by at the moment or watching.

You couldn't help but smile at the boldness of that damn girl.

"Come on, let's go inside," you said, and put an arm behind her waist to hold her and walk into the lobby with her.

Upon entering, you went straight to the reception desk to check in, it was then that you were told that you were allowed to take the elevator up to the restaurant floor. Mr. Cho escorted you upstairs, and led you to a small foyer before the dining area.

“I’ll wait outside if you need anything, Mr. Leone,” he said, and then opened the double doors in front of you.

“Thank you, Mr. Cho,” you nodded, and walked past Wony into the restaurant.

The dining room was a small, elegant and refined space, with cream-colored walls decorated with subtle textured patterns and nice warm lighting provided by circular hanging metal lamps. On the other hand, the floor was covered by a beige interwoven carpet, and the tables, dressed with crisp white tablecloths, were accompanied by champagne-colored chairs with curved backs and metallic details. To your left was a mirrored wall, with a pair of decorative panels with red-to-gold gradients, and to your right, three windows separated by pillars, which provided a beautiful view of Seoul.

The other two couples that would be there that night besides you were already inside, one settled in on the left and the other on the right at the back. You didn't know the baseball player who was there since you didn't like the sport, but the model turned out to be Yoon Young Bae, who had done campaigns for Gucci and Prada in the past. Your table was the one next to hers.

If it had been another occasion and another place, you would have asked for a photo, but for the moment you only settled for a bow to both her and the rest of the people present. Then you focused on your date.

“Here, your grace,” you said, opening the chair for Wony.

“Thank you, dear,” she replied with a nod, and took a seat with her handbag on her lap. You placed your hands on her shoulders, which caught her attention and made her turn to look up at you.

“I have a surprise for you before we start,” you said.

Wony raised both eyebrows.

“Surprise? For me?” she placed a hand on her chest.

“Aha, close your eyes baby.”

Wony complied and looked straight ahead before closing her eyes. You pulled the turquoise gift box out of one of your inner pockets, placed it in front of her face, and opened it to reveal the necklace you had bought her, a Tiffany Victoria Diamond Vine worth around $150k. A figure that might have made you sweat 6 months ago, but now, having also finished paying for your apartment, was chump change.

"Alright, open," you said.

When Wony opened her eyes and saw the necklace she immediately gasped and brought her hands to her mouth in surprise. She turned to look at you, and then back at the necklace. And then back at you, and then back at the necklace.

"Baby, oh my f..." she was about to curse, but remembered where she was and retracted her words. "Oh my god!"

"Come on, take it," you nodded, handing the box into her hands.

Wony examined the necklace inside the box for a couple more seconds before pulling it out and setting the box on the table.

"Ezio, it's gorgeous!" she said, putting the necklace between her fingers to get a closer look at the diamonds embedded in the platinum. "It's too much, really, you didn't have to..."

"Nuh-uh," you hushed her. "Yes, I had to, it's the least you deserve, my sweet girl," you then leaned down and showered her cheek with kisses.

"Thank you, darling, I swear I don't know what to say," Wony said, still stunned, turning her face to meet your lips and give them a small kiss since the place didn't allow more, out of respect for the other diners.

"You don't have to say anything, the important thing is that you liked it."

"I love it!" she corrected you. "Would you help me?"

"Sure," you nodded.

You helped Wony change her necklace, taking off the one she already had and putting on the one you had given her instead. You stood by her side to see how it looked, and you realized that it was probably one of the best investments of your life, as the diamonds enhanced her royal aura and fit perfectly on her beautiful neck.

After helping her with the necklace and taking a couple of pictures for your personal memory, you finally took the seat on the other side of the table. A few seconds later, a waiter was with you, ready to take your order. First you ordered your starters and drinks, Hamachi Usuzukuri for you and Kumamoto Fresh Oysters for her, accompanied by a bottle of Barolo DOCG Red Wine. After about 45 minutes you moved on to the main course, and another half hour later you were eating dessert.

"So what do you have to do in the next few days?" you asked, with your Matcha Tiramisu half-eaten. "You must have the day off tomorrow, I guess."

Your entire conversation in those almost two hours had been based on her telling you all about her days at both MAMA and MMA, and how stressful it was to have to attend to all that with comeback preparations just around the corner. You also talked about your job, but no matter what you said, nothing created a worse mental burden than hers.

"Yeah tomorrow I'm free," Wony replied, looking at her Raspberry Lychee Mochi. "But this week we have the live for the IVE anniversary and the recording of a 1,2,3 IVE, with zombies."

"Zombies?" you raised an eyebrow.

Wony nodded, cutting off a small piece of mochi and popping it into her mouth while you drank your wine. The bottle was already a few fingers less than half full. She had liked it a lot more than you expected.

"Uhm, I don't really have much of an idea of ​​what we're going to do but I know we'll have helmets with cameras."

You chuckled.

"Oh, that's going to be fun," you said with a smile. "You know, watching you run around."

"That's what you say, but I'll be terrified!"

As she spoke your phone vibrated in your pocket. Checking it you saw that it was texts from Rina, and thinking it wasn't important you ignored her for the moment. But about five minutes later the phone vibrated again repeatedly. Somewhat annoyed, you pulled out your phone again to open the chat, only to let out a slight bitter groan.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Wony asked, seeing you staring at the screen with a frown. You just showed her your phone. "This has to be a joke." she said as she finished reading.

"At least she had the decency to wait until this hour," you said, and with a heavy breath you began to share a few messages with her.

"So? What are we going to do?" Wony asked, not looking at you but at the view of Seoul through the window. She definitely wasn't happy at all.

"We were going home anyway, right?" you replied. "Just that well, we'll have some company."

"Yeah, that's what I didn't want," she said, one side of her face resting on her knuckles.

"Baby," you reached across the table and took her hand. "Tomorrow I'll be all yours, all day. It'll just be this early morning."

"Can't you just tell them to go away?"

"That would be too rude of me, sweetie, I'm not like that."

"Yeah, that's why I like you this much, ugh," she rolled her eyes and finally looked at you. "But I don't want it to be a recurring thing, for real. I'll let it go this time because they're already there."

"I get it babe," you nodded. "It won't happen again."

"When I'm with you I want you to be all to myself," she said, gently squeezing your hand. "I hate sharing, and you know that."

"I know that perfectly well," you nodded again. "And you have my word."

"Alright then let's go,” she let go of your hand. “I don't want to keep them waiting so late."

"Huh? Right now?"

"Yup, let's just order this to go."

"Aight, if you say so."

You called the waiter over and asked him to give you the bill and take the rest of the desserts to take away. After about ten minutes, with everything already taken care of, you and Wony left the hotel to get in the car and head to your apartment.

On the way you couldn't think of anything else but how you were going to kill Rina as soon as you saw her. She had been acting like that ever since that night you and Isa spent together, and you understood perfectly why because you felt something similar. But she was also prone to doing that, to showing up without full notice hoping that you would make time for her. You never had a problem with it, but this was the first time it coincided with something more important.

It was partly your fault tho, and you had to admit it. That night you had let out a side of you that was probably the closest to Podrick Payne in terms of sex that you had ever been in your life. Rina had been absolutely delighted with you thanks to that, but she hadn't been the only one,; you were kinda obsessed as well, because she was bordering on the perfection of sex appeal: amazing tits, pretty ass, perfect thighs, hot tummy, face card to die for and adorably fun personality.

And on top of that, she was the purest definition of a bottom you had ever seen in your life, surpassing even Sullyoon, which in itself was a big deal.

In fact, you had a feeling that you were going to get into a big mess because of your sexual chemistry with her, but you weren't going to give it any thought at that moment.

After about 20 minutes of a quiet ride, you finally arrived at your apartment complex, parked the car in your assigned spot and went with Wony straight to the ground floor of your building. There, Rina and Aeri were waiting, sitting on the edge of the artificial mini waterfall to the left of the elevator while looking at something on Rina's phone.

"May I know why you're still wearing those clothes?" you asked, approaching, now in English because you knew that everyone there spoke it—maybe Rina a little less—, seeing that they were still in stage outfits under their hats and wide down jackets.

"Because we haven't gone home," Rina answered, standing up to walk towards the two of you with Aeri, who greeted Wony with a smile and a reciprocal hug. "We went to get something to eat because Minjeong-ah was craving something and we felt like having some fun," she switched back to Korean.

"By invading my house?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, as Wony now hugged Rina. You thanked god that they had a good relationship with each other. "You literally live alone."

"Yeah, but my apartment was further away than yours," she shrugged. "And your balcony has a better view than mine."

You sighed, and nodded for everyone to follow you to the elevator.

"Did something happen with Minjeong and Ning? It's weird that they're not here too," you said back in English, and pressed a button for the elevator to go down.

"They were both exhausted and wanted to sleep," Aeri replied behind you.

"Just like Liz," Wony said beside you, holding your hand.

"It's because they're the main vocals, and we all sing live," Rina said with a sigh.

A ding sounded and the elevator doors opened. The four of you stepped inside, Wony standing in front of you and Rina and Aeri at your sides. You pressed the button that would take you to the 28th floor, and the doors closed again.

"You sing quite a bit in all the songs too, how come you're not exhausted too?" you asked.

"Because my desire to s-... to drink was greater than my exhaustion," Rina replied, and as you turned to look at her she avoided your gaze. You had noticed what she was going to say, but you hoped Wony hadn't.

"I don't see any bottles anywhere, woman," you said upon realization. "Do you think I have a liquor store at home or what?"

"Ah, it's because we don't have a car and you do," Aeri replied. "It's easier than telling our manager to drive us."

"Then why on earth are we going up to the flat when we could have gone right now!" you yelled.

"Because we're going to change clothes, duh," Rina said.

You let out a tired sigh, closed your eyes, and leaned your head back against the wall. Wony on the other hand couldn't help but laugh.

"What a bloody pain in the ass," you whispered to yourself.

A few seconds later the elevator arrived at your floor. The doors opened, and Wony stepped ahead of the three of you to lead the way.

"Are we all going?" you asked as you made your way down the hall.

"I'll stay, sweetheart," Wony said in front of you. "I don't feel like another car ride today."

"Can I stay with her?" Aeri asked as you now took the lead since the next door was yours. "So we can cook something for the guests."

You paused with your key and gaze on the lock, then blinked a few times and took a deep breath.

"Guests?" you asked quietly, not wanting to get upset.

"It'll be a few people!" Rina said before you imploded. "We don't mean to make a fuss, really."

"And you can invite someone too, don't you have any friends?" Aeri asked.

You sighed.

"Yeah but it's 2:30 in the morning," you said, and finally opened the door to immediately find Rory and Helios waiting on the other side. "Hi babies."

"Ahhhh hi sweetie!" Rina squealed back in Korean, immediately scooping Rory into her arms as you all filed into the apartment. She was her darling.

"Girl, we're going to have to look up recipes online because I have no idea how to cook," Wony said, probably talking to Aeri as you dropped your stuff on the dining table and went to close the window blinds.

"Do you know how to chop things and turn on a stove?" Aeri asked.

"Uhu."

"Then you're useful."

"Hey, you," you pointed at Rina, who was standing in the middle of the living room with Rory still in her arms. "Hurry up and change, it's not 4 o'clock."

"Aw, I'll have to keep giving you kisses later, Rory," she said to your cat, then set her down before looking at you. "I'm going to your room."

"Ash you wish but come on," you hurried her over with a wave of your hand.

Rina, being the obedient sub that she was, hurried down the hall and into your room. You took off your coat, left it on one of the living room chairs and waited for her near the hallway exit. Ten minutes later she came out, dressed in the outfit she had worn to the awards carpet only without the bow in her hair, now loose and with pretty curls.

The two of you left the apartment and went straight to the elevator. You went in first, and as soon as you turned around, Rina surprised you by throwing her arms around your neck and crashing her lips flooragainst yours. It was then that you realized why you were really rushing her so much, because you wrapped your arms around her and kissed her back without a shred of hesitation.

After pressing the button for the ground floor, you instinctively leaned against the wall of the elevator, Rina's perfect body pressed against yours and your arms around her waist. The kiss heated up quickly, and before you knew it you were already groping each other, her hand rubbing your cock through your pants and you squeezing her firm ass cheeks through your dress. You hadn't even thought about it, it was something that came out of pure instinct.

"Would you fuck me in here daddy? Please?" she asked softly, between kisses that became more passionate and sloppy by the second and with a squeeze to your already hard bulge.

"Here and now?" you asked back, with both hands on her ass. "Are you that horny today?"

"Mhum," she nodded with a moan against your lips, unbuttoning your pants and lowering the zipper. "Very much daddy. Just looking at you makes me so horny."

"Can't you wait until later when things are hotter?" You said that, but your hands had lifted her short dress up to her waist and were now busy squeezing her soft, spongy, delicious ass cheeks.

"Aniyo, I want you now," she replied, taking your cock out from inside your boxers to stroke it. "Those three daesang don't celebrate themselves."

"Fuck, that's right," you said, pulling away from her lips for a moment to look into her eyes. "Congratulations baby."

"Thanks, but I need you to fuck me right now," she said, and kissed you again.

The make out session went on for a while longer as she pulled your pants and boxers down to mid-thigh so she could stroke your cock comfortably; as it was already throbbing too much between her fingers, you decided to grab her by the waist, turn her around and bend her against the right wall of the elevator. Just as the doors opened.

Thank god it was early in the morning and there wasn't a soul awake in your building, because that would have been the most embarrassing experience of your life.

"Oopsies," you said, and pressed the button for the top floor, the 40th.

With the doors closed again you could focus on your favorite cum slut again. Rina had her pretty cake ready for you and her hands resting on the mirror. Normally you would have yanked her panties off, but these were just too pretty, black lace with subtle embroidery and fine stitching, so you just pulled them away to her left butt cheek.

"How long has it been since you had something inside that warm pussy?" you asked, and you spit on your cock to lubricate it and rub the tip between her silky folds.

Rina turned to look at you with wide pupils and a parted mouth.

"Since the last time you fucked me daddy," she replied. "I've been a good girl."

"Not even your fingers?"

"Nothing. Only you and your cock deserve that privilege."

You smiled, and slowly took your cock inside her to admire how that gorgeous face twisted in pleasure as her folds engulfed your shaft inch by inch. When you reached the bottom both you and she moaned at the same time, and you put your hands on her hips to give her slow pumps until the friction was reduced to almost a minimum.

"Mmmm fuck," Rina moaned, biting the entire width of her bottom lip. "I missed your cock so much."

"Oh yeah?" you asked with a gasp, slipping your hand under her bunched up dress to rest on her soft lower back. "But it's only been a week, baby."

"I don't fucking care," she replied, watching as you fucked her harder and harder and made her ass cheeks jiggle. "Every second that passes without you inside me is torture."

"Such a slut huh?" you asked through clenched teeth, now with both hands on her waist under her dress.

"Mhum," she nodded with a cute moan. "Just for you daddy."

You kept up that strong but steady pace for a while, not wanting to sweat and feel uncomfortable under the sweater you were wearing. She didn't care that you weren't the absolute animal you always were with her, it was enough with the little effort you were putting in and your good use of your skills to make her cum.

But just as you reached the 40th floor and the doors opened.

"Mmmgh fuck! This thing is going to give me a heart attack!" Rina moaned between spasms and moans, cumming around your cock as you pressed the button for the second floor; you weren't going to risk getting to the ground floor and having the security guard of your building see you by chance.

"Do I have to remind you who had the idea to have sex in an elevator?" you asked as the doors closed again.

"Shut up!" she squealed back in Korean, still going through the vestiges of orgasm.

"Make me."

Feeling challenged, Rina pushed herself off the wall and grabbed the back of your neck with her right arm to crash her lips against yours. You held her against you, your left arm around her abdomen and one hand on her neck. You started fucking her faster, but not too much, just enough to hasten your own climax.

"You can't cum inside me, can you?" She asked between gasps against your lips, fingers gripping the back of your neck and looking into your eyes.

"Not if you want to be sticky down there the whole ride," you replied, lowering your arm from around her abdomen to place your hand on her pussy and rub it. "The only option is for you to swallow it."

Rina took a moment to organize her words, as between the cock in and out of her pussy and the fingers rubbing in circles she had been paralyzed with pleasure for a few seconds, her mouth half open and nothing but muffled sounds coming out of her throat.

"G-god I don't know!" she managed to say against your lips. "Just cum, I don't care where."

Perfect. That was just the trigger you needed.

You grabbed one of Rina's thighs and lifted it up to your chest, forcing her to hold herself sideways against the elevator wall. It was the moment you decided to get intense and give her pussy hard thrusts, shaking her whole body and making her tits bounce under her dress. She reached a second orgasm while you were fucking her, but she controlled herself so you could keep going. You felt yourself coming just moments later.

"On your knees baby," you said between gasps as you pulled out of her pussy.

Rina complied and got on her knees, then grabbed your cock, stuck her tongue out and masturbated you furiously with your tip pressed against her tongue. It only took a few strokes for you to explode in Rina's mouth, who let you watch as your entire load pooled on her tongue. She then took you inside her mouth and began sucking off what was left in your tank, and didn't stop until you were empty.

But what you hadn't realized was that the elevator doors were wide open. Still breathing heavily, you turned your head to look down the second floor hallway and make sure no one was watching.

"Remind me not to listen to you again," you gasped, pressing the button that would take you to the ground floor. "I'm going to get tachycardia from this."

Rina pulled you out of her mouth after swallowing your load and stood up on slightly shaky legs, adjusting her panties and pulling her dress back down.

"But it was fun wasn't it?" she asked with a giggle, as you pulled up your pants and boxers. Just then you reached the ground floor.

"Oh yeah, a fucking roller coaster ride," you replied, and grabbed her hand to finally pull her out of the elevator. She intertwined her fingers with yours.

"And you like roller coaster rides?" Rina asked, leaning forward to look at you.

"Nope."

"Mmm, and what about me?" she pointed at herself. "Do you like me?"

"More than I'd like to."

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" she asked as you walked out of the building to your car.

"I guess you'll find out later," you said, and then quickly changed the subject. "Hey, we can pick up two people on the way, so I recommend you let them know so they can get ready."

"Just two?"

You pressed the button on your remote to unlock the car doors and opened your door to slide in. Rina did the same with hers.

"I don't know if you notice that my back seats are single-seaters, woman," you said, pressing the touch button on the steering wheel just once to start the car's battery. "Call. No time to waste."

"You're not inviting anyone over?" Rina asked, pulling her phone out of her handbag.

"Fuck, I forgot," you reached out to the car's dashboard to touch the touch screen of the rotary dial and turn on the car's air calefaction in order to counteract the cold outside. "In that case it would have to be just one person. And you too."

"Oh don't worry, I know who I want us to pick up."

But you didn't.

First you'd rule out the people who would definitely be with someone else. Like for example, the guys from ATEEZ and your two friends from The Boyz. You texted Mingi and then Kim Sunwoo.

After texting them both came the real dilemma. Who the fuck were you going to pick up? It had to be one damn person, which left you with quite a few options, but you had a couple already in mind. First you had to take a shot with the Taiwanese princess, who responded pretty quickly.

She responded to that last message, but you decided to ignore her on purpose. Perfect, one of the few options ruled out. Next was Sohyun, but she didn't respond, probably because she was asleep. You tried Nana, but she was asleep too. No one from NMIXX or STAYC was in the cards; both groups weren't even in Korea at the time, neither was Somi. NewJeans of course, also ruled out. That left you with the Fromis girls, and you were sure none of them would be awake by now.

Except one. But in order to catch her attention, you had to call her.

“Hi?” Jiheon answered from the other end of the line. She never failed to be just as much of a night owl as you.

“Hey, do you want me to pick you up?” you asked. “We’ll be drinking at home.”

“Ah, you know I do,” she said. “Are you with someone?”

“With Rina, I don’t know if you two have met yet. Also Wonyoung and Aeri, and more people are coming.”

“Oh! Yujinie is going?” she asked, since the two of them were close.

“I have no idea. As far as I know she went to her house tired, but you know how that girl is.”

“Aw… well, I’ll get ready. Call me when you get here.”

You then hung up and turned to look at Rina, who had also been talking on the phone at the same time as you.

"Can we go now?" you asked.

"Yep," she nodded. "Who were you talking to?"

"Jiheonie," you finally replied, starting the engine. "And you?"

"Eunbie-unnie."

"Kwon...?" you stepped on the gas and pulled out of your parking spot heading towards the dorm's exit.

"Hwang. You know, GFriend... Viv..."

"Yeah yeah, the girl whose ass you couldn't stop staring at in that challenge."

"I wasn't!-"

"Yes you were."

That left her silent, with a frown and a cute pout.

First you went to buy the alcohol, a fucking difficult task since it was a Sunday at 3 in the morning and very few liquor stores were open, but after driving around downtown Seoul for a few times you ended up finding one. You had no idea if people would bring their own alcohol, so you opted to buy everything at once, an expense that you split in half with Rina.

With that done, you headed to the address Rina had given you to pick up SinB. The short-haired woman was already waiting on the street under a streetlight, bundled up in a cream-colored jacket and white cargo pants; she was also wearing a cap and a face mask. You parked next to her, and she got in the right back seat.

"Whose idea was it?" she asked. "I was pretty comfortable in my bed."

"Whose idea do you think it was?" you asked, pulling away again, now heading to pick up Jiheon.

"The only one that makes it look like it's not 7 degrees?"

"Exactly."

"In my defense, I love this dress and wanted to show it off," Rina said.

SinB chuckled.

"Well you're going to die of hypothermia from showing off your legs and shoulders," she said.

"Then it will have been worth it."

"Slut..." you muttered in English under your breath.

"What was that?" Rina looked at you.

"Huh?" you played dumb, and she stared at you for a few seconds. "I don't know what you're looking at, I didn't say anything."

"Liar..." she muttered, but you heard her.

You arrived at the next stop only about five minutes later. You called her, and she got down a couple minutes later.

Apparently, Rina wasn't the only one who wanted to show off that night, because even though Jiheon was wearing a black and white striped sweater with a furry jacket, she was also wearing a short black skirt that showed off her delicious long legs adorned with fishnet stockings.

"Hi!" she greeted everyone as she climbed into the last available seat. She hadn't recognized SinB, and doing so nearly gave her a heart attack. "Omo omo omo. Ah! Hi! I'm a huge fan. Ah ottoke!"

"Have you really never met?" Rina asked as SinB and Jiheon greeted each other.

"No," SinB replied. "We've met at shows but always from a distance."

Jiheon nodded.

"Ah, interesting," Rina said.

"Hey, you guys like speed?" you asked, realizing that the streets were completely empty at that hour, and surely the highway you were supposed to take was too.

"No, don't even dream about it," Jiheon said immediately, already knowing your intentions.

"My pretty honey nougat, I don't know if you've noticed, but it's 3am and I want to get home."

"Ezio, there's snow on the streets," Rina told you. "They're wet. Do you want to die?"

"I don't think a $700,000 SUV is going to kill us. Chill."

"Just step on the gas," SinB said. "Come on, come on."

Jiheon put a hand on your shoulder and whined repeatedly for you not to do it, but ignoring her, you put the car into wet mode and floored the gas. She and Rina squealed in fear, but you and SinB were having a blast with the sound of the engine and the speed you were going. The really funny moment was when you entered the highway, where you had a long straightaway where you reached 150km/h in just a couple seconds. Rina was clinging to you so tightly that she was almost going to tear your arm off, and Jiheon was going to deafen you with her screams. On the other hand, you and SinB could do nothing but laugh.

When you exited the highway and were forced to slow down considerably, Rina and Jiheon shook you around with little bumps, pushes, and scoldings. They could be as upset as they wanted, but you were sure that you had cut at least half of the 10-minute trip.

"Open the damn doors before I kill you," Jiheon said behind you as you parked the car in your spot and turned off the engine.

"Oh, they were already open," you said after checking.

"Did we do that damn race without the locks on?!" Rina shrieked to your right, then opened her door. “Oh my god!”

You shrugged.

“I didn’t know,” you said, and Jiheon pulled your ear. “Ouch!”

SinB opened her door and got out, followed by the other two.

“Hey! It was fun!” SinB came to your defense, still giggling.

You got out, closed your door, and headed straight to the trunk.

“Unnie! Don’t defend him!” Jiheon shrieked to your left, arms crossed as you put down the bags of bottles. You handed her one to carry, and she didn’t object despite being angry. “He did it completely on purpose just to give us a hard time!”

“Yeah! Look at him smiling!” Rina protested to your right. You handed her a bag as well.

“Wah, are they always this whiny?” SinB asked behind you as you closed the trunk and handed her a bag. You grabbed the only one left.

"One is worse than the other. I won't say who. Come on."

"I'm not whiny!" Rina and Jiheon protested at the same time, causing you and SinB to burst out laughing.

You entered your building and headed straight for the elevator. At that moment your gaze happened to go to the floor, and you noticed that near the right wall of the elevator there was a stain that looked like...

You immediately stood on top of it so that no one else could see it. You locked eyes with Rina, and from the way she looked back at you, she had noticed it too, and had to make an inhuman effort to hold back her laughter.

As you walked up to your apartment the aroma of freshly made food greeted you. Wony and Aeri were both in the kitchen, going back and forth chopping, frying, and roasting ingredients. They already had appetizers made, including a bowl full of Caprese, which was basically tomato, fresh mozzarella, and basil. The idea had been Wony's, who told you that they had looked up Italian recipes online for the things they were going to cook. You were grateful for the detail, but something told you that Aeri had something to do with it, probably as compensation for invading your house without full notice at 2 in the morning.

The guests started arriving not long after. First came the boys from ATEEZ, and then Sunwoo and Juyeon. To your surprise Yujin came too, and Aeri's guests were a guy you didn't know and Yunjin from Lesserafim, a girl with whom you had only shared a few words every time you had met her.

You were glad that the 'party' had turned out as Rina and Aeri had promised: healthy fun without fuss, which wasn't too difficult considering the number of people there.

At first, everyone was with their own little group. You and Wony were of course together all the time, and you were joined from time to time by Aeri and Rina along with SinB, Yunjin and the other guy who you later found out was called Haon and was a rapper. Jiheon and Yujin, being as close as they were, were also like two peas in a pod, primarily talking to the guys from Ateez and The Boyz.

But as divided as you all were, from a certain point in the early morning the group started to become more and more homogeneous, until finally you all started talking, laughing, and drinking together. You had a great time, and luckily for you, you knew Wony had too, despite having seemed unhappy a few hours ago.

Your calculations regarding the amount of alcohol you bought turned out to be incorrect, as many of them had a fairly low resistance to alcohol and had gotten drunk faster than you expected (Jiheon was the first to fall, to no one's surprise). This led to you being left with about 3 bottles of vodka and two bottles of whiskey unopened on the table. You weren't much of a drinker on your own, so you ended up telling the guys to take everything home.

By 8am everyone was gone, leaving only you, Wony, Rina and Aeri, lying on the couch staring at the ceiling. You were all drunk—maybe Rina and Aeri a little more so—not to the point of vomiting in every corner of the house and stumbling around everywhere, but you still knew that the four of you were dizzy.

"Great, I just needed to mess up my bloody sleep schedule again," you said, lying with your hands on your chest on the right wing of the couch, which also functioned as a bed. You had your head resting on one of Wony's thighs, and she was leaning against the wall with her legs spread out between the backrest and Rina's body.

"And we have a trip tomorrow," Rina said, staring blankly at the ceiling. "I don't think this was the most responsible thing to do."

"Oh, you think so?" you asked sarcastically.

"Hey, can you please understand me? I won't have any days off for like two weeks!"

"You know, I just find it funny that you're the two oldest in your group and at the same time the most reckless," Wony said with a giggle, caressing your hair.

"Oh mind your own business, little princess," Aeri said from the other side of the couch. She was lying face down, her dress rolled up to her thighs to highlight her ass.

"But don't be mad at me!" Wony said, still between tipsy giggles. "It's not like I'm lying."

"You're the prettiest and most elegant in your group and who knows how many times you've choked on your boyfriend's cock. That’s worst"

Yikes. Now that was a counterattack.

Flabbergasted, you kept your gaze on the ceiling. You could only hear a discreet laugh from Rina.

"I do it all the time and I love it, so what? You try to put me on the ropes bitch?" Wony asked.

Aeri let out a giggle.

"I certainly wouldn't mind tying you up with ropes," she said. "That would be hot."

"Weren't you mad at me a second ago?!"

"I'm still here, just so you know," you said.

"Oh yeah, right," Aeri looked at you. "Tell me something, Ezio, do you like Japanese cake?"

"Ah... the cheesecake that's fluffy and tasty?" you asked, genuinely clueless about the true intent of the question.

"Wah, I love Japanese cheesecake," Rina added. "It's like eating a marshmallow."

"Hey! I was just talking to you!" Wony protested, and threw a pillow at Aeri that went over her and fell into the dining room.

"Nuh uh, I'll ask you again, and look at me," Aeri said, and you turned your head to look at her. "You like Japanese cake?"

As she asked that, she grabbed the dress and pulled it up over her waist, revealing her tasty bubble butt adorned by a burgundy thong.

"Ahhh! Don't look!" Wony squealed, and covered your eyes with both hands, but you had already seen what you needed to see.

You heard Aeri giggle.

"I'm just kidding, princess," she said. "No need to get worked up. Or are you afraid he'll get a boner from my ass?"

Wony wasn't blocking your view properly, so you could still see that wonderful ass perfectly. In that state it was impossible for you to control what you thought, and the inevitable happened.

"Ah, he already has it, look," you heard Rina say, and when Wony removed her hands from in front of your face, you saw Rina pointing at the hard bulge in your pants, which Aeri was staring at.

"That's only because it was a dirty move!" Wony protested. "You're such a slut!"

"Better not say it too much, because I'm starting to believe it and get horny," Aeri said with a giggle.

"He's my boyfriend!" Wony crossed her thighs around your head, in a fit of pure possessive instinct that felt like heaven. "Mine!"

"Well, girl," Aeri stood up, and with her dress still bunched up around her waist, went to sit on the edge of the end of the couch, right between your feet. The dress she was wearing left very little to the imagination, with that bare straight back that could drive the sanest man crazy, and her ass looked amazing in that thong and position, she just had to... take off the dress, which she did. "I know he's yours," Aeri looked over her shoulder at your bulge and bit her bottom lip. "But that cock is staring me right in the eyes."

Wony had to have been stunned by Aeri's sudden, bold move as well, as she didn't say a single word or move a single muscle.

"Don't talk about his cock or I'll get horny too," you heard Rina say to your left. "Every time I think about it I want it inside me."

"My god! You two are a couple of whores!" Wony squealed, releasing your head from between her thighs. "A couple of whores with... nice asses and nice tits."

"Both," you added.

"You shut up!" Wony slapped your forehead, startling you.

"Oh, you like us, don't you?" Aeri asked, and then she turned around and climbed onto her knees at the edge of the couch so you and Wony could admire her pair of round, nice, firm, perfectly sized tits.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw that Rina couldn't help but follow Aeri's lead and was taking off her dress, under which, just like Aeri, she was only wearing panties and no bra.

"I didn't say that!" Wony said, and as you looked up at her you noticed that her eyes couldn't stop staring at Rina and Aeri's bodies. "I just said that..."

She trailed off, and as you looked back up at the front you realized why. Aeri had crawled up on top of you, her hands on either side of your head and her knees on either side of your hips. That pair of breasts were right above your face, tempting inches away that you didn't dare to shorten just yet.

"What did you say, Vicky?" Aeri asked with a giggle, looking at Wony from very close, ignoring you despite having you underneath her. "Because I remember you said I was a slut."

Rina, half naked like Aeri, straddled Wony's calf with two hands above her knee, just watching her like a cat did with its prey.

"Y-yeah, because that's what you are..." Wony glanced at Rina out of the corner of her eye. "Both of you."

"I told you not to call me that or I would take it seriously," Aeri replied, and put a hand on your chest to bring her face so close to Wony's that you thought she was going to kiss her. "Come on, say it again."

"Slut!" Wony repeated instantly, without a hint of hesitation. But the tone she used sounded like a challenge to you.

"Fuck, I am," Aeri moaned, then giggled as she moved her hand down from your chest to your bulge to squeeze it without Wony noticing. "Again."

"Me, me, tell me," Rina said, now settling herself closer to Wony's knee.

Aeri was massaging your cock over your pants, making it throb with each deep squeeze. You didn't want to stay still, so you discreetly moved your hand up to her crotch to rub her pussy over her panties.

"You are the biggest slut!" Wony said now looking at Rina. "You fuck my boyfriend all the time!"

"Oh yeah and I fucking love it when he fills my pussy," Rina moaned, now adjusting herself on Wony's thigh. From the slight movements it seemed like she was rubbing herself against her. "You don't?"

You heard another moan, but this one was from Wony. Looking up you noticed that Rina had pulled her dress down, and now had her pair of cute little tits free.

"Y-yes I do..." Wony replied with a gasp. "Can we suck his cock already or...?"

"Nuh-uh, you're going to kiss me first," Aeri said, and then kissed Wony right above you.

Rina took the opportunity to wrap her arms around Wony's waist and dive into her neck with kisses, as she and Aeri kissed like they had been lusting after each other all night. And you, seeing that things had already gotten out of hand without you even having to intervene, finally leaned up on your elbows to take one of Aeri's tits into your mouth.

You had no angle of vision to know what was happening behind you, you could only hear muffled moans, fabric being manipulated and kiss after kiss. Aeri was trying to unbutton your pants with one hand, but noticing her inability you had to help her. Then when you took off your shoes, pants and boxers, she grabbed your cock with a reverse grip and rubbed it slowly.

Aeri's tits remained your focus for another long seconds; you moved between each mound, sucking and licking her cute nipples with your hands on her waist. A moment later Aeri moved away from Wony and lowered her body to straddle your abdomen. You were then able to turn to see what was happening behind you.

Wony was no longer wearing her dress, and like Aeri and Rina, she was only in her panties as she kissed and groped Rina, who was sitting on her lap with her hands around her neck. You didn't know how to feel about it, but your current state of mind only made the scene turn you on twice as much.

"Hey, I exist too," you called out to both of them, as Aeri climbed off your abdomen and went to settle on her knees between your outstretched legs. Now she was able to get a good grip on your cock and stroke it slightly faster.

"Hmm, sorry daddy," Rina said, breaking away from Wony's lips. "Her lips are too fluffy and delicious."

She made to lean in to kiss you, but Wony quickly put her hand between both of them.

"No!" she stopped Rina. "I'm not letting you kiss him, whore! That privilege is mine!"

"But I just kissed you!" Rina protested. "What's the difference?!"

"I just said no!"

"Shut the fuck up both of you and come suck my cock," you said.

"Yes daddy!" they both said at the same time, completely forgetting about their argument.

There wasn't room for the four of you on the couch together, at least not for what you wanted to do, so you told them to go to the bedroom. There were your two cats in there, which you dragged out to make room on the bed. You got in first, piling the pillows up in the middle so you could lay down with your head propped up. It was then that they joined you, Rina on your left, Wony on your right, and Aeri on her hands and knees between your legs.

Rina and Wony had their backs to you, lying on their sides with their faces on either side of your cock and their elbows resting on top of your abdomen. The first to take you into her mouth was Aeri, with slow sucks halfway down your shaft while Wony and Rina kissed the sides of your base, licking the sides every time Aeri moved up. With Wony it wasn't necessary since she still had her hair in the bun, but with Rina you brushed her hair back just to delight in that double view. Cute backs drove you crazy, and if that wasn't enough, their asses were just as cute.

"Fuck, it almost fit in my mouth," Aeri gasped, stroking your tip with her fingers in a ring, while you caressed Wony and Rina's lower backs. "Just the way I love it."

"The first time I was unable to take it all," Rina said, kissing and licking along with Wony every corner of your cock.

"Ha! I've always been able to take it down my throat without any effort," Wony said.

"Oh yeah? Then do it," Aeri goaded, and slapped Wony's face a couple of times with your cock. "Be a good girl."

Wony didn't hesitate and grabbed your cock and took it straight into her mouth. Unlike when she gave you head in the car, she was now true to her skills and gave you a sloppy blowjob, with plenty of saliva built up from the start. Rina and Aeri meanwhile sucked your balls, and you groped Wony and Rina's asses.

After a few seconds she put her hands on your thighs and lowered her mouth to the base of your cock in one smooth motion, taking every inch without a hint of gag reflex to let your tip rest against her throat for a while.

"Damn, you got a fucking talent for it huh?" Aeri said, as Wony slowly twisted her head from side to side with your cock stuck in her throat, something she did just to show off.

Wony pulled you out of her throat a couple seconds later, her breathing completely steady but her mouth full of saliva and connected to your cock by slimy threads. She stroked you quickly.

"Come on, I fucking challenge you two bitches," she said, looking at Aeri and Rina. "I bet you can't even hold it in for five seconds."

"Bet," Rina and Aeri said.

Again, they were pretending you didn't exist and were just an NPC with a usable cock. You didn't mind tho, and it wasn't like you would care when you were drunk.

Rina was the first to make her attempt. You knew she wasn't bad at it; she gave excellent blowjobs, but deepthroats were perhaps her only weak point in general. She grabbed you by the base, caught your cock between her lips and slowly lowered them down until you were in her throat. One... two...—first gag—, three—she coughed against your cock and pulled back with labored breathing.

"Ha! One out," Wony said with a smug little smile on her face. "Come on Uchinaga, you fucking gorgeous packed up whore."

"Fuck, I'm going to lose this shit..." she muttered, already accepting her fate.

Aeri took her shot, first flipping all her pink hair to the side and then grabbing your cock and plunging her mouth in. The outlook didn't look too hopeful for her, since halfway through she seemed to have a hard time taking you, but to your surprise she did reach the bottom. One... two... three...—first gags, Wony worried—, four... and just as the five seconds were about to pass, a huge gag reflex made her take you out of her mouth.

"I won!" Wony said, the cocky grin back on her face. "Ha! You can't beat me on that, sluts."

"Without preparation it's cheating, bitch," Aeri said, wiping the saliva off her chin with the back of her hand and side looking at her.

"I don't care, it's time for me to choose my prize!"

"Do you win a contest that you organised yourself and also choose your own prize?" Rina asked.

"You're right!" Wony replied, and got on her knees to cup Rina's face in her hands, give her a little kiss and then look at you. "My prize will be daddy eating my pussy and fucking me first!"

"But!-" Rina tried to protest, but Wony held up a finger.

"Nuh-uh, you didn't win the contest, refrain from protesting Miss Yoo."

Quite a comedian when she was drunk, and above all, a whore.

Wony then straddled you right on your chest, slowly slipped her hand into your hair to tangle her fingers there, and then raised her hips to pull you towards her pussy. You immediately ate her out like she was a three-star Michelin dish, making her moan and grind her hips against your face.

Aeri and Rina, without much other option, both focused on your cock, in a combined action in which they both sucked you off in the most messy and frantic way they could. You moaned against Wony's pussy, and she loved it. She let you know that by the little tugs she gave to your hair every few seconds.

You moved your hands up to hold Wony's small waist, and from there you moved up her back until you reached her tits, whose nipples you pinched in between light squeezes. Then you moved one of your hands up to her mouth, and brought two fingers inside for her to suck on while you attacked her clit with the tip of your tongue.

Aeri and Rina were going crazy on your cock. You couldn't see what they were doing, but their tongues felt amazing. It led you to moan more and more, and to breathe heavily against Wony's pussy, which led her to cum in your mouth.

"Mmmgh fuck!" she moaned between cute little spasms on top of you. "Can I ride you daddy?"

"Oh, now you ask?" you asked. "I thought you had forgotten that I have an opinion."

"I know you're always gonna say yes to everything, but consent is important daddy," she said, and took your hand to give the back of it a peck.

With this done, Wony got off your chest and turned to look at the girls.

"Get off his cock bitches, time for his girlfriend to ride him."

Rina and Aeri were diligent and moved away from your cock to give Wony room, who mounted you with her knees on either side of your waist and raised her hips to grab your shaft, aligning it with her pussy and slowly impaling herself on it with a long moan of satisfaction that made her face look like a work of art.

Wony left her hands on your chest, looked into your eyes and began to move her hips up and down, taking your cock in and out of her suffocating pussy. Rina positioned herself on the right, on her knees and facing Wony, to grab her chin and kiss her. Aeri approached you from the left, and got on her hands and knees to kiss you without Wony noticing.

"Would you mind lending me your face as a seat, love?" she asked after that brief taste of your lips.

"Whenever you want," you replied between gasps, as Wony was now bouncing faster on your cock.

Aeri stood up and positioned herself above your face, with her knees snug against the sides of your chest and her calves on top of your arms. She then lowered her hips, and pressed her pussy against your mouth for you to eat. You immediately grabbed her ass, delighted with how soft and round her buttocks were between your fingers. She moaned, but just seconds later those moans were muffled against Wony's lips.

You reached out with your right arm and without looking you reached for Rina's cute ass, which you groped while you ate Aeri's pussy and ass equally. Now you could hear Wony's moans loud and clear, and looking up you realized it was because Aeri and Rina were kissing and licking her tits while she bounced on your cock with her hands on your abdomen.

"Mmmgh fuck fuck fuck!" she moaned, fingers digging into your belly. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna... Fuck!!"

Wony sank down with a sudden thud to your pelvis and ground herself against you, spasms making her pussy walls throb around you. You continued to fully engage Aeri's pussy and ass, licking between her wet pink folds and butthole until she raised her hips.

"Alright get off bitch, my fucking turn," Aeri said to Wony. "You give Rina a good time."

"Yeah, come eat my pussy baby," Rina moaned, and grabbed Wony by the back of the neck to pull her off your cock, make her lay down together and make out beside you.

That left you 'alone' with Aeri, who only had to crawl down your body until her ass was positioned above your cock, which you grabbed and pressed against her pussy so that she only had to move her hips down and make your shaft slowly disappear between those glorious ass cheeks.

"Oh fuck," Aeri growled, her ass resting against your pelvis. She looked at you over her shoulder. "You like the view, baby?" She asked with a giggle.

"I very much fucking love it," you said, giving her right ass cheek a firm squeeze and then a spank to get her bobbing up and down.

Beside you, Wony and Rina were in the middle of a hot make out session, with the taller girl on top of the most bottom girl you knew. Rina was spread legged, and Wony had two fingers pumping in and out of her pussy. Again, you didn't know how to feel about it, you just knew it was hot as fuck.

Aeri was moving like a fucking demon on your cock, giving you quite the show of how to properly ride a cock in that position. It was hypnotic to watch her ass go back and forth, and her long pink hair run down her pale back. She kept going for about a minute more of you spanking her ass several times, until she planted her feet on the mattress and started squatting up and down on you, slamming hard against your pelvis.

To your right, Wony went from fingering Rina to being between her legs eating her pussy. Rina had one hand on the back of Wony's head, and the other was playing with one of her own tits, squeezing it and pinching her nipple between moans. Wony was apparently amazing at eating pussy too, as Rina's moans were almost as loud as Aeri's.

On the other hand, Aeri's ass, as massive and firm as it was, was almost taking your breath away with every crash against your body, but she didn't notice either because she was too horny or because the alcohol in her system didn't let her notice. The solution was pretty simple: grab her by the waist and push her off your cock, have her lie face down on the left side of the bed and get back inside her in that prone bone position.

"Mmm yeah daddy be fucking hard on me," she moaned, one side of her face buried against one of your pillows. You brushed her hair back and placed it in front of her right shoulder, so you could put your hand on the back of her neck and fuck her as hard as she wanted.

Fucking Aeri Uchinaga in that specific position felt like a luxury. Her ass looked amazing, jiggling with every thrust and quick spank you gave her. At one point you leaned forward and placed your fists on either side of her shoulders, pushing your cock hard up and down, then you stood up straight again, grabbing onto her waist to make her lift her ass slightly and pulling it towards you every time you pushed forward. What this created was absolute madness for Aeri, who moaned, screamed and groaned into the pillow until with a thud to the mattress, she came hugging the pillow.

You slowly fucked her through her orgasm, caressing her back and shoulders. To your left Rina was going down the same road. Wony was still eating her pussy, but now she was also fingering her at the same time. Rina's face reddened, twisted, and finally froze as he came in Wony's mouth as well.

"Daddy," Wony called to you, pumping two fingers in and out of Rina as she writhed in pleasure. "Come and fuck her, I want to see her being overstimulated."

Without hesitation you pulled out of Aeri's pussy and went to take Wony's place between Rina's legs. She looked into your eyes and then at your cock, well knowing what you were going to do. You didn't make her wait: you quickly grabbed your cock, and still soaked in Aeri's fluids, you took it inside Rina.

"Mmmgh wait wait wait!" Rina squealed with a hand on your abdomen, twisting her hips as your cock slid easily into her still sensitive pussy.

"Shut up and take daddy's cock," Wony ordered, lying down on your right with her face next to Rina's.

Rina brought her hand to her mouth to muffle her whimpers the moment you started pumping back and forth. At least you had the mercy to not go hard at first just to not make it too unbearable for her, but that was only a brief five seconds after which you went faster and faster.

“At least kiss me daddy… c-can you?” Rina asked looking into your eyes, her tits bouncing from your thrusts.

“No!” Wony immediately replied in your place.

“Pleaseee!!” Rina whimpered again, squeezing her tits as her eyes became teary. It was quite a deal for her not to be able to kiss you during sex – she was just too used to you spoiling her.

“I said no!” Wony repeated, and cupped the side of Rina’s face so she could see her. “Kiss me instead you little slut.”

Rina did so, muffling cute moans against Wony's lips while you had your hands on her thighs to keep her legs spread wide. Aeri had already recovered from her recent orgasm, and moved to get between Wony's legs and eat her pussy while she maked out with Rina.

Wony pulled away from Rina's lips and looked at Aeri with her mouth half open between gasps.

"It's about time you ate me out, Uchinaga," Wony moaned, entwining her fingers between strands of pink hair.

"Were you craving for it?" Aeri asked, licking between her folds and then her clit.

"Since I saw you making those faces while riding my boyfriend's cock," Wony replied.

You meanwhile continued to fuck Rina as hard as you could, squeezing her tits, her neck and making her suck on your fingers. She came within seconds, but you ignored her body's signals and kept going until you brought her legs together, pressed them against her body and held them with yours to now fuck her in a matting press.

"Are you gonna fill my pussy daddy?" Rina asked between moans, looking into your eyes as you hammered her pussy up and down. "Please do it... I need it! I need it so bad daddy!"

"Are you gonna cum again for me if I do baby?" you asked between gasps.

"Yes! I'll do whatever you ask daddy, anything!" she replied.

Your climax was just around the corner, it only took a few downward thrusts when you felt the tingle run down your cock.

"Then fucking cum, slut," you growled, and then exploded inside her.

Rina moaned in ecstasy as she felt your cock throbbing and shooting out jet after jet of cum inside her, and instantly she came too, her body shaking and her moans sweetening your ears. You continued to pump slowly, making sure to leave every drop inside her without any waste. She loved every second of it; it was what drove her craziest by far. She had to earn her nickname from somewhere.

To your right Aeri had stopped eating Wony out and was now on top of her, kissing her and rubbing her pussy in circles. You pulled out of Rina's pussy and looked at them.

"Hey, clean up, what are you waiting for?" you said, pointing at Rina's cum dripping pussy.

Aeri looked up, looked between Rina's legs and went there, pushing you out of the way. Wony followed her, and the two of them took turns cleaning your cum from Rina's pussy. You laid down on the pillows, leaning against the headboard between heavy breaths to rest.

Aeri and Wony looked up at you, and with cum pooling in their mouths, they shared a sloppy kiss that spilled your load over their jaws and onto the sheets below. They didn't stop until they shared every drop of thick liquid and were both clean and herself.

"Now that I think about it... there's one thing I do beat you at," Aeri said to Wony with a giggle, both of them sitting on their knees in front of Rina's spread legs.

Wony frowned and looked at her as if she was insane.

"Huh, at what?" Wony asked.

Aeri then looked at you, and crawled past Rina until she was between your legs, lowering her face and licking your cock from balls to tip. She then moved up to align her face with yours.

"Wanna fuck my ass daddy?" she asked, caressing the back of your cock until it was hard again.

"What?" Wony quickly crawled over to you, tripping over Rina on her way to your side. "N-No! You can do me too!"

Aeri giggled as she saw that Wony had fallen for her trap.

"Really, Vicky?" Aeri turned to look at her. "You don't look like you've ever tried to get fucked in the ass, have you?"

"W-well..." Wony avoided her gaze.

"No, right?"

Wony snorted.

"No! But I can try and I know my boyfriend is going to love it!"

Aeri then looked at you and raised an eyebrow.

"You hear that baby?" she asked. "The little princess wants your cock in her ass."

"Get the lube then," you said, nodding towards the nightstand to the right of the bed.

Aeri moved to get it, but Wony just stared at you with a scowl.

"Huh? What do you have that for?! Who are you fucking in the ass other than me?"

You didn't know how to tell her all the girls who had passed by that bed and been fucked in the ass.

"Yujinie loves it," you replied.

"Ugh!" she slammed her fist into her thigh. "That bitch!"

Aeri came back to you, with a bottle of lube that was almost gone but you knew would be enough for the night.

"Get on all fours, pretty girl," Aeri told Wony, and she complied.

"What are you going to do?" Wony asked, getting on her hands and knees on the right side of the bed, her ass facing you.

"I'm gonna get you ready."

Aeri sat on her knees beside her, opened the bottle of lube, and looked at you.

"You don't mind getting the sheets dirty?" she asked.

"I don't fucking care at this point," you shrugged and shook your head.

"Great."

Aeri then focused on her self-assigned task. She poured lube on each of Wony's ass cheeks, spreading it around until each one was a shiny pearl. She then moved on to her butthole, which she treated with the utmost care even as she stuck two of her fingers in there just to stretch it out a bit.

"Fuck..." Wony gasped, looking over her shoulder. "I-is that it?"

"It's perfect," Aeri said, and gave Wony a smack that made some lube splatter. She then looked at you. "All yours."

You moved on, going to kneel behind Wony. She looked at you with adorable little eyes, wanting you to be as careful with her as possible. Of course you would be. She was your sweet girl after all. Your princess to take care of and pamper. You would never be able to hurt her, not even accidentally.

"I just need you to relax, sweetie, okay?" you asked, one hand running up and down her back. She just nodded. "And let that hair down, I want something to pull on."

Wony complied and brought a hand to her bun to pull it free, freeing her wavy, shiny brown hair to fall down her back and in front of her shoulders. She also spread her knees further out to the sides, leaving her ass at a perfect level for you. Your cock was already hard again, and you brought it to her butthole to press slowly forward, as carefully as you could.

"Hey, don't tense up girl," Aeri said from your left. She had been applying the same treatment to herself as she did to Wony. "It'll be harder for you."

"I'm trying!" Wony protested, gripping the sheets with her fingers as you barely got your tip inside. She took a deep breath, and you saw her relax her hands. "Come on baby, you keep going."

You pushed forward a little more insistently, slowly taking every inch of throbbing flesh inside that tight butthole. There were a few hiccups, as was usual when someone did that for the first time, but a minute later you were fully inside her, suffocated by those tight walls.

"So? How does it feel?" Aeri asked, getting on her hands and knees beside Wony. Her wonderfully lubed up ass was a bit of a distraction, but you had to focus on your girl.

"It feels..." Wony closed her eyes, gasped, and buried her forehead into the mattress with her arms outstretched. "Baby, move."

You placed your hands on her buttocks and pulled back, slowly bringing your cock out and then pushing forward again. Wony let out a sensual moan as you repeated the same thing several times.

"Oh yeah it feels fucking wonderful," she moaned, and turned her face to face Aeri with a frown of pleasure.

"Wait until it gets intense then," Aeri replied with a giggle. "Cumming like that feels quite different."

As the seconds passed Wony became more comfortable, allowing you to go harder and faster. Wony loved every moment of it, and you were immensely happy about it, as her ass felt amazing. Aeri should be proud, for she had created a potential monster, both in you and Wony.

Wony's ass was your little toy for a while. You were fucking her hard, mercilessly, making your pelvis and ass make a sexual cacophony of clashing and wet sounds. Her hair and waist were your grip points at all times, one you pulled back in a fistful, and the other you held tight, not wanting her to slip away.

You would have kept going until she came, but to your left a delicious Japanese cake waited, glistening in the light of your room. Aeri watched as you fucked Wony in full attention, and bit her lower lip waiting for her turn. The moment you turned to look at her she just happened to meet your eyes, and you simply weren't going to say no to that look.

"I'll be back with you in a second, my sweet girl," you told Wony, and carefully pulled your cock out of her.

"Nooo!" Wony whimpered. "Fuck only me!"

"Don't be selfish, bitch," Aeri said as you positioned yourself behind her. "If it weren't for me you wouldn't have found out that you love that."

You repeated the process with Aeri, one hand on one of her buttocks as you brought your cock into her ass. The experience she had was evident, as your shaft slid inside with relative ease without her even wincing in pain. All that was visible on her face was pleasure; pure ecstasy released in a moan when you reached the bottom.

"Fuck," Aeri gasped, biting her bottom lip. "You really want to gatekeep that cock Vicky? How inconsiderate of you."

"Yeah, because it's mine," Wony replied.

"And why is it inside my ass?" Aeri teased with a giggle.

Any desire to tease Wony disappeared the moment you started moving your hips and fucking her hard, making her ass cheeks jiggle with each thrust. Your hands went to her waist, then up her back until you reached the nape of her neck and pushed her face into the mattress. Aeri kept her ass raised, perfect for you to plant your feet on the mattress and drill her butthole up and down.

After another while you went back to Wony, fucking her the same way you did Aeri: hand on the back of her head, face against the mattress and ass raised for your hammering. She came a little less than a minute later, with an aggressiveness that denoted that she was a first timer being fucked in the ass.

"Oh fuck!!" Wony screamed into the sheets, wrinkling them and twisting her hips. "Fuck it does feel quite different! God!"

As Wony's orgasm wore off you now moved to Aeri, but you had a different idea of ​​how to go about it with her. From being on her hands and knees you now rolled her onto her side with her legs drawn up. As you moved back into her ass you moaned, since it felt twice as tight and warm in that position.

"Mmm, are you gonna fill my tight little ass daddy?" Aeri said, looking into your eyes with her head tilted as you picked up the pace. She had her pink hair all messy, with strands sticking to her face from sweat.

"Every fucking corner of it," you replied between gasps, one hand squeezing one of her tits and the other gripping her waist.

"Then fucking do it, mmmgh!" she moaned, holding onto your left forearm and with her hand on top of yours on her breast.

You moved your hand from her breast to her neck, and pressed your fingers there to get really intense with your thrusts. The bed shook as if an earthquake was happening, so strong that one of the pillows on the edge fell to the floor. Aeri tried to scream in pleasure, but the obstruction on her neck by your fingers prevented her from doing so. Her face turned red, and her hands went to hold on to your wrist until she came. You fucked her despite her spasms, but not for too long, because it only took a couple of seconds for you to explode inside that wonderful round ass.

"Oh my god!" you groaned, unloading every thick drop of cum inside the ass of the hottest Japanese girl in the entire industry.

"Oh yeah put it all in!" Aeri squealed as you loosened your grip on her neck. "Fill my ass daddy, fill it like a fucking cum dump!"

Aeri looked too fucking gorgeous with her face twisted in pleasure, mouth parted and hair messy, but if you leaned forward to kiss her you were probably going to sleep on the couch with Helios and Rory. You just grabbed her face and made her look into your eyes, then stuck your fingers in her mouth and had her suck on them as both of your orgasms passed.

Seconds later you pulled very slowly out of Aeri's ass, letting your cum spill out in several rivers that fell straight onto the sheet. But making her star appearance after a while of lethargy, Yoo Jimin came back to life and stuck her head between your knees and Aeri's ass to collect your cum from her butthole without even a fuss.

"And there's my fucking cum slut," you panted, sitting on your own ankles as Rina ate Aeri's ass and ate your cum.

"Mmm yeah," Rina nodded, wiping her chin once finished, and knelt up beside you to lick the entire side of your face. "And your cum slut wants to ride you."

"I just filled your groupmate's ass, honey," you said with your breath still uneasy, turning to look at her. "Can I have a little break?"

"You can have the break by eating my pussy," she replied, making eyes at you. "I don't deserve it?"

"Are you seriously going to manipulate me?" you raised an eyebrow.

"Does it work?"

"Yes," you said, and grabbed her waist to lay her down with her head between two pillows. "You're unbearable."

"You're obsessed with me and it burns you to say it," Rina told you, as you spread her legs and laid face down with your face in front of her pussy.

"It's funny you say that, Miss 'fuck me in the elevator because I'm so needy, daddy'."

"Huh?!" you heard Wony say, but in order not to be hung up by the balls, you decided to ignore her and plant your mouth on Rina's pussy.

Rina moaned and moved her hand directly to your hair to tangle her fingers there. With Rina's thighs on your shoulders you moved your hands up as well, to grab her tits and massage them as you tasted that delicious pussy that you were certainly—and very dangerously—obsessed with. You didn't take long there, just long enough until your cock was ready again.

"Come on and ride me then, slut," you murmured, and gave her pussy a peck before laying down beside her.

She quickly stood up and straddled you, grabbing your still wet cock and bringing it into her spit-soaked pussy to fully impale herself on every inch of your shaft. Without a doubt, that was one of your favorite sights in the world: Rina on top of you, with your cock disappeared behind her perfect belly like magic. And those tits, fuck, those fucking tits. You needed them in your mouth.

You grabbed her waist and pulled her towards you, wrapping your arms around her body and smothering yourself between her tits. Rina moaned and began to move up and down on your cock, with a certain speed and neediness already from the start. You ate each breast between gasps, covering them with kisses, licking them, sucking them and taking as much of them as you could inside your mouth. It drove her crazy, and she translated it into killer hip movements that drove you crazy.

A new weight to your right on the bed made you open your eyes. It was Wony, lying next to you and with her legs open for Aeri, who was eating her pussy with a good part of her hair covering her face. Something impractical, but considering how horny she was, it didn't surprise you.

Wony grabbed your face and made you move away from Rina's tits to kiss her. You didn't refuse, and you tasted her lips in a kiss full of passion and saliva. Something told you that Rina was a little jealous, because she was whimpering more than usual and quickly jumping on your cock to somehow get your attention.

"I want you to kiss me! Ugh!" Rina whined when you didn't turn to look at her. "Please!" she dug her nails into your chest, just to poke you a little.

"I already told you no, whore!" Wony said, pulling away from the kiss to slap one of Rina's tits.

Rina moaned, and went slower but harder and deeper on your cock. Wony repeated the slap, now on her other breast to make it bounce. Several slaps later, Rina's pale tits were red as apples. That left her too stunned to move properly, so you took the reins and planted your feet on the bed to grab her waist and fuck her hard, thrusting down and up.

Unable to find relief from you for her need for kisses, Rina collapsed forward and crashed her lips against Wony's, covering your face with her long red hair as you continued to hammer her pussy. She muffled moans and screams against Wony's lips, who also moaned against hers. Within seconds Rina came, shaking on top of you as if she was being electrocuted. Your only response was to grab her ass and spank both of her ass cheeks at the same time to make her squeal out between her moans.

"Alright bitch, enough," Wony said, pushing Rina off of you. "My boyfriend is going to give me his last load, as it should be."

You knelt up and went between Wony's legs. Aeri had already moved away for you, and laid down on Wony's left. Rina laid down on the opposite side, and as you took your cock inside your girlfriend, Aeri and Rina each took one of Wony's tits into their mouths to kiss and suck on.

As you picked up the pace and gave Wony hard thrusts, the other two demons got wilder and wilder. The main focus remained on Wony's tits, but then Aeri moved to her long neck to kiss it, and Rina settled in to specifically lick and kiss her abdomen. All together, it elicited cute whimpers and angelic moans from Wony, which filled the room and reverberated off the walls.

A minute later Aeri added another coat of paint to the work and brought her hand to Wony's pussy, to make circles on her clit while you fucked her with your hands behind her knees. Rina then kissed her too, and the two engaged in a make out session until Wony came.

But unwilling to give any quarter, you pushed Rina off Wony's right and lay down in her place to put your girlfriend on top of you. She made herself comfortable as best she could, but you didn't wait to take your cock back inside her and fuck her like you did to Rina a few minutes ago. Her face, as gorgeous and sexy as ever, with her hair all disheveled in front, was paralyzed with pleasure at the overstimulation.

Aeri and Rina knelt behind her. Aeri had dropped the now empty bottle of lube on the floor, and the next thing you knew, she was fingering Wony's ass with three fingers while Rina rubbed her tits against one of her oily buttocks. Wony looked at you with tears in her eyes, and with small squeals that wouldn't come out of her throat. It wasn't long before she slapped your chest a few times, and knowing what that sign meant, you pulled out of her so she squirted all over your cock, between grunts and strong spasms.

"OH MY FUCKING GGGGOD!!" Wony screamed, burying her face in your neck and clinging to your shoulders, trying to catch her breath as she continued to drench your cock with jets of squirt.

"Fuck, I had no idea she could do that," Aeri panted, her wrist visibly tired once she pulled her fingers out of Wony.

"She didn't know either," you panted, hugging Wony with both arms. "It was a nice surprise."

"G-give me... your load... on my face," Wony murmured in your ear. "Only me."

You carefully pulled Wony off of you and laid her on her back where you were. Once again, Aeri and Rina laid down on either side of each other, and you straddled Wony's chest to masturbate right over her perfect sweaty face and full, parted lips. A few quick strokes later, you exploded with moans, filling every corner of your girlfriend's face with cum, especially her sexy lips that were still purposely parted. Wony was a good girl and a perfect canvas, her eyes closed and completely still until you finished painting her.

"Daddy... can we help her?" Rina asked, looking at Wony's face biting her lip.

"Go ahead, I'm dead," you nodded with a gasp.

Rina and Aeri got to work. They licked every drop of your cum off Wony's face and slowly accumulated it inside their mouths. Relatively finished, Wony opened her eyes and then her mouth, also sticking her tongue out. Then Aeri and Rina rose above her, and let your cum fall from their mouths into Wony's mouth, who swallowed it all despite the drops falling on her chin.

"Oh… wow..." you said, completely flabbergasted, and fell back onto the mattress.

Somehow, your body had completely ignored the fact that you were drunk while fucking. But your senses had returned to 'normal', and with it, the alcohol in your system that reminded you that you haven’t caught a sleep in almost 22 hours. You fought as hard as you could, but you were so fucking exhausted that you simply got knocked out.

—————————–

Spren Notes: I hope you guys appreciate this, because it's been a while since I put so much love into a fic lol. As always. Thanks for reading! MASTERLIST HERE!

[tobiosbbyghorl]

bounded by fate | psh

pairing: Ceo!Sunghoon x Secretary!Reader

summary: When CEO Park Sunghoon needs a date for his friend’s wedding, he unexpectedly asks you—his dedicated secretary—to accompany him on a three-day trip. What starts as a professional arrangement quickly shifts into something more as unforeseen circumstances bring you closer together.

word count: 3.8k

Sunghoon Park was a man of routine. Everything in his life was carefully structured—work came first, emotions were secondary, and personal entanglements were unnecessary distractions.

As his secretary, you had long accepted that he was a machine in human form.

Efficient. Cold. Untouchable.

So when he asked you to be his date for a three-day wedding trip, you were… stunned.

"You need a date?" you repeated, wondering if you had misheard him.

Sunghoon, seated at his desk in his pristine office, didn’t even blink. "For a wedding this weekend. Three days."

You folded your arms. "And I was your first choice?"

"You’re the most logical option."

Logical. Of course.

"And this is strictly professional?"

He tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "Unless you’d like it to be something else."

Your stomach flipped. "I’ll pass."

He smirked. "Then it’s professional."

You should have expected that answer.

"Fine," you said. "I’ll go."

Sunghoon nodded, satisfied. "I’ll pick you up Friday morning."

Friday morning arrived faster than expected.

The sound of a sleek black car pulling up outside made your stomach twist.

Sunghoon stepped out, effortlessly elegant in his black coat, his sharp gaze scanning your apartment building before landing on you.

Without a word, he took your suitcase and placed it in the trunk, then opened the passenger door.

"You didn’t have to do that," you muttered as you slid inside.

He shrugged. "Get in."

The drive was… oddly comfortable. Sunghoon wasn’t one for small talk, but he surprised you by stopping at a café and ordering your usual coffee.

"You remember my order?" you asked.

"You get the same thing every day," he replied, handing you the cup.

You tried not to read into it.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

Hours later, when you arrived at the resort, the trouble began.

“There must be some mistake,” Sunghoon said, his voice firm as he spoke to the receptionist.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the receptionist

apologized, looking flustered. “We’re fully booked for the wedding, and due to a system error, only one room was reserved under your name.”

You froze. “One room?”

Sunghoon exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “There aren’t any other rooms available?”

The receptionist winced. “Not for the next three days.”

Silence.

You turned to Sunghoon. “Well. This is unexpected.”

Sunghoon looked at you, his face unreadable.

Then, finally, he sighed. “Fine. We’ll take it.”

The room was beautiful—spacious, elegantly decorated, and boasting a breathtaking view of the ocean.

The only problem?

One bed.

You both stood at the doorway, staring at the large, king-sized bed as if it had personally offended you.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Sunghoon said immediately.

You eyed the small, decorative loveseat in the corner. “You’ll break your back.”

“I’ll manage.”

You sighed, placing your suitcase down. “Sunghoon, the bed is huge. We’re both adults. We can just… stay on our own sides.”

He glanced at you, expression unreadable, then nodded. “Fine.”

The first few minutes in the room were awkward. You busied yourself unpacking, hyper-aware of every movement Sunghoon made.

“You take the bathroom first,” he said after a while, his voice softer than usual.

When you stepped out in your pajamas—shorts and an oversized T-shirt—you caught him staring for a split second before he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Your turn,” you mumbled, quickly getting into bed.

When he emerged, he was in a simple black T-shirt and sweatpants, looking impossibly relaxed. He climbed into bed stiffly, keeping as much distance as possible.

The silence stretched.

“You’re acting like I bite,” you teased, glancing at him.

Sunghoon exhaled a quiet laugh. "Do you?"

Your breath hitched. "Go to sleep."

Somewhere in the middle of the night, you woke up to warmth.

Sunghoon.

At some point, he had moved closer, his arm draped lazily over your waist, his breath steady against your shoulder.

Your heart pounded.

For a moment, you considered waking him. But instead, you let yourself relax. Just for a little while.

Sunghoon Park was not a morning person.

You discovered this the hard way when you woke up to him groaning into his pillow, his usual sharp composure completely ruined by sleep. His hair was an adorable mess, his voice groggy as he mumbled something incoherent.

“What was that?” you teased, sitting up.

His hand lazily swatted at the air. “Too early.”

You glanced at the clock. “It’s eight.”

He groaned again, shifting to bury his face deeper into the pillow. “Five more minutes.”

You grinned, enjoying this rare, unfiltered side of him. “You’re the one who said we should be on time for brunch.”

“Regret,” he muttered.

You chuckled before nudging him with your foot. “C’mon, Sunghoon.”

At that, he cracked one eye open, and a slow smirk formed on his lips. “Hmm. That’s the second time you’ve called me by my name.”

You froze, heart skipping a beat. He was still half-asleep, voice lower than usual, and yet he had the audacity to sound so smug about it.

“I—”

“Say it again,” he murmured.

You grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it. “Get up.”

That woke him up.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the elegant seaside restaurant, casting a golden glow over the neatly arranged tables. You smoothed down the fabric of your dress, taking a deep breath as Sunghoon led you inside with a casual hand on your lower back.

“Relax,” he murmured close to your ear. “They’re not that bad.”

You shot him a look. “Easy for you to say. You know them.”

Before he could respond, a loud voice called out.

“Sunghoon! Over here!”

A group of well-dressed men and women waved from a round table near the window, their smiles teasing before you even reached them. As soon as you arrived, a woman with sleek black hair leaned forward, eyes gleaming.

“So this is the date?” she asked, her gaze flickering between you and Sunghoon.

Sunghoon pulled out a chair for you before taking his own seat beside you. “This is my secretary,” he said smoothly, but before you could nod in agreement, he added, “and my plus-one for the weekend.”

You barely held back a sigh. Great. That definitely didn’t clear anything up.

A man with dimples smirked. “Ahh, so you’re the one who keeps him from losing his mind at work.”

You chuckled, finally easing into the situation. “I try my best.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. Sunghoon’s friends were charming, playful, and had no problem teasing him relentlessly. Stories about his university days, awkward moments at past weddings, and even a particularly embarrassing karaoke night were shared freely—all while Sunghoon rolled his eyes and sipped his coffee with an air of practiced patience.

At one point, his best friend, Jaehyun, leaned over with a smirk. “So, how did he convince you to come? Did he bribe you with a raise?”

You grinned. “Surprisingly, no. He actually asked politely.”

The table erupted into laughter. Sunghoon sighed. “Why is that so shocking?”

The woman from earlier smirked. “Because you don’t ask, Sunghoon. You tell.”

You turned to him, feigning curiosity. “Wait… was I supposed to say no?”

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes at you, but there was amusement in them. “It’s too late now.”

As the laughter died down and the meal continued, you found yourself enjoying their company. They made you feel welcomed, teasing included, and with Sunghoon occasionally leaning close to refill your drink or murmuring small remarks just for you, the entire brunch felt… easy. Comfortable.

And when Jaehyun sent a knowing glance between the two of you before saying, “You two look good together,” you felt Sunghoon’s knee brush against yours under the table.

He didn’t move it away.

And neither did you.

After brunch, with the afternoon sun warming the air, you found yourself walking along the beach with Sunghoon.

He wasn’t the kind of man who did casual strolls, yet here he was, walking beside you, his hands tucked in his pockets. The waves crashed gently against the shore, and the salty breeze played with your hair.

“This is nice,” you admitted.

Sunghoon glanced at you. “You like the beach?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It reminds me to slow down.”

He hummed, gazing out at the ocean. “I don’t slow down much.”

“No kidding.” You smirked. “I’ve never even seen you take a vacation.”

“I don’t like wasting time.”

You rolled your eyes. “Enjoying life isn’t a waste of time.”

He was quiet for a moment before surprising you with, “What would you do if you weren’t my secretary?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean…” He hesitated, then continued, “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?”

The question caught you off guard.

Sunghoon never asked personal things.

You thought for a moment. “I used to want to be a travel writer. Just exploring places and writing about them.”

He looked at you thoughtfully. “You should do that.”

You chuckled. “Easier said than done.”

“You’re capable,” he said simply. “If you wanted it, you’d do it.”

His confidence in you made warmth bloom in your chest.

“What about you?” you asked. “What would you be if you weren’t a CEO?”

He exhaled, looking away. “I don’t know. My whole life has been planned out for me.”

Something in his voice made you soften. “That doesn’t mean you can’t want something more.”

Sunghoon met your gaze, something unreadable in his eyes. “…Maybe.”

You walked in silence for a while, but it wasn’t awkward. It felt… nice.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

The rooftop pool of the hotel was breathtaking—an infinity pool that stretched toward the sky, its waters reflecting the soft glow of sunset. The beach skyline sparkled in the distance, and a warm breeze carried the sound of laughter, splashes, and clinking glasses.

You stood near the pool’s edge, taking in the view when Sunghoon walked up beside you, a drink in his hand. “You’re not going in?”

You glanced at the pool, where his friends were already having fun. Some were in the water, splashing around, while others lounged in cabanas with drinks. “I don’t know… I didn’t exactly plan for this.”

Sunghoon eyed you for a moment, then smirked. “You’re wearing a dress, but I bet you packed something.”

You sighed. “Of course I did. Just didn’t expect to use it.”

His smirk deepened. “So go change.”

You raised a brow. “Are you giving me orders, boss?”

Sunghoon took a slow sip of his drink, eyes gleaming. “Consider it a suggestion.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to head back inside. But before you left, you heard Jaehyun call out, “Sunghoon! Get in here, man!”

You glanced over your shoulder in time to see him unbuttoning his shirt.

And wow.

You quickly looked away, heart thudding, before you made it obvious you were staring.

When you returned in your swimsuit, the atmosphere had grown even livelier. The pool lights cast a soft glow across the water, and the laughter was louder, conversations easy and flowing. You hesitated for a moment, standing near the edge when—

SPLASH!

You gasped as a sudden wave of water hit you. Sunghoon stood a few feet away in the pool, smirking as he wiped droplets from his face. “You’re already wet. Might as well come in.”

You glared at him. “Did you just—”

Before you could finish, Jaehyun swam up behind Sunghoon and pushed him underwater.

The table turned instantly.

Sunghoon resurfaced, coughing and swiping water from his face. “Jaehyun, you—”

You burst into laughter.

His head snapped toward you, eyes narrowing. “Oh, you think that’s funny?”

You grinned. “Very.”

He stepped forward, the water sloshing around him. “Then come in and say that to my face.”

You crossed your arms. “What if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll make you.”

There was barely a second to react before Sunghoon reached up, grabbed your wrist, and pulled.

You squealed as you tumbled straight into the pool, water swallowing you whole before you surfaced with a gasp. Sunghoon was standing right in front of you, smirking.

“You—” You splashed water straight at his face.

Sunghoon didn’t even flinch. “I warned you.”

The night continued like that—teasing, laughter, playful bickering. At one point, you ended up lounging on a pool float, drifting lazily while watching the lights. Sunghoon swam over, resting his arms against the float, keeping you in place.

“You having fun?” he asked, voice softer now.

You met his gaze. “Yeah. I really am.”

Something passed between you, something that had been building since the trip started.

And as the night carried on, you couldn’t help but feel like this trip wasn’t just about Sunghoon needing a date for a wedding.

It was becoming something else entirely.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

That night, when you both got into bed, things were different.

There was no stiff, awkward distance between you. Instead, there was a quiet understanding—an unspoken comfort that hadn’t been there before.

When you shifted slightly under the covers, Sunghoon turned his head to look at you.

“…Goodnight,” he murmured.

You smiled. “Goodnight, Sunghoon.”

This time, he didn’t tease you about saying his name.

And when you woke up in the middle of the night, warm and safe, you realized he had instinctively moved closer again.

But this time, you didn’t pull away.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was warmth.

The second was the weight of a strong arm wrapped snugly around your waist.

Your breath hitched.

Sunghoon was curled against you, his chest pressed lightly against your back, his slow and steady breathing tickling your neck. His grip on you was firm, protective—like he belonged there.

Your heart pounded as you carefully turned your head.

Big mistake.

His face was impossibly close, his sharp features softened by sleep. His dark hair was tousled, and his lips—God, his lips—were slightly parted.

Your stomach did an embarrassing flip.

Just as you were debating whether to wake him up or stay like this a little longer, he let out a sleepy groan and nuzzled closer.

Okay. Now this is dangerous.

“Sunghoon,” you whispered.

A low hum.

“Wake up.”

He groaned dramatically, tightening his grip on you. “Five more minutes.”

You huffed. “You’re literally using me as a pillow.”

“Mm,” he murmured. “Comfy.”

Your face burned. “Sunghoon.”

He finally cracked one eye open, sleepily meeting your gaze. His lips curled into a smirk. “You’re blushing.”

You shoved him. “Get up.”

With a quiet chuckle, he finally released you and stretched, looking far too smug for someone who had been caught cuddling.

You threw a pillow at him.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

Later, as you were getting dressed, you found yourself struggling with your zipper.

“Ugh,” you muttered, twisting your arms awkwardly.

A deep voice interrupted your struggle. “Need help?”

You turned to see Sunghoon leaning against the doorway, already dressed in a crisp black suit. His dark eyes scanned you lazily, a smirk playing on his lips.

You swallowed. “Fine.”

He stepped forward, closing the distance between you. His hands brushed your bare back as he reached for the zipper, and your breath hitched.

“You’re tense,” he murmured, his fingers grazing your skin.

“Maybe because you’re—” Your words caught as he slowly zipped up the dress, his touch lingering.

When he finished, he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your neck. “There,” he murmured. “Perfect.”

Your pulse was out of control.

You turned quickly. “Thanks. Now go before you start charging me for personal assistant duties.”

Sunghoon smirked. “I’d pay extra for this.”

Your jaw dropped, and he walked away, laughing under his breath.

The ceremony was beautiful. With the ocean stretching out behind the altar and golden sunlight casting a warm glow over the venue, it was straight out of a dream.

Sunghoon stood beside you, his presence steady and warm.

At one point, you noticed him watching the bride and groom with an unreadable expression.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

He glanced at you, then back at the couple. “Yeah. It’s just… nice.”

There was something wistful in his voice.

You smiled. “Maybe one day that’ll be you.”

Sunghoon scoffed. “Doubt it.”

You nudged him playfully. “You never know.”

His lips quirked, but he didn’t argue.

And somehow, that made your heart race.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

As the reception went on, the announcement came.

���Ladies, it’s time for the bouquet toss!”

You instinctively started to step back, but before you could escape, Sunghoon placed a firm hand on your lower back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he murmured.

You shot him a look. “I don’t do bouquet tosses.”

He smirked. “You do today.”

You frowned. “Sunghoon—”

“Come on.” His voice was teasing but firm as he gently pushed you forward. “Just try.”

You sighed but reluctantly walked toward the group of women gathering in the center.

The bride stood with her back to you all, grinning as she tossed the bouquet high into the air.

Time seemed to slow as the flowers arched toward you.

Instinct kicked in.

Before you could even think, your hands shot up—and caught it.

The room erupted in cheers.

Your jaw dropped. “Oh, come on!”

As laughter and applause filled the air, you turned toward Sunghoon, expecting him to be smug.

He was.

Standing at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, he smirked at you.

Then someone shouted, “Guess who’s next?!”

You groaned as people started teasingly glancing between you and Sunghoon.

Another voice called out, “Better start planning, Sunghoon!”

Instead of brushing it off, he smirked, eyes locked onto yours.

And then he said the words that made your stomach flip.

“We’ll see.”

The crowd laughed, hooting and whistling, but you couldn’t focus on anything except the way he was looking at you.

Did he mean that?

Because suddenly, it didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

Back in your hotel room, the air between you and Sunghoon felt different.

The teasing from the wedding, the warmth of the day, the way his eyes lingered on you—it was all leading to something unspoken.

You placed the bouquet on the nightstand, staring at it for a long moment. “I still can’t believe I caught it.”

Sunghoon, who was loosening his tie, chuckled. “I can.”

You turned to him, raising a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He smirked, walking toward you with slow, deliberate steps. “You were meant to.”

Your stomach flipped. “Sunghoon—”

“It suits you,” he murmured, gaze locked onto yours. “Flowers. Love. Happiness.”

Your breath caught. “That’s… surprisingly sweet of you.”

He exhaled, as if debating something, then muttered, “Don’t get used to it.”

You laughed softly, but the warmth in your chest remained.

After changing into your sleepwear—an oversized shirt and shorts—you found Sunghoon already on the bed, dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants instead of his usual crisp suits.

It was unfair how effortlessly good he looked.

He was scrolling through his phone, but as you climbed into bed, he put it away and turned to you. “Tired?”

You sighed, settling into the pillows. “A little.”

He hummed. “Come here.”

You blinked. “What?”

His expression was unreadable, but his voice was softer than usual. “Just come here.”

Hesitantly, you shifted closer.

Sunghoon didn’t hesitate. He reached out, pulling you gently into his arms, letting you rest your head against his shoulder. His body was warm, steady.

Your heart pounded. “You’re clingy at night, huh?”

He scoffed. “Maybe. You’re the only one who’s ever had to deal with it.”

That admission made your breath hitch.

You glanced up at him, only to find him already watching you. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows on his sharp features, making him look more relaxed, more vulnerable.

Then, to your utter surprise, he lifted a hand and brushed his knuckles against your cheek.

You stilled. “Sunghoon…”

His fingers lingered for a moment before he exhaled and—just as you thought he might kiss you—he leaned in and placed a soft, lingering peck against your cheek.

The tenderness of it made your stomach flip.

Not rushed. Not teasing. Just… sweet.

When he pulled back, his voice was lower, almost husky. “Goodnight.”

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck. “G-Goodnight.”

Sunghoon smirked. “You’re blushing.”

You huffed. “I’m not—”

But before you could finish, he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His warmth, his scent, the steadiness of his breathing—it surrounded you entirely.

And for the first time, lying beside him didn’t feel awkward.

It felt right.

As sleep slowly took over, you felt Sunghoon’s fingers lazily tracing patterns against your back. It was the last thing you registered before slipping into the most peaceful sleep you’d had in a long time.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was warmth.

Again.

But this time, it was even more overwhelming.

Sunghoon was completely curled around you, his arm draped lazily over your waist, his face buried against the crook of your neck.

His breaths were slow and even, and the way he held you was… different.

Less accidental. More deliberate.

Your heart pounded.

Carefully, you shifted to look at him.

His dark lashes rested against his cheeks, and his hair was adorably messy. The soft morning light filtering through the curtains made him look unfairly attractive.

You were admiring him when, suddenly, his eyes cracked open.

He blinked sleepily, then let out a raspy groan. “Mmm.”

You stiffened. “Uh—”

Instead of letting go, he only tightened his hold on you.

“You’re warm,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

Your breath hitched. “S-Sunghoon—”

“Five more minutes,” he murmured, nuzzling closer.

You felt your whole body heat up. “You said that yesterday!”

He made a low sound, halfway between a chuckle and a sigh. “Still true.”

You squirmed. “I have to get up.”

“No, you don’t,” he muttered, voice teasing.

“You’re my secretary. I’ll give you the day off.”

You rolled your eyes. “We still have to check out, remember?”

Another groan. “Fine. But first…”

Before you could react, he pulled you even closer and—without thinking—pressed another quick peck against your cheek.

You gasped. “Sunghoon!”

He smirked sleepily. “Now I’m awake.”

Your face burned as you stared at him. He just lay there, smirking up at you like he hadn’t just completely wrecked your sanity.

After a beat, you blurted out, “What happened to being professionals?”

Sunghoon didn’t even hesitate.

He propped himself up on one elbow, looked you dead in the eye, and murmured, “I think we passed that line the moment you woke up in my arms.”

Your jaw dropped.

His smirk widened.

You grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked him with it.

He only laughed, dodging the next hit as he sat up. “Come on, let’s get ready. We still have a long trip home.”

You huffed but got out of bed, still feeling the ghost of his lips on your cheek.

As you went to freshen up, one thought lingered in your mind.

This thing between you and Sunghoon?

Yeah, it was far from over.

taglist: @cyjhhyj

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

[masterhallmark]

Rant incoming

I feel like the problem with a lot of Disney's live action remakes (and arguably Wish) is they're trying to appeal to a crowd that no longer exists, namely the people who used to claim that the Disney Princesses were sexist.

All the interviews tend to include, "Well she's not chasing a MAN anymore" which...almost no one sees the princesses like that, anymore. Virtually NO ONE still believes the princesses are man-chasing sexist caricatures of women.

Cinderella is now hailed as an abuse victim who stayed strong long enough to get help to get out of her situation. Anyone who says she should have saved herself is basically regarded as a victim blamer. And it's very clear in the film she wasn't looking to marry the prince, she just wanted a night off. She was the only one who wasn't in line to meet him. She didn't find out she met the prince until he went looking for her!

Snow White is now hailed for her negotiation skills, ability to calm down after extreme stress (she had a moment of panic and had to cry for a bit, but who wouldn't after finding out The Queen hired someone to kill you?), and ability to take charge of a house of adult men. And again, she was an abuse victim, this time trying to escape ASSASSINATION ATTEMPTS. While she dreamed of her prince, it was secondary to her main goal of SURVIVAL. There are also entire video essays about how Snow White gave hope to people during The Great Depression.

Everyone acknowledges that Ariel wanted to be human BEFORE meeting Eric. We all know she was a nerd hyperfixating on humans, and also standing up to her prejudiced father.

We understand Sleeping Beauty wasn't the main character, the Three Good Fairies were, AND PHILLIP WOULD NEVER HAVE BEATEN MALEFICENT WITHOUT THEM! He literally depended on them! WOMEN SAVED THE DAY! But even then, is it really such a sin for a girl to fantasize about romance and fall for someone with corny pickup lines?

We all understand Jasmine just wanted someone to treat her LIKE A PERSON. She rejected every Prince before Aladdin because they treated her like a prize. So why did they need her to want to be Sultan? How did that make her more feminist when she already wanted to be treated like an equal and have a say in her future? Is it only empowering if you want a career in politics?

We admire that Belle, despite living in a judgemental village, was kind to everyone (even though she found the village life dull), and her story teaches girls that the guy everyone else loves isn't always a good guy. What's sexist about teaching girls about red flags? And she didn't start being nice to The Beast until he started treating her with respect and kindness.

Do I really NEED to defend Mulan or Tiana? I think they speak for themselves.

Rapunzel was yet another abuse victim who just needed a little help to get out of her bad situation. In this case, she also needed to learn that she was an abuse victim, and that what Mother Gothel did WASN'T normal, much like many victims of gaslighting.

And don't get me started on the non-princess animals.

Perdita had a healthy relationship with Pongo to the point she was open to express her pregnancy fears to him, and was ready to TEAR APART Cruella's goons for daring to touch her puppies as well as adopting the other puppies. Like, she was so ferocious the goons mistook her for a hyena! She's basically that "I AM THAT GIRL'S MOTHER!" scene from SpyXFamily if Yor were a dog. She and her husband were a TEAM.....but they made a Cruella live action to turn her into a girlboss?! The literal animal abuser!? THAT'S the woman you wanted to put on a pedestal when Perdita was RIGHT THERE!?

Duchess kept her kittens calm after they had been catnapped and was classy as heck. Nice to everyone regardless of social class during a time period where that was uncommon.

Lady stood up to Tramp when she believed he had abandoned her and didn't really care about her. She found out he was a heartbreaker and was like, "Nuh uh. No. You are not doing that to me! You put me through enough."

Miss Bianca from The Rescuers was IN CHARGE the whole movie, and was willing to risk life and limb to save an innocent child. THAT TINY MOUSE TOOK ON ALLIGATORS! And she picked Bernard to accompany her because he was the only one who wasn't ogling her. And then in the sequel SHE DID IT ALL AGAIN! I wish I were as brave as her.

Like, the public haven't accused these ladies of being sexist caricatures since 2014 (Actresses and actors don't count, they're out of touch like the rest of Hollywood) yet Disney is operating under the assumption that the public still thinks that way, hence all the "sHe'S nOt AfTeR a MaN iN ThIs VeRsIOn" talk.

The live action remakes are trying to attract an audience that doesn't really exist much, anymore, and back when it did exist, was comprised mainly of people who didn't actually watch the films. The Disney princesses are no longer seen as sexist, and feminine qualities are no longer seen as weak or undesirable.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch10. what if?

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency department, just got broken up with your boyfriend of 7 years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation with him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw slight age gap bc gojo in this fic is 34 n reader is 29

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 10/x

ᰔ words. 7.2k

a/n. helloooooooooo my ihm loves!!! tysm for tuning into this new chapter. sorry i am always an hour late to posting them LOL but anywho...as always...hope you enjoy...see ya at the bottom...

nav. masterlist :: playlist

Your eyes flutter open at the early hours of the morning, chest feeling flush from the deep sleep that had just enveloped you, possibly the first time in months you’ve slept through multiple hours without waking up at the top of every hour in cold sweats of stress.

The satin sheets are soft against the skin of your thighs where your nightgown has ridden up, feeling silky and smooth, and when you twist your torso a little, you feel a heaviness in the divot of your waist. Your sleepy eyes glance down to see a strong arm laying over you.

You panic at first, tensing up immediately, before you recognize it as Gojo’s. His hand lays weakly on the sheets in front of you, thumb twitching slightly in his sleep, but even in its lax state, you can still see pulsing veins trailing up the back of it, lining into his bicep into his porcelain skin that’s illuminated by the light just outside the windows. Smooth and pretty, but masculine at the same time, and you just now see that his knuckles are slightly red and there’s a small cut over the third one.

You lay still, unsure of what to do, and as you blink at the wall across from you, your mind wanders back to last night. The feeling of rage in your blood, unsettling in the moonlight, only to be completely dissolved by the feeling of Gojo’s arms pulling you into him, and holding you tight to his chest. So warm and soft, his comforting scent, the nuzzle of his chin above your head… when you close your eyes, you remember the sight of him hovering over you, that conflicted look on his face that was almost delicate with vulnerability, before it disappeared as he fell to your side and suddenly he was holding you in bed and you fell asleep in his arms. The memories have your cheeks feeling hot, and the fabric of your nightgown becomes suffocating.

You turn your head a little to glance over your shoulder, and you see that somewhere along the night, Gojo took his hoodie off, and you realize he’s shirtless behind you. Your heart beats a little faster in your chest, the otherwise shallow cadence of your early morning breathing picking up in speed, rousing you from sleep, and now you were so wide awake you could feel every sensation of his body pressed up against you from behind.

When you squirm a little, he mumbles deeply behind you before his arm curls around your waist even tighter and he pulls you in closer to him. You gasp, feeling him nuzzle his nose into your hair and his thumb presses into your rib cage right beneath your breast.  

“Satoru,” you murmur, shifting more in his strong hold, and when you do, your butt wiggles against the front of him and—

Oh.

Oh.

He’s—

He’s hard.

And you’re almost entirely shocked still from the way it feels against your ass. 

Even through the thick fabric of his sweatpants, he feels heavy and imposing and hot and big—

You wiggle your butt against him a little bit more, curiously, because you can’t help it, and he groans near your ear.

“Mm,” he mumbles, deep and guttural. “Don’t.”

“Why are you hard right now?” you hiss at him.

“Huh.” Is the only noise he makes as he tries to drift off back to sleep.

“I asked you a question.”

He shifts with a sigh. “Morning wood. Testosterone is higher in the AM. You’re a nurse, you should know that.”

“Well make it go away. It’s uncomfy.”

“How?” he asks with amusement in his voice, like he’s hoping you’ll continue to feign innocence because it was the cute thing to do.

“I don’t know. Go tug on it in the bathroom.”

You feel him exhale an amused scoff, then he presses his lips to the nape of your neck lazily, making you gasp, and you feel his mouth stretching into a smile against your warm skin. “You’re funny.”

The intimacy was searing, it spreads a heat across your entire body, and god, his voice… that deep, groggy sound that rumbles in his throat with the slight drawl in his tone…and when he presses a kiss behind your ear, it was over for you.

“Hey,” he says softly, to get your attention, his chin nuzzling the crown of your head, “thank you.”

“For what?” you exhale, somewhat airy, as if trying to prove that you’re not entirely affected by his touch.

He kisses the side of your neck. “For last night.”

Your heart is beating fast, and you blink a few times before you say, “I’m still mad at you.”

He sighs. “I figured as much,” he says and then he drops his head back down onto the pillow in retreat.

Would it be so wrong?

Is the question you ask yourself.

You’ve already pushed his buttons before,

And maybe it wasn’t wise to do so again,

Given the emotionally charged and rather tender moment you two shared last night,

One that has your head swimming with what-ifs that were still left unanswered,

But you find yourself wanting him now more than ever.

A feeling you don’t want to confront in your head,

But one you feel coarse throughout your body.

You let out a shaky breath and push yourself back against his front, feeling his rigid erection press up against the flesh of your ass, and he lets out a choked groan, one that sounds both aroused and mostly confused, before his arm slides down from under your breasts to hold you around your lower torso instead, almost anchoring you to whatever grinding movements you were making against him.

“You keep this up,” he says, “and I can’t make any promises about what happens next.”

You shuffle your thighs, both because you were aroused but also to coyly deflect any responsibility in riling him up, despite the fact that your ass still brushes against his front from the motion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you quip, innocently. 

“You’re lucky that I play along,” he says, and it felt like a reference to all of the times he just chooses to deal with your sporadic attitudes like it was no big deal even though you’re sure it would frustrate the hell out of any other man. 

His arm suddenly releases hold of your waist, then his palm smooths over the hill of your hip and down the velvet skin of your thigh, the texture of his hand rough compared to the duvet half-laying over you right now. You clench your thighs together, any and all movements of yours coming to a halt from the violent reaction you have to his touch, and there’s a small little voice in your head that’s screaming bad bad bad bad bad bad BAD idea to let him touch you like this but when he kisses down the curve of your neck, it’s entirely drowned out.

“Waiting for you to slap me,” he mumbles, “aaaaaany second now.”

“I’ve sworn off violence,” you gasp when his fingers feather a touch near your inner thigh.

“How convenient.” He pulls you in closer to him as he continues to tease you with his fleeting touch. “Your skin is so soft,” he says, pads of his fingers pressing into the plush of your thigh, his thumb hooking up the hem of your nightgown to gain more access. His nose brushes the hair away at the nape of your neck before he inhales indulgently. “Smells nice too.”

“Satoru.” Maybe it was a warning, or maybe it was just an acknowledgement of the man behind you that’s slowly touching parts of you that were unmapped by him before. Hell, it could’ve even come off as an encouraging moan of his name, for all you knew. You could hardly hear yourself think, let alone what you say.

When his lips press more firmly on the side of your neck, at that sensitive curve of supple skin, you’re unable to hide the reaction your body has to him anymore, a soft moan leaving your lips as you squirm with arousal and a borderline impatience. He pushes his front against your backside in response to the noise, and your eyes shut close to intensify the feeling.

He’s less chatty than usual, and you figure it’s because he’s sleepy and his brain’s not working, and maybe that’s why he’s tolerable to you right now, enough so to where you’re not too pissed off or annoyed at something he has said or done, hence why he has the opportunity to snake his hand up the front of your torso right now without you smacking him across the face for it. At least that’s the excuse you’ll tell yourself.

When his thumb brushes against your nipple, you let out an airy moan and press your entire body back against him with full desire.

“Fuck, you don’t wear anything underneath these?” he all but growls, his hand cupping your breast, gently kneading the softness that he finds and you swear you feel his cock jump in his boxers.

“W-Why would I wear a bra while I’m sleeping and at home?” you breathlessly manage to say.

“Well it’s hard for me to picture you braless underneath gowns that make you look like a 17th century pilgrim.”

Oh. Okay, yeah, there it was. That urge to smack him.

But the thought melts away when his thumb and index finger pinch your nipple, harsh in grip but gentle when he pulls on it, and you’re fully grinding your ass against him at this point, the arousal coiling tightly in your lower tummy, only barely relieved by the tight press of your thighs together.

The large span of his hand squeezes both your tits at the same time, making you moan against the pillow, a sound he reacts to by fully bucking his hips against your rear. “God, knowing that you don’t wear anything underneath these is gonna torture me whenever I see you around the house now,” he acknowledges with a sigh, forehead dropping to rest on your temple as his messy fringe falls against your eyelashes. 

The warmth of his hand leaves your chest as it finds its way smoothing down your midriff, and he briefly digs the heel of his palm into the soft plush of your lower belly, almost as if to experiment, and you completely jump and then writhe in his hold from the ache of pleasure that courses through you. He’s pressing open mouthed wet kisses against your neck now, more liberal with the groans and grunts that he leaves against the wake of your feverish skin as he grinds against you, and the tips of his fingers slip past the band of your panties but—

He can’t get any further than that.

His lips leave your neck and he lifts his head up a little to glance at the state of your thighs, and then he looks down at your face. “Spread your legs.”

You pull a pillow to your face so you can hide your flushed cheeks from him. You’re breathing fast and then sniffle a little against the cover. “Too much,” you muffle into it.

For fucks sake, you weren’t a virgin. You’ve had your fair share of sex in this life at your age, as you’re sure he has too. Yet for some reason the sensations, the touches, the sounds, everything he’s giving you feels so much more intense than anything else you’ve ever had in your life and you’re not sure you can handle it. At least not in any way where you can hide how deeply, deeply, deeply turned on you were right now.

“It’s okay,” he says, voice surprisingly reassuring, but that somehow makes you blush even more, and he gently nips at the lobe of your ear with his teeth while his thumb rubs soothing circles over your lower belly, “it’ll feel good. Promise. And if it’s too much, just elbow me in the ribs.”

“Thaf’s not a proffer (propper) safeword,” you muffle into the pillow.

“Baby. I don’t mean to sound rude, but do you really need a safeword just for me to touch your pussy?”

Oh.

Hearing him so casually call you baby right now did something to you…and there’s no way to even put it into words, just a feeling of visceral arousal that has you instantly melting and sweetly opening your legs for him, and he kisses the hill of your cheekbone before he settles his head back down on the pillow. He gives you his outstretched arm to rest on, your head falling on top of his warm muscled bicep, all your day-two salon blowout hair scattered across the pillow and tickling his skin, and you have to hold your breath when his hand slips right into your panties and his middle and ring fingers glide between your slick folds.

“Fuck,” he shakily exhales behind you, his touches moving with ease from the wetness, smearing it up to your clit where he rubs soft, teasing, agonizingly slow circles that match the lucidity of his sleepy state, “you’re so wet.” 

“N—” you gasp when he draws them faster. “I’m not,” you insist. 

“You’re gonna argue with me right now when I’ve got the proof all over my fingers?” he drawls near your ear, abandoning your clit in favor of slipping two of his thick fingers inside of you so suddenly that your entire body curls up in pleasure, thighs clenching together tightly but his hand is still strong enough to move between their pressure as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out, in and out, in and out of you, curled upwards to that spot inside that has you seeing white. 

You moan with no concern of the sound anymore, freely and whiny into the air, and he ruts his hips against your ass in response to the noise, which only elicits more from you. “Keep ‘em spread,” he tells you, voice strained through his own arousal, knuckles pushing up on your inner thigh to prod you open. 

Ten minutes ago, he’d have never even gotten close to seeing let alone touching the most intimate parts of you. And now, his fingers are knuckle deep inside of you. But it wasn’t enough, you’ve become greedy, and you want more.

“Satoru—” you whine, hand shooting out to grab his wrist, feeling the tilt of it towards your pussy as he continues to casually finger you while you struggle to listen to him—…struggle to keep your thighs open in the face of the desperate arousal that spreads across all your senses. “Mm, faster—”

“Would you kill me if I asked you to beg for it?” he huffs, but you can hear the grin in his voice, like he knew he was pushing it, that insufferably cocky side of him you’d usually despise if you didn’t feel his slick knuckles against your inner thigh every time he pushed his fingers all the way inside.

You turn your face into his outstretched arm, eyes shut close. “Just—” He cuts you off when his thumb finds your swollen clit, the coarse pad of it running over the bundle of nerves as he shallowly continues to fuck you with his fingers, “just do it faster—”

He slows down the pace, thumb entirely abandoning your clit all together, making you gasp, and you hear his voice near your ear when he says, “how about a ‘please’?”

“Oh my god, okay, please, you asshole!” you all but scream, nails digging into his wrist now, dangerously close to his pulse, and you make a mental note to kill him for this later, but you don’t get past the first few words in your head before you hear him say,

“Ehh I’ll take what I can get,” and then the pure pleasure of his fingers relentlessly slamming into you takes over anything else.

He kisses the crown of your head, murmuring words of sweet praise into your hair, words you couldn’t even make out if you tried, because that dull ache of pleasure in your lower belly just builds and builds and builds, even further when you glance down at the sight of him pumping his fingers inside of you over and over. Your head plops down onto the pillow gently when his arm escapes from under, so that he can wrap it around your waist, trying his best to hold you still as you squirm from the pure pleasure, but he abandons the attempt to impatiently yank your gown up instead, your warm breasts becoming exposed to cold air and he squeezes them in his hand roughly before pinching your nipple, making you writhe and arch your back. The grip you had on the wrist of his pounding hand was now seethingly harsh, nails digging deep enough to draw blood, borderline trying to slow him down from just how seriously he took your request for him to go faster, because it was almost too much, but in the most blisteringly arousing way possible.

“Please, Satoru, I’m so close—” you whine, and the second he hears the hint of a plea in your voice, his other hand slips past the fabric of your panties and finds your clit, all four fingers relentlessly rubbing back and forth against the sensitive bud, making you scream, the heel of his palm placing a constant pressure on your lower belly, and when he curls his fingers inside of you, hitting that sweet spot that makes you see stars, you completely come undone, your orgasm washing over you as your walls flutter around his fingers that continue to coax you through every pulsating sensation, moans spilling from your lips, squirming from the pleasure, before you’re completely spent and your body slowly goes limp, relaxed, face halfway shoved into the pillow and teary eyes shut close in ecstasy, hand laying weakly in front of you on top of satin sheets as you try to regain your breath.

You hear Gojo huffing slightly behind you too. He pulls his fingers out of you and you can barely see over your shoulder that he brings them to his mouth. Fuck you need to see it. Need to see the sight of him licking them clean. But all you hear in time is the lewd pop sound when he pulls his fingers out of his mouth.

“Oh my god,” he practically hisses, sucking a sharp breath in through his teeth, and he sounds desperate when he says, “let me eat you out, please—”

“No—” you gasp, a little too quickly and a little too sharp, perching yourself up onto your elbow slightly so you can turn your head to look at him. He’s looking at you with wide blue eyes, completely at halt, like whatever your next wish was would be his command. But he also looks like he wants to stuff his face between your thighs. The duality of man.

You’re still heaving from your orgasm, feeling misty in your chest, eyelashes fluttering with a slight hesitation to say what’s on your tongue because you know it’s only because you’re scared of the intimacy, and yet you want it all at the same time, too.

“Just fuck me,” you say, and to prevent sounding needy, “I have places to be.”

You briefly bite your tongue in regret over the addition, worrying it sounded pretentious and cunty and perhaps too princessy for his taste, but instead he loses his shit. Evident in the broken and desperate groan that leaves his lips, the way he immediately starts fumbling with his sweatpants then his boxers to pull himself out and press the hot tip of his erection against your ass, insanely relished in the fact that you just asked him to fuck you, which should sound like music to his ears at this point based on how strained and hard his boner’s been poking at your ass for the past twenty minutes. And it’s a strange concept, one that has you feeling delirious with confidence as you realize that one of the hottest men you know feels like he’s the lucky one here because he gets to stick his dick inside of you.

You fall back down onto your side in as casual of a way as you could manage, and his strong arm immediately wraps tight around your waist to pull all the softness of you against all the rigidity of him, into that same spooning position that got you into this arousing mess in the first place. You can feel him shifting quickly behind you, mattress dipping with hasty movements as he slides a palm between your thighs then lifts one up to spread you open for him, and then he’s pumping himself in his hand, once, twice, face buried in the crook of your neck as he indulges in a few broken groans, the sound making you point your knee high up towards the ceiling, cheeks flush and almost ashamed by how badly you need him to tear your open right now. There’s no teasing, or tormenting, or taunting from him like there usually is, all of that skipped on the basis of the sheer desperation that coats the shaky breaths he continues to exhale behind you. He lets you bite down on his hand as he yanks your soaked panties to the side and rubs his throbbing length between your slick folds, tip bumping against your clit, his precum smearing over it before he wraps a fist around his cock to position himself at your entrance and then slowly stretches you out, inch by inch, murmuring a deep and sleepy shhh it’s okay near your ear when he hears you whine and whimper from the heavy intrusion, before he’s buried to the hilt inside of you.

“Oh my god,” he sighs, almost at the same time that you do too, and you hear him swallow hard, his cock twitching inside of you. His arm wraps around you tighter, pulling you flush against his front as he presses sweet kisses behind your ear and you two just stay like this for what feels like eternity, his chest expanding in rugged and uneven breaths, like he’s savoring the sensation of being inside of you, before you just can’t take it anymore and wiggle your hips for him to just move already.

“Please, Satoru,” you whine, sniffling a little from the pure arousal, your nails digging into the skin of his forearm, “please—, move.”

He gently nibbles the lobe of your ear, withdrawing his hips back until he’s almost all the way out, save for the tip, before languidly pushing into you again, and your hand reaches out to grab the pillow in front of you to shove your face into to muffle your moan. 

“I must still be dreaming,” he groans, slowly fucking you now with no rhythm or pace, just pure instinct like this is what he was made for, “there’s just—fuck,” he grunts when you clench around him tightly, “there’s just no way you’re letting me do this right now.”

“Mmff,” you muffle into the pillow, pushing your ass against his hips as your form of charity, and he uncrosses one of his arms from your waist so that his hand can snake up to cup your breast in his palm, and all the words you could possibly come up with in your head dissolve into a moan of pleasure instead.

“So tight, god, you feel so good,” he mumbles, his nose nuzzling into your hair as he breathes in deep, and you feel like your cheeks are on fire.

As he continues to knead your breast in his palm, then the other, then squeezes both at the same time, you rock your hips back gently into his, your arm reaching behind yourself, fingertips grazing the short hair of his undercut before you find yourself gripping at the soft tufts above it. You hear him inhale sharply, then he kisses your temple in encouragement as his thrusts pick up in pace and you feel that simmering ache of pleasure in your lower belly grow fiercer. Like he can read your mind, his hand leaves your tits, smoothing down your torso to lay flat against your lower belly, and he sighs in content when he can feel how deep he is underneath his palm over your belly.

You sigh into the pillow, over and over again, as he minds his business in rutting his hips into yours and makes it clear to you that he’s more than enjoying himself from the guttural groans that leave his lips from the pleasure. And when you arch your back further, an invitation that he just can’t refuse, he’s suddenly turning over, making you roll onto your stomach, and he holds himself up on one arm with his chest pressed firmly to your back before he pulls your panties halfway down your thighs and slides a pillow under your tummy, your hips now raised higher for him to slip his cock right into you again, so smooth from how slick you are but you still feel that delicious stretch from the girth of him, and the angle that he gets on you like this, with your ass up in the air, paired by the feeling of his balls slapping against your skin with every thrust that he resumes on you, has you about ready to scream.

“S-Satoru—” you whimper, arms stretching out in front of you as you push your ass back into him, forehead plopping down onto the pillow in front of you, soft hair covering your face as he pounds into you. “Mm—…oh…oh my god.”

“Fuck,” he grunts in between heavy thrusts, hips stuttering briefly from the sound of your moans, “y’know, I always pictured you’d be kinda prissy in bed,” he huffs, leaning over to pull the short sleeve of your flimsy nightgown down your arm to expose bare shoulder so he can kiss you there, “but you’re actually kinda cute.”

“That’s not—ah!” you gasp when he picks up the speed, like he already knows you’re about to argue with him over it, “Satoru!” You yelp, half in frustration, half in pure ecstasy, and you can feel his annoying grin against the curve of your shoulder as he kisses his way up to the side of your neck.

“C’mon baby, just leave it at that, yeah?” he purrs near your ear, his hand coming up to lightly pinch your nipple, “not everything has to be an argument.”

“Mm,” you muffle your irritation into the pillow, high pitched and whiny which he seems to find arousingly amusing given the huff of a laugh he exhales on the nape of your neck and the way you feel his cock jump inside of you, and then he’s nuzzling his nose into your hair again, freely, messily, rubbing his cheek against soft, tousled strands as he sighs with content, and then suddenly, he’s wrapping an arm around your ribcage just under your breasts, and pulling you upright with him so that you’re effectively leaning back against his chest with an arch to your back as he continues to fuck you from behind.

“Seriously, I mean it,” he lowly murmurs near your ear as you tilt your head back onto his shoulder in pure pleasure, and he rubs his cheek affectionately against your hair at the crown of your head while you dig your nails into the skin of his forearm tucked underneath your breasts, “you look so pretty with your hair like this,” he breathes out, almost broken, and it nearly makes you cry when he kisses your cheekbone over the splayed strands of bangs that sit over the curve, “so insanely pretty.”

You were gone, you just didn’t care anymore. With exactly sixteen sweet words, you were done for. You didn’t even realize a man worshiping your hair in the middle of sex was ever something that would have you so down bad on your knees, but you had never felt more deliriously hazy in your life. And you almost want to tell him to just pull on it, then, if he likes it so much, but there’s a simmering feeling at the base of your heart that just wants him to keep being gentle with you instead.

“Satoru, please—” you moan, throat loose and airy, thighs desperately clenching together with need, which only makes you squeeze around him even tighter and the effects of it shows in the way he drops his forehead to your shoulder, his fringe tickling your skin as he breathes heavily.

“God you’re squeezing me so tight you’re gonna cut the circulation off of my dick,” he scoffs, poorly containing just how turned on it makes him feel, and he gently leans over to lay you back down on your stomach so that your cheek is pressed into the pillow and he’s back to fucking you from behind while your ass is up in the air.

“That’s not how that—mm, works, you idiot—“ You struggle to say as heat spreads across your chest, and that tight coil in your tummy pulls more taut with each thrust, to where you feel your vision start to spot, and like he can tell you’re on the edge, his hand snakes down between your thighs and the rough pads of his fingers start to draw circles over your clit, making you gasp so sharply it feels like your throat has gone hoarse.

“C’mon, baby,” he groans, his thrusts picking up in speed along with everything else. He’s panting and heaving, and you feel a droplet of sweat fall from his face onto the back of your neck.

With one more pass of his fingers over your clit, you shut your eyes close, your entire body curls inwards and your orgasm washes over you in pleasureful waves, making you scream out a moan as you squeeze around Gojo’s cock over and over, and you feel his thrusts grow erratic, insane, all loss of tempo and rhythm, his grunts above you sounding so sonically desperate and it’s only when you feel the stutter of his hips, that you barely gain enough sane conscience in the whirlwind of pleasure swimming in your head to remember you have to tell him—

“Wait, Satoru—” you gasp, entirely sober from the delirium, “n-not inside, you can’t.”

“Huh?” he breathes out, in caution, like he had just been on the verge of cumming inside of you, then exhales a breathy—“fuck,” at the implication, and he stays inside of you until the very end of his composure, like he didn’t want to waste a single second of being inside of you, to where you could physically feel his balls jump against your clit with the last thrust he makes right before he pulls out and quickly replaces the squeeze of your cunt with the squeeze of his hand instead, and although you can barely see it over your shoulder, you can just picture it— how hot he looks as he pumps himself over your back with a fucked out groggy expression all over his handsome face. 

“Shit, shit, shit— I’m gonna—” He fumbles with your nightgown to try to pull it up so he doesn’t completely soil it with his cum, but he only succeeds in pulling it up halfway before you feel hot spurts land on the fabric, sporadically painted across the exposed skin of your back, over your ass, your thighs, hell you’re even sure some of it landed in your hair as you hear him groan over and over behind you, a sound so lost in pleasure it has you reeling thinking about how you’re the one that’s causing it, and even after just having had an orgasm, your walls still clench around nothing from the thought.

When he has no more to give, he lets out a shaky breath, one that could constitute as a satisfied sigh, before he flops down onto his back next to you, chest heaving heavily, lips parted with deep breaths, eyes wide as he stares up at the ceiling and shakes his head like he’s in shock before he turns his neck to look at you.

You’re breathing heavily, then shove your face into the pillow, chest laying over your balled up fists you have kept near your rapidly beating heart, and you hear the heaviness in his breathing as well beside you, the sound intensified by the tight shut of your eyes, and you finally feel the horny haze in your head clearing slightly from the early hours of the morning.

The mattress shifts underneath you with Gojo’s weight as you feel him turn onto his side, and he curls an arm around your waist, pulling you in towards him.

And it occurs to you,

It finally occurs to you,

That you two just had sex.

He presses his lips lightly to the top of your head in nothing less than a kiss, before murmuring in a soft voice, “c’mon, let’s go clean you up–”

You slip out from under his arm, from out of the bed, and BOOK it to the bathroom like your life depended on it, shutting the door behind you, and then twisting the lock before you place your palms flat on the surface, huffing and puffing panicked breaths.

It only takes Gojo about five seconds to attempt to open the door, have a moment of brief confusion when he finds that it’s locked, and then knocks. “Wha—…y/n? The fuck? Is everything okay?”

“No! I mean–...yes! I mean–...I don’t know!” you yell.

Even through the wooden barrier of the door, you swear you can see him blink as his face twists with confusion, entirely perplexed by your behavior.

You breathe in deep, and exhale slowly, then rest your forehead on the surface of the door, glancing down at your feet over the cool tile of the bathroom. You shut your eyes close as you still feel the ghostly sensations of his arms handling you in bed, hands roaming across your skin, the feeling of him inside of you–

You shake your head to push the memories away, an almost visceral reaction to them, and it’s mostly silence for what feels like forever but was most likely only a minute, when you hear Gojo say on the other side of the door–

“Just come out here. Let me see you.”

You shake your head, as if he would have any way of seeing your refusal, before you say, “no, I’m–...I’m going to take a shower.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and you don’t wait to hear whatever response he does give before you’re turning the hot water on in the shower, to drown out any noise, including the sound of your own pestering thoughts.

You pull your nightgown up over your head, tossing it into a corner of the bathroom along with your panties, open the mosaic glass door to the shower, and walk underneath the overhead shower head, the water trickling down your now tousled, soiled hair, whatever style or curl that it had been smoothed into the day before now falling from the strands, until it’s flatly soaked with water, and you run your hand through your hair, still letting go of soft, remnant huffs of air from your lips to try and come down from the intense feelings that sit in your chest.

What did this mean, now? You two crossed a line that was quite literally never supposed to be crossed. Not according to your rules, or your silly contract, or any notion of this fake marriage. Will this make things awkward? Will this make things feel more real? Will this sort of thing happen again? Would you be able to stop yourself from letting it happen again? 

And will this just further complicate the confusing feelings that you seem to have for Gojo?

What were the possibilities after this, if any?

You’re surprised to find that there’s a small part of you inside, give or take once any of the awkwardness passes, that is for once not afraid to explore the what-ifs.

You step out of the shower, the steam feeling sticky on your skin as you wrap a towel around yourself and then wipe a hand across the foggy mirror to see your reflection. You look fresh, clean, no longer sleepy or dazed, but you blink at the sight of you as you still feel flushed at the chest, and sad that the hair he likes so much is now gone.

How can a person feel so sure and yet so conflicted about one single thing?

Once you finish freshening up, you open the door to get back into the room, but not without peeking your head around to see if Gojo’s still there, only to see that he’s not. And so you apprehensively step out into the room, quickly get dressed, try to dry your hair off the best you can in a hurry, and then—

Your stomach growls.

“Ah,” the soft sound leaves your lips.

You didn’t even do any of the work and you’re hungry?

Your own green sickens you.

You waft across the floors of the loft in your fresh nightgown, then peek your head over the railing of the stairs to see if you hear any noises, but you don’t.

“Mm?” you hum in confusion, then slowly make your way down the stairs.

Having successfully evaded all the creaky wood, you turn the post at the bottom, making your way towards the kitchen but quietly, stealthily, the Pink Panther theme song playing in your head as you tread the wooden floors like a spy.

Your heart was beating fast in your chest, and when you made it to the kitchen, it’s empty. You round the kitchen island, trace the marbled surface with the pad of your index finger.

Where did he go?

And then you realize— it smells like fresh coffee.

You turn around near the pantry, and just at that moment, Gojo comes walking out of it and nearly collides with you in his stride.

“Oh shit—” he says, hand darting out to hold your elbow so you don’t fall backwards onto your butt, and just from that contact alone, you’re searing.

You yank your arm out of his grip and stare at him with a panic. He’s still shirtless, wearing his loosely hung black sweatpants, but his face looks freshened up and his hair is flattened down in an attempt to tame it, and he’s squinting at you like he doesn’t have his contacts in and is struggling to make out what kind of expression you’re offering him.

“Hey,” he says, “can we talk—”

You weren’t ready to talk about it yet. 

Didn’t have enough time to have an existential crisis over it.

And as if God was on your side, the doorbell rings.

“Ah!! Gotta get that!!” you chirp before turning on your heel towards the main entrance, but he reaches out to grab your wrist, making your breath hitch.

“Just hold on one sec—”

“I can’t,” you say, and you both hear the doorbell ring again, “it’s probably the highschoolers I shoo’d off yesterday because I didn’t have any cash to give for their fundraiser. I promised I’d go to the ATM.” You yank out of his hold. “Highschoolers are scary. Don’t wanna make ‘em wait!!! Or they’ll…egg…your house?” You say, blinking at him, the same way he’s blinking at you, because you’re just as confused about what you said as much as he probably is. “Ah…ahahah,” you let out some forced laughter, which most definitely just sounds awkward. You take two steps forward towards the hall, but then turn around to face him again. “Um. Also. If you have any cash on you, that’d be great. I forgot to go to the ATM.”

His expression suggests that he is just so entirely confused by you, and then he watches as you beeline to the door.

You breathe in deep, then exhale slow, tuck some damp strands behind your ear, and just try your best to calm down your beating heart before you yank open the door, fully prepared to see some obnoxious teenagers, when—

You’re met with a wide-eyed, surprised-looking Sylvie standing at the front door instead.

“Ah?” you softly exclaim.

She blinks blankly, her mouth that had been slightly agape at the sight of you closing as if she found it to be too improper of a reaction for her standards, and she smooths down the fabric of the bright blue denim waistcoat she was wearing, her palms gliding down to the matching dress pants, and then tucks her neat hair behind her ear.

“Sylvie?” you blink in surprise, “w-what are you doing here?”

She creases her brow at you, then leans back to check the house number to the side of the doorframe to check if she’s got the right house, and then her gaze shifts back to you. “What are you doing here, y/n?”

“Oh, that’s—” Your voice trails off gently, suddenly unsure, but then you find it again. “That’s what I asked you.”

“What are you doing here?” she asks again, eye contact unwavering, and somewhat impatient.

“Is a ten dollar bill enough? Or do you need a twenty?” You hear Gojo’s voice as he approaches from the side in your periphery while fishing through bills in his wallet, still gloriously shirtless and somewhat disheveled from sex and sleep, and he runs a hand through his hair before he walks right up to you, hands you a couple of bills and says, “ehhh just give ‘em a couple of twenties.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary anymo—” you start, but then his face lifts and he’s glancing towards outside of the door.

It was like something out of a movie, the way you would describe it. The way his face twists from relaxed, somewhat disinterested, into full-blown, unadulterated shock. The way his shoulders stiffen, he’s rendered still, chest decompressing with the exhale he huffs out. You’ve never seen the blue in his eyes so clearly before, not with the way they’ve never been so wide in all the time that you’ve known him, and it breaks your heart—how pretty they are.

“S—” he starts, but the syllable gets caught in his throat.

Your gaze slowly pans from him to Sylvie, who stands just outside the door, and you find that, as her eyes shift between the two of you, her expression is the exact same as his. Wide, shocked, but there was something else in there too. But just the idea of deciphering what it could be, what it could mean, makes you feel so entirely discouraged, like a stranger in your own skin, and it makes your shoulders sulk, same with the sink of your heart towards the center of the Earth.

With eyes flicking back to Gojo, you blink at him once slowly, then twice, feeling like you were out of breath from just standing alone.

You didn’t even need to ask who she was to him. You can tell by the way he’s looking at her.

Sylvie is his ex-wife.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

[end of ch10. 'what if?']

[end of in holy matriphony: season 1]

song of the chapter: 'boyish' by japanese breakfast

a/n. mann i would hate to be gojo rn LOL anywho, thank you sm for readinggg <33 aaaaaaa i'm so nervous to kick off all the DRAMA and angst but............ i'm also very excited 🤭 i am once again shitting bricks posting this chapter bc i just get so nervous posting smut, idk maybe cuz i hardly post it but idk it just is so nervewracking??? and feels so vulnerable??? ahaha i imagine it gets easier the more you post it but like DAMN idk how the jjk smut authors do it. i feel more vulnerable posting this than any other chapter 🤣🤣 buuuuuut i also enjoyed writing it 🤭hehe. apologies for any typos i wrote it w one handKSDJFH im joking i just love this whole two steps forward one step back dynamic btwn reader n gojo like it's the stuff i LIVEEE for in slowburns...i'm so excited to write all the complicated emotions that come w sleeping w a man n then his EX WIFE SHOWS UP AT THE DOOR NOT EVEN AN HOUR AFTER...hell yea huuuuge and i mean BIG and i meannnn COLLOSAL shout out to my lovely beta reader leni, who held my hand as i edited this chapter lol. i had an absolute blast running this one by you 🤣🤣 tysm to all my readers who support this story <3 i was so blown away by the love w ch9, it was a behemoth to edit, and SO challenging to write. i wanted to write a lengthier author's note for that chapter bc i had SO much to say about my writing process for it but i lowkey got lazy LOL but yea it definitely tested my writing abilities the most i think of anything i've put out so far. so i really am so glad it was well received! as you may have seen, this marks the end of ihm season 1!!! sort of a cliffhanger i'm sorryyy i don't usually enjoy leaving chapters on cliffhangers but i just love the open endedness of this scene :'') ihm will be going on a bit of a break after this. i want to spend a little bit of time hashing out some of the details for the next part of the story, and also take a little time off writing! ...its ok ihm gojo my beloved... i’ll be back soon lol i sound like i'm going fucking mental. anyways. once again thanks so much for all the likes, comments, reblogs, asks etc <3 interacting w you guys is a great part of my joy these days. hope you all have a lovely day/night! ah also!!! ihm playlist!!! finally debuting it!! still a tiny bit of a work in progress but you can find it here: playlist. i name it herbal seedlings bc idk all i could think about was reader’s herb garden - ellie 🧚‍♀️✨

➸ you're all caught up!

taglist is open || please comment under this post to be added. if you're unsure if you're already on the taglist or will be tagged in future chapters, feel free to comment here n i'll make sure to add you! also please make sure you adjust your settings if needed so that i can tag you. let me know whenever your taglist preferences change.

note. i'd recommend subscribing to the fic on my ao3 so you can get email notifs as well if you'd like! ; please do not ask me for updates or ask me when i am going to next update (read rules)! thank you!

🏷️: @hvarts4satoru @tetsuski @septemberctdfics @hemmosfear @a-trashbag

@shoruio @susususukanana @fushiguroooozzz @getosugurume @ehcilhc

@kaisenkalogathia @manhattanstrawberry @disappointedpeaches @aldebrana @chich1ookie

@gojodickbig @um-no-ok @chiyokoemilia @pickuptruck01 @cactisjuice

@sorilyae @bloopsstuff @fwgojos @tw0fvced @suguruslovedoll

@fanficgirlboss @ariasnoodles @astrokenny @coolwitchtree @fiftyfeetstrawberryparfait

@anujah9 @asimpinamillion @satorugirlie @ilovebeansyay @mymoonisgrey

@4y3sh4 @aldebrana @electrckchild @userbananababes @jaegersity

@sashisuslover @akariro @mya1112 @lavender-hvze @joemama-2

@jab8mi @soupkuna @suotoru @kakarikhoe @luvmaples

[miedei]

so many hills to die on

a case has you re-evaluating your tenuous relationship with spencer, coming to a head when the unsub triggers a confrontation.

cw: fem!reader, soulmate!au, angst/fluff, lighttt miscommunication trope, canon level violence and gore, descriptions of being bound and kidnapped, descriptions of stalking behaviour

a/n: this is probably my most ambitious fic ever, has been in my drafts for sooo long but I rallied and wrote it finally! merged these two requests about a soulmate au from this prompt list, and I definitely went overboard with the concept. title is from $20 by boygenius (lol), unsub name and picture of spencer from loml @siriuslylantsov

prompt: b...ody art (doodles that a person draws on themselves appear on their soulmate’s skin).

wc: 11.3k (holy shit)

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

Spencer Reid could say a lot about the phenomenon of transcorpal connections. The incidence of a level of mental connection between two individuals that manifests itself in the melanocytes in a person’s epidermal layer to reflect the markings that another person has exacted upon themselves. 

Or, if Prentiss forced him to speak ‘like you’re a human 27-year-old, please’, it was the instance of two supposed ‘soulmates’ where drawings or tattoos on one person’s skin are reflected on the others. 

Soulmates weren’t something Spencer took much stock in, to be honest. 

A fated partner that some amorphous being has assigned him is not something he really believes in, not just as Dr. Reid, man of science, but also as Spencer, the guy who’s had to watch every loving relationship he’d ever seen end. 

He’d seen his parents fall out of love, the little messages his father would write for his mother always there, until one day he’d seen his father write a to-do list on his forearm, the words never arising on his mother’s skin. He’d had whatever that was with Ethan, where he’d desperately hoped that his incoherent scribbles would eventually pop up on his friend-not-boyfriend’s arm, but never did. He’d seen Hotch, the last ‘Jack misses you’ message that Haley had written him still on his upper arm, no matter how long it had been. 

The connections between people’s skin wasn’t anything he aspired to, not anymore. He could rattle off facts and musings about the instances of ‘soulmate connections’ in history for hours, but it held no more significance for him than it did as a profiling tool.

Hence, Spencer never really held out for anything to show up on his skin, not until it did. 

You had spent years with your body, the parts of it you saw on the daily, and the parts you preferred to avoid in the mirror. The expanses of skin, littered with marks and scars from years of living, are familiar to you. Too familiar. 

You’d spent years watching your friends, acquaintances, and even strangers' skin change. Like the first time, in secondary school, whenever you saw lines begin to form on a friend's hand, it always filled you with a strange sense of melancholy. 

Of course, people lived whole, fulfilling lives without ever having a soulmate connection, and you’re sure your life wouldn’t be any different, but there was always that little thought in the back of your mind, every sighting of a couple on the street adding feathers to its wings. 

What if. What if all that skin finally changes? What if you’ll finally experience the life-shattering love that soulmates are supposed to be?

You had always been holding out for something to show up on your skin, but it wasn’t until you’d least expected it. 

Being the newest profiler in the famed BAU was more than daunting. It was terrifying, like hyper-aware-of-every-bone-in-your-body terrifying. Your transfer from Domestic Trafficking had been a long time coming, your experience in psychology and previous work under David Rossi making you the ideal candidate for the spot. You knew all of that, but somehow it didn’t dampen the nerves that coursed through your body every time you walked into the bullpen. 

It’s your third case as an official agent on the team, and your fear of messing up the biggest leap in your career hasn’t waned. In a lull in the briefing that Hotch gives on the jet, you refer to the case file, questioning the tiny Garcia shown on the screen set on the surface in front of you.

“And this witness who wasn’t present? What’s that about?” You point to a name noted on the case file, which has very little information listed next to it. 

“Yes, my love, that is a little strange.” Garcia’s slightly tinny voice floats through the interior of the cabin.

“She is a Mrs Amaya Walker, not technically a witness, seeing as, you know, she lives and works two hours away from the crimes, but there is a pickle.” As she speaks, Spencer slides into the seat across from you, and you flash him a quick smile as he slides a mug of coffee over the table to you.

“Our lovely Mrs Walker here saw a list pop up on her forearm, right when the last murder happened. Initially she didn’t think it was anything, but later she saw the press conference that the local P.D. did after the second murder-”

“Against my advice, by the way!” JJ pipes up from her spot on the sofa.

“Yes, against JJ’s advice, but once she saw it, she thought her little list might come as useful to the investigation.” Your tablets chime, a picture of a forearm you assume belongs to Amaya Walker popping up on the screen. The fax machine set up under the table whirs, and you pull out the printed version and pass it wordlessly to Spencer. The brown skin of her forearm is marred by scratchy handwriting, a list of household points of interest:

“Bedframe

Edge of coffee table

Light fixture

Oven door

Nightlight

Garage door

Silver spoon”

Your eyes widen, picking up your case file to compare.

“These are all…”

“Where the unsub left smears of the victim’s blood.” Spencer finishes your sentence, his eyes meeting yours with lines of confusion between them. The seemingly random smears of blood had been a point of confusion for you all when you did the initial walkthrough of the two murders back at the office. Each very far from the site of the murder, the team had concluded it had to be part of the unsub’s signature, although they were different for each murder. 

This was part of why JJ didn’t want it released to the public, on the off chance that the publicity causes the unsub to escalate or double down.

“Yes, wonderful profilers, you’re correct. The list correlates with all the different spills of blood and…” Garcia shudders, “gore left at every crime scene. Her husband has refused to speak to the police, and she insists he has nothing to do with it, but the police are working on a warrant, they should be getting them both to the station tomorrow.”

“Yes, that is strange. Reid, L/N, you two go to the ME’s office, figure out if there’s anything we can get out of the method of killing. Dave, you go with Morgan and JJ to the most recent crime scene. Maybe we can get something more out of it. Prentiss, you and I will head to the first crime scene, see what we can see. Hopefully we can correlate that with whatever we get from Walker tomorrow.” Hotch’s stern, no-nonsense voice cuts through the confusion, and you all straighten up, ready to get to work.

The medical examiner’s office is chilly, and you regret forgoing a blazer as you step into the bright building from the warm evening air. Spencer laughs softly next to you, and he nudges your shoulder. 

“Cold?”

“No.”

You speak resolutely, but the sparkle in his eye indicates he knows your lie. Grabbing the distinctive purple scarf from around his neck, he wraps it around yours, smiling when he meets your eye. The moment is only broken by the clip-clop of shoes coming down the hallway, and you both turn away hastily.

The ME walks up to you, his voice clipped and curt.

“You’re from the FBI? Come with me, please.”

You follow him into a room that smells overwhelmingly of formaldehyde. Two examining tables stand in the middle of the room, white sheets covering the bodies.

“The methods of killing were very different for each case, so much so that we didn’t put together that they were related until the police did.”

Spencer nods from beside you, accepting a clipboard from the doctor. Not bothering to read it, when he can do it in a fraction of the time, you converse with the doctor.

“Yes, we saw that one of the victims was stabbed, and the other strangled? That doesn’t track with any evolution we’ve seen before. Stabbing’s generally much easier than strangling, we usually see them go the other way around.”

He nods, pulling back the sheet on the second victim. You can see mottled bruises around his neck.

“Yes, the most recent victim, John Coulhain, was strangled. By the angle of the bruising, it’s clear he was attacked from behind, and by something that has both leather and metal in it. You see here, there’s a larger imprint from the metal segment.”

Spencer raises his head.

“It says here that he had just gotten out of the shower after work?”

“That’s right. He was found in only a towel. His clothes weren’t found.”

You frown, turning to Spencer.

“Leather and metal… that sounds like a belt to me. Coulhain was a lawyer. He wore suits to work.”

He picks up on your train of thought, continuing where you leave off.

“His clothes weren’t found. The unsub might have used his belt as a murder weapon, so he took the rest too.”

You turn to the medical examiner

“The first victim, Cohen Gibson, what sort of knife do you believe was used?”

He walks you over to the second table, drawing back the sheet so you can see the seemingly random pattern of wounds.

“They’re varying degrees of shallowness, but the shape of the wounds makes me think it was something medium-sized, probably stainless steel.”

Spencer leans forward, inspecting the wounds closely as he muses.

“Stainless steel isn’t the sort of knife you buy with the intention of violence. 54% of stainless steel knives are purchased for everyday purposes, like cooking.”

The ME walks you through the rest of the details of the murders, but the randomness of the methods of killing and the missing clothing stick with you.

An hour later, when you and Spencer walk out of the building into the dusk, it’s still on your mind.

“Reid, why would an unsub use a perfectly good knife for his first murder, but forgo bringing it to the next scene, and use his victim’s belt instead? That reads like a devolution, and this guy is still ramping up.”

“Maybe he’s relishing the deaths? Strangling takes longer, so maybe he realised that stabbing wasn’t going to give him the time with the body that he wanted.” He offers, but you can tell he’s not convinced.

“The scenes don’t show any sign of him lingering. And even if that’s the case, why not bring your own strangling equipment? A belt doesn’t give him the precision he needs in order to control the rate of death, especially one he just snatched off the floor.”

Spencer nods slowly as you approach the car.

“He doesn’t hesitate at all in killing them, but he doesn’t come prepared. It’s like he’s obscenely confident in himself, and doesn't think he needs to plan in order to pull it off.”

You slide into the car as your phone begins to buzz in your pocket. Fishing it out, you pick up the call.

“Hey Emily, you’re on speaker.”

She speaks immediately, forgoing any greeting.

“The first victim, Cohen Gibson. Was the weapon a stainless steel knife?”

You exchange a look with Spencer, replying quickly.

“Yeah, it was. Why do you ask?”

“Gibson’s wife just confirmed that their knife block is gone, along with six stainless steel knives.”

Spencer leans forward to speak into your phone.

“That makes sense. We think the unsub is showing up with no preparation because he believes he doesn’t need it. He’s a narcissist.”

She makes a distracted sound of affirmation.

“That sounds right. Okay, Hotch wants you to meet us at the hotel, we’re going to compare notes there.”

You go to hang up, before she speaks once more.

“Oh, one more thing, the local police department got the warrant to bring in Amaya Walker for an interview tomorrow. You guys should do that, she’ll be more relaxed with younger people there. If her husband has something to do with it, you have to get it out of her.”

Stepping out of the SUV the next morning, you and Spencer walk through the sliding doors of the Decorah P.D.'s office, greeted by the captain of the precinct. 

“Hi, I’m SSA L/N, this is Doctor Reid.” You shake his hand, chuckling under your breath as you watch Spencer awkwardly avoid doing the same. 

Once you’ve set up your things in the conference room they’ve allocated to you, Spencer turns to Captain Peretti. 

“So, is Mrs Walker here? We’d like to ask her a few questions.”

Spencer is sitting in the chair across from Mrs Walker in the interrogation room, while you are leaned against the desk next to him. 

“We really appreciate you coming in like this, I understand that this is a stressful time for you. Mrs Walker, what can you tell us about your husband’s whereabouts when the list showed up on your skin?” She’s being cagey, not answering your questions and clamming up whenever you mention her husband.

“Eric had nothing to do with it. I’m telling you, it was a mistake for me to come in, I’m sure it’s unrelated.”

She motions to the words on her arm, and you sigh. It looks like straight questioning isn’t going to get you anywhere. Spencer leans his elbows on the desk, looking at Mrs Walker, his brown eyes seeming larger in the dim light. His shirt sleeves ride up his arm a little, and a flash of dark lines shows before it’s covered again.

“Let me ask you this, have messages like this come up on your skin before? Whether they’re lists or not, have you ever seen anything show up on your left forearm?” She shakes her head mutely, eyes trained on the steel surface in front of her. You sigh, motioning discreetly at Spencer, and you both rise, walking out to the viewing area where Hotch and Emily are standing. 

“She won’t say anything?”

“Only that her husband has nothing to do with it. But…” Spencer trails off, and you take the opportunity to finish his thought.

“But, she clearly has some hangup about the messages. When Spencer asked whether they’d showed up before, she said no, but it’s clear there’s more there.” Hotch nods thoughtfully. Lost in thought, you spin a pen in your hand, tapping the uncovered tip against the inside of your wrist, accustomed to the ink blotches that appear on the skin there. 

Your eyes wander aimlessly as you do so, and land on Spencer, who is scratching at his forearm. It causes his shirt sleeve to ride up a little again. That’s when you see it. 

Small marks are on his skin, more muted than you usually see them, but you’d recognise them anywhere. Your eyes widen, looking down at your own wrist. A constellation of ink dots and lines are scattered across the delicate skin, identical to the ones on Spencer’s wrist. 

Is this really happening? Reid? Of course, you’d never been able to convince yourself you weren’t attracted to him, but he’s your coworker. He’s a large part of why you’re so nervous at the BAU. He’s not your soulmate… is he? 

Hotch’s unflapped voice breaks through your racing thoughts. “Okay. Head back in, press about their relationship, not the list. Let’s see if we can find a weak spot.”

Well. Looks like you’ll have to contain this revelation until you’re done for the day. Your head reels with the discovery, but you have to put it aside in favour of the case.

Your mind made up, you snatch the pen off the table before following Spencer back into the interrogation room, steeling yourself with a deep breath.

“We’d like to get to know you a little more, Mrs Walker, if that’s alright with you. How long have you been married?”

She shifts in her seat, uncomfortable, but answers readily. “Fifteen years. And no, there’s never been any red flags that make me think he would ever be capable of something like this.” 

From his spot next to you, Spencer nods once.

“Okay, we understand. In your relationship, do you guys have any rituals to do with your connection? Like writing to each other throughout the day, or a code system or something with your skin?” 

Her cheeks flush, eyes trained on her lap. You press further.

“What is it Mrs Walker? Whatever it is, we really need you to tell us.” No answer. Spencer leans forward.

“Mrs Walker, two men are dead. We’re doing our best to find whoever did it, but we need all the information you can give us in order to do that. You can help us prevent any more deaths.” She wraps her arms around her middle, but still doesn’t say a word. Following his lead, you slam a hand down on the metal table.

“Mrs Walker! I understand that, whatever this is, it’s personal, but this is not the time to be hiding information from us. Men are dead, and it's starting to look like the perpetrator had some connection to you. The local police have a warrant for your husband’s arrest. I want to help you get your family out of this mess, but you need to tell us everything you can. Now.” Her shoulders slump, and finally, you feel like she’s telling you the truth.

“I… I started getting the messages in September. They’re not- not from Eric.” A wordless conversation passes between you and Spencer. That was 4 months before the first murder. You turn back to her, nodding encouragingly as the words seem to spill past her parted lips.

“I never expected to have a soulmate. Or at least… to be able to speak with them. My husband and I, we’re happy! I didn’t care that we weren’t soulmates until…”

Spencer prompts her, leaning forward. “Until?”

“Until the first drawing showed up. It was just a doodle of something, I barely remember now, but we started writing to each other. In places that no one would see, the underside of my arm, or my ribcage. I didn’t- I never did anything! I love my husband, I do, and I would never-” She cuts herself off, holding up a hand to ask for a little time. A few minutes later, she pipes up again.

“I don’t know his name or anything. We talked about surface level stuff, you know? Favourite books, shows, things like that. I was never going to do anything about it, so I didn’t tell anyone.” You can’t help but raise your head, flashing a look at the one-way mirror, hoping Hotch will read the urgency on your face. 

“This is good, Mrs Walker. Thank you for telling us. It’s going to take us some time to deduce whether this is related to the murders or not, but I hope you won’t object to helping us further.” Wordlessly, Spencer slides your notepad and pen over to her.

“I’m going to need you to write down everything you can remember from your messages. If there are any still on you, I really need you to write them down as clearly as you can. In a few minutes, one of our teammates will be in, and they’ll walk you through a cognitive interview, try and see how much we can recover.” The two of you rise, nodding to the officer stationed inside the door, but you pause when she calls out to you.

“Do you- do you think that it’s wrong of me? To stay in this relationship, when I know there’s a soulmate out there for me?” You go to speak, but Spencer beats you to it.

“Mrs Walker, the phenomenon of connections like these doesn’t necessarily mean that the relationship would be perfect. You love your husband, and you have loved him for years. A ‘soulmate connection’ doesn’t mean you should even be in a relationship. Many people don’t even believe it has anything to do with compatibility, those relationships are just as flawed as any other. Honestly, I sometimes think the expectations could hinder a relationship.” 

It startles you a little, the emotion behind Spencer’s eyes when he speaks. Does he really not believe that a connection means anything? Your eyes can’t help but flick down to the faint marks on your wrist.

By the time you look up, Spencer is already in the doorway, looking back at you with concern in his eyes. 

“You okay?” His voice is hushed, intimate, but it’s all you can do to brush it off. Walking back into the conference room, the team is already hard at work. 

Spencer’s confused. Something clearly rattled you in the interrogation room, but despite his attempts to meet your eyes, it’s like you’re purposely avoiding his gaze. 

He hasn’t taken the time to think about it, but whether that’s because he’s busy or because he’s worried, who knows? 

What he does know is that you have quickly become one of his favourite people to work with. Hours spent hunching over maps together, inspecting crime scenes and interviewing witnesses have endeared you to him faster than he thought was possible. It’s this unexplainable fondness that leaves him reeling when the comforting smiles and shared looks are lost all of a sudden. 

He attempts to push it to the back of his mind as the team runs through the case once more, Garcia’s tinny voice streaming through the room. However, he’s not fully in it, and the team notices. By the time they’ve concluded that a reinspection of the crime scenes and interviewing Eric Walker was necessary, Emily is eyeing him weirdly, and Morgan all but frog-marches him out to the precinct’s kitchenette. 

“Kid. What’s going on?” The elder man braces his hands on Spencer’s shoulders, eyes blazing into his. 

“You’ve been acting weird ever since the second interview with Amaya Walker, and so has L/N.” A sense of relief floods through Spencer, and he speaks earnestly.

“I don’t know! We interviewed Mrs Walker again, and it was all fine, but the moment we left the room it’s like she can’t look at me anymore. It’s making me feel all awkward.” 

Morgan sighs, his fingers unintentionally digging into Spencer’s shirt. 

“What did you say when you left?” Spencer bristles a little at the implied accusation, but can’t help but run through the last few parts of the interview.

“It was all normal, but then she- Mrs Walker, asked if she was wrong to stay in her relationship when she has a ‘soulmate’ out there.” He nods, prompting Spencer to continue. 

“I told her what I think she’d agree with, that I don’t know if a connection would make a relationship stronger. I thought that was right, it felt like it soothed the witness.” A troubled look passes over Spencer’s face. He’s always struggled with social cues, but he thought he’d improved. Mrs Walker looked much calmer after he said that to her, and that was protocol. 

Calm the witness, make sure they think you are in their corner. Gideon’s voice rings through his head.

“And that was it! We left the room, and then she started acting all…”

Morgan’s features are unreadable, but his hands relax on Spencer’s shoulders. 

“Sounds like you need to figure out why she’s bothered. But, kid… Don’t let this affect the case.”

With that, he pats Spencer’s shoulder and walks off, leaving him pondering his words. Figure it out. 

Spencer Reid is good at figuring things out. Maybe he can’t tackle this like Spencer, your bumbling coworker, but as Spencer, the profiler.

You’ve been at the first crime scene for only a few minutes, but the awkwardness is thick in the air between you. 

Spencer has that infuriating look on his face, all furrowed brows and piercing gazes and so attractive it makes you want to pull your hair out. It’s making it so hard to try and detach yourself from him.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you sidle over to the evidence markers that tag the blood smears in this crime scene. 

“So we’ve got… A side table in the master bedroom, a heart pillow that was in the living room and an elephant painting on the wall in the landing. All far away from the site of the murder in the kitchen.”

Spencer steps up next to you, still gazing at you unreadably, but opens his mouth to follow your train of thought. 

“The blood spatters indicate that the attack began in the hallway, and the final blows in the kitchen. No blood anywhere else, nowhere near the smears.”

You nod, trying to run through the details of the case in your mind.

“The attack is rushed, hasty. All the stab wounds indicate a blitz attack and a lot of overkill, but the smears are calculated.” 

He smiles, and it’s all you can to not turn and reflect that back to him.

“Right, no blood dripping anywhere outside of the murder, not even when he takes some to the different areas of the house to smear. The murder itself is charged with anger, but this is something more. It’s deliberate, it’s…”

You meet his eyes, finally, and voice what you know you’ve both concluded.

“It’s a message. But to whom?”

He holds your gaze, going to reply to you, but is cut off by the shrill sound of his phone ringing. With a sigh, he fishes it out of his breastpocket, holding the brick-like device to his ear. 

Whatever he hears has him tensing, and you feel like a coiled spring, bracing yourself for whatever grim news is awaiting you.

“Okay Hotch, we’re leaving now, get Garcia to send all the photos to us.” He sets down the phone, looking at you.

“There’s been another murder.”

You stand at the clear whiteboard, surveying the images tacked on to it. The blood smears of the newest crime scene are pinned up next to those of the two previous ones, and it’s driving the two of you crazy trying to decipher what the patterns are. Spencer fiddles with his fingers, the marks on his wrist flashing as his sleeve shifts, sending your mind spiralling every time you notice them.

“A painting of a tree, and an orange. Let me ask you this, do you think the things themselves are significant or the locations of them?”

You shake your head slowly, trying to clear the fog from your mind. The both of you are silent, standing in front of the board with puzzled looks, when Morgan bursts in, waving around some papers.

“Got the pictures of Mrs Walker’s newest message.” He grabs a magnet and pins a picture of Mrs Walker’s calf to the centre of the board, two things listed there.

“Tree painting

Orange”

“Ok kids, we really need you to work your magic this time,” Morgan taps your shoulder.

“The cooling down period has gotten shorter and shorter. We can’t expect to get to tomorrow evening without another murder.” 

You sigh, rubbing your wrist absentmindedly. The marks and your newfound realisation about Spencer haven’t left your mind, but have been pushed to the background for the time being. However, the frustration brings it back up. The connection. Does it mean nothing to him? Does he not think that it would do something for a relationship? You’ve always thought it would indicate that you belong together, wouldn’t you…

Your body moves without your go-ahead.

Eyes widen.

Shoulders tense.

Your arms reach forward, haphazardly grabbing and moving the lists until three pictures sit side-by-side on the board in front of you.

One is printed, a crude attempt by the CSU team to catalogue the items marred by blood. Two are images, words on skin. Words, the first letters of which spell out…

You grip Spencer’s arm, pointing at the first image of Amaya Walker’s skin, the second murder.

“Belongs. Spencer, the second crime scene.” 

He doesn’t even acknowledge your use of his first name, leaning forward like you are. He zeroes in on the newest image.

“To. The third one. It’s an acrostic. The first letter of each item spell out his message.”

You move forward, writing the words ‘__ BELONGS TO’ on the board. You are feeding off of each other, thinking aloud in a way that has Morgan sighing to himself.

“She didn’t get a list for the first one.”

Spencer nods. “She didn’t notice. He had to show her.”

You grab the printed list of the items smeared in the first crime scene. “Side table, pillow, painting”

He leans over your shoulder. “He’s more specific than the crime scene techs were. Heart pillow, elephant painting.”

You turn to him, stomach dropping. “She. She belongs to…”

He writes in ‘SHE’ next to the two other words. “He’s possessive, something happened to make him think he doesn’t have her.”

“Narcissistic. Driven by ownership.”

“Eric Walker was here when the third murder happened. Who else would want to lay claim to her?”

You straighten up, meeting Spencer’s eyes, not looking away even as you address Morgan.

“Derek, where’s Eric Walker?”

“They released him from questioning an hour ago, he went home.”

You and Spencer spring into action, scooping up your abandoned holsters. 

“We need to get to the Walkers’ house, now. Our unsub is taking out what he sees as competition, and Mr Walker’s all he needs to get rid of.”

In the SUV, you are jittery. Morgan sits in the driver’s seat next to you, and Spencer in the back. As you fiddle with your vest straps, you can’t help but think of Mrs Walker, the woman who never wanted a soulmate. And now her soulmate is trying to kill the love of her life.

Maybe Spencer was right?

Hotch is barking orders at the gathered agents when you step out of the vehicle. Nodding along, you fall to the back of the group, your designated role until you’re called to enter the house. 

Your vest is uncomfortable. The straps are always too long or too short, and you have to get it right before you storm the house, but your thoughts are so loud, and Rossi on the phone with the unsub is so piercing, and it feels like you will never get comfortable.

Finally, you feel like giving up, until warm hands find purchase on your shoulders. Looking up, you see Spencer, standing before you with a slight, nervous smile. His hands gently move yours away from the straps, and he looks at you questioningly.

“Can I?” You nod dumbly, unable to tear your eyes away from him.

The touch is soft, tentative. He pulls at the straps dangling over your shoulders firmly, tightening the vest until it sits snugly over your chest. As if acting on instinct, he slips a finger under the kevlar, brushing the thin fabric of your shirt over your collarbone delicately. It makes you shiver.

“Is that good? Too tight?” His eyes are devastatingly soft, head tilted down to face you fully. 

“No, it’s good. Thanks, Reid.” You have to get yourself away from the magnetic pull of him, stepping back and letting out a sigh of relief. 

You walk away, heading Emily’s way, completely missing the look of confusion he aims at you as you brush past him.

Joining the circle of agents and officers, you tune into Morgan’s run down of the plan. 

“Hotch and JJ will take 5 officers and break down the front door. Now, we know there are two other doors that the unsub will probably make a break for once we enter. Prentiss and I will be at the northfacing one, Reid and Rossi at the westfacing one. L/N, you and Captain Peretti should be stationed in the land behind the house, secure the outbuildings before the unsub can think to rush to them and destroy evidence.”

You nod, exchanging a glance with the police captain. 

“Remember, this unsub is severely narcissistic and delusional. He won’t stop at anything to get what he wants, including opening fire on us. Do not engage him in a confrontation. Challenging his goals and views will push him further, and we don’t want any more casualties at the hands of this man.” 

With a decisive nod, Morgan breaks away from the group, the people beginning to station themselves at their posts. With the captain at your side, you walk around the house to the field behind it, directing officers to each of the small barns and outhouses dotting the land. 

With the captain, you stand ready at the large wooden door of what you think is a stable, when the crackling of your earpiece alerts you to JJ’s voice.

“We’re heading in on 5, 4…” You can hear a crash and a shout, and JJ’s voice turns hurried. “We head in now!”

A few minutes have you tapping your index against the side of your firearm, worried. 

“He’s not here. We have Mr Walker here, multiple stab wounds but a relatively steady pulse. House is clear.”

Emily starts speaking. “He hasn’t gone through our door. Rossi?”

Rossi crackles out a negative response. Bringing your wrist to your mouth, you speak into the mic embedded there. 

“If Walker’s still bleeding out, the unsub has to have just been there. Are there any other possible exit points?”

There’s silence for a second until Reid’s voice comes over the comms, frantic. 

“There’s a northwest facing window that’s unlocked! Footsteps leading away from it, into the field.”

Immediately you spring into action, autopilot taking over as you direct multiple officers to search the surrounding woods, and the rest to clear out the outbuildings. 

Counting down, the police captain kicks in the stable door, and you flick on your flashlight, advancing.

The large room is drafty, the old wood planks creaking with every gust of wind. At first glance, the dark room seems quiet and empty, and each movement of your flashlight seems to confirm this. 

The only thing of note you see is the row of stalls along the left wall, the angle of the opening making sure that you can’t see into all of them. 

Silently, you begin to walk towards them, signalling for the captain to follow. Despite the first few being completely empty save for some hay, a chill runs down your spine, bracing yourself for a confrontation that hasn’t happened. 

As you begin to inch your way to the second-to-last stall, you hear a shout from outside the building. 

“There’s someone in the woods!”

One of the officers rushes past the open door to the stable, and the captain raises her head immediately, dropping her defensive stance. 

“That must be him. Let’s go!” Without waiting for a response, she turns, running out of the stable, as if she can’t hear your hushed whispers. 

“Captain! This building hasn’t been cleared—” She’s gone. You can hear the rush of officers running past the building, towards the wooded area to the back of the property. Despite the high probability of the unsub being the person spotted there, you know you can’t leave this building without clearing it. 

You really should wait for someone to do this with you. Never enter a potential crime scene without backup. Rossi’s voice rings in your ears. 

But there’s only two stalls left. The rest of your team are still securing the house and the victim. The officers are gone. 

You can clear two stalls on your own. They’re probably empty anyway. 

Having made up your mind, you straighten up, tightening your grip on your gun and flashlight, and advance. 

Slowly walking to the first stall, you turn the corner, quickly flashing your light in the small space. Empty. 

One more.

The floorboards bend slightly as you walk across them. The wind rushing past the walls ruffles your hair. The metal of your gun is warm under your palm. 

The wall of the final stall comes closer, closer, until you’re stood behind it. One step forward and a turn to the left, and you’ll be at the doorway. 

It’ll be empty. They’ve all been empty.

You take the step, right foot planting in front of you, and turn on the balls of your feet, flashlight and gun extended in front of your chest.

“Hello, agent.”

Not empty.

The house is finally cleared, and Mr Walker loaded into an ambulance. As he watches the vehicle retreat down the road, Spencer hears the chatter over the comms. 

“Is it him?”

“The woods are thick, how did he get here without us seeing—”

“—in pursuit of the person we saw—”

“He’s a white man, late 60s—”

“It’s not him! You hear me, officer? That’s not him, do not arrest that man!” Morgan’s voice cuts through the jabbering, voice stern. 

They haven’t gotten the unsub? Spencer turns on his heels, striding back into the house, where Hotch, JJ and Rossi stand around the blood spatter on the floor. 

“Spence. Doesn’t look like the unsub could’ve gotten to the woods in time, not before we were stationed in the field he’d have to cut through anyway.” JJ stands with her hands on her hips, irritation clear on her face. 

“The other buildings on the property?” He comes to stand next to Hotch.

“I saw Captain Peretti. She said they were all cleared. CSU’s sending more units to secure all of them, but we’re not considering any of them crime scenes as she says it’s clear he hasn’t been in them. It’ll take a while for them to get here and secure them all.” Hotch replies, brows furrowed. 

The door opens, and Morgan and Prentiss walk in. 

“Everything okay?”

Emily huffs. “The locals almost arrested the elderly neighbour, but other than that, the woods are seemingly clear.”

Morgan adds, “There’s some trampled plants in the cornfield to the west of the property, so we’ve got officers searching that now, but that field backs up onto a major road. If he made it through that, he could be anywhere by now.”

Rossi sighs, shoulders slumping. 

“I’m getting sick of this son of a bitch slipping out of our hands.”

“I agree. Rossi, go with Prentiss and Morgan to the road by the cornfield. Canvass anyone you find, ask neighbouring homes if they saw anyone emerge from the crops onto the road or lone cars idling. If he took that way out, he'd have had a car waiting for him there.” They nod, shuffling out. 

JJ pipes up, her brow furrowed in thought.

“The smears were on a milk carton in the fridge and an envelope. Me. His message is finished, isn’t it? ‘She belongs to me’. What’s he going to do now?”

Spencer’s not sure. Hotch shakes his head exasperatedly.

“JJ, let’s go find Captain Peretti. We’ll head back to the PD and see what we can make with the old clues now that we think he had an intricate exit plan. Reid, stay here, get updating the geographical profile with the information from this crime scene. We’ll send L/N here to work on it with you.”

Spencer nods, heading to the SUV to grab his map, and settling at the Walkers’ dining table to get working. 

It’s hot, sweltering. A throbbing pain thuds in your skull, the feeling of dry hay against your face making your cheek itch. Instinctively, you attempt to bring your hand up to brush it away. It won't move.

You jerk your wrists, but find them bound, and a dull pain pangs in your thigh. It’s clear you’ve been out for a little while, your eyes feeling crusted shut. 

With a little effort, you prise your eyes open, feeling your pupils adjust to the darkness of the room. You’re still in the final stall, sprawled against the far wall. Another experimental tug on your wrist and you realise that they’re bound together, the coarse rope wound around your right thigh, forcing you to stay hunched over. 

It all comes rushing back. Losing the unsub. Peretti leaving. The empty- no, not empty stall. The raspy voice that met your ears before the resounding blow to your head.

Twisting your hands awkwardly, you begin to pick at the rough rope, trying to map out the knot that keeps you in your uncomfortable position. Sweat drips in rivulets down the back of your neck as you crane your neck.

Your position ensures that you can’t survey the entire stall, but he’s got to be close. The property’s crawling with officers. 

“I’m still here, sweetheart.” 

The voice rings out from somewhere behind you, dark and smug. Your hand automatically makes for your holster, but the rope digs into your skin, leaving you unable to reach it. 

“Don’t bother. You think I’d let you keep your gun?”

You can hear the bastard smirk, anger and fear running hot through your veins. Your gun is your lifeline in situations like this, as not only a means of attack, but a grounding feeling. Without it you feel unmoored. 

The only thing you have in your arsenal is your knowledge of the case. Of him.

“Why don’t you come stand here? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of showing me your face.” Your voice is low, cracking with dryness. 

Prodding him just enough should… there it is. You hear his footsteps, walking past your bent head until you can see his feet and legs, standing in front of you.

“That enough for you? You can see me now?” He crouches, squatting by your calves to show you his face. 

He’s surprisingly handsome, flushed from the heat, dark eyes boring into yours. Dressed in a suit that’s slightly too large for him, he looks out of place in the grimy stable. He’s playing the role of a businessman, save for the gun dangling from his left hand, and the telltale bulge of another— yours— in his pants pocket.

This unsub is severely narcissistic and delusional. Morgan’s words come back to you now. 

“You- you outsmarted us all. We were sure we’d catch you.”

A smile spreads over his face, his ego clearly swelling. You can see his shoulders relax slightly. 

“You thought so, huh? I guess even the FBI has hubris.” His lips form the word hubris with some effort, pronouncing it as huh-brus. It’s clear he’s putting on airs. 

You need to get the others here. You could wait it out, until the crime scene techs eventually make their way to this building towards the back of the Walkers’ land. 

But he has two guns, and he wants Amaya Walker, not you. Who knows how long he’ll be content to lord over you, until he inevitably gets tired of playing with you. He has two guns.

How do you get a message to them? There’s no way he’ll let you have your phone, and this guy has no reason to contact anyone but Mrs Walker. He doesn’t need a phone for that, just a pen, probably in his jacket.

A pen. Spencer. That’s it.

“So, you and Mrs— um, Amaya. Are you guys going to meet in person soon?” 

That does the trick. His eyes glaze over with an expression that would look love-drunk, if you didn��t know about the blood on his hands. 

“Soon. There’s nothing keeping us apart now. I’ll go to see her as soon as I’m done here.”

“That’s why you’re dressed up? I think she’ll like that suit.”

His voice is deceptively soft, almost tricking you into forgetting how dangerous he is.

“I think so too. I borrowed it from a friend, John. She’ll like it.”

John Coulhain. The second murder victim, the lawyer. You resist the urge to gag.

“Yeah. It’s- it’s hot in here, isn’t it? Maybe you should take off the jacket and save it for when you see her. You don’t want to sweat through it.”

His metaphorical hackles raise, and you can tell he’s getting ready to stand and walk away from you. 

“No, I don’t mean it in an insulting way, not at all. It’s just really- really warm in here. I’m sweating. Maybe Amaya would like to hug you when you meet her. She won’t want sweat on her.”

Your voice is wavering, eyes unable to move from the gun still in front of you. 

It takes a long minute before he speaks again.

“Maybe I should take off the jacket. Just for a little.” He’s clearly loathed to admit his perceived fault, muttering to himself rather than speaking to you. Straightening up, you hear rustling above you, until the jacket falls in a heap in front of your bound wrists, part of the fabric falling on the tips of your fingers. You grasp it in your hand, wincing as the rope rubs the sensitive skin on your wrists raw.

As smoothly as possible, you hunch over further, settling in the foetal position, pulling the jacket to cover your hands a little more. 

Seemingly not noticing your movement, you see his legs walk out of your eyesight, padding around you until he comes to a stop somewhere behind your body. 

“Now, we’re going to wait here until your police friends are all done at the house. Then I’m going to take you with me, and we’ll go see Amaya. You’re going to be our witness, and then I’ll get rid of you, got it?” 

His voice is unnervingly slow and deliberate, as if he’s fully convinced this plan will work. You wish you had that same conviction, but you’re sure you know how this is going to end. The stress of hiding out will surely break him, sending him into a spiral where he will either kill you and then himself, or kill you and let the police kill him. 

You have to get them here before that happens. Heart pounding, you slowly inch the jacket closer to you, until your hands are fully buried in the folds of fabric. Feeling around blindly, you trace the inner lining of the expensive fabric until you feel a lip of material. The inner pocket is welcoming to your aching fingers, and you sigh, nearly delirious with relief when your index brushes against a pen. You were right.

Thanking whatever deity there is, you grip the pen, shoving it between your bound wrists, out of sight. 

Tugging once more, you’re resigned to the fact that you don’t have the range of motion to write legibly on your forearm, hands laying uselessly against your clothed thighs. The nearest exposed skin is on your ankle, and you have no hope of contorting to reach that without him noticing.

Chancing a look behind you, you can see him hunched over his knees, muttering to himself. You don’t have much time left. 

Deciding to make a rash decision, you grip the pen once more. Shifting so your left leg is hiked up, your wrists shoved between your legs, you take the pen, jabbing harshly at the fabric of your pants. Without being able to see, your aim is sloppy, but after a few minutes of brute force, you’ve ripped a jagged hole in your pants, near where your left calf meets your knee. 

Tension runs through your body, shifting the pen in your hand so that you can write. 

‘Spencer’

Spencer is stumped. Standing over the large map spread over the dining table, he can’t think of a reason why the unsub would ever leave the scene. This was his endgame, his final target until he could have Amaya Walker to himself. Why would a narcissistic sociopath flee after that?

Garcia’s voice comes crackling over the comms.

“My good doctor, it’s a little ridiculous that I had to use the PD’s satellite phone to get in touch with you. Do any of you pick up the phone anymore?”

He huffs out a laugh.

“We’re in the middle of farm country, Garcia. None of us have signal. Have you got anything?”

“You know I do. I took a look-see into Mr Walker’s history to see if he’d been stalked, and in multiple stretches of CCTV footage he’s being tailed by a white SUV. Including two hours ago, when he was on his way home. The car followed him on the main road, and pulled into their private road after Walker.”

“The car probably belongs to our unsub then. Do you have a name?”

“Do you even need to ask? Name’s Randall Slater, seems to tick most of the boxes of the profile. I’ll call back when I have more, Garcia out!”

Spencer slumps back in his chair. Sure, they have a name, but until he gets anything else from Garcia, it does nothing to help him with the geographical profile.

Wracking his brain for any possible lead, he doesn’t hear Hotch and JJ walk back in, not until they stand at the table with him, the police captain in tow. 

“Reid. Where’s L/N?” Hotch speaks in a low and measured tone, but Spencer can tell that he’s worried. 

“She’s not here yet. I thought you guys were going to send her here?” He raises his head, meeting JJ’s concerned eyes. 

“She wasn’t with Captain Peretti.”

“When we were pursuing the neighbour in the woods, I lost her. I figured she’d come back to find you guys.” Peretti’s voice is tight with worry, and a tinge of something else that Spencer doesn’t have the time to decipher right now. 

“Morgan and the rest haven’t heard from her?” 

Hotch shakes his head no. 

“Her comms have gone silent.” JJ brings a hand up to rub her temples.

 “Captain, inform your officers that we are looking for Agent L/N as well. Hopefully there’s nothing wrong, but we can’t rule out the possibility that the unsub found a way to get close.” 

Peretti nods stiffly, striding out of the room hurriedly. 

He can barely wrap his head around it. You’re not checking in? If there was a word stronger than worried, he’d find it, but his brain seems to be wading through sludge at the moment. He hadn’t realised how untethered he feels when you’re not there, until now, where it feels like the only thing he can think of. 

He can’t just sit around. Spencer straightens up, snatching his FBI windbreaker off of a chair and beginning to put it on.

“Okay, I’ll head out into the crop fields. If he took her as he fled, there’s got to be evidence of it.”

He’s already halfway across the room when Hotch calls out after him. 

“Reid, no. You need to stay here. Work on the geoprofile.”

Spencer can feel the irritation bubbling up inside him, his voice straining with the effort of not yelling. 

“Hotch, I’m not going to sit around here and do nothing when the unsub could have Y/N with him. If I can find—” Hotch cuts him off. 

“We. Reid, I know you’re emotional, we all are, but you cannot forget that this is a team. We’re all prioritising this. You know that you are best used here. If the unsub took her, we need to locate that secondary location immediately, that’s what you need to be doing.”

Incensed, Spencer can’t help but raise his voice. 

“Do we even know that he left? We profiled him to be a delusional narcissist, why would he ever leave? Hotch, I’m telling you, something is wrong here!”

Hotch’s eyes flash with emotion, and he opens his mouth, presumably explaining why Spencer shouldn’t leave. It’s all a moot point, however, because in that moment, he feels a burning on his left calf. 

The one-sided conversation goes over his head as Spencer can’t help but tug up his pant leg, itching at his skin as he runs through possibilities in his head. The unsub could’ve done what they’d now theorised, taken you and dragged you through the cornfield, into a car that was waiting by the main road. But why? 

He huffs, sitting down in a dining chair as he continues scratching at his leg. Hotch falls silent, but he doesn’t notice, lost in his thoughts. 

“Spencer. Spence!”

 JJ’s voice snaps him out of his haze. 

“What, JJ?” He snaps, irked that he’s been pulled out of his thoughts.

“Spencer, your leg.” He follows her pointed finger to the exposed skin of his calf, red from his scratching. It looks normal, smattering of hair covering the dark moles and lines covering his skin. 

Wait. Lines? 

He shifts, hooking his ankle over his right knee so he can see his calf more clearly. Shaky lines are forming on the skin in jerky motions, spelling out words in a familiar script. 

‘Spencer 

unsub in stable 

west edge

2 guns

wants amaya’

The handwriting is slanted, letters running into each other and words misspelled. And he knows it’s yours. 

“Y/N. It’s her handwriting. She’s writing to me.” 

He feels like he’s in an out-of-body experience. He can hear JJ’s gasp, but it feels as though it’s coming from miles away. Hotch is saying something, but the words don’t register as anything more than misshapen sounds. 

Graphology is one of Spencer’s specialties, but now he wishes he’d never learned about it. He wishes he didn’t know that the harsh angles of your writing indicate that you have adrenaline pumping through your veins. He wishes he didn’t see the way your letters jumble together, a physical manifestation of your fear. 

He slowly comes back to his body, finally understanding what Hotch is saying into his comm. 

“—a stable on the west edge of the property. We need the three of you back immediately, JJ, Reid and I will coordinate with the locals to have the building surrounded. Reid, can you hear me? Reid!”

Spencer nods, looking up at Hotch. 

“We need to know what’s happening in there. Is she hurt? Can she overpower him?”

He agrees, snatching up a pen and wracking his brain on what to write.

‘Are you hurt?

Are you armed?

Can you talk him down?’

He writes carefully, focusing on the drag of the ballpoint pen on his skin rather than the pure fear riddling his body. Once finished, he doesn’t set down the pen, fiddling with it in an attempt to stop himself from running to the building immediately. 

JJ sets a hand on his shoulder, and although he’s grateful for her support, he can’t bring himself to look at her. He can’t look away from his leg. He has a soulmate.

You’re laying at an awkward angle, neck craned and back hunched over so that you can read what Spencer’s written. 

Are you hurt? Your head hurts like hell, and the rope has irritated your skin to no end, but nothing that impairs you. You write a shaky ‘N’ next to the question.

Are you armed? You chance another look behind you, looking longingly at your gun in his pocket. Another ‘N’.

Can you talk him down? Can you? You remember the many times Rossi tutored you on interacting with narcissistic unsubs. Learn what they want, promise they will have it, and don’t challenge them. What does he want?

You decide you can, writing a small ‘Y’. Next to that, you scrawl hurriedly, hearing him shift around. 

‘bring amaya’

With that, you stuff the pen in your sock, relaxing your body and hoping you don’t look like you’ve been up to something.

The unsub is unsettled, and you can hear him oscillate between standing and sitting repeatedly. 

If you want to take control of the situation, you need to act quickly. He’s losing patience with you and the officers outside. If you wait too long, he’ll snap, and then you’re done for. 

A final peek at your calf finds the words ‘5 minutes’ etched there. 

Five minutes to talk him down. You can do it for five minutes. 

You croak out lowly, vocal chords rasping against each other. 

“I— I spoke to Amaya. When we were investigating. She told me about you. About the two of you.”

You can hear him stop moving abruptly, and then the patter of his feet as he walks quickly to you. He comes to a stop right in front of your face, your eyeline taken up by his feet and ankles. He speaks in a hushed tone, as if tasting the words carefully before speaking.

“She did? What did she tell you?”

“She said you’d been talking for a while. That it started when you drew a flower on your upper arm? She drew it for us.”

His voice has regained some of its smugness as he replies. His feet are tapping softly, as if he has all the time in the world.

“Of course she did. She loves me.”

You nod jerkily, continuing with your waffle.

“It's clear she does. I'm— in the FBI, I'm a profiler. I'm an expert on human behaviour, and I could see it, despite…”

You trail off, hopeful that he'll take the bait. He does, voice gaining a dangerous edge.

“Despite? Don't let me stop you from speaking your mind, agent.”

“Well, she was scared when we spoke. You know, suddenly there were all these dead bodies that were linked to her. She was pretty shaken.”

His tapping stills.

“Because of the bodies? I did that for her. For us!”

“Yes, I know. It's romantic, really. But, it scared Amaya a bit. It's all so sudden, you see. She was a little freaked out, especially because you hadn't told her about it.”

He's silent for nearly a minute, breathing heavily.

“She's angry about what I did for her?”

“No, not angry. I know she'll understand. You did it for her, she'll love it. She just… wanted to know from you, instead of the police.”

There. You've set your trap, and hopefully he'll fall right in it. Rossi's good-natured lectures play out in your head. 

Never challenge a narcissist directly. Make them worried, but never tell them outright that the object of their desire isn't going to be theirs.

He feigns nonchalance, but you can hear in his voice that his narcissistic possessiveness  is warring with the uncertainty you've introduced.

“Your friends had better be leaving. I've got to get Amaya, and if that takes too long, it's on you.”

You fall silent, hearing him mutter to himself as he begins to pace. If you push further you might be toeing the line too far.

The five minutes are almost up, you've got to believe that you've done enough to help them talk him down. 

As if on cue, you hear the familiar crackle of a megaphone. Rossi's voice, albeit muffled, comes booming towards you, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Randall, we have the building surrounded! Let the agent go and we can end this peacefully!”

The unsub, Randall, you suppose, straightens up, and you see him walk cautiously away from you. He walks to the far wall of the wooded building, and you catch a glimpse of him peering through the wood planks. He swears, shoves his gun into his waistband and paces hurriedly back to you.

“You bitch. Did you tell them? Huh? Did you?” He grabs a hold of the rope binding your wrists to your thigh, tugging you up to face him. The rope cuts harshly into your skin, forcing your right leg up at an unnatural angle to follow your wrists.

“I didn’t! I didn’t tell them, I don’t have my phone!”

Wrong thing to say. His eyes darken, and you see his hand twitch toward his gun.

You’re so close, you just need to show him what he’s here for. You hope Spencer got Amaya here.

“I can get you to Amaya! I swear it, if you let me talk to them, I can get them to give you Amaya.”

It works. He doesn’t let you go, and you whimper at the feeling of the rope cutting you, but he pauses, and you can see him thinking it over in his head. It takes one long minute, but he seems to make up his mind.

“No funny business. I’m going to be right there, so don’t even try sending them any messages, got it?” 

You nod, and he whips out a pocket knife, using it to slice through the rope. You let out a deep sigh of relief, your right foot meeting the floor so you can finally stand alone. Blood seeps from the cuts on your wrists and thigh.

He grabs you by the throat, pressing himself to your back, and you register the cold barrel of a gun pressing against your side, where your vest doesn’t cover.

As he half marches, half drags you to the large door, he hisses in your ear.

“I don’t want to hear anything other than Amaya, got it? You say anything that doesn’t have to do with getting her here, I shoot you.”

You nod wordlessly, stumbling towards the door. He comes to a stop right behind it, and maneuvers around you to shove it open, thrusting you out into the fading light of the evening.

Blinking rapidly, you slowly focus on the cavalry in front of you. Multiple SUVs are parked at a three meter’s distance from the stable, doors flung side open so the officers and agents can huddle behind them. A few steps away from them stands Rossi, the sight of him sending a rush of comfort through you.

Rossi clutches the megaphone tighter, and you notice he’s speaking to someone by the SUV in front of him— Oh. Spencer is crouched at the car right in front of you, silver revolver glinting in his hand, and his eyes trained on you as he speaks to Rossi.

It feels rather stupid, but you can’t help but note how pretty he looks, hair tousled and jaw clenched.

You’re pulled out of your reverie when Randall jabs you in the side with his gun, making you yelp.

“Now.” He warns. You straighten your neck, making eye contact with Rossi.

“He’s demanding to see—” Another jab. “—to have Amaya Walker. Please bring her out.”

As you speak, you take your right hand, which was dangling at your side, and bring it up to your pants pocket. Making a gesture that resembles a gun, you slip it into your pocket softly. There’s no significant signal that they’ve understood, but you see the skin around Rossi’s eyes pinch, and you hope you’ve gotten the point across. 

If they can get him to move just a little, you can retrieve your gun from his pocket and incapacitate him. And the only thing that will get him to move now is Amaya.

Rossi brings the megaphone back up to his mouth.

“We can get her here, but we need a guarantee that you won’t harm this agent. Randall, can you do that? Give us Agent L/N, and we can get you Amaya.”

Incensed, Randall hits your side harder with the barrel of his gun. You see Spencer and Morgan twitch forward slightly.

“No! I want Amaya here, now, and I’m not letting your girl go until I see her!”

Rossi nods quickly, signalling to someone behind him. At that motion, JJ emerges from who-knows-where, Amaya Walker in tow. The older woman is wearing a bulletproof vest, her face ashen at the sight in front of her. 

They walk forward until they’re standing by the cars.

At the sight of her, Randall relaxes slightly, but not enough to where you can easily maneuver to your gun. Shaking your head slightly, you see JJ prompt Mrs Walker.

Her voice is shaky and quiet, but you know Randall is hanging on to every word.

“Randall. That’s your name? I’m—” She chokes back a sound. “I’m so glad to meet you.”

Randall makes a pitiful noise from behind you.

“They said you were scared of me.”

JJ prompts her again. 

“I- I could never be afraid of you.” 

At that, Randall lets his hand fall from your throat, and you move. Whipping around, you shove his gun away, diving into his pocket and retrieving yours. You straighten, pointing your gun at him as steadily as you can, with the wobble in your right leg.

He attempts to run to Amaya, but JJ’s already swept her away. 

“Randall, surrender now! You’re surrounded!” Rossi’s voice booms, but it only serves to madden him further.

With a roar of anger he begins to charge to you, and you squeeze, before collapsing. The bullet hits his thigh, the last thing you see before you pass out.

It feels like hours later when you come to, but it's clearly only been a few minutes. You’re sitting on something hard, cold metal, but your back is being supported by something warm.

Only a few beats pass until the sounds come rushing back. You hear the chatter of multiple people around you, but three voices come the clearest. One is deep, interjecting intermittently to the conversation.

The other is calm and melodic, speaking in a steady rhythm that doesn’t falter at all. 

The last is hurried, speaking so quickly that it feels as though it all runs into a pleasant hum. They’re clearly asking questions to the second voice, but you can’t fully understand what they’re saying. 

You want to know who it is. With an immense amount of effort, you prise your eyes open, blinking blearily at the lights. 

“Hey, there she is.” There’s that deep voice. Turning to it, you see a familiar face. Derek smiles at you softly, his hand coming up to rub your shoulder.

“You had us worried there, sunshine.”

Looking around dazedly, you can finally take in your surroundings. You’re sitting in the open doors of an ambulance, the evening having given away to the darkness of night. Headlights from multiple cars light up the area, leaving you spaced out.

There’s a medic standing next to Derek, tending to the cuts on your thigh. Who’s the last voice? 

You twist around, much to the chagrin of the medic, but their protests fall away when you see him. 

Spencer sits next to you, your back leaning against his side. His eyes are worried, pinched together, but still lovely. 

“Hey.” 

It’s simple, but the word seems to mean something more, when it’s coming out of his mouth, and when he’s looking at you like that.

You’re frozen, unable to speak. The medic pats your knee, saying that the rest of your patching up should be done at the hospital. Derek walks away after kissing your forehead. You can barely say goodbye to him. 

It’s only once you’re relatively alone that Spencer speaks again. You turn to face him, immediately missing the heat of his torso against your back.

“Was… this why you were acting differently?” He raises his leg, pulling up his pant leg to show you the words on his skin.

You nod.

“You said you didn’t think it was real. I didn’t know how to tell you yet, and then— it was the only way to contact you.”

You see his hands raise slightly, but refrain from touching you. You want him to touch you.

“I don’t know if I believe in it. But… Even without it, I wanted this.” His words are achingly sincere, and his hand comes to rest over yours. 

“Wanted it since we met.”

Your breath hitches slightly, and you turn your hand to hold his, your wrist with pen marks meeting his.

The words don’t come to your tongue, but you’re sure he knows. He figured it out.

[em1i2a3]

Spoiled

Pairing: Touch Starved!Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Escort!Fem!Reader

Summary: In an act of desperation Bob calls up an escort service to help him with his touch starvation, only to find out that maybe it was more than he bargained for. (Sequel: Plainsong)

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! (To be on the safe side because of the content of escorting being involved in this) Fluff, Angst, Reader is an escort (for reasons that will be revealed of course), Bob is super touch starved in this, Reader has a bit of a traumatic past.

Author’s Note: I may or may not make a part two to this, I found this to be a really interesting concept (I listened to a few podcasts recently where they interviewed escorts and I kind of got this idea.) I really enjoyed how it turned out, and I hope you guys enjoy it as well <3, this is Part One BTW

Word Count: 9,449

You were used to getting all kinds of emails and messages.

Some were short and crude–no greeting, no name, just a timestamped demand from someone who thought money gave them the right to speak to you as if you were an object…A product of some sort. A very stark: “I want to fuck you. When, where, and how much?” Those were the messages you deleted without hesitation, the ones that made your stomach twist because there was a high chance that someone more desperate would respond to it and possibly get hurt–they were the ones you tried to report whenever you got them just because you had a gut feeling that the person sending it was looking to do something bad to the receiver.

Then there were the verbose types–the clients who treated your inbox like it was a confessional booth, flooding it with elaborate fantasies, personal grievances, and attaching expectations to every word like you owed them an experience just because they took the time to justify why they wanted to book you in the first place.

Worse still were the transitional poets–the men who tried to hide the objectification with romance. Who talked about your femininity, while asking for a discount if they booked more than one hour. Those always made you cringe.

You had read it all before. Nothing surprises you anymore. But now that you had your own website, and you were your own boss, you could afford to be a little more picky, a bit more…Selective

You didn’t always have that luxury. There had been a time when you had to take whoever came in–the requests that sent your gut twisting into knots, the agreements that blurred lines, the sessions that left you feeling numb, embarrassed, and in a morally compromising headset for hours after. But now? You were cautious. You had a screening form, a secondary phone number, a separate bank account, a fake name, and a security guard on call if things did go wrong–even though technically you were your own security, and that meant you had sharpened your own instincts over time.

There weren't any dire moments anymore. Not scraping the bottom of your savings or dreading every grocery run. But sometimes, when you wanted a bigger savings buffer, or when your cat had a surprise vet visit, you dipped back into your old habits, even though you were attempting to pull away from it. There were still some clients–a very select few–who made things a little easier and made it worth the couple of hours. The ones who respected you, and the ones who didn’t just expect sex–the ones who truly just wanted a connection without the end goal being sex.

One night though, you were curled up on your second hand couch, with a faded blanket tucked around your legs, and the soft flicker of your television playing out in a low murmur across the room. The news anchor’s voice buzzed beneath your attention as you scrolled half-heartedly through your phone, idly listening to a heated congressional hearing replay. The camera panned to two men mid-argument, both leaning into their microphones as their voices rose.

“They’ve completely dismissed the Veteran Integration Act for the third time this quarter,” The anchor reported, “And it appears tensions are running high–especially with the representative from New York.” The cameras cut to one of them as he leaned back, jaw tight, his metal hand catching the light beneath his navy suit jacket as he adjusted his cuff. His eyes–piercing, exhausted, a bright blue–looked like they could level a room. You tilted your head at the image, humming thoughtfully to yourself.

”I’d also be pissed off if nobody listened to me,” You muted, half to the screen, half to yourself. The faint buzz from your second phone then caught your attention, drawing your eyes away from the images that the anchors continued to show of the mysterious representative from New York.

You shifted your blanket down, sitting up a little bit to reach for it. A flurry of notifications greeted you on the Lock Screen: A scam alert from your phone provider, a confirmation from one of your regulars–someone who typically just wanted to take you to dinner–and one new message with a subject line that made you pause for a moment.

‘Non-Sexual Booking Inquiry?’

Your brows pulled together slightly, your thumb hovering over the screen. The subject line alone wasn’t unusual–people asked about platonic companion sessions often. but the question mark at the end gave you a little bit of a hint that they were hesitant, or nervous, or they hadn’t messaged an escort.

The jingling of your cat’s collar pulled your attention just as she meowed softly and kept onto the couch beside you. Her nails clawed at the cushion before curling up against your hip, her warm orange fur clinging to your sweater instantly, purring loudly like she wanted to distract you.

”You here to approve the new client with me, Luna?’ You murmured, voice soft with amusement as you scratched the top of her head, right behind your ears, “Hmm? Gonna help me screen them?” You added, clicking the email with your free thumb.

From: Bob R.

To: Onyxbookings@gmail.com

Subject: Non-Sexual Booking Inquiry?

Sent: 2:03 AM

Hello,

I hope this email finds you well. I discovered your website earlier this week…I’ve never reached out to anyone like this before, so I’m not sure if I’m doing this the right way, if I’m not, I’m sorry. Please feel free to ignore this message if it’s out of line.

I saw on your info page that you offer overnight sessions, and I wanted to ask about something that’s maybe a bit unusual. I’m not really looking for anything sexual. I don’t want to cross a boundary or make you feel uncomfortable.

I’ve just been having a hard time, and I don’t feel like I can reach out to the people I know for this. I saw that you offer companion hours where you just stay. That’s what I’m kind of looking for.

If you’re available, I’d like to ask if I could book you for a full night and the morning after. I’ll pay your full rate for overnights, and I’ll cover the cost of the room and stuff. I’m happy to meet any security measures or screenings you need, and I’ll pay upfront if that helps ease your worries.

I understand it might not be something that you do often, or maybe not at all, but I thought I’d ask.

Also…I read your About Me page, and saw you quoted a line from The Unbearable Lightness of Being. I wasn’t sure if that was a coincidence or not, but…If it wasn’t, I guess I wanted to say that I love that book.

Thank you for your time, and I hope I hear from you soon.

- Bob.

You blinked at the screen, your mouth softening with a small breath and a smile. Luna let out a sleepy mrrp beside you.

There were always people who claimed they weren’t looking for sex. You were used to reading between the lines, tracking their use of language like little breadcrumbs. But this…This didn’t really read like a trick.

You tapped the edge of the phone against your thigh, thinking, contemplating what to do next. Your eyes scanned over the info you had.

The name wasn’t familiar–just Bob R. No photo. No burner address. The domain looked real enough. You could trace it if you wanted. Everything was cautious, the words seemed to emit the nervousness that plagued him.

Your fingers found the keyboard instinctively, tapping into a rhythm you’d perfected over time. Professional. Calm. Gentle. But this one? This one had a little softness curled beneath every word.

To: Bob R.

From: onyxbookings@gmail.com

Subject: Re: Non-Sexual Booking Inquiry?

Sent: 2:23 AM

Hi Bob,

Thank you for your email. No need to apologize.

I do still offer non-sexual overnight sessions, and what you’re describing falls within the scope of what I provide during those things. Companion hours are meant to be whatever you’d like them to be, for example we can talk if you want, and typically during these sessions people want to be held, stuff like that.

I’ve attached my new client intake form to this message. It’s a simple thing that outlines a few safety requirements and gives me a better idea of how I can best support you during a session, and it helps me get to know you more too, and get a feel for who you are. A background check will also be conducted, I hope you don’t mind.

Once that’s filled out, we can talk about scheduling and choosing a location. Your comfort also matters too, so we can figure out logistics together.

I typically ask for at least 48 hours’ notice for overnight sessions, just to ensure everything is booked properly and there’s no scheduling conflicts. I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have along the way.

Good catch on the book quote, by the way. I really like it too :)

Looking forward to hearing from you,

Onyx

Attachment: intake_form.pdf

You clicked send, then stared at the screen for a moment, watching your outbox refresh. The nervous flutter in your stomach wasn’t about fear. It was something quieter. Lighter. The curiosity that came with someone who didn’t come at you swinging with demands or masks–the mystery of who they were.

You glanced down at Luna, “What an interesting character…” You murmured, nudging her gently. She stretched her back legs and rolled onto her side, belly exposed, tail flicking.

Then your phone buzzed again, and just like that, the email chain grew with quick succession. The both of you were up until dawn sending messages back and forth.

————————

The zipper of your overnight bag rasped quietly through the stillness of your bedroom, breaking the soft hum of the heater that was ticking in the corner. You folded a spare t-shirt and tucked it in next to the worn sweatpants you always travelled with–both items were already dusted with orange fur from Luna, clinging in thin curls that no lint roller could ever fully remove, not for a lack of trying of course. You tried to sweep them off absently with your hand, muttering under your breath, “Hope Bob isn’t severely allergic or something…”

Your room smelled like dried flowers and indistinguishable heat–warmed wood floors steeped in the scent of the pine oil you’d used earlier, mixed with the sweet, heady cling of a melted soy candle you had lit–smoky votives and honeyed chamomile, like a summer evening breeze drifting through a half-open window in the countryside. Earthy, rich, and quiet. Soothing even.

Your second phone buzzed again on the bed beside your bag, the screen flashing briefly.

Bob: Front desk says there’s an extra key for you. I’m going to order room service, would you like me to get you anything?

There was something disarming about how nice he was, like he was always trying not to inconvenience you–even though he was the one paying for all of this.

You didn’t hesitate to reply.

You: Thanks Bob, I’ll pick up the spare key. I’ve eaten so no need to order anything for me, enjoy your food xx.

You slipped the phone into your back pocket and gave a final once-over to your bag. The essentials were all there. Toiletries in their travel pouches, the backup pepper spray tucked in its dedicated side pocket, and a small pouch containing your ID, a burner card, and cash tucked behind a decoy wallet.

You were always prepared for the worst.

Even now–after three days of emailing back and forth with Bob–you were still a bit wary. You’d been catching yourself checking your inbox more often than usual. Not for work, not for confirmations. Just to see if he’d sent another message. They were never long. Just little snapshots of his day, thoughts he seemed almost embarrassed to share, like he didn’t have anyone else to say them to.

“I passed a bakery today and stood outside for five minutes smelling the bread. Didn’t go in. Just stood there like a weirdo. It smelled like rosemary and garlic. You ever get memories from smells?”

They were mundane, and in a strange, unexpected way, you looked forward to them.

Sometimes you needed to remind yourself he was a client. One who probably didn’t even realize how rare it was that you were letting him speak to you so freely, outside billable time. You weren’t even sure when you started seeing him as more than a client. But something about his awkwardness, his transparency–it made you soften. Against your better judgment.

A knock on your apartment door pulled you from your thoughts.

You walked briskly out of your room, and through the living room–feeling the worn wood creaking slightly beneath your socks. Your apartment was a small second-floor walk-up in an older building that smelled like peeled paint–but you had made it your own.

A long patchwork curtain hung over your front window, filtering the streetlamp glow into warm amber streaks across the floor. On the shelf beside the couch sat a worn incense dish, still warm from a burned-out stick of cedarwood and sweet orange peel. The scent mingled with Luna’s presence–cat fur, clean litter, a faint whiff of the treats you kept in a mason jar near the TV. It was a little messy, but thoroughly lived in.

You opened the door.

”About time,” Alana said, smirking as she breezed in, kicking the door shut with her heel, letting her oversized tote bag thump against the floor by the entryway as she pulled you in for a hug. She smelled like peppermint gum and luxury perfume layered over late-night city grit–spiced fig, amber resin, a little hit of something musky and warm that clung to her hoodie like a memory of velvet. Her sunglasses were pushed up into her messy blonde hair, and her sweatpants were rolled twice at the waist to show a faded logo from a wellness retreat you both used to laugh at when clients offered to send you there as a “gift.”

“Where’s my niece?” She asked brightly. Before you could reply, there was a soft thump from the hallway and then the telltale tap-tap-tap of claws on hardwood. Luna trotted out from her designated hiding spot in your closet with regal purpose, her orange tail curled like a plume, like she heard a familiar voice.

”Aww, there’s my baby!” Alana gasped, immediately bending down and opening her arms. Luna let out a pleased trill and leapt up gracefully, settling into her embrace with the spoiled contentment of a lap cat who knew she was adored.

You raised a brow. “Well, you’re never that excited to see me. That’s disappointing.”

Alana turned to face you, cradling Luna like a newborn. The cat’s paw was curled possessively around her shoulder. “Hun, I gave you a hug. You want me to hold you like a baby, too?”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Never mind.”

You moved back toward the bedroom, the floorboards groaning faintly under your weight as you reached for your overnight bag on the bed. You slung it over your shoulder and gave the room one last glance–candles out, phone charger packed, windows locked. Still, there was that tug in your chest, the same one you always felt before a booking. A strange blend of readiness and reservation.

“I hope you didn’t have to reschedule anyone for this,” you called over your shoulder as you walked back out into the living room.

Alana flopped onto the couch, Luna now sprawled across her legs like a queen. “No, I’ve got one tomorrow in the afternoon, but you’ll be back by then I’m assuming.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Bob’s got me till eleven in the morning tomorrow. I’ll be back in time to let you off the hook.” You reached down and gave Luna a scratch beneath her chin. She purred like a small engine, then lazily rolled onto her side and pressed her paws into Alana’s hoodie.

Alana looked at you again, lips pursed. “You haven’t sent me a photo of this guy. Do you have one?”

You hesitated for a beat. “Thank you for reminding me,” You said softly. “I’ll send you the one from his intake form. It’s not great–kind of looks like it was taken in a DMV waiting room–but it’s clear. And I’ll send you the full intake info too. Alias, emergency contact, the works. I ran the background myself–he checks out.”

Alana sat up a little straighter, her brow arching. “You don’t usually do all this before a booking, don’t you usually have Manny run everything?” You shrugged, selecting the intake files on your burner with a few practiced taps.

“Maybe I was a little curious to know the results right away,” you muttered, pressing ‘Send.’ “You know how Manny is. Background checks take him hours. I’ve got more experience.”

“Mm-hmm,” Alana hummed, already pulling out her phone as the message came through. Her thumb scrolled, then paused. “Wait…This is him?” You nodded, watching her reaction closely.

Her eyes lingered on the screen. “He’s definitely not what I was expecting… Definitely cute though.”

You tilted your head. “Cute and lonely, apparently.” Alana turned the phone around to show you again, as if to confirm–like maybe you hadn’t gotten a good enough look. The photo wasn’t flattering, not really–just Bob in what looked like a blurry office lobby, standing stiff in front of a glass wall. His light brown hair was a little too neat, as though someone else had combed it for him. His posture was awkward, shoulders drawn tight under a plain gray jacket. But it was his face that stuck with you.

He had the kind of expression you only caught when someone thought they weren’t being seen–his blue eyes too open, a bit too tired, like he carried something heavy behind them and didn’t know where to put it down. His features were soft in a strange way. Boyish, even. Slight freckles dusted the bridge of his nose. His mouth looked like it wanted to smile, but didn’t quite know how. You had seen a lot of faces. But Bob’s was one you found yourself staring at longer than you meant to.

Alana gave you a pointed look. “It’s always the quiet ones you have to look out for…” You rolled your eyes at her comment.

”Really? You have to say that?” You questioned.

”I’m serious,” She shot back, holding Luna a little tighter, “Did you pack your pepper spray?”

You nodded, deadpan. “Of course I did. You know I would never forget that.”

She sighed, shoulders sagging. “And you’re gonna share your location with me, and send me a text when you get there?”

You let out a soft laugh. “Alana…You’re really overthinking right now. You know I’m gonna do everything I normally do. Don’t worry about me.”

But her lips pressed into a hard, unreadable line. Her gaze flicked downward–then up again, landing squarely on your bicep. You didn’t need to ask what she was looking at. You already knew.

The scars were old now–faded, but still visible beneath your skin when the light hit just right. Three long slashes that twisted like torn fabric. They’d healed, but not quietly.

You didn’t cover them anymore. But you still hated how people stared, or made reference to them in silence, like you didn’t live with the memory of what happened everyday, even if it was just little glimpses of it.

“I’ll always worry,” She said quietly.

You exhaled slowly. “I know,” You murmured. “I know…” Silence sat between you for a second, heavy but not unfriendly. Luna stretched across her lap, one paw still touching your friend’s arm, her nails sticking out slightly. You glanced over at the clock.

”Shit, I’m gonna be late.” You exclaimed, leaning down to kiss Luna on the head, giving her one last scratch between the ears.

“Be nice to your auntie, and don’t climb the fridge again.” You warned.

”She’ll do it anyway, she likes stressing me out.” Alana huffed. You snorted and grabbed your windbreaker off the coat hook, sliding your arms into the sleeves and tugging it snug over your shoulders. Your shoes were by the door–scuffed but reliable–and you slipped them on just as you pulled out your phone to order an Uber.

A soft ping confirmed your ride was two minutes away.

You turned back to Alana, holding her gaze for one more beat. “I’ll see both of you tomorrow.”

“Text me,” She reminded gently.

You nodded once, then stepped out into the dim hallway, the door clicking shut behind you with a quiet finality. The warmth of your apartment–the incense, the faded wood, Alana’s perfume–lingered in your coat like a memory.

—————————

The drive had been quiet. The city blurred past your window in a stretch of headlights, puddles, and red taillights, and for once, traffic hadn’t fought back. Your driver kept to himself, classical music humming faintly through the speakers. You rested your head against the window for most of it, watching as Brooklyn gave way to midtown, the streets glinting wet under the drizzle that had just started up again.

When the car slowed to a stop in front of the hotel, you straightened in your seat, blinking yourself back to the present.

It wasn’t luxurious, not in the gilded, chandelier-studded kind of way–but the building stood tall with clean, modern lines and a confidence that came from being quietly expensive. Wide steps led up to a double-doored entrance set between two columns of warm brass lighting. The name was etched into a slate-gray stone plaque near the awning–no backlight, no flashing sign, just understated serif font: The Winslow.

“Thank you,” You murmured to the driver, putting a tip in on the uber app before leaving. He nodded without looking up, the quiet music still playing.

You opened the door and stepped out, adjusting the strap of your overnight bag as the chilled air immediately kissed up your arms, threading beneath your coat. It was that sharp early spring bite–wet and clean, scented faintly with car exhaust and the lingering echo of someone’s nearby cigarette.

The doorman opened one of the glass doors for you with a smooth nod and a polite “Good evening, miss.”

You offered a kind smile and a quiet “Good evening, thank you,” in return, stepping inside.

Warmth bloomed instantly across your skin.

The lobby was tastefully designed–modern, but not sterile. The floors were polished stone, a deep marbled charcoal with hints of green veining that glimmered beneath the soft downlighting. The walls were a blend of matte slate and warm oak panels, arranged in sleek vertical slats that stretched up toward the ceiling, which was high and open with recessed lighting fixtures casting everything in a muted golden glow.

At the center of the lobby sat a large, low arrangement of fresh flowers–dark red lilies, white orchids, and soft trailing eucalyptus branches nestled in a ceramic bowl the color of river clay. The floral scent drifted subtly through the air, mingling with something richer–coffee, maybe, or the faint perfume of someone who had just passed through. A few plush velvet chairs dotted the seating area beside a gas fireplace, where a couple sat murmuring over two glasses of wine. Behind them, tall windows overlooked the city street below.

The front desk was tucked along the left wall, made of dark walnut with a granite countertop. A clean-cut young man stood behind it, tapping lightly at his keyboard. His name tag read David.

You approached slowly, taking in the details, the smell, the way your shoes echoed faintly against the stone as you crossed the floor, clearing your throat before stepping up to the desk.

“Hi there,” You began, polite and practiced. “My partner is here already. The reservation should be under Reynolds. He said there’s a spare key down here for our room.” It was a lie of course, an easy one that you usually used so it didn’t raise suspicion of what you were doing, even though it was harmless. You always wanted to be cautious. David nodded, the soft click of his keyboard filling the momentary pause.

”Ah, yes,” He said, giving a small smile to you, perfectly straight, and stark white, “Room 505.” He turned and pulled a keycard from a slot behind him, sliding it across the counter. “Enjoy your stay.”

You took the card out of his hands with a smile of your own draped across your lips, “Thank you.”

The card was matte white with a thin copper border, and the room number was handwritten in smooth black ink across the top: 505.

You took a slow breath, steadying your heartbeat with the little rituals of movement–tightening the strap of your bag, brushing your hand over your windbreaker, checking your burner phone for the time. Then you turned and made your way toward the elevators, heels clicking softly on the stone as the lobby murmured behind you.

The elevator bay was nestled in a corner alcove. Brushed metal doors gleamed under warm downlighting, and a simple brass plate beside them displayed a list of floor amenities. You pressed the up button, the cool metal dimpling beneath your finger. You quickly messaged Alana that you got there safely and you’d message if anything was happening.

The doors slid open and you stepped inside, the scent inside faintly lavender from whatever air freshener they used. The space was clean, lined in a mixture of steel and warm paneling, with soft jazz playing through a hidden speaker.

You tapped the 5 with the corner of the keycard and leaned against the back wall, staring at your reflection in the faint sheen of the mirrored panel opposite you.

Out of nervous habit, you ran your hands over the rough fabric of your coat again, soothing yourself. Typically–right before you meet a client–your nerves were always on edge, your adrenaline put you on high alert and it was like your senses were tuned into everything. It was a fight or flight response, even though you knew you weren’t in any danger.

The elevator slowed and dinged softly.

Level five.

The doors opened with a hush, revealing a quiet hallway lined with soft gray carpet and cream wallpaper, broken up every few feet by wall sconces that cast a mellow golden glow. The air smelled faintly like linen and whatever rich, clean fragrance the hotel pumped through its vents–subtle, noninvasive.

You walked slowly down the hall, scanning the numbers.

501. 503. 505.

You stopped.

The numbers were printed in dark brass, etched into a rectangular plaque mounted beside the door. The hallway was hushed, distant from the buzz of the city outside.

You adjusted your grip on your bag and took a long breath, letting it ease out slowly through your nose.

Then you smiled.

Small. Steady, and slightly forced.

You lifted the keycard and slid it into the lock, hearing a gentle click.

You pushed yourself through the threshold, as the quiet hum of the hallway was replaced by the soft murmur of the television inside.

“Hello?” You called softly, your voice easing into the space like a polite knock. There was a pause.

Then, the unmistakable scrape of a fork against porcelain.

A clink.

You moved forward slowly, kicking off your shoes as you passed the narrow entryway. The carpet was plush beneath your socked feet. The lights inside were dimmed low, casting a warm, amber wash over the room. There was a soft pine scent in the air–faint, like someone had lit a candle an hour ago and forgotten to blow it out.

As you turned the corner, the full suite came into view.

A kitchenette sat tucked into the left wall, minimal but well-equipped—shiny appliances, a marble backsplash, a sleek coffee maker. A small dining table took up the space near the window, where thick curtains had been half-drawn. That was where he stood.

Bob.

He was still holding his fork, mid-step away from his plate like he’d been heading toward the door before you surprised him. The television behind him was playing some muted wildlife documentary–snow leopards moving across a mountain slope–but the sound had faded into the background.

His hair was windblown, a little messy like he’d run his fingers through it on repeat. And in the low golden light, his pale skin looked warm–kissed by something soft, like the late-day sun. He wore a loose, oversized green sweater, and a pair of slate grey sweatpants that matched the understated comfort of the room.

He looked younger than you expected. Not in age, but in vulnerability. His hands were twisting at the hem of his sweater before they dropped to wipe nervously at his thighs, palms flattening against the cotton like he was grounding himself.

When he saw you, he froze–eyes wide, like a deer in headlights.

“Hey…” He said, startled. “I–I didn’t know you were here.” You smiled gently, slipping the strap of your overnight bag from your shoulder and letting it rest quietly on the floor beside your feet.

“Yeah, sorry,” You murmured. “I should’ve messaged you. I was running a bit late and completely forgot to warn you.” He shook his head, stepping away from the table with a nervous laugh, one hand motioning vaguely in the air like he was trying to brush away your apology.

“No worries…No–no worries, totally understandable. Tr–traffic must’ve been bad.” You toed your bag closer to the wall and glanced at him, the soft corners of your mouth tugging upward.

“Not as bad as you’d think, honestly. I was even surprised.” Your hand found the zipper of your windbreaker, tugging it down with practiced ease. The fabric made a soft sound as you slipped out of it, turning toward the coat rack near the door to hang it beside his–a dark, long-sleeved jacket that looked worn-in and well-loved. When you turned back around, he was still watching you. His palms had resumed their nervous fidget, dragging against the front of his sweatpants again. His lips parted like he had to remind himself to speak.

“I’m… Bob, by the way,” He said, his voice soft as he lifted a hand toward you, the gesture tentative. You glanced down at it, surprised for a moment by the earnestness of the offer. Then you moved toward him slowly, your own hand rising to meet his.

Your fingers slid into his palm, and for a beat, everything in the room seemed to narrow into that simple point of contact.

His grip was gentle. Not loose, but not insistent either–careful in a way that told you he wasn’t used to holding anyone at all. You could feel the texture of his skin beneath your own: calloused in some places–like he’d worked with tools, or something heavier–and softer in others. His thumb twitched slightly, like he was trying to stay composed. Your own thumb drifted along the curve of his knuckles, more out of instinct than anything else.

“O–Onyx,” You said, stumbling slightly over your fake name. You had almost said your real one, but you caught the syllable before it escaped fully, feeling the heat crawl up your neck at how close it had been. But Bob didn’t flinch. He just held your gaze with those open, tired eyes, the kind that felt like they’d seen too much and still tried to be gentle.

“It’s nice to meet you fi–finally,” He murmured, voice catching briefly on the word.

You nodded once, a quiet breath leaving your lips. “Same.”

The handshake lasted longer than it probably should have. Neither of you seemed in a rush to let go. When you finally pulled your hand back, you felt how slightly damp your palm had become from his–nerves clinging like condensation. His hand hovered for a second before falling to his side again, like he didn’t quite know where to put it.

He stepped aside awkwardly, motioning towards the table. “I–I was just finishing dinner. I didn’t mean to be rude for not…Not coming to greet you at the door.”

You shook your head, waving your hand gently in the air, voice light. “It’s okay. I’m not…Royalty or anything. You don’t have to get up to greet me.”

That made him laugh–soft, sheepish, with the corners of his mouth tugging upward almost like he wasn’t used to the feeling. His shoulders slumped slightly in relief. You glanced down at his plate. It was about half-empty–neatly arranged like he didn’t want to eat messily. There were a few fries left untouched, some salad off to the side, and several small pieces of steak cut into almost comically even squares. You could tell he was the type of person who didn’t want things to go to waste.

“I–I don’t really know how to do things like this…So.” You shifted on the balls of your feet.

”Well, you’re definitely doing fine so far.” Bob looked up, a flicker of something warm–something close to disbelief–passing across his face. “You can sit and finish eating,” You added, nodding toward the table. “I really don’t mind. We can just…Chat while you do.” He blinked at you for a moment, like you’d offered something he hadn’t realized he needed. Then he nodded, lowering himself back into the chair with a kind of careful, deliberate motion, the wood creaking slightly under him.

You slid into the seat across from him and leaned forward just enough to rest your elbows on the table, folding your hands beneath your chin in a relaxed way. The soft light from the ceiling warmed the lines of his face as he looked down at his plate again, fork shifting through a patch of greens.

“So…What did you get up to today?” You asked gently, tone light, coaxing–trying to ease the residual stiffness in his posture. Bob’s lashes fluttered a bit, poking a piece of lettuce gently.

“No–Not much…My roommates weren’t really ho–home,” he murmured, his words stumbling a little, like they hadn’t stretched much today. “They were doing their own…Th-Things. So I just kind of lingered around until now pr–pretty much.”

You hummed, nodding slowly as you tilted your head. “How many roommates do you have?”

He brought the fork to his mouth and chewed, covering it politely with his hand as he replied between bites, “Um… A few…” He didn’t elaborate, and it seemed like something you shouldn’t push for answers on.

“Do–Do you have roommates?” He asked a moment later, like he was reminding himself this was a two-way conversation, and he actually wanted to know a bit more about you.

”Unless you count my cat Luna…No, no I don’t.” That coaxed a quiet laugh from him–surprised and slightly breathless, like it snuck up on him.

”A ca–cat definitely counts as a roommate.” He reached for his phone instinctively, thumb unlocking it with practiced ease as he swiped through his photos.

”M–My roommate brought his ca–cat when he moved in. Her name’s Alpine.” He turned the screen toward you, and you leaned in to see. The photo showed a fluffy white cat sitting primly in a patch of sunlight, staring into the camera with unmistakable disdain. Blue eyes like little chips of polished ice.

You pouted at the photo. “Oh, she’s a cutie. Look at that little judgmental stare.” Bob let out a tiny snort, ducking his head as if even that small little noise embarrassed him.

”Sh–She takes after her owner…” You arched a brow at him, amused by the comment.

”So what I’m hearing is your roommate is quietly judgemental?” He smiled, bashful but genuine.

”Pr–Pretty accurate.” Your eyes flicked to his sweater then becoming hyper aware that he was covered in a smattering of white fur that caught the light. The contrast made it look almost silver in the soft glow of the room.

”Wh–What does Luna look like?” He asked quickly, like he was afraid the conversation might falter if he didn’t keep tossing little threads toward you. You reached for your second phone and tapped the screen awake.

“She’ll definitely put up a stiff competition to Alpine,” You said, turning it around to show him your lock screen–Luna, sprawled out like royalty in a sunbeam, belly up and eyes half-closed like she was squinting at the light. Bob’s whole face softened. His smile widened with something close to delight.

“Oh sh–she’s very majestic,” He whispered. You laughed, a warm sound that seemed to ease the remaining stiffness in his shoulders. He swiped through his phone again, showing you another photo of Alpine, this time curled in a blanket like a little marshmallow. As he angled the screen toward you, a notification slid down from the top.

Bucky: Bob, are you out for the night? If you are can you pick up a carton of milk before you come home? I forgot to buy some on my way back from the office.” You blinked, reading it aloud before you could stop yourself.

Bob made a startled little sound in his throat, quickly flipping the phone back toward himself. “Sp–Speak of the owner,” He said, eyes wide, then gave you a shy smile as he typed a quick reply, before setting his phone down with a soft clink. He picked up his fork again, poking through the remnants of his dinner, then looked up at you almost shyly.

“Di–Did you get up to anything interesting?” he asked, a little hopeful, like he wanted to keep the rhythm going. Keep you talking. Keep the space between you filled with something gentle.

You shook your head with a faint smile. “Not really. I don’t do much with my spare time, honestly. Usually just mundane stuff. Grocery runs. Laundry. Replying to emails and stuff, scheduling if I need to.” He gave a quiet, understanding hum, chewing slowly. His gaze dropped to the edge of the plate again, like he was building up to something.

“D-Do you get…A lot of bookings?” He asked after a pause, the words coming slower, more hesitant now–carefully chosen like he was trying not to offend you. You met his eyes for a moment, just long enough for him to feel seen, then glanced away thoughtfully.

“I create my own schedule, technically. So…Not as many as I used to,” You explained gently, folding your arms across the table. “It’s more of a casual thing now.” You caught the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed. His fork stalled mid-air as his voice dipped softer.

“Is… Is there a reason why you’ve made it more of a ca–casual thing?” He asked, eyes flicking up to you, then down again just as quickly. His blush deepened when he brought another small piece of steak to his lips, chewing as if the question might be too much.

You took a slow breath, pressing your tongue to the inside of your cheek for a moment before speaking, like the answer needed a filter you hadn’t quite settled on.

“Um…” Your hand drifted to your phone instinctively, slipping it into your back pocket so you could focus fully. “It’s definitely a long story…But I guess the short version would be that I just…Wanted to have more control over myself. My time. My boundaries.” You didn’t say the word safety outright, but it hovered between your sentences, unspoken but unmistakably there. The weight of it settled into the air like a hush.

Bob didn’t answer right away. His fork dragged gently against the plate, pushing a piece of lettuce toward the side.

“It… It mu–must’ve been very dangerous,” He said quietly, his voice barely louder than a breath. He didn’t look up. Just stared at the food, hands still. His jaw ticked slightly. Your eyes softened, watching him carefully. The way his fingers started to curl around the edge of his plate, the way he blinked like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say that.

“Well,” You started, voice low, and warm, just enough to draw his attention back to you, “Let’s just say everyone is as kind as you are, Bob…You’re definitely one of the rare ones.” He gulped, hard this time, and nodded, still avoiding your eyes. His fork stilled in his hand completely, and he let it rest against the edge of the plate. His fingers shifted, curling and uncurling slowly like he was working through something quietly.

“I–I don’t know if I should ta–take that as a compliment or feel really bad about that��” He glanced at you, just briefly. “You don’t…De–Deserve to be in those situations.” Your lips pressed together slightly. You let the moment linger–quiet but not cold. Then your voice softened around the edges as you spoke.

“I do my best to not get in those situations now. Hence the…Schedule change.”

He nodded, almost too quickly. “Guess that makes a bit more se–sense.” Then, without a word, he gently pushed his plate away. The soft scrape of ceramic on wood filled the space between you. He looked down at it for a beat longer, then let out a quiet sigh. His gaze drifted to the bed behind you, then quickly darted away again, like he’d only just remembered it was part of the night.

“So…” He started, hesitant. His fingers tapped the table once, then curled back into his palm. “How…Ho–How does this work? If I want to cuddle now…”

You followed his glance toward the bed and then turned back to him, your tone calm, grounded. “You just climb on and tell me what you want me to do,” You explained, voice soft but confident. “But I’m just going to change first. I don’t really like wearing my street clothes to bed.” You pushed your chair back and rose from the table, padding over to your overnight bag in the corner near the coat rack. Your fingers curled around a folded shirt and a pair of soft sweatpants, the fabric already faintly scented with home–chamomile and cedar and something that still clung from Luna’s fur. Behind you, Bob nodded, slow and thoughtful.

“You can get ready too, if you’d like,” You added, glancing at him as you straightened up.

He took a short breath, then asked, almost too quietly, “Do you ha–have a preference as to how much clothing I should wear?” You turned to him, one brow lifting slightly in surprise–though not judgment. You let the pause breathe for just a moment before replying.

“No… Not really,” You said honestly. Then your mouth tugged into a small, curious smile. “Do you have one for me?”

He shook his head immediately, almost too fast. “I don’t re–really mind what you wear. I just don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.” That answer hit you a little deeper than it should’ve. It was simple. Plain spoken. But sincere in a way that felt unfamiliar coming from someone you’d only just met in person.

Your lips curved again–softer now, gentler. “You paid for this booking,” You reminded him quietly. “You can do whatever you want…”

Bob bit the inside of his bottom lip at that, his brows twitching just slightly like the sentence didn’t sit entirely right with him. And then he said–quiet, clear:

“Yeah…Bu–But you’re still a human being who deserves to be treated nicely.”

Your throat tightened just a little.

You nodded once, more to yourself than to him, trying to keep the emotion from rising too visibly to the surface.

“I guess you’re right,” You murmured. With that, you stepped into the washroom and gently clicked the door shut behind you, the soft latch of it closing sounding louder than it was.

Inside, the bathroom was warmly lit, clean, and minimal, with a few mini bottles of soap and shampoo lining the countertop. You could still hear the faint hum of the television through the wall, and it gave you something to focus on while you changed. You peeled off your top and pants, folding them neatly on the counter before pulling on the soft shirt and sweatpants over your bare skin. You glanced at yourself briefly in the mirror, wiping off the slight sweat that had plagued your neck and collarbones, feeling the way your pulse thrummed gently beneath your skin.

Bob was, without a doubt, the softest booking you’d ever taken, and it made your heart ache that somehow he needed to turn to you for this type of comfort. There were always moments–fleeting, quiet ones–where you felt something for your clients. Not attraction. Not pity. Just a kind of…Recognition. A flicker of ache. And this was one of those times.

He seemed like someone who had people around him–roommates, a stable enough job, the means to book a hotel like this. By all accounts, he led a normal life. But something about him–the way he avoided eye contact, the way he apologized for things that didn’t need apologies–made you think he’d faced more rejection than anyone ever deserved. Or maybe he was just scared to put himself out there. He seemed shy. Guarded. Soft in a world that didn’t know what to do with softness.

It would make sense if he couldn’t find someone the natural way.

You let out a slow breath and shook your head, trying not to let it sit too heavy in your chest. You turned the faucet on and splashed your face with cold water, letting it ground you. The chill cut through the warmth that had settled in your skin, and for a brief second, it steadied your heartbeat. You reached for one of the folded white towels and dried your face, dragging the cotton gently across your cheekbones before taking a deeper breath and switching off the light.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the soft hush of the bathroom was replaced by the low murmur of the television.

When you rounded the corner, you saw he’d already slipped beneath the sheets, propped up against the headboard in a black t-shirt now–his silhouette faintly lit by the flickering screen. The nature documentary had been replaced by the news, a muted reel of late-night headlines washing the room in pale blue light. His head turned toward you, a small smile tugging at his mouth. You gave him one back.

”How do you want me?” You asked, motioning to yourself. Clearly you caught him off guard with the question just by his eyes widening a bit. He shifted a little to the side, peeling back the corner of the blanket so you could climb in beside him.

“I was…” He started, voice low and careful, “…Th–Thinking maybe we could be on our sides, and you could ho–hold me.” He hesitated, eyes flicking to yours, then down again. “Like…You wrap your arms around my neck or something. Like we’re hugging.” There was something so achingly innocent in the way he phrased it–like he hadn’t been held like that in years, or maybe ever. You gave him a soft smile and nodded.

“Alright,” You said gently. “That’s doable.” You slipped under the covers, the fabric warm from his body heat and the lingering scent of him–clean cotton, and something faintly like cedar soap. He turned onto his side to face you, and you mirrored the motion, slipping one arm beneath his pillow and bringing the other one over him, sliding over his torso, pulling him in close just a bit. He tensed under your arm. Not sharply, not like fear–but more like hesitation, like his body wasn’t used to being in this position. His shoulders went tight, his breath shallow, and his eyes flicked everywhere but yours.

You shifted just slightly to create a little space–enough to show him you’d meet him wherever he was.

“You okay?” You asked, voice low, just for him. Your fingertips stilled on his side, waiting.

The pale blue light from the television danced across his cheek, highlighting the warmth that had started to bloom there. His mouth opened, then closed again before he managed to speak.

“It’s re–really been a long time since someone held me like this…” He whispered, his voice cracking halfway through. “Just ge–getting used to it again.”

You nodded, the motion slow, calm–like you were trying to offer your steadiness as something he could lean against.

“That’s okay,” You murmured. “Take your time. There’s no rush.”

He let out a shaky breath–barely a sound, really. But you felt it leave him. The smallest release of pressure. Your hand began to move again, a slow, even rhythm up and down the line of his back–just enough to soothe, to ground him.

“How long has it been?” You asked gently, barely above a whisper. Bob’s eyes flicked upward, then down again. He gave the smallest shake of his head.

“I–I can’t even remember, honestly…”

The answer made your throat tighten.

It wasn’t the kind of thing you were supposed to let get to you–not this deep, not this personally. But there was something in his voice, in the sheer honesty of it…Like a cut that hadn’t been cleaned in years, and only now was starting to sting from the open air. He wasn’t saying it to make you feel anything. He wasn’t performing. He was just admitting it because no one had asked in a long time–maybe ever.

He shifted closer, the warmth of his body gradually replacing the last bits of tension in the air between you. You could feel it before he even spoke–the way his chest moved with hesitant breath, the small twitch of his hand against your side, like he was building the courage up behind his ribs.

Then, his voice came—quiet, tender, and cracking just slightly as he tried to keep it even.

“C–Can I pu–put my head on your chest? And…Put my arms around you?”

Your heart tugged, slow and aching.

You nodded before he even finished the sentence.

“Of course,” You said, your voice soft like flannel–gentle, welcoming. “Come here.”

He moved with a kind of careful urgency, not rushed but deeply intentional, like the moment mattered more than he could afford to let on. His strong arms slid around your waist first, wrapping fully around you like he was trying to keep something in–his own composure, maybe. His hands splayed wide across your back, firm and hesitant all at once. Then he shifted downward slightly, cheek brushing along your collarbone as he found the center of your chest and rested his head there–right over your heart.

His whole frame pressed into you, his legs drawing close under the blankets as if instinct had taken over and told him: stay warm. Stay safe. Stay here.

And then, the sound.

A shaky inhale.

You felt it before you heard it, the uneven breath catching in the hollow space between one heartbeat and the next. His nose brushed your shirt. His shoulders trembled, just barely. Not crying. But certainly close. You looked down at the crown of hair he had, up close it was fine but thick at the same time, messier than he probably would’ve liked if he’d known you’d be looking at it so closely. You dipped your chin slightly toward him, your voice just above a hushed whisper.

“Can I touch your hair?”

He nodded against you, and his voice was tight–barely held together by thread and hope.

“Pl–Please.”

The word fell out of him, brittle with restraint.

You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it–something gentle tugging at the corners of your mouth, carved out of understanding and warmth.

Your hand rose slowly, sliding up the curve of his shoulder until your fingers found hie hairline. You threaded through the strands with deliberate care, brushing them back from his face. His breath hitched the second your nails grazed his scalp–not in fear, not in discomfort, but in something deeper. Something like relief.

He melted into you a little more.

His arms tightened. Not possessively. Just…Like he didn’t want to lose the shape of this.

The pads of your fingers moved slowly, stroking through his hair again, letting your touch map his skull like it mattered. Because it did. You let your palm flatten and slide once, twice, before your nails gently dragged back again. Bob let out a sound–half-sigh, half-murmur–and his grip on you relaxed slightly, like the weight on his chest was easing under the rhythm of your breathing.

“This okay?” You asked quietly, lips close to his head.

He nodded against your sternum, his voice so faint it was nearly swallowed by your skin.

”Yes.” You felt it first–not the sound, but the subtle warmth blooming through the fabric of your shirt. A dampness that hadn’t been there a moment ago. His breathing was uneven now, pulled in sharp little huffs like he was trying to stay composed but couldn’t quite rein it in anymore.

Then his voice came, small and cracked.

“I…I didn’t know ho–how much I was really needing this…Un–Until now. It’s… It’s overwhelming.”

Your heart ached.

Your hand didn’t stop moving. You stroked through his hair with the same steady tenderness, letting the motion anchor him as you whispered,

“It’s okay to be overwhelmed by it, Bob.”

He let out a small, broken sound against your chest and pressed his face deeper into your shirt–like he wanted to disappear, to hide the evidence of how much it was affecting him. His nose nudged your sternum, breath catching again, more fragile this time.

“I’m…I’m an adult,” He choked out. “I sh–shouldn’t be crying about stuff like th–this.”

You let out a quiet laugh–not mocking, not light. Just…Gentle.

“Bob…Trust me,” You said, your voice warm and firm. “It’s okay to show your emotions. I’m not going to judge.”

His head shook against you, the movement small, trembling.

“I…I hope th–this doesn’t ruin your first impression of me…”

Your hand paused briefly at the crown of his head. Then you leaned down, resting your chin there, letting the weight of it settle over him like a promise.

“No,” You murmured. “It definitely hasn't. You’ve actually given me some hope in humanity again, so…That’s a good thing.” There was a long pause–a beat where the air felt softer, the shape of the silence not heavy, but full.

Then a quiet, sniffled,

“Re–Really?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it, your voice quiet but certain.

“Really. You’re a very kind person, Bob. And you have a big heart… I can tell.”

His arms shifted slightly around your waist, pulling you closer–not like he needed to prove something, but like he needed to hold on to the truth of that.

He let out a shuddering breath, voice rough with emotion.

“I ru–ruin a lot of things… My heart ge–gets me in trouble a lot.”

You hummed, slow and low, your hand continuing to thread through his hair, pushing a few strands back gently as you replied,

“I doubt it. I’m sure if I asked your friends, they would say something different.”

Bob gave a watery laugh–barely there, but it trembled up from his chest like he couldn’t help it.

”I th–think most people would disagree.” You smirked into his hair, whispering just loud enough for him to register your words.

”Well…If most people don’t see how lucky they are to have you around, then clearly they haven’t seen what I’m seeing right now.” Bob didn’t respond–not with words. Just a quiet, warm breath against your chest…And a slow, aching squeeze of your waist.

By morning time, Bob would be rebooking you again, asking if he could see you twice a week and you would be scheduling him two months out, starting the tumultuous journey of healing him, and healing yourself too.

[vesna-v-irkutske]

In 2014, Artyom Anoufriev registered on a dating site for prisoners.

«"Probably the most uninteresting profile on this site." Posted on Sat, 14/06/2014 - 22:07 by Anoufriev92 Interests: jurisprudence, freestyle, law, music, English language Name: Artyom Gender: M Date of birth: 04/10/1992 Place of permanent residence. Country: Russia. City: Irkutsk Social status. Education: secondary Religion, denomination, faith: atheist Current place of detention. Country: Russia. City: Ognenny Ostrov, 16 The end of the current term: December 2039

Hi, everyone. I'm writing this only because this section of the profile is mandatory. I'm an absolutely versatile person from Irkutsk, who didn't have time to get out of his gray Siberia in the first 18 years of his life. My story is absolutely not exciting, but it's just plain stupid, and there's not much to tell. However, it's worth noting that people are not simply imprisoned for nothing, especially for life. Without touching on the issue of my real misconducts before society, dryly stating what I was found guilty of, according to the verdict of the Irkutsk Regional Court: organization of an extremist community, murder of six people, attempted murder of eight people, theft, robbery, desecration of the body of the deceased, and all this by an organized group motivated by ideological hatred.

I go through the stages (forced transportation of prisoners from one place of detention to another) almost all over Mother Russia and everywhere I hear, both from prisoners and from employees: "So young, and already life imprisonment? Grew up fast…" Or something like that. And I no longer explain to anyone that I am "a victim of the System, and I was convicted under an artificially inflated public outcry," because, by and large, no one cares, and 9 out of 10 newcomers to the colony say that they're not guilty. Or almost not guilty…

So, before my incarceration, I studied at a medical university, sometimes I worked part-time. I became interested in jurisprudence and law only in prison, because I didn't think I needed it at liberty. Freestyle is real texts that are read to the beat, not a sport. Well, as for music, I love a lot of different kinds of it, mostly heavy and electronic. I have 5 years of music school (guitar) behind me. In my free time, I read either classics or whatever I have to, but actually, I don't have time for it yet.

Why did I come to this site? Well, at least for the sake of simple communication with some adequate girl from 16 to 35 years old. Starting a family is, of course, good, but first I need to at least get out of the bad situation I'm in. Legally, this is possible, but time will tell how things will turn out in reality.

Not sending photos because I don't have my own pics and, most likely, so far, their appearance is not expected.

Well, and in conclusion, I'll say this: "I don't care much about the chatter of journalists. When forming an opinion about a person, build it on facts, not stories, and think with your own head."»

[globaloppaaa]

but there was you ─── ⋆˚࿔

⋆˚꩜｡ you’re my only target

riki nishimura x fem!reader wc: 4k [angst, smut, fluff]

based off events from mr. and mrs. smith - 2000

makeup smut ⊹ not too graphic bc i don’t got that experience ⊹ mentions of weapons ⊹ killing ⊹ themes with emotional trauma ⊹ crying ⊹ p in v (characters are married and both over 21) which means hubby riki :))) ⊹ swearing ⊹ mentions of weapons ⊹ petnames

library 𓂃۶ৎ reblog for a big kiss!

You should’ve known.

The years of silence, those lingering feelings pressed between soft words that ached you to your core, now felt so evident before you could even open the door of your home. It’s too quiet, not in the rhythm you swore to follow all this time as protocol, but in the kind that tells you he knows. 

You aren’t sure what ignites you even more, the fact he knew before you, or the fact that he chose to play along.

There’s no music, no static from the television, barely a hum from the kitchen. Just the hush of your house and night echoing the click of your key in the lock. He always leaves something on; he always makes noise, like too much silence might swallow him whole if he lets it. Your grip tightens on the doorknob as you make your way inside. Cautiously you kick off your heels and place your duffel onto the couch. The lights are dim, the kitchen is left untouched, and a half-full glass of water sits on the counter like a ghost. It’s proof that he was here but left in a hurry. Or maybe he didn’t finish what he started.

Your mission itself was short and down to the point. In and out, minimal interference. But it still clings to you like the scent of smoke in your clothes. You only found out what enemy had challenged your assignment after it had all crashed and burned, disappointment enraging your instincts. Those same instincts you’ve spent years sharpening couldn't settle as you came to learn that very enemy lived in your own home.

Your heart is thudding in your chest, not from the strain of the day, but from the dishonesty he held inside like it was nothing.

“You’re back early Sweetheart,” comes a voice from the hallway. It’s low and welcoming, scripted per usual.

You turn.

Niki leans against the doorframe of your bedroom, toned shoulders supporting his weight.  He’s wearing a tight black shirt, the one he knows you can’t stand. His jaw clenches with something you don’t want to get into, but feel the conversation bubbling in the pit of your stomach. His eyes are the only feature you can’t seem to read. They’re glossy, not quite guilty. Not quite tense. But not calm.

“So are you, baby,” you say.

He shrugs. Doesn’t move, Doesn’t smile, even after hearing his pet name from your soft lips. That always makes him quirk a grin at the very least.

“I got reassigned.” He says as if his measly cover-up for a job even allows for such a kind of action. You raise your brow, stepping closer to his frame still unbothered. His chin angles as he looks down at you, like if you just moved a little closer you could-

“That doesn’t happen to you.” You whisper, watching the way his eyes dart between yours.

He gives you another shrug, and you know he’s lying. Not just in what he says, but in the way he says it like his body is braced for something, so now he’s trying too hard to look like he’s not.

“How was your day?” he asks, voice soft.

You nod.

“It was fine. They wanted confirmation on a secondary issue, so now I suppose I’ll have to do a write-up.”

Not necessarily a lie, only a fraction of the truth like always. You leave out the part where you were assigned to protect the “Secondary issue”, but let it all fall apart after feeling watched the entire time, eventually piecing together that it was his eyes on you. That silhouette on the rooftop across from yours, just a shadow of a lean body you almost wanted to run to, was his.

Niki watches you like he knows.

You move past him toward the bedroom without touching him, noses dangerously close to grazing, and somehow it feels more intimate than if you had.

The water of the shower scalds your skin. You want it that way.

You scrub the mission off you, but the edge in your bones doesn’t fade away, it scars like the shadows of his touch from the last time he felt comfortable enough to. Was that on your wedding night? You don’t even bother to remember. It’s still there when you dry off, slip into one of his shirts, and drop into bed with your favorite book. You expect him to join you, check a few emails before mustering ‘goodnight’ and turn his back to you like he always does. Most of the time his eyes stay open for a few minutes, pondering thoughts about who knows what, maybe work, maybe you. You know his routine even if you can’t see it, because you do the same thing. Tonight however, he doesn’t even join you in your bed. He’s in the living room. You can hear his steps, pacing back and forth.

You stare out at the wall, trying to focus on today's mission, and it's backfires. Frame by frame you pick apart what went smoothly, how it could’ve gone better, and who in particular interfered. You remember your entry point. How it was secure, the target visible with his ID confirmed. Your position was set. No order to kill this time, only to protect. You then remember the call, unannounced and urgent, demanding to place the mission on hold, standby at a time as dangerous as this. You caught a shape moving across the building beside you, not enough to get a good look, but enough to get a feeling. A shadow that knew exactly where to stand so that you couldn't shoot. Someone just as trained as you.

Someone like him.

It makes your blood run cold.

You shift the covers off you only ten minutes later, moving quietly down the hall. The office approaches and you scan it briskly. There's nothing out of the ordinary, but a feeling pulls at you. Something's off and you're not sure if that tug is in your heart or your gut. The bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, his drawer. It isn’t fully shut, and lawfully as his wedded wife you have access to your shared spaces in your home. You crouch down and slowly open the drawer, knowing the hinges squeak if you move too carelessly.

A folder sits at the top of the pile. Not hidden, but not left out either. It is suspiciously normal like he had no point in even hiding anything from you anymore after the events of today.

It’s stamped with a red seal, CLASSIFIED: INTER-AGENCY OPERATIVE MISSION. You open the folder, and Your breath hitches even though your suspicions were proven true hours ago.

Target Name: CONFIRMED MATCH.

Assigned Operative: Riki Nishimura

Objective: TERMINATION.

Your heart hammers. Same target, but different orders. You were sent to protect, and he was sent to kill the damn bastard.

“Looking for something?” you hear from behind you, but you don’t turn.

“You knew.” You whisper, almost viciously.

“So did you.”

“For how long?” you snap. Finally standing, facing him. You stomp over to his figure, noticing how it grows as you approach. He doesn’t answer. His jaw clenches, and that’s all you need to know.

“So what was the plan?” you ask. “Wait until I step in front of him? Take the shot anyway? Or were you going to shoot me too?”

“Don’t be stupid,” he growls. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

You laugh dry, humorless as your gaze changes to the floor for a split second, before you find your way back to him. Somehow you can’t seem to look away from him for too long, and you hate it.

“You already did.”

He steps forward, slowly. Like approaching a wounded animal. Or something just as dangerous.

“It must’ve been a test,” he says. “They wanted to see what we’d do.”

“So you lied.”

“So did you,” he says again, a little harder this time. “You didn’t tell me what your mission was either.”

“Oh, I'm sorry.” You sarcastically apologize. “I wasn’t expecting to be protecting the same man you were assigned to kill.” Your fists clench. He’s closer now, and you want to scream at yourself for the way it still does something to you. The way his voice sounds when it’s low, the way his gaze drops to your mouth, then snaps back up like it never left.

You visibly lean back as your head falls into your hands, bordering on an emotional breakdown.

“What do we do now?” you whisper, face still held by your palms.

He only takes another step toward you. Close enough to feel the heat of him.

“We finish what we started.”

Your breath catches as his fingers brush your wrist. It’s barely a touch, but it sends goosebumps down your body. 

“And what is that?” you ask, your voice quieter now, wondering if he’s even talking about the mission anymore. You know him well enough to predict his thoughts at this point.

His eyes flick down, then meet yours again.

“You. Me. This.”

You fight his grip even as he removes your hands from your face so gently, leaning down just a little so that his face is leveled with yours. His eyes are half-lidded, but there's emotion behind it. It almost looks as if he’s looking at you with something deeper than insincerity. He takes his fingers and tugs your chin to look at him, to look at him. You hate this, hate that even though he's taller, more muscular, whenever something serious between you two occurs he always brings himself to the same level as you, to speak, to fight on an even battleground. It makes your blood boil, it aches you deep in your heart.

It’s rare for Riki to sound so sentimental, so you’ve come to understand that when moments like this arise, he must mean it with the entirety of his heart. 

“We do this together.” And as he looks between your eyes for approval, you don’t stop him as he leans in. You let him. Because for the first time in years, Riki says it like he’s been holding it in. Like it’s the only thing in the world that matters. He finally sounds like this is exactly where he wants to be. His eyes search your face as your lips come apart, waiting for you to push him away or call him a liar again. Spit something venomous and final that would make this whole thing easier to walk away from. But he knows you, knows how deep down you don’t want him to leave either. And when you don't push him away, from being so tired of pretending you don't want this anymore, he confirms it.

You’re tired of the anger hiding what’s underneath. His hand grazes your hip, slow and deliberate, but like it belongs there. You don’t stop him, but your breath catches. Lips parting just barely, and his eyes flick down again, eyebrows furrowing with what looks almost like care. Before his eyes glare with irrevocable emotion.

His mouth crashes against yours like a dam breaking, flooding out everything he’s been holding this in for too long. He hasn't felt this alive in years. Maybe since the first time you met, he thinks, when you loaded your gun hidden on the side of your garter as you shook his hand.

Your fingers fist the fabric of his shirt as he backs you into the wall, hands on your hips, sliding up under the hem of his shirt you’re wearing. He smirks into the kiss, almost proud that after all this, you're still his. Your teeth hit, his tongue finding its way to yours, followed by gasps from broken emotion. You feel every inch of him pressed against you, but it still doesn’t feel close enough.

“You’re still mad,” he mutters into your mouth, breath ragged.

“You’re still a liar,” you whisper back, tugging his shirt off over his head.

His lips brush the corner of your jaw down to your neck. Hot, open-mouthed kisses like he’s mapping the places that might still forgive him.

“Say you hate me,” he dares, dragging his mouth back up to yours. “I know you want to.”

His forehead pressed against yours, and you should, You really should say it to him. But tonight he’s much more controlled, like his heart cares for how you feel and he’s afraid to mess things up.

Instead, you breathe, eyes glaring up to meet him. “Shut up.” You kiss him again, he doesn’t refuse. How could he ever?

This time it’s slower, hungrier. You grip the back of his neck like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go, threading your fingers through the base of his hair. He groans as he presses you harder into the wall like it’s the only way to keep his own hands steady, to keep his mind still from every thought dizzying him at the moment. There’s heat now, you feel it in the way his hips press against you, not aggressively, but enough to make you want more. It builds fast between your bodies, a low ache curling in your stomach. His hands roam beneath the fabric you’re drowning in, and every brush of his fingertips feels like a match struck on your skin.

He lifts you, quite effortlessly, and you wrap your legs around his waist without thinking. It makes him growl into your mouth as your lips find a shared rhythm. He carries you through the hallway like he’s done it before in all the dreams he swore he’d forget. You barely even process that you reach your bed until the door slams behind you. Riki’s hands glide down your thighs, placing you on the bed like it’s your last safe place in the world. Then he stares.

He takes a long good look at you, face a bit flushed, hair unkempt from his grip. The fabric of his shirt silhouetting your figure perfectly. You're so gorgeous and he couldn't stand it, he couldn't not mark you up with every raw emotion pent up inside. 

He leans over you, pressing both arms beside your head as his nose touches yours, “You’re not just a fucking mission to me,” he says. It’s sudden, hoarse from the way his breath is still caught in his throat, and it catches you off guard.

You sit up a little, heart in your throat. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

He swallows. His voice cracks.

“If I told you… you might’ve left.”

“You thought this was safer?”

“No,” he breathes. “But at least if you didn’t know the truth, you’d still come back to me every night.”

That does it. The fight drains out of you, not because you forgive him, not yet. But because no one has ever admitted to needing you like that. You’re so over being the one who feels more, so you reach for him again, not holding back.

Your shirt is gone within seconds, or his you should say. His hands are careful, but feverish, as if he’s memorizing the way your skin feels beneath his palms. You lie back against the pillows as he leans over you, and for a second, everything is quiet again. You can’t remember the last time you felt this comfortable in silence. Just the sound of your breathing and his thumb brushing along your cheekbone.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re pissed off,” he murmurs. His fingers hook around the band of your underwear as he lowers them down your leg, but his eyes don’t budge from your face.

“And you’re so handsome when you’re not talking,” you counter, voice rough. His grin breaks through then. It’s a real one, crooked and tired, and only for you. Then his mouth is on yours again. The kiss deepens fast. Hips aligned, fingers tangled, heat thrumming through your veins. He kisses down your throat, over your collarbone, lower. His lashes are damp as they brush your skin. And it brings tears to your own eyes as you ponder just how strong he's been all this time. Every kiss feels like a question he’s begging for an answer to: Are you still mine? Can I still touch you like this? Will you let me stay?

You answer without words, nails in his back, lips at his ear, your whole body arching to meet him like it’s answering instinctively. He makes you feel undone, but not weak. Wanted, not owned. You wonder just how Riki’s able to make you come undone every time.

He makes every second count, true to his agent upbringing. The rhythm of your bodies are messy at first. You’re both too desperate while trying to let go of the pent-up anger you’re both still holding onto. But then it syncs, the kind of rhythm only two people with unwavering passion and overlapping scars could ever find. His fingers lace with yours above your head, holding your hands to the mattress as he moves inside you, and the way he looks at you at that moment is almost unbearable. Like he never wants to forget the way you look when you let go.

“I should hate you,” you whisper against his jaw.

“I know,” he breathes, moving his face from your collarbone back up to the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“But I don’t.” You manage to muster between soft moans.

He kisses after every place he sucks, eyes still watching, observing just how stunning you look for him. “I don’t think I ever could.”

His rhythm quickens as he starts to lose himself, moving into you at an unsteady pace. And it’s when he grabs your jaw, directing your face to look right at him that you break together. Breathless, shaking, your names tangled in the love you knew was still roaming in the air. And you think for a second that maybe this war between you has finally surrendered.

You aren’t sure if It’s late at night or early in the morning. The clock on your nightstand blinks red, but you can’t exactly make out the time. You lie tangled in the sheets, back against his chest with his arm slung over your waist like a lock. He’s holding your hand, and it dampens your eyelashes once again. His skin is warm and steady, breathing deeply like he hasn’t slept in days.

Neither of you has moved in almost an hour, haven’t spoken since the moans that escaped both your lips. And still, Riki hasn’t let go.

You could say something. You should, but it’s easier to stay like this, caught in the in-between where the past doesn’t matter and the future doesn’t exist. Where your hearts are slow enough to beat in sync. Your teeth clench, uncomfortable in the passion you missed so dearly. Quietly, you feel his body shift, it makes your breath hitch, and you realize then that you don’t want him to let go. 

“You’re shaking,” hei whispers.

You stiffen. You didn’t realize you were.

“I’m fine,” you lie.

His hand slides along your side, slow, grounding.

“Don’t do that.” But he doesn’t say it angrily, it’s more broken.

“Do what?”

“Lie to me like we’re still pretending.”

You inhale through your nose. Exhale out your mouth. His fingers settle over yours again, gentle but protective.

“We can’t stay here forever,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“They’ll come looking.”

He shifts his face closer. Lips brushing the back of your neck as his words tingle through your body. 

“Let them.”

His hand comes up to turn your chin, leading you to roll over and face him again. Just yesterday looking him in the eye would’ve been no problem, but tonight you’re seeing the real him, the vulnerable man you fell for so long ago. It makes you nervous just to face his direction.

“Don’t shy away from me now baby. Not after you came undone for me like that.” He chuckles, not making fun of you,but with admiration.

It’s too dark to see him clearly, but you can feel the shape of him. His broad shoulders, messy hair over his forehead, and lashes fanned low. He looks younger like this. A little wrecked. Like the version of himself, no one else ever gets to see.

“You disobeyed a direct order,” you murmur.

“So did you.”

“We’re both burned now.”

He nods slowly. Don’t look away. “We’ll deal with it.”

“You say that like it’s easy.”

“No,” he says. “I say it like I’ll do it with you.”

Your chest tightens.

You want to believe him. God, you do. But all of this feels like standing on the edge of a cliff too high. And if you fall, it won’t just be your position at the agency on the line this time. It’ll be your heart.

“Why didn’t you kill him?” you ask softly, eyes searching for him.

Riki doesn’t answer right away, but he lets out the truth when he does.

“Because I knew you were watching.”

“That didn’t stop you before,” you comment.

“It wasn’t the same before.” His voice cracks. You hate that it hits you so deep in your heart.

“You’re not a weakness,” he says suddenly, like he’s trying to convince himself just as much. “They think you are. I let them think that. But you’re not. You’re the reason I still know who I am.”

Your breath catches. “Riki,” you whisper.

He leans forward, forehead pressed against yours. He repeats his words quieter than a bullet in the dark.

“You’re not a weakness. You’re the one thing I don’t regret, I swear.”

You close your eyes. A tear slides down your cheek, and he catches it with his thumb like he knew it was coming.

You should pull away, but Instead, you whisper “Stay.”

His breath hitches. A small, tender smile grew on his face. “I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

“Not just tonight. I mean…” You swallow hard like you’ve swallowed poisonous words that still feel unfamiliar to your tongue. “Stay. With me.”

You feel him go still.

Then his hand slides up and rests over your heart.

“Again,” he murmurs.

“Stay, please.”

And this time, when you say it, you mean everything. Not just your bed. Not just your home. Not just this brief, stolen moment of safety. You mean the chaos and the consequences. The fallout and the parts that don’t make sense. You mean all of you.

He doesn’t answer with words, he answers with the only way he’s learned to show you just how much you affect him. The way he knows you understand on a level no one else can. He kisses you softly this time. Slow and tired and full of every unsaid feeling he can’t quite express. And when you finally fall asleep in his arms, for the first time in years, you don't dream of running anymore.

[hyperprosexia]

cw: 18+ | omegaverse au; a/b/o dynamics; sexism; curvy/fat!reader (some physical descriptions); strangers to lovers/mates; eventual smut

pairing: omega!soap x fem!alpha!reader

part I

it all takes but one glance at you and johnny doesn't know left from right anymore.

pair that with the captain's introduction of you being his new personal assistant and the 141's secretary and being a bloody alpha and johnny's whole being is in a sudden frenzy.

a female alpha he's rarely met one in his life.

most females serving in the military are betas. female alpha's choose different careers due to the military being a male dominated field, and everyone knows that female and male alphas don't get along most of the time.

or it takes lots of work and, in some cases, lots of fights for dominance to balance out a pack order and the cycle repeats itself until someone is transferred or, in the rarest of cases, someone gets injured.

but you don't look like a typical alpha, certainly don't smell or behave like one.

you look comically tiny next to captain price, his packs alpha, his leader. you look tame, well-mannered, friendly and... warm... soft.

he can barely imagine you in some feral alpha rut, and oh there goes his heart skipping a beat that leaves him straightening his stance, rolling his broad shoulders.

and as a male omega, johnny knows the struggles; he knows how difficult it is to look a certain way, but present another.

he doesn't look like an omega, doesn't behave like one. never has.

johnny isn't dainty nor soft or small. he's not some darling docile omega that alphas go wild for. he's a large bloke, rugged and strong, and before people get a dulled whiff of his scent through his scent suppressants, they usually take him for an alpha or even a beta.

the alphas he's met have always given him an ick, left him feeling anxious, weak, and with the need to flee and rather find comfort in solitude or with other omegas he trusted, like his sisters.

johnny gets lost in his thoughts until the captain dismisses everyone from the briefing, and suddenly, he's left alone in the room while you sort out some papers at the front desk.

ever the social one, he decides to approach you directly, despite his past experiences with strange alphas.

"john mactavish," he says, holding out his gloved hand confidently, "but everyone 'round here just calls me soap."

and as you look up at him through your lashes, lips splitting into a bright smile, his knees nearly go weak.

you take his hand and shake it firmly as you give him your name personally and with the right pronunciation, not like price had butchered it previously.

"aye," he replies, eyes glinting mischievously as they drink in your supple curves underneath your neat office skirt and blouse combo.

"soap's your callsign, i take it?" you ask with a curious adorable tilt of your head as you release his hand, and goddammit, johnny hopes your scent will stick to the fabric of his gloves, so he can sniff it later while stroking his pathetic omega cock.

he licks his teeth. the buttons of your white blouse look bloody near ready to pop; the lace of your white bra faintly imprinting through the thin fabric. his instincts are buzzing to life despite suppressants, and it's taking him off guard in your presence.

and then you chuff with a chuckle. "you don't smell like soap. definitely not like the military-issued kind."

oh. so you're a playful one.

his broad back straightens. not even trying nor bothering to make him submit. you're giving him space, treating him like a normal person rather than his secondary gender. that's new.

and he fucking hates it.

are you not interested in him like that? it's his omega wailing inside him for the first time since his youth, when everything was still new and foreign, and his first heats almost made him go mad without a bloody alpha to soothe him.

"ah i " he gulps. struggles to come up with something witty as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, causing your scent to drift to his nostrils. he inhales deeply.

it's not intrusive or sharp like alphas usually smell to him, but his breath stutters in his lungs anyway. you smell like the wildflowers one can find in the highlands, saccharine, spicy licorice schnaps, and burnt bark mulch.

his omega whines inside him, wants him to submit, to be good for you, to make you see what he could be for you. don't you want to smell him, too?

"are you okay, sergeant?"

he blinks and his dark lashes flutter as he peers down at you. fucking hell, your voice your concern. it's making his chest feel tight. what the bloody fuck is happening?

"aye, ah'm jus' "

you reach for his right hand and bring it up to your face, and johnny doesn't pull back like he usually would.

"it's fine," you reassure him as your thumb pushes the fabric of his tac glove to the side, exposing his small scent gland there. a shiver runs down his spine.

"you're just tired, hm?"

he swallows down a whine, grits his teeth to keep it together before he nods slowly.

"guess so," he rasps, sounding like he's spent the past week in the desert. thirsty... needy. "been a few tough months." years, really.

you hum understandingly. "may i?"

he nods again. john mactavish, lost for words, a bloody rarity.

he wonders if you're just doing this because of your duty as an alpha to soothe some poor, pathetic omega like him, or because you truly want to get to know him. he'd certainly prefer to believe the latter.

and then his breath hitches when your nose brushes over his scent gland the one that shouldn't feel as sensitive as it does right now. you're scenting him, getting to know him, and he almost purrs. almost.

you're absolutely gorgeous. everything he ever secretly craved in an alpha, and he's suddenly so aware of how ugly he is compared to other omegas.

an ugly scottish bugger.

his omega thrashes inside him, whines and snarls in distress, and his hand clutched in your gentle grasp, balls into a fist when his scent sours and your nose wrinkles.

you pull back, gaze up at him in question, still holding on to his wrist, but johnny doesn't have an answer for your unspoken words.

"dinnae know what ye're doin' to me."

all he knows is that he wants to be yours.

》 continue

[ruinix]

Cock warming with Jack? Pls.

Hello, anon, lovely. Sorry for taking super long. Something took over my keyboard. I apologize if you don’t want a dom-sub dynamic, but I could NOT stop typing. Sorry, Jack got mean. Also, I am not used to writing this dynamic (a problem when my brain cells decided to brew this). We got another bonus here (you can skip it).

Caught

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Masturbation (usage of toy, then mutual), Dom-Sub dynamics (dom!Jack), Cockwarming as punishment, Degradation because Jack is angry -> slight Praise Kink, Unprotected sex (use protection, lovelies), a bit of Aftercare

Count: 3365 + 370 words | Masterlist | Taglist

You must’ve not heard him. Jack is sure that you didn’t. If you had, you would’ve greeted him with a smile and a kiss while calling his name in such a melodic voice.

If you had, you wouldn’t still be fucking yourself with your head almost handing off one armrest of the couch, with your beautiful lips parted, your breathy moans escaping them, with your legs shaking at the pace you’re going.

If you had, you would just beg for his cock immediately.

If you had, he would just give it to you like he does with everything you possibly want. It wouldn’t matter if a game exhausted the fuck out of him or if he just arrived from a long flight after a road trip—which he did right now. He spoils you rotten.

You want a kiss? He will kiss every inch of your skin until you whine for him to bite.

You want his cock? He’ll let you feel every inch of him until he’s buried so deeply inside you.

You want his handprints on your ass? He’ll make your skin red and raw and bruised that you’ll feel him every time you sit down.

You want to be filled? He will spill every fucking drop inside your pussy until you are spilling around him. Too fucking full of his cum that you worry if he impregnated you.

You want to explore more kinks? He’ll fucking do it until you beg for more.

You touching yourself is fine. It’s hot. He likes it the best when he orders you to make yourself come. He likes the way your delicate fingers circle your clit, rubbing your folds, fucking your pussy. You’re always such a good girl. So you deserve everything including exploring and worshipping yourself—

Then he notices the dildo in your hand.

A dildo.

A fucking dildo. In. His. Pussy.

Worse thing about it, it’shis equipment—bespoke, molded from his cock. However, the dildo is secondary to the huge problem. The biggest bane of this encounter is the fact that you’ve entered the room. You’ve taken the dildo from there.

You are not allowed inside without him for reasons. He wants you safe. He doesn’t want you to use any of his equipment, because it’s not safe. What if you get stuck on the restraints, on the swing, on the inversion table? What if you used the wooden horse without prepping yourself? What if. What if.

He needs you to be safe.

You promised him that you wouldn’t go inside. You promised that you’ll wait for him. You promised. And you broke it. In turn, you’ve defied him and broken his trust.

Everything. He does every fucking thing for you. Simply because you were so obedient. You were his good girl. He was too trusting. Look what that got him. A fucking brat who doesn’t follow simple fucking instructions.

Right now, your image feels like a lie. A mirage that had successfully lured him in with a promise to quench his thirst, to satisfy his needs over his wants, to make him feel whole and alive. A mirage that killed him for its empty promise.

His heart hammers loudly in his chest, making his ears ring, as your leg falls over the couch, your foot immediately planting on the carpeted floor. His throat tightens the more you moan. His eyesight darkens as he notes his fucking dildo you are thrusting in his pussy again and again.

What the fuck is your problem?

He grips the wall, knuckles turning white. He is glaring daggers into your skin. Cursing your audacity, your idiocy, your mistake. Your betrayal.

People are sensitive that they’ll sense a glare on them. Not you. That irks him more.

His anger exponentially rises. His heated blood courses through his veins. His cock twitches, getting harder as your lewd sounds drive him further towards the edge.

“Jack,” you moan, still unaware of his presence, still digging yourself a deeper hole. “Jack, please. Oh, yes, yes.”

Fucking whore. That’s what you are. A bad whore.

It doesn’t matter if it’s his name that spills out of your lips. It doesn’t. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. You’re thinking about him. That clears his mind. You are so beautiful as you continue fucking yourself. It’s basically his cock in your pussy. He swears he can smell you—your arousal, your sweat, your delectable scent—in the air. His heart pumps in anger but also his ever-growing, everlasting love for you. He loves you. So much. Even more now.

However, he must correct this act of defiance. He doesn’t want this to happen again. So, he moves.

One, he grips your hair, tugging until you gasp, your pretty eyes opening so widely and full of fear of being caught. Your pleading voice sounds as he drags out the dildo, throwing it over his shoulder. Your arousal wets his hand which he uses to grab your throat, forcing you to look right into his eyes.

“Caught in the fucking act, baby girl.” His voice sounds deeper even in his ears.

Like the whore you are, he knows you like it. The blush burns over your cheeks. Your pupils threaten to engulf all of your irises. When he squeezes his hand—putting pressure on your arteries, limiting the blood flow to your pretty head, limiting your air—your eyes roll up as you let out a strangled moan.

“Just a fucking whore,” he lets go, letting you whine and chase after his touch.

“Jack, I was so close,” you plead, going to your knees on the couch.

Jack can’t stop his scoff nor his eyes rolling. Are you serious? On the couch? Oh, he truly spoiled you.

He grabs you by your arm and yanks. He forces you to the floor, swallowing the urge to coddle you when he hears the loud thud from your knees hitting the floor. He plops down the couch, dragging you between his thighs. He sees the tears running down your cheeks. He hears your apology then your complaints, so he grabs your jaw, leaning down so harsh that your forehead bumps against each other.

“Where’d you get the dildo?” he asks.

“Ja—” One squeeze to your jaw and you stop. You sniffle. “From the room.”

“Which room?” he challenges.

When your eyes stray to the left, he knows you’ll lie.

You say, “The bedroom…under your stuff…”

He sighs, pushing you away by your jaw. He’s seeing fucking red again. He leans back, closing his eyes, controlling his breaths to calm the fuck down, running his hand through his hair. Okay, maybe he’s more disappointed than angry.

“I’ll give you one last chance, baby girl,” he warns. “Where?”

“Just under your clothes—"

“We both know that it was not under my clothes, was it?” He growls, grabbing your shirt to force it off you. You sniffle, trying to hide his tits, so he slaps your hands away. He mocks, “Trying to hide now, hmm? When your cunt has been leaking and making a mess on our carpet? When you were fucking yourself with the curtains open for the whole world to see? You are such a fucking whore.”

“Jack, please,” you cry.

You are breaking and your eyes show it. Of course, you are. You’re not used to this. You’ve only ever experienced the joys of being his submissive. Only ever heard praises whispered in your ears. But he can see how much you want it. You are more curious than hurt. He knows. He understands you more than you do yourself.

Jack swears your pupils grow wider. Your lips—that are still so red from you biting it while you were masturbating—are parted as you pant. Your nipples are hard peaks, begging for him to touch for a smidge of relief, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t think you deserve anything right now.

“Did you enjoy it at least?” He motions with his forefinger and middle curling, commanding you to move forward. You follow, your hands daring to run up his thighs. He lets you.

“Yes,” you say so quietly that it’s a whisper. “But I didn’t come.”

He’s still not hearing an apology. Is it so hard to say ‘Sorry, Jack, I broke my promise’ or ‘Sorry, Jack, I needed you and the dildo was the only thing I have here’ or just ‘Sorry, Jack’? Is that hard? You’re a clever girl, but why are you so dumb right now?

“I didn’t ask.” He unbuckles his belt, undoes his pants, exposing his rock-hard cock, totally distracting you. You are so simple when it comes to sex. “If I spank you, you’ll just come. If I tug your hair, you might. You are such a whore that you’ll just come even if I just pinch nipples right now.”

The way your breath hitches, your anticipation is heightening. Too hungry for whatever punishment he’ll give you, because you know it is coming. Maybe that’s why you’re not apologizing. You are taunting him. Fine. You’ve got him.

“You don’t get to come anymore.”

“What—”

He grabs you by your nape, pulling you so close to his cock. When you try to lick him, he gives your hair a tug. “Ah, ah. You’re not going to suck or lick”—you whimper a protest but he slaps his leaking cock on your lips—“or tease. You’re not going to do anything because I know how much of a whore you are that anything would just make you come. You don’t deserve to come or my kisses or cock on your needy little pussy. You’re not my good girl right now. Just a bad, bad girl.”

More tears escape your eyes. More whine from your lips. He doesn’t let you say another word, guiding his cock inside your mouth. He can feel your sob, can feel your remorse, but he chooses to ignore it. He pushes every aching inch of his cock down your throat. You can take all of him, he knows. Fuck, you feel so good. When you gulp, he almost comes, but he holds himself back. You don’t deserve his come.

“This is a punishment, baby. We’re going to stay like this,” he murmurs, smoothening down your hair, sliding his foot between your legs to keep you from making any unnecessary friction. “While I watch the replay of my game, hmm?”

You sniffle. You look so adorable with his cock in your mouth. So cute with your little tears. So cute when you dig your nails into his pants-covered thighs.

“You have your word,” he reminds you.

With no forcing hold over your head, you can pull away and tell him your safe word. This can stop—punishment or not. Just one word. But you don’t step back, and no word escapes you. Jack’s heart beats with excitement about learning this new side of you, rather, a new layer of you. 

When Jack’s sure that you won’t do or say anything, he turns on the TV with the remote conveniently on the couch. He starts the game. Although, he’s not really watching. He can’t just analyze the plays when you’re between his legs and his cock down your throat. He can’t. All his focus is aimed at you, despite his eyes are on the screen. All he hears is your soft breathing. All he feels is your tongue pressed on the underside of his cock, your chin putting the slightest pressure on his balls, your nails finally finding the skin of his thighs and digging into it. All he smells is your shampoo and conditioner—from when you are lying down on this couch—and your arousal. And in turn, all he tastes is your pussy just from the fucking smell. He’s losing it. It takes him everything to hold back and not fuck your throat.

Shamelessly, he prays for you to mutter your word. Maybe if you get overwhelmed, he can calm down while he eases you. What the fuck is he even saying? He doesn’t want you to say it. He wants you to want this as much as he does. He wants you to get used to a punishment, because he can’t just keep spoiling you.

You are such a delight to spoil.

Later.

Definitely later.

Still, he waits for you to pull away, but you never do. He swallows a groan. He can’t wait to spoil you after this. You’re taking this so well that his heart is aching from pride. He has forgiven you, even before the first period ends.

Who is he kidding?

He already forgave you the moment his name escaped your lips. Fine, not that. He was so pissed that you lied to him.

The moment you take in all of him, managing to breathe around him, controlling yourself not to such because he knows how thirsty you are for cum. That’s it. 

From time to time, Jack pats your head once before he slides his hand down your hair. It’s almost like he’s petting you. Every time, you sigh through your nose, air hitting his pelvis, making him fucking shudder.

He can’t help it. You feel so incredible that he’s losing it. Your tiny gulps are enough stimulation. Fuck. Fuck! So fucking good.

Your drool—that you fail to gulp down—drips from your lips. You shift on your knees. He knows your eyes are begging him to give your pillow or a knee pad. He can feel them on him, takes all of him not to cave. It hurts him not to care. To ignore you. He hates this. He’ll find another punishment that doesn’t hurt your pretty knees. Find another punishment that doesn’t make him feel guilty.

He doesn’t fucking understand it. He can bruise you, tie you up, fuck you with a dildo on a machine. He can do all of that with no issue so why is he hurting? Perhaps, he’s not cut out for this? Nope. Not that. He loves dominating you. He just needs to get you kneepads when he decides to do this again. Good idea. Perfect.

‘Good job,’ he mentally congratulates himself. One simply needs to boost his ego. Nothing’s weird about this. At all.

The second period ends.

You are sagging against him. Your jaw probably hurt. Jack finally looks down and sees how tired you look, how blush still stains your cheeks, how sweat beads on your skin. He pets your head again but instead of running his hand down your hair, he caresses your cheek then your jaw.

You sigh, looking so happy and satisfied with his touch.

“Fuck. Such a good girl,” he says, failing to stop the words, the truth. “My good girl.”  He praises, “My good little whore.”

You preen, your eyes shining with happiness and love. Any ache in Jack’s chest disappears. He didn’t lose you. Not one bit. He still has you. You still love him as he loves you. Fuck, he’s so lucky.

He's so weak. One look from you, he’s ready to pull you up and cuddle you. One look, and he has forgotten how he got angry in the first place. It feels so far away.

“I just don’t want you to be hurt if your curiosity gets the best of you,” he says. “I know you, baby girl.”

He can feel the shudder that wrecked your body. The slow blink you did shows your understanding. He grazes his knuckles over your cheekbones, swiping at the dried-up tear tracks, then over chin to smear your drool. Just a bit. Beautiful. How are you this beautiful?

The game ends with the Devils’ win.He needs to rewatch it again so he can truly analyze the plays. Not now though. Later.

Jack carefully slides his aching cock from your lips, hissing from the sensation, groaning at the sight of your saliva acts like a tether that connects him from your perfect mouth which only breaks when his pre-cum drips from his slit. He easily picks you up and settles you over his lap sideways. When you move to wipe away the mess on your chin, he stops you, kissing your pretty fingers. A slow and deliberate kiss on each of them. His eyes on yours. Then he grabs your nape, pulling you closer.

“Jack,” you whisper against his lips.

Not a whine. Just a gentle murmur of his name that sounds like a song that soothes his soul. Like an angel singing hymns of humanity. He loves it when you call him by his name.

He says your name in response, then he kisses you. Tongues feel and caress, tasting one another. He deepens the kiss to sooth any numbness that you may be feeling, yet he nips your lips here and there. He can’t help but trail kisses to your chin, licking away the mess, your saliva, your drool. It’s not much but he needs it.

He’s greedy for it.

He licks, licks, and licks, gulping in between.

Even your sweat that beads your skin.

His brain engraining your soft noises—your moans, sighs, and groans.

He needs everything of you.

He’ll die if he doesn’t.

“You did so well. I’m so proud,” he whispers again and again. He needs you to understand him. “My good girl.”

“Oh, Jack,” you breathe.

When his hand curls into your inner thigh, fingers feeling your wet pussy, teasing your folds and pressing on your clit with his thumb, you sob. When his two of his fingers dip into your pussy, your eyes roll up, hips grinding to seek more pleasure. He gives it to you. His other hand is on your hips, securing you to him, not letting you escape.

He curses when your hand wraps around his cock, giving him the same attention, matching his tempo. He rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily for every tug. Fuck. So good. So fucking good.

It feels like eternity. Just you and him, bringing each other closer and closer to your undoing. Jack wants to keep you forever. He will keep you forever. He’ll make it happen. No matter what the cost. He can’t live without you anymore.

Can’t.

He fucking can’t.

You let out a squeal, hiding your face into his neck, your pussy quivers, clenching his fingers, as your orgasm consumes you. Your legs tremble, trapping his hand in between as if you’re scared that he’ll just leave you hanging. Jack will never. He rides your orgasm, teasing your clit over and over again until you are shaking your head, biting into his neck to stop him. He won’t stop.

The pain you’ve inflicted only sends him over the edge. He comes with his eyesight darkening. He fucking blacks out for a second, shuddering as you keep tugging and squeezing him. Your other hand grips his wrist as he brings you to another peak as he finally stops spurting cum on your thigh, your hips, your tummy, your breast. He made such a mess. On your fucking skin that he almost instantly goes hard again.

Both of you are a mess of sweat and cum.

It’s fucking perfect.

“I love you, baby,” he says, pulling out his hand from between your thighs.

“I love you too,” you respond, smiling against his skin.

Then you start to lick his fucking throat. Fucking hell.  Fuck. His. Life.

His sensitive cock is rock hard again.

“Say that I’m your good girl again, Jack,” you plead.

Shifting his head to the side so you can have more access on his skin, he nods, saying, “My good girl.”

Your satisfied moan seals your fate. He wraps his hand around your thigh and shifts you like you’re a weightless doll. He has your legs spread wide, your pussy leaking on his cock, dripping both arousal and your cum.

You pant as he pushes in the tip. Inch by inch. Until he’s seated inside you.

Until he starts fucking you while holding your hips to stop you from moving. Stop you from fucking him, when it’s his fucking time to do it to you.

You just need to take it.

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ Bonus: Your POV ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

You sigh, watching Jack settle on the floor beside the bed. He’s wearing nothing but sweatpants. He lays his head on your sweatpant-covered shin, pressing a kiss over the fabric. His hand carefully holds your foot before he starts massaging the underside of your foot. You relax even more. That feels good.

His hair is still wet from the shower—he took after your bath—while yours is already dried. He dried it. He did a lot. He gave you a whole-body massage, pressing kisses on your skin. He gave extra attention to your knees, clearly fussing over how long you’ve been on your knees without kneepads. They were sore before, but not too sore. The floor is carpeted for fuck’s sake, and he worried too much. Him fussing over you was cute, so you let him. Besides, he needs it. You saw how his worry ate at him, so you appeased him.

He may think that he’s the only one spoiling someone in this relationship. You are too. By letting him have his control. By letting him take and mark you. By letting him take care of you.

This is special for him.

And for you.

“Jack, come here,” you call, taking a towel you’ve prepared under the pillow. He peeks up at you, his blue eyes filled with satisfaction, before crawling up, wrapping himself over you. You start to dry his hair. “Sorry I went in the room.”

He sighs, nodding. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t do it again.”

“Yeah…maybe.” You smirk.

A spark burns in his eyes. “You won’t,” he growls, still surrendering to you drying his hair, head resting between your breasts now, taking a non-subtle inhale. He murmurs, “Smells so good.”

You ran a hand through his hair, nails grazing his scalp that has him humping your thighs. You taunt, “I’m not promising anything anymore.”

He’s so hard but he still glares at you for your non-promise.

“You can’t stop me—”

He cuts you off with a deep kiss. His kiss is rough and deep that he’s basically fucking your mouth. He’s telling you—without words, just the kiss—that you are walking on thin ice.

Fuck that.

He’ll just have to punish you again.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Is Your Villain Dry? Internal Conflict is Needed!

@thewriteadviceforwriters

Villains aren’t evil just for chaos. there’s a whole world of internal battles waging behind that hardened façade. Dive deep into your villain’s psyche to reveal:

A haunting past or a pivotal mistake that shadows their every move 😌

A remnant of empathy or humanity that makes them tragically relatable

Subvert expectations:

Avoid the cliché "pure evil" stereotype by exploring the layers of regret, loss, or even doubtful remorse.

Show that they might be wrestling with an internal conflict over choices made in the name of a twisted sense of justice.

Use narrative techniques:

Experiment with fragmented internal monologues instead of well-structured soliloquies.

Incorporate flashbacks or unreliable narration to mirror the fragmented state of their troubled mind.

Infuse subtle moments of vulnerability:

Craft scenes where your villain, in solitude (maybe under a starlit sky 🌟), reflects on their regrets and fears.

Use these quiet moments to hint at the underlying emotional turmoil, avoiding over-dramatization.

Leverage relationships as catalysts:

Introduce secondary characters—like a long-lost friend or a mentor—who evoke memories of who they once were.

Let these interactions expose the conflict between the villain’s desire for power and the remnants of their former, more innocent self.

Remember:

The key to authentic internal conflict is subtlety. Let these emotions simmer beneath the surface, influencing every decision without overtly stating them.

Experiment relentlessly—let your villain’s inner struggle fuel the narrative and add depth to their character arc.

Let your villain be the dark heart of your story, pulsing with all the ambiguities of a lost soul caught between redemption and damnation. Happy writing, and keep weaving that intricate magic! 😊 - Rin T.

[spookyweaselbones]

Waldo 1.0 basically came together in a single shot. Design, laser cut, assemble, flap mouth. It only allowed me to move my thumb and wrist, and it wasn’t very good at letting me isolate motion, but functioned basically immediately.

Getting the Waldo to this stage, on the other hand, where I can articulate more than just the thumb, and minimize unwanted secondary motion (aka move my fingers without the whole head jerking around) required a complete rebuild of the gimbal frame just to start. I then had to learn 3D printing and surface modeling in CAD, and do maybe 40 prints producing about a hundred parts. I had to radically re-evaluate the entire approach to the hand control design, including the basic premise that a Waldo hand control should be shaped like the interior of a puppet head.

The Henson approach is undoubtedly superior but much much more difficult to pull off. It basically involves placing all the rotary sensors at the exact axis of rotation for all the digits of the hand. Pulling this off has benefits in terms of one-to-one control, but I discovered that it requires incredibly precise placement or else tons of secondary motion is created.

Frustrated, I thought about trackball mice and game controllers and musical instruments. All of these things let you isolate motion by enabling the hand to move the way it wants to. The sensor doesn’t have to care where your joints are and how they move, you just have to be able to reach them.

I re-designed the hand controls to be shaped more like an ergonomic mouse instead of like a puppet mouth, and although it has created a new learning curve for controlling the character, it’s immediately obvious that this approach is worth pursuing and may very well be the winning form.

Edit: the character model is a wip by an artist named Cramble who is a genius