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cressidagrey · 26 days ago

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Formidable

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Andrea Stella figures out that Felicity Piastri is more than “just” Oscar’s wife.

Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble and checks my science-y mumbo jumbo 😂

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

It started the way most breakthroughs did—not with a groundbreaking discovery, but with a tired engineer holding a half-wrinkled printout and a hopeful expression.

“Boss,” James said, hovering just inside the doorway of Andrea’s office. “I think you should read this.”

Andrea looked up from his laptop. “If it’s another CFD model from that Reddit forum, I swear—”

“It’s not. It’s from a paper. Academic. Legit. Published in Race Systems & Applied Motion last month.”

Andrea raised an eyebrow. “Obscure.”

“Very. It has like 20 readers,” the engineer agreed. “But I think it’s real. It’s clean. It’s sharp. It’s…” He hesitated. “We might want to test it.”

That got Andrea’s attention.

He took the paper and began to skim.

Title: Redefining Compliance: Adaptive Suspension Geometry Under Load-Sensitive Parameters for Mid-Field Chassis Configurations.

Andrea kept reading. It was dense—academic, yes—but it was also practical. It spoke the language of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. There were no ego traps. No unnecessary complexity. Just hard math and hard-earned insight.

Andrea flipped the page. Then another. His eyes caught a note referencing flex dynamics in chassis response curves and passive recovery lag.

It was correct. More than correct. It was insightful.

The author wasn’t spitballing ideas from afar—this was the work of someone who had lived in the theory and understood the application. Who referenced real-world tolerances. Racing examples. The math was sound. The diagrams were better than half the ones their CFD team managed.

Andrea flipped back to the byline.

Dr. F. Piastri.

Piastri.

James grinned. “Fun coincidence in the name, right? He’s smart.”

Andrea didn’t correct him.

Because yes—coincidence. Probably. But something about it stuck in his brain, like a whisper he couldn’t quite place.

He read the essay in full that night—twice. It was elegant, sharp, and frustratingly precise in the way only truly experienced voices ever were. The type of clarity that came from years of not just understanding a concept, but translating it into reality.

The next morning, Andrea sent out an internal email.

Subject: Additional Works by Dr. F. Piastri If anyone has access to prior publications by this author, please forward them to me.

By the end of the week, his inbox was full.

One essay became three. Three became eleven. Eleven became twenty.

Each one published under the name F.Piastri, buried in obscure journals and small-circulation engineering reviews that didn’t get traffic unless someone was either deeply curious or incredibly desperate.

Andrea was both.

Each article was smarter than the last—strange, elegant engineering thought-pieces published across the most obscure academic mechanical journals Andrea had ever encountered. Niche ones. The kind that only the most obsessive minds contributed to, with names like Thermoelasticity in Microstructured Materials and Lateral Load Adaptation Quarterly.

F.Piastri had written:

An article about Load-dependent understeer in transitional corners (with math that Andrea double-checked twice because it was too clean).

A 2019 think-piece on long-run stability under thermal degradation.

An essay about Aerodynamic oscillation buffering for short-track endurance vehicles.

An article about the economic viability of 3D printed carbon struts under rotational shear (he actually flagged that one for McLaren Applied).

A thesis that corrected a widely accepted torque model—buried in a conference archive.

A published rebuttal in Journal of Vehicle Design so politely worded it read like a love letter—until you realized she’d rewritten the reviewer’s assumptions line by line.

There was even one article on fluid dynamics that had been cited in a grad-level textbook from ETH Zurich.

Andrea devoured them all.

He—She?—wrote like someone who saw the car before it was built. Who understood not just how suspension worked, but how it felt. How energy passed through a chassis not as force but as intent.

The writing style was sharp. Practical. Absolutely ruthless in its logic. There was clarity there—an elegance—that reminded him of only a few people he’d ever worked with.

It was revolutionary. It was poetic.

By the time he tracked down the doctoral thesis from Oxford, Andrea wasn’t breathing properly.

Reinforcement Through Flexibility: Dynamic Adaptation in Composite- Structured Performance Environments.

By: F. Piastri.

Submitted: December 2022

Andrea stared at the name.

F. Piastri.

He stared for so long his tea went cold beside him.

His hands were shaking—not because of nerves, but because he already knew.

He opened the PDF. Skimmed past the table of contents. Scrolled through diagrams that made his heart stutter.

There was no photo. No biographical section. Just a clean Oxford University seal, 284 pages of dense, brilliant theory, and then—

A dedication.

To Oscar: For believing in a future that didn’t exist yet, and building it with me anyway. Every lap, every choice, every time—you’ve been my constant.

And to Bee: For reminding me that softness and strength aren’t opposites. You are the best thing I’ve ever helped create.

Andrea sat back in his chair like he’d been physically shoved.

Bee.

Oscar.

F. Piastri.

Felicity Piastri.

Felicity.

Oscar’s wife.

Dr. F. Piastri wasn’t some reclusive academic or distant uncle with a gift for simulation modeling.

She lived in Oscar’s house.

She packed his lunchbox.

She raised their daughter.

And she had published papers on suspension theory that half of F1 would kill to understand. Quietly. Efficiently. Correctly.

Andrea leaned back in his chair, stared at the ceiling for a long moment, and whispered:

“…Of course it’s his wife.”

Of course the quiet, composed driver who rarely raised his voice and always had one hand on the bigger picture had married someone brilliant. Of course she wasn’t just talented—she was a published expert with a doctorate from Oxford.

Not a coincidence.

Not a mystery engineer.

Not some guy.

But Oscar’s wife.

Oscar Piastri—quiet, methodical Oscar—had married a genius.

A doctor of mechanical engineering from Oxford who wrote better technical documentation in a margin note than most engineers did in a year. Who published under initials. Who could probably solve half their handling inconsistencies while holding a toddler on her hip.

Andrea sat in silence for a full minute.

Then he exhaled. “...of course he did.”

He opened a new tab.

Email draft:

To: Technical Team

Subject: URGENT – Reference Reading Required Attached: Every single thing Dr. F. Piastri had ever published.

***

The meeting was meant to be quick.

Just a routine Monday touchpoint—debrief, run through media notes with Sophie, talk sponsor appearances, maybe discuss Oscar’s upcoming comms obligations.

Zak had rolled in with a protein shake.

Lando was lounging sideways in a chair like he’d melted into it.

Oscar had a protein bar and an expression of polite mildness, as usual.

Andrea, meanwhile, had not slept.

Not because of the race.

Because he’d spent the entire weekend reading Dr. Felicity Piastri’s entire body of work. Every published paper. Every obscenely niche journal article.

And her doctoral thesis.

He hadn’t meant to do it all in one sitting. He just couldn’t stop.

By 2 a.m. he was muttering things like “Of course she used Euler-Bernoulli assumptions, she’s too smart for non-parametric bullshit.”

By 4 a.m., he’d highlighted her proposed solution to dampen micro-vibration load in corner exits.

By 6 a.m., he had a headache, an existential crisis, and a desperate need to know: Why had Oscar Piastri never mentioned this?!

So at the end of the meeting—just as Sophie was wrapping up and Lando was aimlessly spinning a pen like a propeller—Andrea set down a file on the table.

Calmly. Casually. Like he hadn’t just had his entire mechanical worldview rattled by a woman who wasn’t even on the payroll.

“Oscar,” Andrea said, voice deceptively neutral. “Why didn’t you ever mention that your wife holds a doctorate in mechanical engineering?”

Oscar, halfway through eating his protein bar, blinked. “What?”

Andrea gestured vaguely, as if the thesis were still radiating brilliance from his desk. “Felicity. Doctorate. Thesis. Dozens of published papers. Half of them useful to our current car design issues. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Oscar blinked once. “Oh. Yeah. She gets bored sometimes.”

Andrea blinked back.

Lando stared like he’d been smacked with a front wing. “Wait—she got a doctorate?!”

Oscar nodded, chewing. “Yeah. Finished it in 2022. She was stuck in that horrible flat in Enstone while I was back and forth with Alpine, and she got bored. Wrote most of it at the kitchen table while Bee napped.”

Andrea just… stared.

He had read the thesis. Studied it. The mathematical modeling alone had kept him awake at night—and she had apparently written it during toddler nap times, while stuck in a damp shoebox flat in Oxfordshire.

Zak looked up slowly from his tablet. “Your wife was bored. So she got a PhD in mechanical engineering.”

Oscar shrugged. “She already had the research mostly done before Bee was even born in 2020. She just had to write it up. Bee was napping a lot anyway.”

Sophie blinked. “She wrote a 200-page dissertation with a toddler in the house?”

Oscar just shrugged. “It helped that Bee liked the sound of the keyboard.”

Andrea turned to Zak, still stunned. “She predicted the kind of high-frequency oscillation we’re seeing this season. Two years ago. In a footnote.”

Lando leaned forward like he was watching a live feed of someone discovering aliens. “She’s just, like, a genius?” he asked, voice too loud, too incredulous. “And you never brought it up?”

Oscar just sighed. “She hates that word.”

Andrea just stared at him. “Oscar, she’s not just good. She’s formidable. Has she ever applied anywhere formally?”

Oscar looked genuinely confused. “Why would she apply anywhere?”

Andrea stared. “To work. In engineering. In motorsport. Academia.”

Oscar blinked. “She does work. She manages our lives, Bee, the house, and the chickens.”

Lando leaned toward Andrea, wide-eyed: “I’ve never felt dumber in my entire life.”

Andrea sighed. “Join the club.”

***

The kitchen smelled like vanilla and wood polish and faintly like chicken coop — which meant Felicity had mopped and baked and wrangled Mansell, the escape artist hen, all while probably rebalancing one of their stock portfolios.

Oscar dropped his bag by the door and leaned against the kitchen entryway.

Felicity was sitting at the table in her old university hoodie, feet bare, Bee curled up under her arm asleep with Button the frog as a pillow. There were spreadsheets open on one side of her laptop screen, a half-watched nature documentary on the other, and one of Bee’s plastic toy bulls standing solemnly in the middle of the table for reasons unknown.

He smiled.

God, he loved her.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Felicity glanced up. “Hey. Dinner’s in the oven. Bee passed out mid-pie crust.”

“Excellent,” Oscar said, dropping into the chair beside her. “Because I need carbs.”

She raised an eyebrow, equal parts amusement and curiosity. “Bad day?”

“No. Just... intellectually humbling.”

Felicity made a low amused noise and went back to her laptop. “Did Lando try to explain crypto again?”

Oscar snorted and reached over to carefully lift Bee into his lap, her curls warm against his hoodie. She barely stirred.

He could have let it sit. Saved it for later. But it was buzzing under his skin.

“Stella read your papers.”

That got her attention.

Felicity paused, her fingers stilled mid-scroll. “Which one?”

“All of them,” Oscar said. “Apparently it started with one of the engineers, who brought an article in from Race Systems & Applied Motion. Then he spiraled.”

“Ah,” Felicity murmured, unsurprised. “That one had a good diagram.”

“He found your thesis,” Oscar added.

This time she didn’t answer right away.

He reached for one of Bee’s crayons and twirled it idly in his fingers, watching her.

“He read the dedication,” he said, voice quieter now.

Felicity’s eyes softened in that way that always undid him a little. Always had.

“Did he say anything?” she asked.

Oscar smiled faintly. “He said you’re formidable.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Felicity laughed—not loud, not startled, just warm and wry and a little disbelieving.

“God help the man,” she said. “He must have hit the rebuttal piece from the Vehicle Design Journal. That one made a few engineers cry.”

Oscar grinned. “Yeah, well. He was halfway to building you a shrine by the end of the meeting. I also told him you got bored in Enstone and wrote your PhD while Bee was napping.”

Felicity gave him a look. “You make it sound like I was scrapbooking.”

“Weren’t you also doing that at the time?”

Felicity blinked. “...Okay, fair.”

Bee stirred slightly in his lap, a tiny sigh escaping her lips as she nuzzled deeper into his hoodie sleeve.

Oscar looked down at her—this tiny human they somehow made and raised—and then back at the woman across the table.

Her hair was messier than usual, strands escaping her braid, and there was a faint flour smudge near her temple. She hadn’t bought herself a new pair of jeans in two years. She sometimes forgot to eat when she was buried in simulations. She once fixed the bathroom plumbing at midnight because she didn’t like how the guy from the hardware store spoke to her.

She was the smartest person he knew.

Oscar knew most people wouldn’t think it when they first met her. She smiled too easily. She didn’t correct anyone. She let others assume things—that she was just the girlfriend, just the wife, just the mother.

But she had a doctorate from Oxford, and more published academic papers than most career professors. She could hold court with race engineers and theoretical physicists in the same breath, then go home and teach Bee how to build a pulley system out of Lego and twine. She spoke in quiet, exact terms, and when she challenged people, she did it so gently they sometimes didn’t notice until it was too late.

He’d long since stopped being surprised by her. He’d just—normalized it. Integrated it. Felicity being a genius was like oxygen to him: invisible, essential, and easy to take for granted until someone else nearly passed out from the realization.

She was just Fliss to him.

The woman who sold her designer bags to pay rent when her family cut her off. The mother of his child. His fiercest critic and his most devoted supporter. The one person he trusted without hesitation.

She didn’t want headlines or praise. She wanted quiet mornings and clever puzzles. She wanted Bee to grow up confident. She wanted Oscar to remember to eat something green.

She was the smartest person he knew — and she hated being called smart. So he didn’t. He just came home.

“He called you formidable,” he repeated. “And I agree. For what it’s worth.”

Felicity smiled then—slow and quiet, the kind that reached all the way to her eyes.

She leaned across the table and kissed his temple. “Thanks,” she said. “But if he asks me to consult, I’m charging him triple.”

Oscar laughed softly and ran a hand through Bee’s curls. “Deal.”

And he meant it. Because maybe it was easy for him to forget sometimes, tucked into the quiet rhythm of their life, that the world hadn’t caught up to how brilliant she was.

But he never stopped being proud of her.

Not for a second.

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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damneddamsy · 12 days ago

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𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐎 | HARRY CASTILLO

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

A.N. -> NO SPOILERS TO MATERIALISTS. This is a ROM-COM done right. Inspired by 'Desperado' by Rihanna. And also, a completely different take on Harry's character than the bullshit he had to deal with, he just has so much potential. I had so much fun writing this 🌻 (as in, 18 straight hours of staring at a word doc, burning my corneas and rubbing my hands like an evil fly. haha I'm actually dyingggg) W.C -> 13k+ C.W -> 18+ MDNI, third person POV, fem reader, thief reader and she's a bad bitch, harry is fucking rich with a big dick that's what, sexual themes, smuuuuuut baby but make it fun :), luxury brand and pop culture references, witty repartee, cat-and-mouse dynamics, romcom everything.

If you think all thieves lurk in shadows wearing black, bless your pedestrian heart—you’ve never seen her steal a thing. And besides, subtlety is overrated. Also, spoiler: she actually preferred furs. Fur, red-bottoms, a little harmless cleavage, and a crimson-lipped grin that says, ‘catch me if you can.’

Now, these businessmen, no matter how adorned from their broad shoulders to their straight cuffs, are exactly what they seem: easy pickings. That is—if you’re content with playing in the minor leagues.

Rookie mistake. You aim for the big leagues, reap the financial rewards, and set your sights on those wearing rings.

The ring is the tell. A man who wears his wealth and dignity on his finger is either married, vain, or a dumbass. Often enough, he’s all three. And a man who wears a ring worth more than your apartment building—and the one next to it? That’s not bait, that’s a goddamn challenge.

And this probably married, definitely vain dumbass made her want to stomp her heels through the marble.

She was supposed to be walking out the door right about now—a smoky, smirking, forgotten memory—with her latest spoils: Tateossian cufflinks, a Chopard Happy Sport, and two crisp hundreds tucked into a Balmain wallet.

She’d earned it. Eeny, meeny, miney, more than endured a full hour and a half of sucky—literally—sloppy neck-kissing and thigh-groping from a receding-hairline gentleman who fancied himself the face of a major hotel chain. Now that face was lying sideways on a lounge table, mouth open, snoring softly into a puddle of $600 Scotch. And she hadn’t even made it past the lobby. Cash on arrival, you could say. Astral forces or coincidence—either way, it had been a full year since Dame Fortune had dropped by her door.

A few touches here, a brush of her wrist there, a shoulder-check, a pat on the cheek—bada-bing-bada-boom—two months’ rent. A dent in the student loans. And a little extra, just for her trouble.

She should’ve called it a night. Then there was this fucking guy.

Mr. Premium-cocktail-without-a-care, lounging like temptation in a custom-cut Ralph Lauren and Zegna shoes. You want to know how much money follows a single glimpse of this man? You start punching in zeroes, and line those fuckers up.

She didn’t lose sight of him even for a second as she quieted her Louboutin soles on the carpet past the velvet curtains into the lobby bar. Here, the ice clinked softer, and the elite laughed quieter. No one poured their own champagne. It was all expensive colognes, curated modesty, and vintage timepieces ticking loud enough to remind her she’d never belong.

And tonight—him.

Seated alone (aw, poor little rich boy), fingers curved around a lowball glass dribbled with condensation. Judging by the burnt orange peel and the blood-toned glint: Negroni. Bold, bitter… how predictable. Almost medieval in its masculinity.

He looked like a statue someone forgot to rope off—half-lit under the frozen-firework chandelier, carved jaw tense, eyes cool and unreadable. His suit, charcoal black, cut so sharp it could split an atom. No tie, studded cufflinks, clean-shaven, but not enough to suggest he was expecting company.

And in a sea of glitz and fakeassery, where every other guest was a fresh Rolex or a hollow trust fund playing dress-up, this one? This man was none of that. There were minnows, jellyfish, the occasional shark... but this motherfucking blue whale was a silent, drifting monolith that out-riched half the Atlantic. And she was ready to cast a wide enough net, even if stitching it for days on end was all it took.

The bartender called him Mister Castillo, the name curling off his tongue, veritable old money dipped in Cuban honey.

She blinked once, then twice.

Castillo. Cast-ee-yo.

Huh. Exciting. Exotic. Never heard of him. And she was very good at knowing people she was supposed to know, which made him even more of a tricky mark.

But then that fucking ring had just made itself her next prize.

Thick, unapologetically gold, crowned with an obscene emerald—the colour of envy, of desire, of high-stakes possession. It whispered legacy, old money, old blood, an item a loving father might hand down to his son. Worn on his right hand, not left—because commitment to women was optional, but commitment to the image was unbreakable.

She hung fire at first, took the long way round the lounge, steps a punctuation for her thoughts, an extra lap through velvet shadows, watching him. Reading him.

Right off the bat, her target was a gorgeous, sun-kissed Grecian god. Late thirties, if she had to guess. Sexiest physique—broad-shouldered, lean in the hips, tall enough to make other men glance sideways. Sinful dark curls, waiting for a manicured hand to tug on them and mess up. A restless ankle tapping to some invisible metronome, presenting an internal tempo she’d kill to sync with. Not a sliver of a smile, just those full, distracted lips, tucked over a neat row of pearl-white teeth.

And what lay between his legs better be a stack of fresh greenbacks or his entire goddamn offshore account, because oy vey—she’d seen her share of oversized Hollywood ego and whispered big dick myths, but she never thought they existed. Jesus, they were real. Sometimes, they walked amongst us, anonymous, brooding solo in a gilded hotel bar.

The results were in: another tired, beautiful, well-endowed man. Bullseye. So what did this one deserve?

A moneyed ingénue? Pass. A spoiled heiress dripping charm? Overdone. A chic art dealer with one too many anecdotes about Venice? Closer, but no.

No, tonight she wanted to be... unmissable. Impenetrable. She would be the dazzling chess piece dropped mid-game, daunted into taking a closer look.

That hadn’t been the case for the last woman who’d approached him in the past three minutes—swiftly intercepted, spun around, and escorted back to her table with stunned, indignant scoffs by a bodyguard stationed less than a yard away, built like a marble column, an earpiece coiled into his collar.

So. Castillo was important. Hot damn.

Maybe a politician or maybe even a crimelord. Honestly, who cared when he looked like that? And for all that—how had she never heard of him? Either way she weighed it, those sons of bitches spilled out of headlines like loose pearls. If he were one of them, she’d have seen the profile, the scandal, the fourth wife in Chanel.

She realised, somewhere between her fifth glance at the back of his neck and the slow burn of hour-old-white-wine in her gut, that she was only dragging this out. For what? A better angle? A cleaner exit?

She wanted him to see her, and not in the metaphorical way poets meant—she wanted his eyes. She wanted the recognition.

And the truth was that the sight of him was turning her into smoke. Thick, ribboning, deliciously absurd smoke. So, she might as well put the fire out herself. Or at least throw more gasoline on it. Whichever worked.

She straightened, traipsing past low-lit booths and lower morals, the air around her reeking of rumoured secrets and the spice of Creed Aventus. Her fur coat dragged the dusk with her, the black silk slip beneath flirted with every bulb overhead, while the slit at her thigh played hide-and-seek with lace and sharp intentions. She was the whole damn production. Flash of leg. Flash of steel.

Upon reaching the bar, she slid into a seat one down from him—close enough to be noticed, distant enough to play disinterest. That sweet spot that begged curiosity without costing power.

The coat slipped off, one less layer between her and the moment, and it had been trained—trained to fall, trained to seduce. But then—

Everything moved in a single blink.

Two shadows, flanking, closing in from either side, en route to check. Earpieces. Fast, trained, and quiet, that always came before a very loud takedown. Her instincts tensed, reflexes flickering: eyes on the back exit, how she could make it there in four seconds flat—

But before she even had to brace, before her pulse spiked, the man—Castillo—lifted a hand. Just a flick. Barely even a gesture.

And the shadows fell back, evaporated, melting into the gold-trimmed corners like good little dogs trained to obey.

She let out a breath she hadn’t meant to hold. Phew, she thought. She really didn’t feel like ending up zip-tied in a body bag tonight.

The good news was, she’d just passed her first test, and he hadn’t even looked at her yet.

Her lips curled minutely. She set her elbows on the bar, angling her body in that curated way, just enough to show off the right curves, the lune of her spine, the shape of her ass—all half-bored, half-bored-with-a-purpose. Every molecule of her screaming, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, and isn’t that unfortunate for you.

Now here came the fun part. Playtime.

She flagged the bartender with two fingers and a smile that had gotten her out of far worse.

“Rusty Nail and two shots of tequila, please.” The freshly stolen hundred-dollar bill skimmed across the bar with the grace of a ballerina and the indifference of a bribe.

She smiled at him, lashes batting like the wings of an expensive butterfly. “Keep the change. Thanks, sweetie.”

The bartender blinked. People didn’t usually tip like that unless they were drunk or trying to impress. She was neither.

To her, life was about redistributing wealth—ideally while looking this hot doing it. It didn’t always have to be her wealth, not technically. From the rich, to the clever, to the ones who just seemed like they could use a little extra—she played the part, took the cut, passed it along. Redistribution with flair.

“Ma’am,” the bartender said, voice barely concealing his awe. “Coming right up.”

And then—finally—she turned to her enigma.

He had thawed because now, the gorgeous ice sculpture wore the suggestion of a smirk. A mouth made for terrible decisions curled at the edge as though he knew all her secrets and wasn’t judging. Yet.

Her first instinct? Run. Her second? Double the fuck down. This man, who’d probably grown an empire on poker faces, read hers in under thirty seconds.

“Feeling generous?” he asked.

His voice—good lord—it got under her skin like velvet poured over sandpaper. A silken drawl soaked in wet, hot caramel. The goosebumps on her skin were an obvious giveaway, and her legs crossed unintentionally.

She forced herself to play it casual, leaning her chin into her palm as if she were a woman who had nowhere better to be. “Especially tonight.”

Her drinks arrived, lined up like loyal foot soldiers, and the tequila hit the bar with a theatrical flourish and a pricey wink from the bartender. She dragged her cocktail glass toward her lips, not breaking eye contact, not giving him the pleasure of her full attention, ready to take the first sip when he hit her with—

“Or did old Billings not deserve the hundred as much as the bartender?”

She nearly inhaled the drink. Her brain split in two—half processing the drink’s cost, the other shouting what the actual fuck. But because her reflexes screamed to defend, she swallowed, industriously, the way one would swallow a really sharp insult. Well, she wasn't new to that.

She faced him, properly now, eyes narrowed in amused disbelief.

Oh, he was sharp. Old, but sharp.

Then, as if she weren’t even a threat worth standing for, he rose, unhurried, shoulders rolled beneath his jacket in one fluid ripple. He did the thing men do when they don’t button their coat—deliberately, arrogantly—and walked the three steps to the seat beside her. The shortening distance only crescendoed the goosebumps on her skin.

His knee grazed hers as he sat down beside her, and she felt the contact echo up her spine like a bassline.

He leaned back, turning to her fully, claiming space without apology. She was certain this man had been worshipped before. He obviously wanted to make no fuss with that when he gestured lazily to the nearest shot.

“That for me?”

Goddamn it, he caught her drift. All too familiar with it. Oh, this guy didn’t just play, he collected gilded fucking trophies.

She tilted her head, thoughtful, not giving him the win. “Two hundred.”

His hand paused, brows lifting. “For a shot? Pretty steep ask.”

“Billings didn’t deserve the two hundred bucks.”

His mouth twitched again. “Who are you to decide?”

“You know how it is,” she said airily, fingers brushing her cocktail. “He fumbled the bag. I picked it up. Capitalism, heard of it?”

That earned her a laugh. Deep. Rough. Stupidly attractive. A laugh she would accidentally rote-learn and dream about later when she was in bed with someone else.

He scratched his temple with one slow finger—enough to flash the ring again. That exquisite, infuriating ring. She was no kleptomaniac, but she was reading some signs tonight.

“So,” he said. “You won’t even deny it.”

She smiled with her teeth. Catlike. “What can I say? Sometimes the universe makes executive decisions—and I just follow orders.”

“And who’s pulling your strings?”

“I’m more of a free agent, though I have my own reasons for playing along,” she drawled, popping her lips.

His eyes searched hers for a long moment—more clinical than flirtatious. Then he leaned in, his voice dropping half an octave.

“Now, you’ve got me lined up—what’s your play? Charm me, crush me, or cut me loose?”

Oh. Well. Shit. But what irked her more was that he was expecting her to fold and kneel like some desperate fool. Not a chance in emerald heaven.

The smile slipped from her lips—but only to reassemble, sharper, colder, with twice the wickedness and indifference. She leaned in, just enough for their chests to brush, breathing in the scent that clung to him: bergamot, crisp, fresh like banknotes, tangled with heat and velvet. Maison Francis? Jean Paul Le Castillo?

She couldn't give two shits anymore. What mattered was the truth in his words—he was a mark. Just another mark. You know what would be funny? If his name was ‘Mark.’ Talk about aligned stars.

Rather, her sharp finger traced a soft line down the strong ridge of his nose.

“Oh, honey, all three,” she purred. “You’re my retirement plan.”

If that line rattled him, tipped his balance, he didn’t show it. He just tilted his head a fraction, chewing the inside of his cheek to fight a smirk like she’d just said something cute. Cute, for fuck's sake. That was new. And slightly offensive. If anything, he leaned in a breath closer—her red lips now a whisper from the tip of his nose.

Well. She did always have a thing for brave men with stupid impulses.

“In that case,” he murmured, low enough to be indecent, “you’ll want to give that watch back. I’m not exactly hurting for time.”

Her mental playbook skipped a beat. These moves? These flirtations, the very presence of her? They’d killed with a 99.9% success rate. And yet—

He was the 0.01%. In her life, and in the flesh.

His breath danced against her mouth—warm, spiced, all sin. His eyes, dark as midnight ink, watched her with that unreadable calm that meant he already had an answer to a question she hadn’t asked yet.

She offered her most innocent smile. “Which watch?”

Now that was bait, and she was proud of it. She knew how to pick a mark—but he was starting to feel like a match.

Before she could finish a sip, his hand lifted. First to her chin—just a touch, a direction, a swish of the stunning emerald—then lower, big, soft fingertips drifting along the curve of her neck like he had all the time in the world. It was intimate, yes, but worse—it was confident. A languor that predators used just before they pounced.

And then the other hand moved to her waist. Ah, so that was the game. No sudden grabs or cheap tells. Just proximity, pressure—and gravity pulling her into a choice.

To anyone watching, they probably looked like lovers. Or worse: like a husband and mistress on a regular date night. Which, in this city, was practically tradition.

While her pulse tried to find its way back to a normal rhythm, the smug bastard reached deeper in. Her lips parted, his brows sloped in amusement. He slipped his hand into the folds of her... faux mink—and surfaced with a familiar glint of gold, his knuckles grazing her waist like he’d paid for the privilege.

“This watch,” he murmured, all victorious and amused, lifting the Chopard into view like a magician pulling a rabbit from her cleavage.

Okay, that was a mindless attempt on his part. She didn't show it—she was too experienced for that.

She stuck out her bottom lip, a perfect little faux-pout. “Oh.”

“Didn’t deserve that either?”

She gave a light shrug, eyes flicking to his working jaw. Probably with the restraint of not dragging her to a more private conversation.

“Old Billings spent most of our evening convincing me his Cadillac had reclining seats, that he had a penthouse if I preferred vertical real estate, and—my personal favourite—that his artificial hip could rotate 180 degrees. Figured I need added compensation.”

He wrinkled his nose.

“Yeah,” she said. “I thought so, too.”

There was a beat of loaded silence between them, just long enough for her to decide to play a little dirtier.

“I really, really need you to understand that I…”

And with that, she slipped her ankle up the inside of his pant leg—delicate, methodical, just suggestive enough to distract without giving anything away. She watched it register in his body, the stillness, the knowledge she was still in control. The way his breath faltered for a fraction of a second. The tiniest tension in his thigh.

Then—while he was preoccupied with the very important inches of him she wasn’t touching—she gently pried his hand off her neck and placed a second watch into his palm.

“I thought you meant this watch,” she finished.

He blinked, eyes flicking down to his hand—and then to the beloved watch nestled there. Audemars Piguet. He hiked his sleeve up to reveal his bare wrist. No Audemars Piguet.

His expression flashed. For a heartbeat, genuine surprise cracked the perfect glass mask he wore. And oh, how delicious that was.

Zero fucking clue when she’d taken it. But she had, and it had been laughably too easy.

She turned away before he could collect his scattered little wits, spun back on her stool with feline grace, and plucked up her cocktail. The sip-stirrer spun between her teeth as she smiled into the clinking glass like she hadn’t just pickpocketed a man worth enough to fund a coup.

He exhaled behind her. A low, almost breathless laugh. “Jesus, you keep me on my toes.”

And she kept her eyes on her drink, swirling her glass, smugness curled into her spine. Her heart, however, was thudding. A pleasure so sharp she hadn't felt in months.

He fastened his watch back on with effortless precision, as if the stolen moment hadn’t unnerved him at all. But she’d seen it in his pupils, dilated for just a flicker too long, and in the slight drag of his liquor breath.

“That won’t be the last time tonight, will it?” he asked.

And now, finally, she turned—the game levelling up—letting the full consequence of her grin land like a challenge.

“Depends on whether you plan to undress me. Or just negotiate a better security team.”

A single brow arched. “You really think I’d sleep with a thief?”

She spoke into her straw, “And here I thought you were desperate.”

He angled his head, eyeing her as if she were a puzzle that might explode if solved too quickly. “Hm. Charming.”

“Oh, please,” she said, shaking her head, eyes glittering with mischief. “I’m persuasive. Charming is for people who wear pearls and apologise for orgasming first.”

That startled a laugh out of him, just a soft breath—barely there. But she caught it.

He leaned forward slightly. “So this is your play. You cosy up to men in designer, sweet-talk your way into their wallets, leave them with crushed egos and significantly lighter pockets?”

She traced the rim of her glass with a manicured nail, her gaze not leaving his. “If you’re lucky, that’s all I leave you with.”

He studied her. “And if I’m unlucky?”

She smirked. “You’ll never forget me.”

His tongue pressed into his cheek again. “You’re so certain I won’t turn you in.”

She rolled her eyes. “If you were going to do that, you wouldn’t be sitting this close. You’d be signing forms, talking to Officer Hardass Number Forty-Two, and making a statement about your poor, ravaged emotional trauma.”

He smiled. It was dangerous on him—sharp at the corners. “Oh, I am emotionally traumatised. That watch you nicked off me was one out of the three ever made.”

Be still, my traitorous, beating vagina, she thought. And that magically enhanced third leg of his—was it a limited edition, too? If so, she needed to bring out the big guns.

She tilted her head, slow and feline. “Well, I’d have to console you. Probably by sitting on your face.”

He blinked once. Visibly.

She stirred her drink once, then leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper like it was just between them and the velvet dark. “Let’s be honest. If you really wanted Billings’ watch back, you would’ve demanded it the second I sat down. Instead, you tested me and played.”

She let that hang.

“Which tells me,” she added, “you’re not here for justice.”

“Definitely not,” he murmured, his voice suddenly hoarser than before.

“Mhm. You’re bored. You want me for the kicks.”

The way she said it, he knew he was already too deep. Her words moved like smoke: evocative, listless, curling around the edges of his constraint. His eyes dipped to her collarbone, her shoulder, her motionless thigh as it crossed over the other, the little peekaboo of the lace stocking catching the amber lights.

“Are we going upstairs,” she asked simply, “or are we having this entire conversation without your hands on my tits?”

Silence. A beat. Then two. She only grinned at him, teeth set on her straw suggestively.

He hung his head for just a moment—as though he needed a second to recalibrate. Or maybe to hide the smirk whittling its way across his mouth. When he looked up again, his dark eyes flashed, a little less amused.

Wordless, he slid one of the shot glasses toward her with two fingers, then reached for the other himself. Deciphering his inclination, they knocked the rims together in a soft clink.

“To boredom,” she cheered.

“And not-so-cheap thrills,” he triumphed.

They tipped them back in sync, the tequila burning down her throat, fast and sharp. She swallowed, licked her lip slowly, watching the way his throat bobbed, the way he adjusted his cufflinks with the grace of someone preparing for battle—not sex.

Then he stood, straightened his already-perfect jacket, tugged once at the hem, and offered his kingly hand to her.

She stood of her own accord, shoulder brushing his as she leaned in to murmur near his ear, breath tracing the line of his jaw. “You better have a penthouse suite waiting,” she murmured. “It’s the least I deserve if I promise not to do anything stupid tonight.”

He gave the barest tilt of his head, eyes burning. “You’re just the prettiest little liar, aren’t you?” A pause. A half-smile. A yearned release. “I was hoping for a more insightful breakfast later.”

Her lip caught between her teeth—just briefly, reflexively. Delightful. Penthouse suite. Hotel breakfast. Her weekend was off to a great start.

His suave grin or lethal gaze didn't break even as he flicked his wrist to gesture to someone behind her.

From the shadows, security materialised once more—clinical gazes, efficient, precise. Two of them, lean and suited, eyes scanning her from habit rather than hostility.

He rifled through the inner pocket of his jacket and snagged a sleek black card—no numbers, just the embedded insignia of something far more exclusive than a Visa. He handed it to the taller guard with a calm, “Her pick. Thanks.”

“Sir,” the guard nodded and spoke into a mic clipped inside his lapel.

The moment flew into surreality—muted commands, invisible systems moving around her. She watched the transaction unfold, the way reality seemed to bend to his will. There was no front desk, no credit hold, and no keycard handed over. Ching, ching, ching—the dollar signs rolled up within the imaginary slot machines in her head.

A final nod from his lackey crew, and it was done. Her eyes twinkled with the beginnings of a grin.

Well, then. That was too damn easy.

Only now did she take his hand, the one with the inordinate emerald ring, feeling the curve of the metal, folding her fingers in, as though it had been her idea all along.

“You always carry that much power on you?” she asked, stepping in beside him as they turned toward the elevators.

“Only when I plan to be stripped of it later,” and he shot her a wink.

Her laugh came, unexpected and soft. And this time, she didn't hide her grin.

As they entered the elevator, the doors whispered shut, and for a brief moment, she knew—this was a checkmate.

Here’s what you really needed to know about first-name-still-unknown Castillo: boy, can he kiss.

The man could kiss as if he were meant to wreck religion. It wasn’t sweet, or even aggressive—it was hunger, six-foot-all-male arched and soldered to her lips with intention, with certainty that he was going to fuck hard tonight. One hand fastened in her hair, the other fumbling behind him for the bedroom door handle as if the whole city were plotting to interrupt them. She barely registered the luxuriant flash of the penthouse behind his broad shoulders: the wet bar gleaming like something out of a Bond set, the marble floors glowing under dimmed designer lighting, the magnanimous kitchen, the terrace doors flung open to reveal Manhattan glittering like an unfurled circuit board.

All of it—opulence, skyline, good sense—blurred at the edges as her resolve melted beneath his wicked mouth. She’d come for a ring and a job, and somehow ended up consumed. And probably... coming, too. Let's see how it goes.

She vaguely recalled thinking, Well, at least security’s off tonight, before he kicked the door shut behind him, and she surged up into him like she’d been waiting all year, tearing that blazer off his shoulders.

At some point—maybe while his hand mapped the grooves of her spine, maybe while his mouth drifted lower in slow worship—he broke the rhythm long enough to mumble against her skin.

“You gotta... tell me... something first.”

“Clean bill of health. IUD’s locked and loaded,” she hummed knowingly, arching into his mouth as it brushed her clavicle.

He spoke through a mouthful of a kiss. “Appreciate the intel, but I meant to ask if you’re past eighteen.”

She tossed her head back to giggle as his lips moved over her collarbone. “That’s your cutoff? I should be the one calling the cops.”

“It’s called chivalry, sweetheart. A gentleman doesn’t ask a lady her age.”

“Checking ID is where you draw the line, not bringing a potential criminal into your bed.”

“Your words, not mine.”

“And names?” she shot back, lips brushing his jaw.

He smirked against her throat, voice molten. “I like not knowing anything.”

And it struck her—unexpectedly—of course he did. It was great for her, too. Not knowing her made this cleaner. She was all curves, sex, and invitation, faceless by design. No backstory or entanglement. No real name to trace or recall in the morning—just a woman who walked out of a fur coat and into his bed like a loaded question.

She didn’t move as he kissed lower, slower, charting his route down her sternum. Her eyes drifted to the gold trim of the ceiling above them, but her mind was sprinting elsewhere. Letting sex overrule a job? Not her usual MO. It was too messy, came bearing vulnerability. Intimacy, or really world-shattering sex, in her experience, shattered deceit like glassware, and she needed the lie to keep him seeing her as the sleek, unbothered woman who stole his watch and then made him laugh about it.

She didn’t need his guard down. She needed hers up.

And still, she arched into his mouth as though he were the one writing her name in cursive across her skin, still let herself ache for this brief, hot moment she earned with cleverness.

“For the record,” she whispered, breath catching as his hand skimmed beneath the hem of her thigh-high, “I’m well past twenty-one.”

He lifted his head just enough to glance at her, shadows tucked beneath his lashes, and gave a dry, approving smile. “For the record, I believe that.”

There was a joke in there about experience and knowing better, but her throat closed around it. She did know better, and she was still about to make this mistake with goddamn choreography.

Then, without another word, he ducked low, scooped her up in a single agile motion, and threw her over his shoulder like a victorious hunter returning home with his spoils. She shrieked only to be defeated by a laugh in half-lust.

“Down, boy!”

His big hand came down on her ass for a sound slap. “Behave.”

“Oh, hey, kinda loving my view right now,” she called out, swaying upside-down, giving his admittedly perfect ass a firm squeeze.

He didn’t miss a beat. “More than the skyline?”

“More than the view from the Ritz bathtub, baby.”

“High praise. I like that.”

She landed on the bed with a soft, lavish oof, her hair splayed like a halo, silk dress skating up her thighs. Before she could even prop herself on her elbows, he was over her again—mouth returning to hers, fingertips under her hem, tracing the garter, teasing the edge of her panties with that kind of reverence that made her almost forget her exit strategy.

Then, just as he lowered his head between her thighs, her Louboutin heel planted right between his pecs. A gentle nudge of a reminder.

He paused, blinked, looked up from her foot to her suspecting face—brows raised like a schoolboy caught halfway through a particularly delicious crime.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m...” he tilted his head with exaggerated innocence, “going to make you come on my tongue?”

She pressed her pointed heel in deeper, just to make a point. “Yeah, let’s not skip to the part where I forget your name and my standards.”

His grin spread wider, unfazed, overjoyed even. Smug fucker.

She leaned up on her elbows, her voice syruped with challenge. “I’d rather have you come inside me. With me.”

He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Jesus. What is this, male-finagling 101?”

“Call it negotiation. You want a headliner? Play by house rules.”

He crawled forward with a surrendered sigh, mouth brushing her knee on the way up. Rather, he took her ankle—gently—and began to guide it upward, eyes never leaving hers. The slide of her calf along his shoulder was idle, confident, and territorial.

“Something tells me you are the house.”

“Damn right I am,” she muttered, yanking him in by the collar. “And you’re already losing chips.”

By the time her heel rested behind his neck, he was already smiling again. “Trust me, sweetheart, I can afford it.”

His words sent a short-circuit of dysfunctions sparking through her system. Lust, amusement, danger, maybe a little bit of deranged curiosity. Her body felt like a pressure cooker wrapped in silk. She watched him lean in again, kiss slow and deft, like he was tasting victory already.

She curled her fingers in his hair—his freaking curls—and angled him deeper into the lazy kiss. The way it gave under her touch, thick and dark and sinfully plush, felt like the luxury version of every shitty knockoff she’d tolerated before. This was a rich man’s hair. This was what money bought, not the thinning, brittle kind that came with executives and artificial virility—those were all coconut-head kisses: stiff, unyielding, mildly tragic. This was investment-grade.

Her hands flew to his shirt buttons with greedy precision, undoing, untucking, peeling away the crisp cotton. He shrugged the shirt off and let it fall somewhere past the horizon of the room. She couldn’t look anywhere but at him.

This goddamn man was all ridged muscle and splendid heat, a living sculpture carved by a person deeply horny and well-compensated. Her eyes wandered without apology, drinking him in. Shoulders broad enough to make furniture obsolete, that weathered tan etched into skin like he’d been born in a Marlboro ad, and that V-cut—the infamous, fabled V muscle that you would only acquire with months on a BowFlex—was practically rude. It announced, with a golden arrow from Olympus saying, ‘Please direct your gaze below,’ and that was until he reached down, opened his fly and—

“Holy fuck.”

His face dropped to honest concern, searching her from head to toe. “Something wrong?”

She looked back at his eyes and tried, sincerely, to find shame and failed. “Sorry. No, really. Wow, congrats.”

His brow rose, faintly amused. “Thanks.”

She squinted back at the enormity between his legs. That was no big dick. For every twig, there was a trunk. For every soft peach, there was a firm cucumber. And finally, for every tight space that she had in her body, that was the perfect fit.

“Hang on, I’m just... recalibrating my entire worldview,” she breathed.

“Take your time. He is a shower.” He curved his arms around her thighs and dragged her closer, amused. “Now, should I be flattered or concerned?”

She pointed, unabashed. “You’re breaking zoning laws. That should be registered as a private landmark.”

He couldn’t hold back the smirk. “My penis is a landmark?”

She shook her head solemnly. “Seriously, dude, if you try shoving that in my mouth, I’m gonna need a neck brace and dental insurance. It’s not that subtle.”

He huffed, mock-exasperated, dipping back toward her as she bit her lip to contain a laugh. “Well, neither are you. Seriously, dude, why don’t you just walk beside me with a bullhorn tomorrow?”

She grinned. “Touché.”

And she wanted it all.

She wanted him to wreck her perpetually laid-out life in the shape of whorish moans. She wanted the kind of orgasm that felt like a cathedral collapsing, that made her forget what city she was in, what she was wearing, even what she’d meant to acquire tonight—because who gave a shit about emerald rings when your thighs were trembling like this?

He sank to his knees at the edge of the bed, his rough hands oh-so-warm as he found her ankles, coasting upward, willful. Her heels came off one by one with a reverent slide and dropped somewhere with two clicks. He raised a brow at the stockings—black, sheer, goddamn expensive—and made a face like, ‘those stay.’ Smart man.

While his mouth claimed hers again—wide, possessive, coaxing more of her soul out with each pass of tongue—his fingers found the zipper at the base of her spine. He worked it off her like he’d earned the right; he wasn’t just removing fabric, but unveiling a scripture.

The dress fell away, the only flimsy fabric separating them now. Bared, exposed before him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, and then tilted his head skyward, like the ceiling might offer some divine explanation. “Where’ve you been hiding this?”

The smile that bloomed on her lips was ridiculous. “Right where no one bothered to look.”

He was just… devotion, that made her forget every well-earned cynicism she’d armed herself with. That look he gave her—it was like someone seeing the night sky for the first time.

Every woman deserved this at least once, to be gazed at like a divine revelation. Especially by this man.

And when he came down between her breasts and buried his face there—kissing, biting, mouthing, trailing warmth over the softness—and she catalogued.

Every graze of his mouth on the swell of her breast became a snapshot, every drag of his stubble a burn she’d wear like jewellery. His lips ghosted along her skin in an obedience, and that made it worse—better. She kept her eyes on the ceiling, needing somewhere to focus on before she melted into goo.

It was becoming harder to separate pleasure from power, and harder still to remember which one she usually wielded.

Her fingers found his cheekbones, traced the topography of him like a blind woman trying to remember a face she wasn’t supposed to fall for. His thin stubble, coarse, dark, scratched and scalded her in the best way.

She’d despised facial hair on men. Always. Until she decided that his goddamn moustache deserved its own novella. Every time it flicked across her nipple, her body jolted like a live wire. It was filthy what that thing's pornographic implications were. Filthy, what she wanted from it.

She stroked the curve of his upper lip with a fingertip, and he caught her hand in his, kissed the pad of her finger, drew it slowly into his mouth. His tongue curled around it, wet and obscene, eyes on hers the entire time. Then he let it go with a pop so lewd, she had to bite her lip to stop a moan.

“You gotta let me taste you, baby,” he rasped. “If your tits taste this good...” His breath ghosted over her skin. “I can’t imagine your sweet pussy.”

She burst into laughter, spirited, ruined. “I did say I’d sit on your face,” she replied, lifting a brow.

He grinned. “Look at me, I’m a man grieving.”

“Hm. Not in the mood anymore.”

His groan was practically theatrical—but his fingers didn’t wait for applause. They slipped between her thighs, bypassing preamble entirely, right past silk and into soaked, desperate heat.

Conversation stopped.

All her clever little barbs, her glib charm, her velvet one-liners lay dead. Obliterated by the first stroke of his fingers inside her. Her brain went static. White-noise pleasure. A hiss of disbelief.

All the sharpness and swagger she’d carried into the suite dimmed under the slow, deliberate pressure of his hand. Precision. Intention. Like he already knew exactly how she’d fall apart.

She tried to say something, anything. Tried to land one last jab. But all she could do was breathe around his long, fantastic fingers—wide-eyed, hands fisted into the pillow behind her, lips parted, staring up at the gold-leaf ceiling like it might explain her undoing. In, out, in, out... then came the thumb.

And then—the fucking ring.

She felt the metal graze her inner thigh, the cool edge of the gold where it pressed to her skin. Sharp contrast to his heat. And then—Jesus fucking Christ—it dragged. Subtle, sluggish, just enough to remind her her prize was there.

That gorgeous, thick emerald, gold band, tasteful, heavy and fuck, so out of place between her legs.

Or maybe not.

Because when he curled his fingers just right and his thumb pressed in deeper—when he let the gold nudge her, roll slightly against her wetness—her whole body arched like a drawn bow.

He felt her react. Any dumbass would've known, he wasn't that special.

His thumb stayed at the ready, steady pressure circling her clit—but the gem, that fucking gem, shifted again. Cool gold and the sharp cut of emerald dragged leisurely through the slick between her folds, catching where she was wettest, where she throbbed for friction. It was intentional. Calculated. A little cruel, to be honest.

Her body jerked, hips twitching, a powerless gasp yanked straight from the base of her spine—high-pitched, fractured. That ring shouldn’t have turned her on or feel owned. But could a material girl help it?

He looked down at her, mouth curved just enough to betray pleasure, but not enough to give her satisfaction.

“Oh, you like that?” he murmured—just wicked enough to feel intimate. “Huh, you like the way my ring feels on you?”

She wanted to say no. Wanted to sneer, to roll her eyes, to make a joke about being allergic to sentiment or emeralds or anything that felt vaguely like trust. Instead, she bit her bottom lip like it might keep her dignity in place, but it really did not, and—

She nodded. Tiny. Shaking. Needy.

So he rewarded her.

He slowed his strokes, so infuriating, so obscene, and let the ring do the work. Rolled the emerald flat against her clit, then angled it up, letting one of the faceted edges skim across her slit, grazing nerves that had no business being teased like that. Precise. Punishing.

And it lit her the fuck up.

She should’ve hated what it meant—that she wanted something so material, so glittering and male. That this thing—a token of wealth, probably from a wife or a mistress long since discarded—was turning her slick and pliant and desperate beneath him.

God, she craved it.

That ring was everything she didn’t get to have. Status. Opulence. Being touched like treasure.

It was proof of power. And right now, she clearly wanted to be fucked by it.

She wanted it pressed deeper. She wanted it shoved into her mouth next, to taste the gold and the salt of her own arousal and watch his eyes go dark with the knowledge that she liked it. That it wasn’t just sex—it was starvation. It was his want and hers.

Tension spiralled hard and fast, gathering in her abdomen. One wrong stroke, one more whisper, and she'd shatter with her slick clinging to it like a goddamn offering.

And still, he was watching her—all darkly pleased. Reading her confession in real time. Every moan, a comma. Every shiver, a pause in the syntax of her unravelling.

This wasn’t a play for the upper hand or a con. It was relinquishing. And maybe, the part that terrified her most—being known.

That, in itself, was a wake-up call.

So she cudgeled the horny out, pushed him off her with her purpose, let him fall back into the pillows, trousers still hanging indecently low on his hips, cock straining upward like it had its own agenda. For a second, he just looked at her—half-dazed, wholly starstruck.

She climbed on top with a panther's grace and rolled her hips. Just once. Just to feel the obscene friction of silk against her bare, wet slit. The contact made her gasp—all unmasked—and his answering groan was deep, surprised, like she’d just given him the ultimate divulgence.

Then, like the devil himself, he brought his fingers—her slick still coating them—to his mouth. Sucked them in with a hum, as if tasting a rare libation, expensive and exclusively his.

“Christ,” he murmured. “You taste like a dream.”

She didn't have it in her to rejoinder. He was distractingly hard beneath her, so hard it was criminal. Big, big, big man. The feel of him even contained through the barrier of his boxers had her knees nearly give out.

“Gonna kill me,” he muttered, voice hoarse, stunned.

Funny, that was her line.

“Good,” she whispered, leaning in until her mouth brushed his. “Then I won’t need to fake my name.”

He laughed, dazed, ravenous, eyes drinking her in. “Ah, what the hell,” he breathed. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

For half a second, her mind blanked. What was her name? What was any name? She had to have a name ready for him. How was she so unprepared?

Then, she made up her mind: “Eve,” she said, because one, it was cool, two, sweet biblical references, and three, what a fun little palindrome.

He tested the word on that naughty tongue. “Eve. The first woman.”

She tilted her head, gave him a wicked little smile. “Gotta start somewhere,” she murmured—still perched above him, all wit and velvet, more dangerous than that: ease.

She reached between them. Even after staring for three more moments, the sheer size of him—thick, heavy, curved just enough to ruin. Her mouth opened slightly, involuntarily, but she didn’t make a sound. She absorbed it.

She gripped him, slowly, trifling—more an assessment than a stroke. His cock kicked in her palm, already leaking, and his jaw went slack.

“You got a license for this thing, sir?” she purred in a tease, still staring down like she was reading a classified document.

“I was grandfathered in,” he said through gritted teeth. “Now be a good girl and fuck me.”

And for a breath, a single heartbeat, she let herself feel it. Just once.

His hands, strong and solid at her hips, slid up the line of her torso as if to memorise the arch there. He waited for her, no rushing, no seizing the moment to flip her over and take control.

She leaned forward, kissed him at her leisure. And again, just to be sure it wasn’t a fluke. That made her forget where her body ended and his began. Her fingers curled against his chest, dragging over the soft smattering of dark hair there, nails teasing. His breath hitched.

It was ridiculous how good this felt. Big dick or not, he was fucking fantastic.

And that was the thing. She’d never trusted fantastic feelings; they were distractions. Weak spots. She’d spent ages compartmentalizing pleasure like it came with a damn invoice. Oh, this wasn't that. There were no transactions left (except, er, maybe one) or power plays she had to look out for.

This was two people choosing to fuck like they’d never see each other again. And for once, that felt like a relief, not a regret.

She lined him up with a maddening delay, hips angling just right, and when she sank down—Jesus, it was a stretch. Her breath faltered, lips parted. Head tilted back. Hands braced on his chest as she took him—the world churning to liquid around her.

She took him inch by gentle, conscious inch, and the fullness knocked the wind out of her. She paused halfway, chest heaving, stretched to her capacity.

“You okay, beautiful?” he asked, hands steadying her thigh.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Just… Christ.”

He gave a strained laugh. “I’ve been called worse.”

She braced herself, inhaled, levelled her knees on either side of his hips, and took the rest of him.

All the way down.

The shock of it punched through her, and the moan that followed was nothing like the others—it was scraping, involuntary, from the deepest part of her.

“Omigodomigodomigod,” she chanted, barely.

“Shit,” he growled, “you’re gonna make me come just watching you do that.”

“Baby, you have got to last longer than that,” she managed.

It can't have been a concurrency. It was vulgar, how flawless he fit inside her. How her body opened for him, swallowed him like it had been waiting for this.

The nasty fucking sounds he made—soft curses, a low-throated groan, the broken “Jesus fucking Christ” against her neck—they conducted volts of electricity down her spine.

She rolled her hips once, testing the weight of him, the stretch, the slick pressure as he filled up that fragment of space so deep within her she didn't know needed to be freed.

Their eyes held for a glorious moment, engraved an intrigue between the lines, as their breaths fused in the intensifying silence.

Finally, she moved again—tentatively at first, recalibrating, learning the shape of this body, its responsiveness, its heat. Then purposeful. Hips circling in uneven figure-eights, savouring every drag of him along her walls. The friction, the angle—it was unmistakable. Her clit brushed the hard plane of his pubic bone with each motion, and the sensation throbbed through her with the symphony of the dirtiest choir of angels.

Her hair clung to her skin, damp with sweat. Her thighs trembled. She adjusted again, finely tuned the roll of her hips as though she were a safecracker aligning the final dial. Listening, calculating, cracking open something far more intimate than a vault.

And in those strokes, she realized: man, this fucking was nice.

Disarming enough to take her off guard. Not flowers-and-pillow-talk nice—but it was strange how his eyes never left hers. In the way he breathed through his teeth when she clenched around him.

Nice, for someone like her, felt impossible. She didn’t get this. She got fancy hotel rooms with poor lighting and overpriced minibars. She got transactional glances, pickpocketed her forgettable flings, and sex that didn’t leave bruises but didn’t leave memories either. She got mornings when she slipped out before the sheets cooled, before they could question what her name was.

This gorgeous man under her, with his big wallet and his even bigger cock, sweat-slicked and broad-chested, dark curls matted against the pillow, hands reverent on her hips—this was selfish memory-making. A reward, maybe. A cosmic oversight in her favour. A divine fuck-up.

And god, what a man. She loathed giving him that vestige of power, but really—wow.

She slowed just to look.

There was heat in his gaze, sure—but also awe. He looked at her like she was the miracle, not the other way around. Chest heaving, abs taut, thighs twitching. There was a line of sweat down his temple that she wanted to lick. Insane, disgusting, but wild.

She leaned forward to do just that, and he kissed her sternum like it was instinct, then moved up—mouthing her breast, sucking just hard enough to draw a gasp from her. She ground down in response, shivering as her clit caught again, the rhythm quickening. She was so wet now, slick, soaked, that it felt inevitable, elemental.

His hands tensed. Thighs twitched. His cock gave a small, telling pulse inside her. He was close, no rush, no push, ticking within her, feeling everything.

And still, he watched her. If he blinked, he’d miss it. This version of her—sweating, gasping, taking him deep—was the most honest one yet.

She’d never been seen like this. Not without masks. Not mid-lie. Not mid-fuck. Not without shame, licking at her spine. She liked it, just a little.

“You feel so good,” he groaned. “Fuck, Eve…”

She almost laughed aloud.

Even now, even as her orgasm climbed her spine like a fuse about to spark, she wanted to correct him. Not my name. Yet, there was a naked poetry in it.

Eve. The first woman. The original sin. Fitting, wasn’t it? Sometimes, she couldn't comprehend her own genius.

She leaned in, dragged his lip between her teeth, bit gently, then rolled her hips harder, faster. She could feel herself starting to fall apart—release coiling tight in her belly like a loaded spring, every thrust building the tension sharper, sharper. It was happening—her body catching fire from the inside, everything spiralling, tightening.

Then—snap. She went splintering apart.

She came with a sound that drained all the colour from her world. A broken gasp, mouth frozen in a silent scream, stifled into his throat as she folded over him. Her body trembled, thighs clamped in, and she clung so tightly around him like she refused to let go. Riding out her waves.

He wasn’t far behind. As if the very sight of her had nudged him forward. A growl—deep, ragged—tore from his chest, face rigid, power intense, eyes hazed over, and with one sharp, helpless thrust, he came too. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he panted, buried deep, twitching inside her as his nails digging into her waist like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.

And then—quietude in the afterglow.

No lies, no scams, no exit plan. Two strangers wrapped around each other in the thick fog of sex, sweat, and softening breath.

Eventually, she lifted her head, curls clinging to her cheek. She looked down at him, and despite everything—the ache in her thighs and the sharp echo of release still ringing in her—she smiled a real one.

He reached up, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and gave her a smile so goddamn comforting it shouldn’t have existed in this room.

She huffed a little laugh, diverting her weight to graze his softening cock still buried inside her, she leaned in closer—lips ghosting his ear.

“Nice to meet you, Castillo.”

He let out a sound—half laugh, half groan—as his hand slid down to squeeze her ass.

“Pleasure’s mine, Eve.”

‘Eve’ was luxuriating.

There was no better word for it. Luxuriation at its finest. Stretching every nerve and bone in the wake of that mind-blowing orgasm at three in the goddamn morning, she lay draped in hotel linen like it had been tailored for her personally.

She was starving, of course. Ravenous. But not just for food.

She slid out of bed while the stranger—Mr. Big Wallet, Mr. Bigger Cock, Mr. Goddamn Castillo—was still draped across the mattress like a Renaissance nude. Sprawled and golden under the lamplight, limbs askew, a lean hand tucked under his head, a man who knew no one would ever dare disturb him. The picture of leisure. Post-coital smugness facsimiled into art.

Yeah, she would definitely overlook every stinging pain in her demolished muscles to ride him again, why do you ask?

Eventually, she found the lacquered room service menu on the desk and squinted at it, blinking through the haze of sex and triumph. Her instinct was to scan for the cheapest option—buttered toast, maybe, or the $25 fruit bowl. Years of living in the margins didn’t go away with one good fuck.

A wolfish grin crept onto her face. Or maybe it did.

Soon after, she ordered everything she ever denied herself, engaging in a little harmless flirting to get her way. Pancakes with clotted cream. French-style omelettes, salmon on brioche, truffle hash browns, a mimosa and champagne, because why the fuck not? She threw in a side of bacon and a whole carafe of coffee for good measure. Let her fake name live a little.

While she waited, she made herself at home—because that’s what you do when you’ve stolen a beautiful artefact, and no one’s caught you yet. She slipped into the plush hotel robe (absurdly soft, felt like being hugged by a cloud of money), then padded into the marbled bathroom where Bulgari-branded amenities waited like her personal butler’s blessing.

She washed her hair. Twice. Slathered herself in conditioner that smelled like a yacht moored in Monaco, under a majestic shower that almost aerosol-misted water right into her eyes. Then she filled the bottomless, claw-foot porcelain tub to the brim, lemon scented bubbles spilling over. She slipped in with a sigh that reached down to her childhood.

This was the end of the line. This was the life.

The ease of wealth. The promise of solitary comfort. The luxury of not having to think about consequences for once. People who came from nothing—real nothing—didn’t dream in moderation. They didn’t require stability or modest success.

They wanted everything.

Every millionth thread count, every miniature jam jar, every long-legged man with a wallet fat enough to make the world shut up.

And as she soaked in her expensive bath for the night, legs stretched wide and one arm hung lazily over the tub’s edge, breakfast arrived. She insisted on it being wheeled straight into the bathroom in the other guest room, champagne flutes and silver trays and all, so as to not wake Big Dick Castillo slumbering in the master.

Breakfast in the bath. Her version of communion.

She took one bite of pancake, one sip of mimosa, then paused.

Hang on. She didn’t even know his first name. Who was the rich stranger footing the bill?

The thought struck with the odd gravity of a joke that turns into a riddle. She reached for her phone—miraculously still charged—and typed with wet fingers:

🔎 Castillo New York

Top suggestion: Harry Castillo New York

She chewed her pancake thoughtfully. “Harry Cast-ee-yo.” Then pushed her lips up into a prideful smirk. “Found you.”

As easy as that. A few vague words and his whole history spilled out of the phone. She clicked the first, most recent result:

WMAG Exclusive: The Silent Rise of Harry Castillo, Manhattan’s Phantom Power Player

The layout was glossy and over-designed—grayscale cityscapes, oversized type, the whole corporate-chic fantasy. His photo sat dead center, sat in his corner office, hand templed: tall, broad-shouldered, dark eyes infinite, hair tousled, and that fucking smirk. He looked good enough to eat, sure—but there was something off about the Savile Row suit clinging to that lean, lethal frame. The armour didn’t quite fit the man.

And in the profile, no bold title crowned him. No CEO and/or founder. Nothing that screamed self-made grit or startup savant.

Just: Private Equities. Flat. Unapologetic. Take it or leave it.

She snorted into her mimosa. Finance guy. Not what she had in mind.

Private equity—the burgeoning art of buying dying things and gutting them for sport. She was certain he wasn’t a shark. You see, sharks had a purpose. This man was a collector of leverage. He bought struggling companies, debt, political favours, and maybe the occasional dumb woman who lied and pilfered for a living.

Still, she kept reading. Because curiosity, like appetite, always demanded payment.

“I’m not interested in visibility,” Castillo had told WMAG. “The people who talk loudest are usually the least important. Influence is quieter. And I am always thinking about the long game.”

She rolled her eyes. “Prick.”

Yet, the article hilariously went on and this interviewer did not back down:

“And what is the best thing about being this wealthy?”

She half-expected some PR-friendly answer. Time with his big, affluent family in Antibes. Philanthropy. The freedom to pursue passions, blah blah yacht. But Harry, naturally, said this:

“I now own WMAG.” “Seriously?” He grinned. “I could.”

A full-bodied, white-collar mic drop. She giggled into a layer of bubbles. Smug bastard.

That was Harry Castillo's real currency—believability. He didn’t have to lie; the proposition would suffice. He let people fill in the blanks, and by the time they realised they’d handed him everything, their signatures were already on the dotted line.

Hard to ignore how he sounded like every other wealthy nihilist out there on Wall Street. That tone he took—unshakable, a little too polished—dripped with discretion. She could hear it in her head now, could imagine him saying it between sips of twelve-year-old scotch at a table only lit by a Baccarat lamp.

“I don’t believe in risk for risk’s sake,” he had continued. “Every move should be precise. You don’t bet on fire. You buy the match factory.”

Wow, bravo. She almost clapped. Amusing poetry, Harvard grad, big dick. The man was god's favourite creation in triplicate. She could hardly wait for the leather-bound memoir.

The more she read, the more outlandish it became. Nothing she was new to. He had holdings in everything—media conglomerates, boutique aerospace startups, a vineyard in France that sold wine exclusively to Michelin-starred chefs. Oh, and a minority stake in a European football club, which was probably just code for laundering money through ticket sales.

She scrolled further down and hit a quote from someone unnamed but very impressed:

“Castillo’s power is that you don’t see him coming. He is the storm with no centre. By the time you realise he’s at the table, he already owns the room.”

She tapped her glass against the tub, grinning. “No shit.”

The man outside, Harry Castillo, resupine on his bed like a Greco-Roman mural, the one she’d just ridden to death into the mattress, wasn’t just a rich man.

He was a whole mechanism. A muted weapon clothed in desire. And suddenly she wasn’t sure if she’d seduced him or if she’d walked directly into a carefully placed snare.

Which, of course, was all the more arousing, interesting, tempting, than alarming.

She set the phone by the ledge, reached for a slice of brioche, and thought idly about what her fake, biblical name had said the night before. Eve. The first woman. The fall of Man.

Well, was that not just perfect, she thought and dunked her bread in hollandaise.

At least she picked the right apple.

Later, she watched the sun rise over Manhattan like it was hers.

Legs curled beneath the robe she hadn’t paid for, mimosa in one hand, toast crumbs on the other. Coi Leray murmured through one AirPod, girl-code gospel about how players wear heels now. She bobbed her head to the beat, eyes closed, face tilted toward the morning light. The breeze off the terrace kissed her bare collarbone. Below, the city stirred, unaware that one of its daughters had momentarily won.

“What you know ‛bout livin’ on the top?” her favourite singer chirped. Damn right, people had no damn clue.

The sky was daubed with watercolour—soft roses and scintillating golds bleeding into the steel blue silhouette of the city. She was soaking in every second of it like heat through her bones, feeling a little more than fortunate that she’d stolen this morning. Or maybe rented it by the hour. Either way, it felt like trespassing in heaven.

It was going to be very, very hard to leave.

She heard the thud-thud-thud of his footsteps before she saw him. Padding out from the bedroom, across the polished floors, through the quiet hush of money well-spent. She didn’t open her eyes.

“Did you pig out on the whole menu without me?”

Not a trace of annoyance in that freshly-fucked voice. Not even mockery. It was a soft exhale of disappointment, as if he’d actually been looking forward to an insightful breakfast of champagne and eggs with her.

She grinned, head turned toward the sun. “Oops.”

A soft, amused chuckle. “Are there leftovers at least?”

“Might be toast,” she hummed, “or a fruit bowl.”

You know, the stuff you could score from a lobby continental if you smiled just right.

Then came the shadow, a dawdling eclipse, as he blocked the sun with his body. She sighed out her blunt nuisance, popped one earbud free, and opened her eyes—

Oh, my fuck.

How exactly was a girl supposed to leave when the man she was meant to swindle was standing there like some water-dappled fantasy come to life?

Shower-warm water trickled from his curls like holy beads, trailing down his throat, over that sickeningly perfect chest. The towel around his hips hung low and loose—threatening virtue, daring gravity. In daylight, he looked even more expensive. Someone had carved him out of dark gold and complacency. Was the sun doing that on purpose, playing him out in slow motion and amber hues of a porn film?

Her eyes dragged over him like fingers. Simply put on this Earth to be appreciated, wasn't he?

The worst part was that he knew exactly what he looked like.

He leaned in, bracing one hand by her head, the other hooking a finger into the delicate strap of her black slip. “Leaving without a kiss?”

She tilted her chin. “I gave you plenty last night.”

“Too bad I’m insatiable,” he murmured—and claimed her.

This special kiss was slower, curled around her throat like silk. Luxurious. Marvis toothpaste and vices. He had nothing left to prove now, just him to taste again. His hand cradled her jaw, thumb brushing just under her lip as if establishing her identity. Ha, good luck with that. While she let herself melt into it, one last time, and her fingers found his damp curls, twining. Tugging. Greedy.

When he finally let go, it was with a kiss to her nose—infuriatingly domestic. Tucking affection between stolen moments.

She patted his chest—twice, lightly, how one might close a book—and moved to slip her stilettos back on from where they waited obediently by the lounger.

“I better hoof it before the cops show up,” she muttered, bending to fasten them back on with still-shaky fingers.

He placed his hands on his hips, the towel still miraculously hitched there with Popeye's knot. “Inexpedient. You know I have security, right?”

“That needs replacing, yes.”

His mouth twitched, but his eyes stayed trained on her. Calculating. Curious. “You don’t do this often.”

She arched a brow, slipping on a heel. “Sex? Or talking to billionaires in towels?”

“You don’t get caught. But you’re not greedy either, you take just enough.”

She gave him her best grin—sharp, blameless. “I’m light-fingered with taste.”

“I know your play now.”

She paused mid-buckle, scoffing. “From a single fuck? Please, you do not.”

He said it, simple and unambiguous—“You’re acting out of necessity.”

The words dropped like a pin in a vault.

And her stomach did that thing again—flipped traitorously, like it forgot what team she was playing for. Even if it showed on her face, she masked it by standing too quickly, balancing all that tension in her calves and those goddamn heels. One foot out the door was always her secret weapon.

“A pretty big tangent, don’t you think?” he said casually. “From lifting watches to swiping shampoo bottles from the bathroom.”

But her hand, buried in the folds of her coat, curled tighter around the little Bulgari amenity kit she’d palmed like a lifeline. Conditioner, soap, even the shower cap—luxuries she didn’t demand, but had taken anyway. A permission to remember.

She kept her eyes forward, chin tilted, expression carved from cool marble. Still, her fingers gripped that miniature bottle like it might explain her—or what she refused to say out loud.

The guilt was feather-light. The habit was heavier.

Behind her, he shifted. She could feel the heat of him before she turned—wet curls, water beading off his collarbones, barefoot and beautiful, and still half a head taller.

She pivoted smoothly, letting the smile break across her lips. Blinding, forged in the alleyways of survival.

With a theatrical grace, she reached into her coat and produced the bag, and set it down on the nearest lounger like an offering at a goddamn altar.

“I’m sentimental,” she said airily, flipping her hair over the coat. “Didn’t want to take anything I couldn’t fence.”

He raised a brow. “I would’ve bought you a crate full if you said it.”

She snorted. “Then you’d expect a thank-you note. Maybe a handwritten apology for bruising your ego.”

“You think this is about ego?”

She was already walking, all legs and larceny, her heels clicking a decisive farewell toward the suite’s door. “It’s always about ego, honey. Yours, mine, New York’s.”

He let her go, for only a beat before: “So that’s it? You’re leaving me here?”

She didn’t answer.

“Empty-handed?” he added, trying for levity. But there was an edge in it. Uncertain, almost hurt.

That stopped her.

She turned slowly, heel catching the light. Her gaze roamed down his body—shoulders to smirk at the towel and his hands. She let her lips curl with the final review of her appraisal. A pause, then:

“No, Harry. You are.”

He blinked, stunned. Then laughed that deep, throaty laugh—quick, surprised, maybe even impressed.

“Wait... you stalked me?”

She was already halfway through the door, but her voice reached him in a whiff of perfume—soft, sweet, a last kiss goodbye. “I did. I'm largely underwhelmed.”

“Offence largely taken—!”

But the door snapped shut with the crisp punctuation of a woman who’d just stolen back her power.

The hallway waited, quiet and cooled by central air and generational wealth. The marble underfoot gleamed. Her heels made the kind of sound that said: I finally belong here. Or at least—I dare you to say I don’t.

She walked with no urgency, each step a slow, delicious exhale. No alarms or shouting, chock-full with expensive silence that forgave indulgence.

At the elevator, she pressed the button. Waited. Tucked her hands into the silk-lined pockets of the fur coat, not out of cold, but because she liked the feel of the significance of it in her palm. That familiar shape—warm now against her skin.

The fucking emerald ring.

It was there. A flicker of green fire between her fingers. She wasn’t even sure when she'd slipped it off him. Maybe when he trusted her enough to fall asleep or when he was deep inside her, and her mind had gone static. Maybe it had just… found her. It was fate.

The elevator dinged.

Without missing a beat, she stepped inside. Her reflection caught in the gold-trimmed mirror: hair wild and haloed, eyes glowing with triumph from an utterly bare face. The hotel robe had vanished; now it was the satin slip, the coat, the heels. Chaos in elegance.

And there it was—on her finger.

A perfect, vulgar gleam. Standing there like a question mark that didn’t need answering.

The doors started to close.

But a hand blocked them. Big, firm, wet. A horny reminder of last night.

They hurtled open again—and there her once target was.

Still in the goddamn towel. Dripping. Curls unruly. A single drop of water slid down his chest like it was tracing a signature. Harry’s hand braced the elevator door open, wide and planted, and his breath came just a little too fast for a man who pretended he never chased.

They just stared at each other.

She raised a brow. “Forgot your goodbye monologue?”

His lips curled lazily. “Forgot to ask if you’re free tonight.”

That stopped her. Not the inquiry—he asked as if this were a boardroom, and she was a merger he didn’t want to lose.

Her grin betrayed itself gloriously—and she had to bite her lip to contain the whole thing. The emerald was warm between her fingers now, hidden in the fur lining of her coat. Poor little rich boy didn’t know she’d swiped the emerald off his finger while he was too busy trying to memorise the shape of her name on his tongue. It was already cooling against her skin like a private joke.

“I don’t do second showings,” she said, tilting her head. “I believe in leaving them wanting.”

“No sex,” he replied smoothly. “Just dinner. A civilised meal. Wine optional. Clothes preferred.”

She took a step forward. Her heels whispered across the carpet like a signature. Her palm landed gently on his cheek, thumb trailing down the line of his jaw like she was testing for flaws in the marble.

“Dinner,” she repeated. “While you stare at the cutlery to see what I pocket?”

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. Those wondrous gears in his head turned where she could see them. “If it makes you feel better, sweetheart, I’ll buy the whole restaurant for one night. Want the chef? You can have them. Kitchen, too.”

She gave a soft snort. “Are you always this desperate to feed your dates?”

He smiled, unapologetic. “I like investing in volatile assets.”

Her eyes narrowed—amused. “And I like playing with over-leveraged men.”

He leaned in slightly, water glinting off his collarbone like jewellery. “Then this should be fun.”

She let her hand drop like a curtain call, but there was a hum beneath the restraint. “I’m not a return on investment.”

“Didn’t say I expected one.”

The elevator pinged—doors trying to slide shut again. He caught it reflexively, fingers splayed, blocking the sensors. He tilted his head knowingly, waiting for her.

She let a soft, exhilarated breath leave her. “Jesus, you’re persistent.”

“I’m intrigued.”

“Dangerous word.”

“Only if you’re worth the damage.” He thinned his eyes. “C'mon, try your luck a little more.”

That made her laugh—head tipped back, shoulders relaxed.

As the impatient elevator doors began to close again, she tapped the emerald glinting between her fingers against the rail once, a sharp clink, like a period at the end of a sentence. She let the metal sing.

A signature. A thief’s version of a calling card.

There was a fascination about them that felt depraved. Poetical. He knew the danger, and that she wasn’t just sharp around the edges—she was serrated. Unreliable. She was halfway to detonation, and still he lingered—like a man who’d light her twice, just to watch the world go up with her.

That was the thing about men like Harry Castillo. Chaos was their muse, especially when it walked like sin and smirked like it knew them.

The doors finally began to slide again with no interference.

“I'll find you, Eve,” Harry promised.

She blew him a kiss with two fingers, let her tongue click in pity. “Poor guy,” she whispered, turning her head the second before the elevator doors kissed closed.

-> PART TWO HERE.

part 2, anyone? 👀

taglist 🫶 { @oolongreads @divine-timings @jodiswiftle @bensonispunk @brittmb115 } - for the few interested sweethearts and babes, thank you!

927 notes · View notes

voyter · 8 months ago

Text

CRIMINAL ⋆ ( 정국 / JJK ) !

pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader

your boyfriend ends up loving your costume idea for the two of you more than he initially lets on.

⟡₊ ⊹ HALLOWEEN SPECIAL !

word count. 5.4k words warnings. jk and oc have matching costumes. vmin being the kings of halloween parties. slight crack. smut. roleplay dynamics. light bondage (handcuffs). oral (fem!receiving). handjob. unprotected sex (be safe girlies). switch!jungkook. switch!reader.

ana's notes. happy (late) halloween !!! this was originally supposed to be posted on the 30th but it wasnt finished .. so i was going to post it on actual halloween day but i got busy LMFAO IM A MESS !!! initially i wanted to do a kinktober but my ass couldnt even keep up with this so AINT NO WAYYY LMFAO IDK HOW YALL DO IT. BUT DONT FEAR ITS HERE NOW !! i had sm fun writing this, hope you love it as much as i do !! keep your comments positive or say nothing at all xx

For the past three years, Jimin and Taehyung have hosted their annual Halloween party. It's the one event they take seriously, spending hours planning the perfect invite list, décor, and food. Friends and acquaintances eagerly anticipate the night, knowing it'll be full of unforgettable moments, laughter, and chaos. Jimin and Taehyung always go all out, making their Halloween gathering the event of the season.

You and Jungkook have a tradition of matching costumes. The first year, you went as Harley Quinn, and Jungkook went as the Joker. That one's still one of your favorites — especially with Jungkook's green hair and tatted up face. He looked so good that night. The second year, you went for something bloodier: you, a sexy victim, and Jungkook as Ghostface. It was thrilling, especially when he made the night even better by fucking you with the mask still on. By the third year, you went classic as Mr. and Mrs. Smith, and Jungkook couldn't take his eyes off your tits spilling out of your corset. This year, you decided to skip the fictional characters and go with something a little simpler — but still hot. You were dressed as a cop, or rather, a slutty cop, and Jungkook was the prisoner.

"Don't you think this is a little basic?"

“Do you know how many people I’ve seen at these parties dressed as vampires and cats?” you retort, adjusting your costume and checking yourself out in the mirror. “Trust me, baby, no one cares.”

Jungkook, clad in an orange jumpsuit, glares at you through the mirror. "I just hate orange," he says monotonously.

You turn around and face him, giving him a smirk. "You'll survive. Besides, you make anything look good."

He smirks, leaning down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. Your arms snake around his neck, fingers threading through the hair at his nape. His hands roam from your waist to your ass, squeezing the soft flesh in his large palms, pulling you closer. But just as things start to heat up, you push him back with a playful grin.

"Not now," you say, breathlessly. "We have to be there in a few."

Jungkook huffs in frustration, but doesn't argue. And even though he's not thrilled about his costume, the way his gaze darkens tells you he's already imagining what's to come later tonight. He knows he'll get you out of that outfit later.

When you and Jungkook walk into the party, it’s all familiar faces. Laughter and cheers erupt the moment they spot you two, with Jungkook’s arms handcuffed behind his back, the bright orange of his jumpsuit standing out in the crowd. You guide him confidently by gripping his arm, playing the role of the stern cop escorting her prisoner.

Jungkook looks equal parts annoyed and amused, his usual cocky attitude momentarily restrained by the handcuffs, though the way his lips twitch hints at his playful frustration. The room seems to buzz with energy as people start teasing him the moment you step through the door.

“No fucking way you agreed to this!” Jimin exclaims, eyes wide in disbelief as he takes in the sight of Jungkook in handcuffs. Without missing a beat, he grabs the camera hanging around his neck, the polaroid already set and ready to capture every costume of the night. “Oh, I have to take a picture of this. Tae, hold my drink!”

Without waiting for a response, Jimin thrusts his red solo cup into Taehyung’s chest, some of the liquid sloshing out and soaking into Taehyung’s blazer. Tae rolls his eyes but doesn’t complain, knowing this is typical Jimin behavior.

Jimin hurriedly pushes his sunglasses up into his hair and pulls out the polaroid camera, eyes gleaming with excitement as he positions himself in front of you. You smirk, grabbing your belt, keeping your expression serious like a true cop on duty. Jungkook plays along, tilting his head to the side with a playful pout, his lips pursed like he’s posing for a dramatic mugshot.

With a click, the camera flashes, capturing the moment perfectly. A second later, the familiar buzz of the camera sounds as the polaroid slowly rises from the slot at the top. Jimin pulls the photo out, shaking it lightly as the image begins to develop.

“Had no choice,” Jungkook grumbles. “Whatever girlfriend wants, girlfriend gets.”

Taehyung laughs, shaking his head. “Bro, you’re so fucking whipped,” he teases.

“Fuck off,” Jungkook mutters, though he can’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “What are you two supposed to be, anyway?”

Jimin looks genuinely offended at the question, pulling his sunglasses back down over his eyes as if that alone should make it obvious. “Hello? Men in Black!”

He points his plastic gun at Jungkook. Beside him, Taehyung pulls out a shiny MIB card.

“Aw, I was really hoping you two would take my advice and go as Dumb and Dumber,” you pout, crossing your arms dramatically.

Jimin and Taehyung exchange offended looks, grimacing at your suggestion.

Jimin puts his plastic gun back in its holster with a flourish, shaking his head. “Respectfully, fuck you,” he replies, a teasing glint in his eyes.

You playfully lift a hand as if to strike him, your expression mock serious. Just then, more people start to stream into the home, their laughter and chatter filling the air.

“Well, since we are so extremely popular, we’ll meet back up with you guys soon.” Jimin says, turning to Taehyung, “We’ve got more people to greet.”

“Don’t get freaky in any of the bedrooms! I swear on my life I will kill you both,” Taehyung exclaims, shooting a warning glance over his shoulder as he follows Jimin into the crowd.

You roll your eyes, amusement dancing in your gaze.

"Alright, baby, can you take the handcuffs off now, please?" Jungkook whines, eyebrows knitting in genuine discomfort. "My arms are starting to hurt in this position."

"Keep begging like that, maybe I will," you tease, enjoying the playful power dynamic between you two.

Jungkook smirks, leaning in closer to amp up the charm. "Oh, please, officer? I promise I'll be such a good boy,"

You scrunch your nose in exaggerated disapproval. "Never do that again," you reply, trying to sound serious but unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckles, the sound warm and inviting, as you turn him around, your fingers brushing against his wrists. The thrill of the moment sends a rush through you as you unlock the cuffs with the small key, the metal clinking softly as you release him.

He turns around, his hands sneaking around your waist and pulling you closer, the warmth of his body igniting a spark of electricity between you. You smile up at him, feeling a thrill at the proximity.

“Shouldn’t have done that,” he says, his voice low and playful. “Now who knows what kind of crimes I’m gonna commit again?” He looks down at you, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“Careful, prisoner,” you warn, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Don’t forget, I’m watching you tonight.”

He holds his hands up in mock defense, a grin spreading across his face. “I promise to behave… for now,” he replies, the challenge in his tone clear as he leans in just a little closer.

You can feel the heat radiating off him, and despite your attempt to keep things light, the air feels charged with unspoken tension. “You’d better,” you say, trying to maintain an authoritative tone but failing as a smile breaks through. “I don’t take kindly to rule breakers.”

“Oh, I know,” he replies, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial tone. “But I can’t help it if I’m naturally inclined to break the rules when I’m around you.” With that, he leans in, brushing his lips against your ear as he whispers, “What if I promised to make it worth your while?”

A shiver runs down your spine at his words, and you step back slightly to meet his gaze, your heart racing. “You’re incorrigible,” you say, shaking your head, but your smile betrays your amusement.

“Only for you,” he quips, and the way he looks at you… you just know this Halloween night was going to be wild.

You stood corrected.

A few drinks into Jungkook's system, and any pretense of annoyance about the costume was long gone. His hands seemed to find your waist every chance they got, fingers tracing the curves of your hips with a needy grip. His lips, once teasing, were now constantly seeking yours, trailing kisses from your neck to your lips whenever you were within arm's reach.

Even in a crowded room, Jungkook's attention was locked on you, his dark gaze following your every movement. And each time you caught him staring, he'd flash you a cheeky grin before pulling you into another heated kiss, making it clear just how much he was enjoying your costume — and the power it had over him.

Getting a drunk Jungkook home was a damn task. The moment you got him in the car, he was all over you. As you navigated through the quiet streets, his fingers slid up your thigh, kneading it with a firm grip that sent sparks of heat racing through you. Each touch made focusing on the road harder, especially when he leaned over the console, his lips grazing your neck in a series of lazy, warm kisses.

"Jungkook, you need to calm down," you warned, trying to keep your focus on the road as his kisses sent shivers down your spine.

He huffed, not wanting to stop but eventually relented, throwing himself back into his seat dramatically. He crossed his arms like a child who'd been denied his favorite toy, his lips forming a deep pout.

You glanced over at him, biting back a smile as he sulked in his seat. "Aw, I’m sorry baby. Almost home, then you can do whatever you want," you teased, knowing full well that his patience would snap the second you both stepped through the front door.

Like a bunny, his ears seemed to perk up at your words, his pout disappearing instantly. He sat back in his seat with a huge grin plastered on his face, the sudden shift in his mood almost comical. It was as if he'd forgotten all about sulking, now fully focused on the promise you'd made.

Surprisingly, Jungkook behaved as you both got out of the car and made your way to your apartment floor. He walked beside you quietly, though the anticipation was clear in the way he kept glancing at you, his grin never fully fading. His restraint was impressive, given how wild he'd been earlier, but you could feel the tension radiating off him, like a predator waiting for the perfect moment.

The second you unlocked the door, though, all that restraint snapped. Jungkook practically pounced, pushing the door closed behind you as he pressed you against it, his lips finding yours in a hungry kiss. His hands were everywhere at once — grabbing your waist, pulling you closer, one hand sliding up your back while the other dipped dangerously low.

Your sloppy kisses didn't break for a second as you stumbled through the apartment, laughter and heated breaths filling the air until you reached the bedroom. The second you got to the edge of the bed, Jungkook gave you a playful shove, making you fall back onto the mattress with a grin tugging at his lips. His eyes never left yours as he hovered above you, reconnecting your lips in a feverish kiss, his hunger for you palpable.

His mouth began its slow descent, trailing kisses down the curve of your neck, leaving a warm, tingling path in its wake. When he reached your cleavage, he paused, his lips lingering there as his fingers found the zipper of your bodysuit. With a swift motion, he unzipped it, freeing your breasts from the fabric. His eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight of you, a low groan escaping his throat.

Without hesitation, he leaned down, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it in slow, deliberate circles. The sensation sent a shudder through your body, a sharp gasp leaving your lips as your back arched in response. Your hand instinctively found its way into his hair, gripping the soft strands, guiding him as he lavished attention on you.

Jungkook's mouth left your bud with a soft pop, his lips slightly swollen as he looked at you with a mix of desire and admiration. Without wasting a second, he pushed the rest of the bodysuit down your frame, his hands quick and eager as he stripped you of the remaining fabric.

“You seduce all the officers like this?” you tease, your voice light but laced with a hint of challenge as you looked down at him at the foot of the bed.

Jungkook paused for a second, momentarily confused by the question. But then it clicked, and when he realized you were still playing into the roleplay from earlier, his expression shifted. His lips curled into a mischievous smirk, eyes narrowing slightly as he fully embraced the dynamic again.

“Only the ones I can’t resist,” Jungkook murmured, his voice dripping with playful seduction.

His teasing words sent a shiver down your spine, the tension between you both thickening with every passing second. His hands moved with skilled precision as he unzipped your boots, tugging them off one by one. The boots were discarded carelessly, the clatter of them hitting the floor barely registering as Jungkook’s focus remained fixed on you, eyes dark and full of hunger.

With a firm grip, Jungkook tugged at the bodysuit, sliding it off your frame in one fluid motion, the fabric slipping away as easily as the last remnants of his restraint. He didn’t stop there — your fishnets followed quickly, leaving you in nothing but your panties. His gaze devoured you, his eyes darkening with each lingering second on your bare skin. He bit into his bottom lip, his excitement almost palpable as his eyes traced every curve of your body like he was committing each inch to memory.

Grabbing your ankle, he lifted your leg gently, a smirk playing on his lips as he began a slow, deliberate trail of kisses from your ankle up toward your inner thigh. Each kiss sent a jolt of heat through your body, his touch maddeningly slow, teasing you with every lingering press of his lips.

“If you’ll let me,” he murmured against your skin, his voice husky and full of promise, before kissing your thigh once more. “I did promise to make it worth your while.”

“Show me what you got, criminal,” you smirk, your voice laced with challenge and desire.

Jungkook’s smirk matched yours, his eyes darkening with intent as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties. In one swift, fluid motion, he pulled them down, the fabric sliding easily over your legs. The second they left your skin, his gaze fixed on the damp spot left behind, a low moan escaping his lips as his hunger for you deepened.

“Look at that,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His fingers traced the wetness left on the cloth before lifting his eyes to meet yours, his smirk widening. “Already so wet for me, officer.”

The playful teasing from earlier had melted away completely, replaced with raw, undeniable need. Without hesitation, Jungkook lowered himself between your legs, his breath hot against your inner thighs. His lips hovered just above your core, his eyes flicking up to meet yours one last time before he leaned in, determined to show you exactly what he had in store. His tongue made the first slow, deliberate pass over your slick folds, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through your body.

Your body reacted instinctively to the sensation, arching your back slightly as a soft moan escaped your lips. You melted into the bed, fingers gripping the sheets tightly as waves of pleasure rippled through you, the intensity of it all leaving you breathless.

It was when he latched his mouth onto your clit, the cool metal of his lip piercing sending shockwaves through your body, that you felt a fresh wave of ecstasy wash over you. Your body shook involuntarily, a reaction to the exquisite pleasure he was delivering.

“So good, baby,” you moaned, your voice breathy and filled with longing as you looked down at the man between your legs. Jungkook’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, dark and smoldering, the corner of his mouth twitching into a playful smirk as he enjoyed your reaction to his ministrations.

"Yeah?" he mumbled, his lips brushing against your slick heat, sending a shiver up your spine. "Am I a good criminal, officer?"

Though it had started as playful banter back at Jimin and Taehyung’s house, the way Jungkook was slipping into this submissive role now felt different — kind of sexy. The intensity in his voice, the way he was looking up at you, it was doing things to you that you hadn’t quite expected.

You bit your lip, nodding as you reached down, finding his hand and intertwining your fingers with his. "Mhm, so good for me," you whispered, the words coming out more breathless than you intended. The shift in the dynamic added a new layer to the tension between you both, and you couldn’t deny how much you liked it.

He hummed in satisfaction against your skin, his tongue working skillfully, each stroke more deliberate than the last, as if determined to draw every last sound of pleasure from your lips. You could feel the tension building within you, and with every flick and suck, he pushed you further into a state of bliss. The warmth of his mouth, combined with the gentle squeeze of his hand in yours, only heightened the sensations coursing through your body. You could feel yourself unraveling, bit by bit, under his expert touch.

You lift your other hand, your fingers tangling in his soft, raven hair, pushing it back to reveal his forehead. The sight of his knitted eyebrows makes your stomach flip — he always does that when he’s savoring something, and right now, that something is you. Your grip tightens in his hair, pulling him closer, pushing his face deeper into you. His nose brushes against your clit with each motion, and you can't help but buck your hips slightly, your body moving instinctively as you practically ride his face.

Your moans become louder, filling the room with the raw sound of pleasure, almost pornographic in intensity. The way his mouth moves against you, his tongue expertly flicking and teasing, drives you wild. You feel his moans vibrate against your sopping pussy, sending shockwaves through your entire body. The more you push him into you, the more he responds, his hands gripping your thighs as he devours you, thoroughly enjoying every second of it. You’re lost in the heat of the moment, each wave of pleasure building to something inevitable, your body teetering on the edge of bliss.

With one final buck of your hips, his nose pressing firmly against your clit, the pleasure overwhelms you. Your release crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body trembling as you cum against his face. A loud, raw moan tears from your throat, your back arching off the bed as the intensity of your orgasm takes over. Your thighs instinctively begin to close around Jungkook’s head, but he doesn’t mind in the slightest — if anything, it only drives him further.

He stays right there, nestled between your legs, his tongue continuing to lap up every drop of your release. If he had it his way, he'd happily stay there forever. His hand gently caresses your thighs, soothing you through the aftershocks as your body relaxes, your breathing still ragged as you come down from the high.

Jungkook removes his hand from yours gently, rising up from the floor. Fully clothed, he crawls up the bed, hovering above you with a smirk that sends a thrill down your spine. His mouth glistens with a mix of his saliva and your slick, a tantalizing reminder of what just transpired.

Without warning, he leans down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. The taste of yourself lingers on his tongue, and you can’t help but moan into his mouth, the intimacy of the moment amplifying the heat between you. You feel him grinding his hips into your heat, seeking relief for the ache in his cock, and it drives you wild. The friction ignites another wave of desire, your body responding eagerly to his every movement.

He leans back down, reconnecting your lips, unable to get enough of you. The urgency in his movements tells you he's craving more, needing the connection as much as you do. Without breaking the kiss, you smoothly shift positions, pushing him back onto the bed. His body sinks into the mattress, and now it's your turn to be on top, looking down at him with a teasing smile. You sit up, fingers working the buttons of his jumpsuit as he watches you, his eyes dark with desire.

"Do good prisoners get anything in return?" he asks, his voice low, teasing.

"Yeah," you say with a smirk. "Freedom."

Your giggle fills the room as Jungkook kisses his teeth in mock annoyance, rolling his eyes at your cheeky response. Still, a smile tugs at the corners of his lips, showing he's just as amused as you are.

"I'm sure there's other officers that'll give you something," you tease, your fingers still working on the jumpsuit.

"What if I want someone in particular?" he responds, his tone more serious, the heat in his gaze intensifying.

"I'm sure that can be arranged," you murmur.

With a smirk, Jungkook sits up swiftly, his hands making quick work of pulling the jumpsuit off his frame. The fabric falls away, revealing his toned, broad chest — the very sight that always makes your breath hitch. You can't help but admire him for a moment, your eyes roaming over every inch of him, from his sculpted chest to the way his abs tense under your gaze.

He catches the look in your eyes, his grin widening as he notices how you're practically staring. "Like what you see, officer?" he teases.

Ugh, slut.

"You know I do," you reply, your fingers tracing over the tattoos decorating his skin before you press your lips against his again, losing yourself in the kiss as your bodies draw closer.

Your kisses travel south, lips brushing over the warm skin of his neck, chest, and abs, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. When you kneel between his legs, you can't help but notice how hard he is. A wet spot glistens where he’d been grinding against you earlier, evidence of the friction that’s left you both desperate for more.

"Baby, hurry up," Jungkook whines, his voice thick with impatience, the need evident in his tone.

You raise an eyebrow, biting back a smirk. "Refer to me correctly," you command, wanting to tease him just a little longer.

He chuckles softly. "Officer, please hurry up," he says, playing along, his words dripping with need.

“Good boy,” you coo with a smile.

Your fingers hook under the waistband of his jumpsuit and boxers simultaneously, yanking them down in one swift motion. His cock springs free, hard and eager, the pink tip glistening with precum. It’s begging to be touched, twitching slightly under your gaze as you admire him, and you can feel the heat radiating off him.

You let your hand glide slowly up his thigh, teasing him with featherlight touches, savoring the way his muscles tense under your fingers. Jungkook's head falls back against the mattress, a low, desperate moan slipping from his lips as he exhales, his chest rising and falling with the anticipation building between you.

You giggle softly, enjoying how easily you’re driving him wild. Finally, you wrap your hand around his thick, hard cock, your fingers squeezing his length gently but firmly. His reaction is immediate — his hips buck slightly as he lets out a deep, shaky moan.

"Oh, fuck yeah," he groans, his voice low and husky, the sound making you smile even wider.

You start to stroke him slowly, enjoying the feeling of him pulsing in your hand. His hands grip the sheets, knuckles turning white, and his eyes squeeze shut in bliss. The way he reacts to every little movement you make has you feeling powerful, completely in control.

"My pussy turn you on this much?" you tease, your voice dripping with playfulness, a smirk tugging at your lips as you continue to stroke him slowly, deliberately.

Jungkook's moan deepens, his hips bucking slightly into your hand, completely at your mercy.

"Always," he groans, his voice breathless. "Can never get enough of it."

Such a sweet boy. You reward him by quickening your strokes, picking up the pace and driving him wild. His response is immediate — his body tenses, and a low, guttural moan escapes his lips.

Jungkook's hand darts to yours, gripping the one resting on his thigh, his fingers intertwining with yours tightly. His touch is needy, desperate, as if holding on to you will keep him grounded while the pleasure you’re giving him threatens to overwhelm him.

His breath becomes ragged as you continue working him expertly. He bites his lip, trying to hold himself together under your touch. You can tell he’s getting closer, every stroke pushing him toward the edge.

“W- wanna cum in your pussy, please,” Jungkook whines, his voice trembling with need.

You smirk, teasing him further. “Do you?”

He hums in response, the sound more like a moan, his desperation palpable.

“Okay,” you say, your voice soft but commanding. “Since you’ve been so good for me.”

You pull away from his cock, climbing on top of him, the hunger in his eyes unmistakable. Leaning down, you capture his lips with yours, and he responds eagerly, his hands sliding down the arch of your back, gripping your ass tightly, kneading it in his large palms.

Then, without warning, a sudden surge of dominance overtakes him. In one swift move, Jungkook flips you both over, hovering above you with a glint in his eye. He gives you a teasing peck on the lips, but before you can react, he flips you onto your stomach, effortlessly manhandling you as though you weigh nothing.

With your back turned to him, the sound of rustling heightens your anticipation. You can’t see what Jungkook is doing, but the moment you feel his grip on your arm, your heart races. The cold, familiar touch of metal against your wrist makes it clear — he's handcuffing you.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as he tightens the cuffs around your other wrist, pulling your arms behind your back. You’re completely at his mercy now, and the vulnerability only fuels the fire between your legs.

“Am I still a good boy?” he teases, his voice dripping with playful mischief.

“Bad boy,” you manage to reply, though the excitement surging through you betrays your words. The restriction, the control — it all makes your pussy throb with need.

The sound of the slap reverberates through the room, sending a sharp sting of pleasure coursing through your body. You jolt forward, moaning in response, your skin tingling from the impact. Jungkook grabs the chain of the handcuffs, pulling on it slightly, adding a thrilling sense of restraint to the moment.

His other hand grabs his cock, and you feel the deliberate tease as he slaps it against your pussy, spreading your slickness over his length. It’s torturous — how long he’s making you wait. But finally, after what feels like an eternity, he slowly pushes himself inside you.

You gasp, your walls stretching to accommodate him, while Jungkook releases a low, guttural groan, his breath catching at the sensation of being enveloped by your heat. He pauses for a moment, savoring the feeling, his fingers still gripping the handcuffs. The tension in the air is palpable, each movement sending shivers down your spine as he begins to move, his hips rocking into you with slow, deliberate thrusts.

Your breath comes out in heavy gasps, your face buried in the mattress as his pace quickens, his hips slamming into you with a steady rhythm. The sensation of being filled so completely has you whimpering, your body melting into the bed as you push back against him, craving more with every stroke. Each thrust is more intense than the last, the bed creaking beneath you as the slick sound of his cock sliding in and out of your wet pussy echoes through the room.

Jungkook’s grip tightens on the handcuff chain, yanking you back harder onto his cock. “All your other prisoners fuck you this good?” he growls.

A smirk curls your lips. He’s still milking this roleplay. He doesn’t voice it out, but he feels your pussy clench around him. You like this.

“Only you,” you moan, your voice breathy.

“That’s right,” he groans, his tone low and possessive.

Jungkook's pace quickens, the slap of his hips against your ass echoing through the room, his thrusts relentless. The headboard bangs rhythmically against the wall. He yanks the chain of the handcuffs harder, pulling your body back onto him in sync with every deep, punishing thrust.

Your body trembles beneath him, your moans now uncontrollable as the pressure builds to an almost unbearable height. Every drive of his cock inside you sends a jolt of pleasure through your body, his roughness pushing you to the brink. His deep groans mix with your cries, the heat between you reaching its peak, and you can feel yourself getting closer, your climax just within reach.

“You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he teases, his voice rough and low, dripping with lust. The heat in his tone sends another wave of pleasure coursing through you, and you can only nod, your voice caught in your throat as a moan escapes your lips, barely coherent.

His cock drags against your walls, hitting that perfect spot over and over, each thrust igniting a fire within you. Your body is a live wire, every nerve ending alight with sensation as the pressure coils tighter and tighter inside you, building towards a breaking point.

“Come on then, baby,” he growls, pulling you back hard against him, his grip firm and possessive. “Be a good officer and cum. I deserve it, don’t I?”

“Yes! Yes! You deserve it so much!” you manage to reply, the words spilling from your lips like a prayer.

“I’m such a good boy for you, huh?” he presses, his breath hot against your ear, his hips driving deeper.

“Such a good boy, my baby,” you affirm, your voice trembling with need.

With a few more final, deep thrusts, your body shudders as the last waves of your sweet release ripple through you, your pussy clenching tightly around him. That tightness pushes Jungkook over the edge, and with a loud, needy moan, he releases into you, his hips faltering as he shoots his load deep inside. His groan fills the room as his cock throbs within you, emptying himself completely, the warmth of his cum spreading through you.

For a moment, the only sound is both of your heavy breathing, the heat of the moment still lingering in the air as your bodies stay connected.

Jungkook carefully unlocks the handcuffs, freeing your wrists from the restraints. He tosses them aside, his concern immediately turning to you as he notices the redness on your skin. Gently, he takes your wrists in his hands, massaging them softly, his brows furrowed with worry.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” he asks, his voice tender and full of concern.

“No, baby,” you reassure him, leaning in to kiss his lips softly, easing the tension he’s holding onto. You give him a few more sweet pecks, including one on his cheek, his boyish charm making you smile.

After cleaning up and peeing to avoid an infection, he helps you settle into bed, pulling you into his arms. His warmth envelops you, his face nestled against your neck, and you feel the soft brush of his breath against your skin. Your arms wrap around him instinctively, holding him close as the moment quiets. The heat from your bodies mingles with the gentle stillness of the room, creating a cocoon of intimacy and comfort that lulls you both toward sleep.

As your eyes grow heavy, his voice breaks the silence, low and a little playful. "I think I enjoyed that costume more than I thought," he murmurs against your neck.

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook imagine

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antimony-medusa · 2 months ago

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Okay so, Phil has blocked Dadza in his chat. He is responding to people calling him dad by saying that he's not people's dad. That's where we're at. And I have seen people on Twitter and in chat starting to panic about this. "Is papa okay," "Can we still call you Crowfather," "is fic okay", "can we still call mumza mumza", "what about peepaw," "Is art okay", "but you're my online father". It's kind of a mess there. So. Just to ponder this publicly, I want to go over a few things I see people starting to spiral about—

"Is Papa okay": I am inferring a little bit based on my age (I'm Phil's age) and my experience of having people just start mom-assigning me because of my age, and things like how Phil has reacted to people calling him dad, but I would say probably that things like papa and grandza and dad and pai and father might be something to be avoided in his chat/tts. He's blocked the term dadza, because you can block that specific term and not catch people talking about their family, but in terms of calling him other words for father, like, I will be honest here: people you don't know calling you their parent is not a socially neutral act. It's kind of a lot. He was going along with it during the pandemic, because people were desperate and hurting, but we are not in a place of social crisis any more. He doesn't want to be a father figure, he's just a guy. Just call him Phil, or Mr Minecraft, or Mr Za, Mr Kristin'sHusband if you have to have a title. Calling people some form of parent if you don't know them is very familiar and intimate, and if you don't know that person, it can come off as a lot. If it's happening over and over again, it's easy to get sick of it. Now you know.

"Can we still call mumza mumza" Okay so with this, she has a perfectly good name right there, but also she still has Mumza in her bio. People are not donoing her three times a week to ask her to be proud of them or to trauma dump. She's said it's okay. Consider just using her name if you're talking in chat, but you are not going to get timed out for mumza right now.

"We need to tell everyone in the tag," Okay so like sure, tell your friends what words not to use in chat, but Kristin was also in chat yesterday telling people that it's going to take a while for people to get used to this, so don't bully people. Streamers have said multiple times that they don't want their fans to get in fights or discourse or drama or bullying in their name. Just like— okay, now you know, now you can tell your friend what words to not use to avoid being timed out, now you know what not to do at a meet and greet— and then you can live your life. You do not need to police other people— the streamer has mods and blocked terms and can enforce this in his chat.

"Is fic still okay" Like okay. This is one that I am begging people not to ask the streamer personally. Do not make streamer weigh in on family dynamic fics— he doesn't read them, he's not interested, he's never read them. They have never been for the streamer (or for Kristin), they are for other fans who want to read about how cute it would be if SBI was babies and Phil was a good dad. Or how fucked up it would be if Tommy was kidnapped and menaced by Phil. Or how sad it would be if Technoblade was abused by Phil hashtag bad ending. Or how comforting it would be if Reader is abused and gets adopted by Phil and finally has a home and gets a hug. None of that has EVER been for the streamer to look at— he's not gonna like it! He's probably gonna find it weird, because it's people using his persona to do all kinds of things, half of which are literal crimes, often to his adult friends, but this character's got his name on him. There are all kind of fics that are just written because someone's got a fun/cute/sad idea, and nothing bad is intended about the actual streamer, cause the writer was thinking about the fic character that has his name, not the streamer in the north of england, but it's still going to be kind of weird for the streamer to hear about it.

That's why we don't bring up fic or certain types of art in chat ANYWAYS. Phil is not going to want to hear about the character with his name being mind broken so much worse by the ender king isn't it angsty. And that's not because there's anything off-colour about mind breaking his character via the ender king (I rub my hands together anticipatorily), that's because that's for other fans to go spam weeping emojis in the comments about, that's not for the streamer. Streamer is busy playing block game and watching space youtube and reading manga and being married to his lovely wife. He's not reading fic. Don't show him fic. Keep that over here with the people who actually want to read it. Fic is fine, you're just bashing dolls together, but don't show it to the streamer.

So, is fic still okay? It's okay, it's always been okay, just don't show it to streamer. You now know that he doesn't want to see dad stuff. That does not mean that you are doing something wrong if you write dad stuff off in your corner of tumblr, where he is not. Tag your stuff, don't put it in his chat or discord, and show it to people who are going to find it fun, not streamer. Make it so that he never has to think about that. Let him live his life. Don't put dad stuff in his chat or discord or mentions, let him be just a guy playing block game, and you're good.

#philza #i don't know if this post is anything I just saw so much spiralling yesterday and on twitter

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lovelettersfromluna · 2 months ago

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Love Me Not

summary: “Oh, it’s hard to leave you when I get you everywhere”

an: Hi 😳. I know okay…I KNOW!!! It’s here, and it’s done, and Jesus Christ I seriously hope you like it. This series was soooo much fun but boy am I glad it’s finished. I have been sitting on this one for way too long, it’s about time it’s given to you all. You waited so patiently, and for that i am forever grateful. Enjoy darlings 🤍🤍🤍

warnings: MDNI!! 18+ fic!!, smut!, angst!, sub!Ellie bc she’s a fucking mess for this girl poor thing. Mentions of alcohol, tribbing, oral (Ellie!receiving), edging, Ellie is super duper soft in this one. Pls lmk if I missed anything!!!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Ellie could count on her hands the amount of times she’d been hung up over a girl.

There was that one time when she was really young. There was a girl in her class with the most mesmerizing hair, curls that bounced like coils every time she moved. Ellie was like 6 and had no idea how to navigate the puppy love crush she had on her classmate, so never truly said anything. That one always really sticks, since it was her first real crush and not some cartoon character.

Then there was another girl in her seventh grade science class. Ellie sat right behind her, and always got a whiff of her fruity smelling body spray. Ellie’s sure if she smelled it today she’d be transported to a time of puberty and skinny jeans. One day the girl turned around and asked Ellie for a pencil and she completely froze. Body spray girl stared at Ellie like she had three heads, confused as to why she’d suddenly turned into a statue with not even a shake of the head to her pencil request.

These awkward, unrequited crushes fizzled out once Ellie got the high school. She’d found herself in a way, straightened it her posture so she didn’t walk with a slouch, ditch her god awful permanent pony tail for a choppy bob, revamped her wardrobe, did all the things she had to do to feel comfortable in her own skin rather than trying to wear one she didn’t fit in.

In the process of all this, the girls at school found her too.

She was almost overwhelmed with the attention she started getting during her freshman year. Imagine her, poor thing practically shaking in her boots while the girls flocked her like moths to a flame in the girls bathroom while they changed for gym class, practically shoving their phones into Ellie’s chest to exchange phone numbers and social media tags.

The moment Ellie accepted it and actually decided to speak to these girls, she learned that she was in fact a natural born flirt. It had always been there, she’d just been too chicken shit to apply herself.

Your brother was there during all of this too, following along as they both left you in the dust, welcoming the attention they bother gained from their transformations over the summertime. It was like overnight, the dynamic duo suddenly ruled the school and had all the girls at their feet.

So yeah, it was all of two times and when it did happen, it was because she was still terrified of the way girls made her feel.

But god….none of that came close to what you were doing to her now.

She was an adult now, an adult who wasn’t interested in a relationship right now. It wasn’t like she was a slut or anything, she simply liked her freedom. She liked hanging out with her friends, she liked being able to go where she wanted without feeling obligated to tell a girl where she was or what she was doing. She didn’t want anyone breathing down her back every waking minute of her life.

So if that was true? Why the hell were you the only thing on her mind.

Sure…you’ve always been cute. You were always around, trailing behind Ellie and your brother, trying your best to keep up while simultaneously annoying the hell out of them to include you in whatever they were getting into that day. You were the textbook little sister, a brother and his best friends worst nightmare.

It got even worse when you started to get older.

You stopped trying to tag along, finding your own friends to occupy your time during weekends and summer break. You no longer trailed behind them all day, opting to ditch them for your own friends instead. In this time, you were getting over your own awkward phase. Finding yourself and what made you feel the most comfortable in your skin.

It was hard to ignore you. Ellie was only human after all, and a pretty girl was a pretty girl, which you were (very pretty might Ellie add). Ellie wasn’t the strongest soldier, so seeing you prance around your house in your cute little overalls and dresses was one of her hardest battles. And it wasn’t like Derek ever explicitly told her to back off of his little sister. Sure, Derek was protective, but you were your own person. If you and Ellie hit it off, then who was he to get in the way of that?

But that wasn’t even it. Derek didn’t have the slightest inkling that there were any feelings between you and Ellie, he had no room to think about that because of how much Ellie disliked you, or at least how much she seemed to dislike you.

That was all Ellie. She’d always brushed you off, even when you were little. That was mainly because no one ever really wants the annoying kid sister to bother them, however it went beyond that once you all got older. Ellie wasn’t annoyed, or uninterested in whatever it was that you had to say, she was downright cruel. Bitter and mean was an understatement, and she could see the way each and every mean word she shot your way only further cemented the perception that there would never be a world where you and her could survive.

Because she saw it. She saw it in the way your eyes would linger on her, or the way you’d smile brightly whenever you walked in with a fresh baked batch of cookies or whatever the hell it was you were baking. Just because you’d found a life of your own, it didn’t mean you stopped trying to wiggle your way into Ellie and your brothers festivities from time to time.

Ellie knew that you were trouble, and she wasn’t going to let you drag her down a path she knew she’d regret.

You were too sweet, too fucking kind. Ellie knew that if she indulge in you for even a second, you’d want something more than what she could give. She could see it in your eyes, even though you did little to give it away. Ellie could see through it all, and risking your feelings and the relationship with her best friend was something she didn’t want to even begin thinking of doing. Being a total bitch to you was the only answer that made sense to Ellie.

Never did a million years did Ellie think that during a routine summer trip back home, you’d come in and fuck all of that up for her.

Because now you’re on her mind all the time. Ellie dreams about you, she falls asleep thinking about you, she wakes up thinking about you, there really isn’t a time during the day that she isn’t thinking of you. It’s suffocating, and it drives her fucking crazy because all she can think about is when she can have you again, what plan she could orchestrate that will grant her the blessing that is you. She’d fly to the moon and back without a spacesuit on if it meant she could have you without the complications that came with it all.

You linger in the back of her mind, the smell of your skin wafting into her nostrils during random points in the day, times where you aren’t even near her. The feeling of your lips on hers is cemented into her brain, making her weak in the knees every time her eyes flutter shut and she’s able to make out the feeling of your sweet mouth pressed against hers. The shape of your body feels like a puzzle piece, slotted perfectly into hers and molding against her, making her feel like there really isn’t anywhere in the world she belongs more than she belongs with you.

Ellies never felt like this about anyone, and it’s fucking scare her.

It’s how she ended up here, sitting on the couch in your living room and waiting for you to come downstairs and explain yourself.

She saw red when she heard you through the door, your sweet moans contained by the thick walls of your bedroom. Ellie thinks back to when those moans were for her, when you she had you a whining mess beneath her, begging to cum. She remembers how pretty your eyes were when you tugged her down for a kiss, they were practically sparkling with a need that drove Ellie fucking insane.

Knowing that someone else was seeing you that way made her blood run cold.

She didn’t sleep a wink that night, storming down the stairs of your house and settling on your couch. She was like a statue, unmoving as she waited for the inevitable moment that you’d finally come downstairs. A small part of her hoped you’d kick Abby out the same way you kicked her out the last time you were together, seemingly chalking it up to you wanting to sleep in your bed alone.

But time continued to pass, and the sun began to seep into the big windows of your home, and that never happened.

No, you stayed up there with Abby all night. You couldn’t really bring yourself to turn her away after your night together. Her strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into her chest as her hand came up to gently stroke your hair as you fell asleep. It was blissful, the first night since your time with Ellie you were able to sleep with your mind free of the green eyed monster that had taken over your life.

Abby wakes you up with kisses to your neck, her hand slipping under the hem of your t shirt and stroking your bare skin gently as she pulls you out of your dreams. It’s almost too much, the warmth she brings overwhelming as she wakes you up. You dread the moment you’ll have to get up and walk her downstairs.

Little did you know, Abby leaving was the least of your worries.

The sound of your giggles breaks Ellie out of her various daydreams about how she’ll give you and Abby a piece of her mind. She ignores the way it makes her heart flutter, instead keeping her head straight as the sounds of your footsteps grow closer and closer.

“I should be free next Friday…I just need to make sure Derek doesn’t have any plans-“ your flirty words are abruptly stopped once you reach the bottom of the stairs and catch Ellie sitting on the couch.

“Ellie?” You call out softly, your lips tugging down into a gentle frown as you watch the girl staring blankly at the black tv screen.

She inhales deeply before finally standing up from the couch and turning around to watch you. Her appearance nearly makes you gasp, her eyes are low and dull, staring straight into your soul as her tattooed arms cross over her chest. Her tongue darts out slowly to wet her chapped lips before she exhales through her nose.

With the way she’s staring at you, you’re sure that whatever she’ll say next will be directed at you. Her stare is intense and it makes your stomach coil as you stare into her eyes, feeling like she’s judging you as she bores holes into your skull.

But to your surprise, she doesn’t.

Her state shifts behind to to Abby, who’s been silently standing behind you as she watches the awkward stare down between you and Ellie.

“The fuck are you doing here” Ellie spits out as she nods her chin towards the blonde, her words laced with a bitter tone that sends electricity down your spine.

Abby raises her eyebrows at the brunettes question, scoffing softly before she steps forward a bit so that she’s closer behind you. “Was just catching up with an old friend….I didn’t know I needed to call and update you on my every move, Williams” Abby teases, her tone far lighter and more playful than Ellie’s.

Ellie doesn’t seem to get the memo.

“Cool. All caught up then?” She bites back, eyes still laced with something that scares even you.

Abby’s tongue darts out to lick her lips, eyes still trained on Ellie. She then looks down at you, seeing how intently you’re staring at Ellie, anticipating her next move, silent as a mouse.

It doesn’t take much for Abby to now exactly what’s going on here.

She inhales deeply before she nods, her eyes dropping down to the ground before she speaks. “You’re right…I’m sure you’re very tired” Abby drawls out as she looks down at you, the smirk on her face matching the teasing tone in her voice.

Ellie feels like she’ll fucking break something right then and there.

Abby’s words make you stumble over your own. You blink quickly, practically bringing yourself back to life as you turn around to look up at her, giving her a quick nod paired with a small smile. “Yeah…yeah! I’ll uh….ill walk you out” you tell her, your hand going down to interlock your fingers with hers as you lead her to the door.

You open the door for her, inhaling deeply as she finally turns around and gives you a small smile. “Text me….ill come and pick you up on Friday” she promises, her words making your eyes go wide.

If her bold words weren’t enough to shock you, what she does next practically takes your breath away.

She leans down a bit, strong arm going around your waist and pulling you close as she presses a kiss to your mouth. It makes you gasp softly, eyes fluttering shut as you let out a small yelp which Abby swallows up happily, her hand toying with the silky fabric of your top.

When she finally breaks the kiss, she smiles down at you, her hand coming up and brushing a few strands of hair from your face. “I’ll see you later angel” she promises, blue eyes staring deeply into yours before they flicker up to Ellie, a taunting smirk on her lips as she stands up straight.

“I’ll see you around Williams” she promises, giving your waist a gentle squeeze before she finally leaves.

You’re too stunned to speak after all of that, the tension between the two women almost making you dizzy. The air was thick, and it made it hard to breathe especially when Abby kisses you like that in front of Ellie, taking the air right out of your lungs and into her own.

You don’t even want to look at Ellie right now.

She’s angry. Nostrils flared, eyes low, fists balled, she looks like she’s ready to fucking kill someone and you’re directly in her line of sight.

You can practically feel her eyes boring holes into the back of your head, and it makes your breath shaky as you struggle to figure out what to do, wondering whether or not you should turn around and face the girl behind you.

You decide that right now, you can’t.

You keep your head down as you turn around, trying your best to swiftly pass the girl to go up the stairs. You hope that this is just her being dumb and trying to cock block for the sake of it and nothing more, mainly because you aren’t entirely sure you could handle it if it were something more.

Right when you think you’re in the clear, you feel a familiar hand grab your arm tightly.

It makes you gasp softly, feeling as she pulls you to look at her instead of letting you go upstairs. You’re met with those same green eyes that were cemented into your memory, the ones that stared into yours as Ellie begged you to cum for her.

“What the fuck was that” Ellie’s voice is low as she stares into your eyes, grip tightening around your arm as she licks her dry lips.

You stumble over your words, her intense stare turning you into a stuttering mess as you shake your head quickly. “I…what was what Ellie? I don’t-“ she’s quick to cut you off.

“Don’t be stupid. Why the fuck did you choose her” the word falls from her lips like venom, the green eyed girl practically seething it out as she interrogates you.

“You did it on purpose didn’t you…you know how much I fucking hate her, so you wanted to get back at me” she accuses as she gets closer, backing you up into a wall, her body nearly pressed against yours.

Your brain practically short circuits.

Because Abby is your friend, a good friend of yours that you’d had for a large portion of your life so far. She was kind and funny and if you had to admit, you were a little shocked that you two had ended up sleeping together.

But never in a million years did you think that Abby and Ellie had some sort of infamous feud.

Your eyebrows furrow softly as you stare up at her in confusion. “On purpose? Ellie what the fuck are you talking about?” You bark back, suddenly feeling hurt over the girls accusations of you.

She chuckles softly as she nods slowly. “We both knew what you were doing…needed some attention huh? You know you didn’t need to do all of this to get it…” she hums out softly, her bottom lip tugging underneath her teeth as her hand lets go of your arms, and falls down to your waist.

Usually, this would’ve had your head spinning. And while it does make you dizzy, it isn’t at all for the reasons it would have before.

Ellie is fucking with your head at this point.

“Get the fuck off of me Ellie” you sigh out as you roughly push her off of you, allowing you to quickly slip past her body and run up the stairs before she can stop you.

You miss the shocked expression on Ellie’s face when you slip passed her, your feet padding along the wooden steps as you make your way up to your bedroom. She wasn’t entirely sure how you’d react to the quick shift in the conversation, having her going from accusing you to fucking Abby just to get to her, to trying to get it in with you right after.

You’ve had enough at this point. Ellie makes your head spin in the worst fucking way and you know that if you let her in again, you’ll never be able to put an end to whatever fucked up mind tricks she kept playing on you.

Things between you and Ellie had to stop, and you were going to be the one to put an end to it.

Ellie has fucked up in her life….a lot.

And who doesn’t, right? Humans make mistakes, not everyone’s perfect, that much is true. Ellie wasn’t perfect, which she was entirely okay with of course. She didn’t strive to be perfect, she didn’t put those expectations on herself or allowed anyone in her life to expect that of her either. She was a good friend, a great daughter, well rounded student, hard worker, all of the things that really mattered she had checked off.

But man….had she fucked things up royally with you.

Here she was, thinking she could keep you both in a never ending loop of sex and awkward interactions, top it off with some uncomfortable conversations here and there that would most likely turn into screaming matches, and that was enough.

Even though she knew it wasn’t.

You were too good for that. You were too good for the fucked up cycle that she’d created for the two of you. You deserved so much more. You deserved the fucking world served on a silver platter, any and every good thing should’ve been handed to you the moment you asked for it. Ellie had made your life a living hell since you were a kid and yet you still went out of your way to be cordial with her, never letting that sweet persona of yours drop even for an asshole like her.

Ellie fucked up a lot, but she wasn’t an idiot.

She knew why she did what she did, she wasn’t unaware of her own actions. She didn’t need a therapist to read her to absolute filth to get the answers behind why you were so cruel, it was simple.

Ellie hated the way you made her feel.

She hated the thoughts she had of you. She hated the way you lingered in her mind, your voice playing over and over again in her head, giving her no room to escape the absolute lullaby that was you. She hated how much she felt for you, realizing just how much you’d been lingering in her mind before now, even if she didn’t even realize it.

She hated that she’d never thought about a girl the way she thought about you. She hated the way she yearned for your skin against hers. She hated the way you could walk into her bedroom right now, and she’d get on her knees and beg for forgiveness.

What she hated the most though? Was the look in your eyes the last time she was staring into them.

You looked….disgusted. Utterly appalled with Ellie’s behavior, shocked that she’d even think you’d let her touch you again.

Yeah. That one was one for the books.

Ellie didn’t even know you were capable of looking so put off by someone. You were always so kind, so understanding, and you’d welcomed her happily every time she tried going to you this summer.

It seemed she’d crossed a line that she couldn’t get back over.

She didn’t even think it was going to be that bad. Sure, maybe you’d be pissed off with her for a few days, but you never held a grudge. After a day or two, you were back to your normal, bubbly self. That’s how things normally was, that’s how they’d been over the course of the summer so far for the most part.

Not this time.

Ellie almost wondered if you’d give yourself some time away from her like you’d done in the past, locking yourself away in your bedroom until you were ready to come out again. She figured this was your way of decompressing, not for a second giving anymore thought to the fact that you were in fact decompressing from her.

She was shocked when she saw you roaming around the house the next morning, bright and early before either herself or your brother were awake.

In true Ellie fashion, she pretends like she doesn’t see you.

Mainly because she doesn’t really know what to make of the situation yet. She doesn’t know where you stand, how you’ll react towards her, and clearly you’re calling the shots in this situation now because how you’re handling this plays a big part in how Ellie will handle it.

That morning, she watches you from the corner of her eyes. You go on as if you’re the only one there, your headphones covering your ears as you hum softly to the music playing through them, a song Ellie can barely make out over the gentle sound of bacon and eggs sizzling in the pan you’re working on.

The sound of your sugary voice jumping back and forth between humming the melody of the song you’re listening to, and softly mumbling the lyrics makes Ellie’s heart jump. There’s something so domestic about seeing you this way, and Ellie can’t stop the way her mind drifts off to a place in the nearby future. A place where you’re wearing your cute pajamas, sock clad feet padding along the wooden floor as music plays softly throughout the kitchen, aiding you in your morning routine of making breakfast for both you and her. She imagines wrapping her arms around your waist, pulling you into her chest as she presses loving kisses to your neck, the smell of your flowery shampoo filling her nose and making her head spin, hands toying with the soft material of your sleep shirt. She imagines resting her chin on your shoulder as she eyes whatever is it you’re making for the two of you, asking if she can help in any way. She imagines the way you sway against her, the feeling of your body alone making her feel complete, making her feel like the only place that could ever be called home is you-

The sound of your back door slamming loudly snaps her out of her homey day dreams of the two of you.

The sound makes her flinch, and she can see from her spot on the couch that in the time she was having silly little fantasies about you, you’d finished cooking, plated up your food, and retreated out to the back without saying a single word.

Not so much as a look was sent Ellie’s way from you that morning, which was a side of you that she’d never seen.

You tended to hide away from the world whenever you were angry or upset, keeping that side of yourself private rather than being open with the person that made you feel that way. Ellie was an expert in that, you’d ran away from her too many times to count within the time that she’d known you. She never truly saw you angry at her, or at anyone. You gave yourself time to burn off that anger and simmer down before returning back to the you that everyone was the most familiar with.

The week after the whole Abby situation was filled with moments like that. You lived your life as if Ellie didn’t exist. Gone were the annoyed little huffs you’d give her, or the bratty eye rolls that you’d make sure she’d see whenever she got on your nerves. Those were all things of the past. It was like Ellie was a ghost, living in a reality where she didn’t exist to you. Ellie could be on fire in the middle of your living room and you wouldn’t bat an eye, instead busying yourself with talking on the phone with your friends from college or texting Abby.

Yeah, that was the nail in the coffin with all of this.

Ellie would lay in her bed night after night, straining to listening to the sound of your soft giggles paired with Abby’s voice coming in through the speaker of your phone. Ellie quickly realized that she doesn’t think she’s ever heard you laugh that way with her.

Ever.

Ellie wasn’t an idiot. She was emotionally mature….for the most part. She knew that regardless of how she felt, she wronged you. Before the Abby thing, this entire summer had been filled with different occasions of her being a total dick to you, and you didn’t deserve any of that.

Ellie knew that if she was going to get anywhere with you, she needed to apologize first.

She does it about a week later. At that point it’s been the longest since she’s spoken to you the whole summer and she’s going slightly insane. It’s raining, so you all decided to stay in. She waited in her room, legs dangling off the edge of the bed as she stared up at the ceiling, waiting for you to get out of the shower and go back to your room.

The sound of the water turning off lets her know you’re finished. She gives you a moment, wanting you to be dressed by the time she goes over. After some time passes, she takes a deep inhale before she pushes herself up onto her feet so she can make your way to your bedroom.

It’s pathetic because she can’t remember the last time she was this nervous. She sure as hell wasn’t this nervous when she was sneaking into your room to get you off a few weeks ago. All she was doing was going to talk to you and she could hear her fucking heartbeat in her ear.

Soon she’s in front of your door, taking a deep inhale before her tattooed hand comes up to rap it.

You perk up at the sound, your eyes drifting over to your door. You furrow your brows in confusion, opening your messages to see if you’d missed any texts from your brother to prompt him to visit you in your room instead. You see you have no messages, for a moment wondering if you should get up and open it. On any other given day you probably would have, but the extra guest in your house made the likeliness of it being your brother go down to about half.

You sit up in your bed, facing your door before calling out. “Who is it?” You question wearily.

Your voice makes Ellie tense up, and she inhales deeply before she speaks. “I…it’s me…can we talk?” She breaths out, her nerves forcing her voice to go shaky, making her clear her throat once she’s spoken.

There’s silence on the other end, and Ellie isn’t entirely sure how to take it. She inhales deeply before speaking again. “I know I’ve been a dick but just…I can’t apologize through a door…come on” she pleads with you once more, only for her words to be in vain once she’s met with even more deafening silence.

It makes her stomach churn, and she knows she has limited options here. She blinks a few times before her hand wraps around the doorknob, checking to see if she’s able to twist it open. Once she feels the familiar feeling of the knob turning, she’s filled with a temporary sense of relief. “Fuck it…I’m coming it” she announces, turning the knob fully before pushing the door open.

She finds you on your bed, completely unbothered as you scroll through your phone mindlessly. Ellie licks her lips as she takes you in, acting almost as if she wasn’t even in your bedroom, going about your business as you were prior to her being there.

“Can you just look at me when I’m talking to you? That’s all I’m asking for here” she begs, arms crossing over her chest as she stares down at your form in your bed.

Ellie thinks she’s dreaming when she finally hears a gentle huff leave your lips. You toss your phone to the side before pushing your blanket off your legs and move to sit up. You sit criss crossed as you give her an unamused look, a gentle frown on your lips as your eyes practically beg her to get on with what she has to say.

She blinked a few times in shock, her heart nearly beating out of her chest when she sees you’re finally looking at her. She inhales deeply before speaking again. “Look…I’m sorry, okay? For all of it. I’m sorry for being so shitty to you when we were kids and…and I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting this summer, you don’t deserve any of that shit. And I’m sorry for the Abby thing…she’s a fucking bitch but I shouldn’t have did what I did. And….and” she stutters, struggling to pinpoint where else she’s failed so she can apologize, the words she’s looking for hanging on the tip of her tongue as she runs her hand through her hair.

“And I’m sorry being so fucking mean to you all the time” she breaths out, her face flushed as she stares into your eyes, chest rising and falling as she comes down from her rant.

All you do is give her that same unamused look, let out a gentle sigh before moving to lay back down into your bed, taking your phone into your hand and going back to whatever you were doing prior.

“Cool. You can leave now” you hum out casually before turning on your side, tugging your blanket further over your shoulder, practically shielding you from her gaze.

Ellie is dumbfounded, like hanging agape as she stares at you in disbelief. She’d just poured her entire heart out to you, letting you in on the mental turmoil she’d been experiencing this past summer that was putting her quite literally out of her mind…

And you didn’t even care.

“Are you…are you fucking kidding me right now?” She scoffed out in utter shock, her hand going up to run through her auburn locks as she looked around your bedroom, almost as if she were looking for the hidden cameras that would prove this is all a sick joke.

“I just gave you the apology of my fucking life and all you have to say is…is cool??” She breaths out in disbelief, staring down at you laid comfortably on your bed, cuddled up beneath your plush blankets as if she weren’t even there.

Ellie watches as your eyes drift over to hers for only a minute before they’re settled back onto the soft glow emitting from your phone screen, a gentle sigh leaving your lips before you sigh.

“Thanks for apologizing. You can leave now” you dismiss her once again, yet another confirmation from your end that you certainly were not interested in what Ellie had to say.

Her brows furrow, green eyes staring angrily down at you, nostrils flared as she feels herself growing angrier and angrier. She doesn’t really think when she moves next, her anger is doing all the work for her.

You go from feeling the warmth of your blankets on your skin, to your bare legs being exposed to the cold air in your dim bedroom. It makes you gasp, your eyes immediately going up to Ellie who’s just yanked your blanket off of your body, staring down at you expectantly.

You were going to acknowledge her, whether you liked it or not.

You scoff, tossing your phone to the side before you swing your legs off of your bed, and stand up so you’re now face to face with the green eyed demon that had bene ruining your life since you were a young girl.

This needed to end now.

“You think that just because you barge in here and give me some half ass apology, that you’re suddenly entitled to my attention? To my forgiveness?” You question, words rolling off your tongue like venom. You don’t give her time to respond, your chest slowly rising and falling at a quicker pace as you feel yourself getting angrier and angrier by the second.

“Do you think I’m a fucking idiot, Ellie? Do you seriously think I can’t see right through this little game you have? The second you realize I can give my time to someone else who’s actually worthy of it, you feel like you’re suddenly in the position to force me to acknowledge you. What about Hazel? Hm? Was I allowed to question you for the girl you were with? Or how about when she humiliated me in front of everyone multiple times, was I in the position to demand an apology?” You question her once more before you let out an unamused laugh, your hand coming up to tuck a stand of hair behind your ear before you inhale deeply.

“If you think that all the shit you’ve put me through will ever be undone by one sorry ass apology and the excuse of you being bad with your feelings, you’re gonna have a rude awakening Ellie” you finally sigh out gently, slipping past her and making your way to your bedroom door and opening it.

“Get out and don’t speak to me for the rest of the summer” you finalize, standing at the door as you wait for her to leave your bedroom.

Ellie doesn’t really know what to say, mainly because she’s never seen this side of you. You’re always so sweet, and quiet. Even after everything that she’d said and done to you, before this summer and after, you’d never said anything like this to her, or anyone for that matter.

The look in your eyes is what does it for her, it’s what proves to her you’re not just all bark and no bite, because you’re looking at Ellie like….

Like you’re disgusted by her.

You see a side of Ellie you’d never seen that night either, because Ellie is hot headed and has a horrible temper. You expected her to not go down without a fight, going back and forth with you until you were both blue in the face. In all honesty you had a list of things ready to throw back at her when you knew she’d refuse to leave at your first request.

But she doesn’t. She stares at you for a moment, green eyes studying your face and body intently as if she was going to say something. She doesn’t, all she does is storm out of your room, footsteps angry against your floorboards as she slips past you.

When she’s gone, you feel like you can finally breathe. Your hands are shaking from the adrenaline, shoulders that were once strong and confident slumping over when you let out a deep breath, one you’d seemingly held in the moment Ellie walked into your room. You tried to keep your composure around her, you’d rather die than show her how much control she had over you, how deeply she’d settled into your bones, made it nearly impossible to do anything or be anywhere without thinking of her.

Ellie was losing her mind, to say the least

You’d made yourself almost completely sparse throughout the spacious home ever since then. You’d leave the house before anyone woke up, and you’d come home after everyone went to sleep.

There was one night in particular however, where Ellie had decided to stay home from a party everyone was going out to. It was a sorry attempt at trying to talk to you again, but she could only hope that whatever you were out doing tired you out enough to at least give her a moment to hear her out. She remembers how dark the house was that night, how quiet it was. There was a blue-ish glow emitting from the large tv in your living room, the sound of the game controller clicking gently as she tapped away at the buttons. It was late, and she was slowly losing hope that you’d come home. She didn’t want to think about that much, because you not coming home only meant one thing, and Ellie’s confused little heart truly could not handle that mental image right now.

Sometime within the night she ends up drifting off to sleep, eyes growing heavy as the pause screen stares back at her, gentle music from the video game only aiding in lulling her to sleep.

The noise of the front door paired with the melodic sound of your soft giggles is what brings her from it, green eyes slowly blinking open as she hears you clumsily kick your boots off, the heavy material thudding against the wooden floorboards as you let out a gentle groan.

“Shit…fuck…” you giggle out softly as you brace against the closet door, lazily kicking your shoes into the closet before tugging your jacket off and shoving it onto a random hanger. Ellie can tell from the way you’re giggling and talking to yourself that you’re drunk, it makes her sit up, the girl rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she adjusts the hoodie hugging her body.

Her breath gets caught in her throat when she sees you stop in front of the living room, head tilting the side in confusion as you watch the girl sitting there in your living room. It doesn’t help that you look stunning either, there’s something about how messy your hair is, a few strands falling over your shoulder, others framing your face beautifully. The dress you’re wearing hugs your body perfectly, the color complimenting your skin tone so well it was almost like it was made for you.

She’s staring so hard she doesn’t realize that you’re taking to her.

“What?” She practically chokes out, the girl completely taken aback over the fact that you’re actually…speaking to her?

You have to hold back a giggle at her reaction. Maybe it was the fact that you were drunk, or that you’d had a great time with at the party you were at, but you were able to put your annoyance for Ellie to the side for just a moment so your curiosity could take over instead. You knew your brother was going to a party tonight, and Ellie skipping out on a night out and staying home was like a fish saying he preferred his fish tank over the big blue ocean.

Or…maybe you missed Ellie.

“I said…what are you doing here? You didn’t wanna go with Derek?” You breath out, slowly making your way over to the girl. Soon you’re standing over her as she sits on the couch, big green eyes staring up at you in childlike wonder. It’s almost endearing how dumbfounded she is over you doing something as simple as speaking to her.

If anyone told you Ellie would be acting like this with you a few months ago, you’d tell them to kick rocks.

Ellie’s head is spinning when you’re this close, because she can smell your perfume lingering from your skin…god your skin, you look so soft, so inviting and warm. Her memories grew fuzzier and fuzzier with each growing day, and she was almost forgetting that she had you the way she wanted you at one point, moaning underneath her, begging for her while her hands were given your skin to squeeze and hold however she pleased.

“I…I um…” she stuttered, unable to find the words to say. Even if she could, what was she supposed to tell you. Was she supposed to tell you the truth? That she’d stayed home to wait up for you? To get this exact moment that she so desperately wanted? However now that she had it she was acting like she’d never talked to a girl in her entire life.

You hum softly, giving her a nod as if you understood the nonsense she was speaking completely. “You should go to bed…it’s late” you mumble out as you lift your head and turn to look at the clock on the wall, seeing that it was well past five in the morning. You both needed to sleep.

That’s when Ellie sees it, the standing lamp in the living room is dull, but the warm glow allows her to make out the deep purple marks littering your pretty neck, a hungry mouth latching onto your skin and marking you for the world to see.

God, it makes Ellie feel fucking sick to see that shit.

She licks her lips, ready to speak, ready to ask about who those are from even though deep down she already knows, and she knows that even if you do tell her, it won’t make anything better.

But she can’t because you’re looking down at her again with those pretty eyes of yours, the remaining lip liner fading away from your lips, leaving a pretty red tint to your soft lips. It’s been kissed away and that drives Ellie even closer to the brink of insanity.

“Goodnight Ellie…” you hum out, voice soft and gentle as you give her a half smile before you stumble off to bed, sure to peel your dress off and tuck yourself into bed only to sleep off the remaining lust and liquor that lingered in your system, unable to remember anything that was said to her when you wake up.

That little glimpse of you, of how she remembers you is what forces Ellie to hang onto you even more, even after you demanded she stop speaking to you for the rest of the summer. A moment of softness between the two of you had her groaning, shoving her face into her pillow as she yearned for more of it, more of you.

It was psychological warfare, and you didn’t even know what you were doing to her.

She doesn’t expect for that to be a peace offering from your end. She knows it was a one off, it was simply a time and place sort of thing. You were too drunk and sleepy to remember the anger you had for Ellie, and you being the kind person you are, was worried about her going to bed at a reasonable time.

Ellie hangs onto that night though, because as delusional as it makes her sound, it gives her hope.

She thinks about it particularly when your brother is sat on the edge of her bed, a loud groan emitting from his lips as he falls back into the soft mattress.

“Dude what is going on with you? You’ve flaked on like…the last three parties” your brother complains, his head tilting back to look at his best friend.

He finds her deep in thought, the brunette sighing softly as she shrugs while staring up at the ceiling above her. “I dunno…I just…haven’t really been in the mood to go out.” She lies with a gentle sigh. Well…it wasn’t entirely a lie. She really didn’t feel like going out, however it was why she didn’t feel like going out that she was leaving out of her responses to her best friend.

Telling your brother that you’re the reason she didn’t want to go out wasn’t exactly the smartest idea.

Derek groaned softly before he propped himself up onto his palms, letting out a low groan before he shook his head.

“I really need you tonight man…If you don’t go then that means it’s just me again and Hazels being a bitch about you not coming, on top of that I’m pretty sure my little sister is coming and I’m seriously going to need some help keeping those two from killing each other-“ Ellie is quick to cut your brother off the second he mentions you. She perks up immediately, the girl sitting up from her bed and eyeing your brother intently.

“Your sister is going tonight?” She’s quick to ask, so quick in fact that it catches your brother off guard. He stares at her for a moment, silently blinking as he watches the girl before he nods slowly.

“I…yeah? Why wouldn’t she go?” He questions genuinely.

It was almost incredible how oblivious your brother was to the tension between you and Ellie.

Her pink tongue darts out to lick her lips before she speaks once more. “You know what…you’re right. I haven’t gone out in a while…” she nods slowly before she swings her feet over the bed, quickly going over to her closet and rummaging through her clothes to pick out an outfit. “Get out. I need to shower and start getting ready.” She says as she begins zooming throughout her room to get dressed.

Derek watches his best friend almost in a trance. He was ready to beg her to come out at least five more times before he got shut down and inevitably kicked out of her bedroom, but he was not at all expecting her to jump up at the mere mention of going out.

Huh…maybe she was just…feeling tired?

Ellie let’s put another sigh as she turns around, hands placed on her hips as she gives your brother an annoyed look as she shrugs her shoulders. “I said get out man” she says once more. Your words seemingly finally register in your brothers head as he gives a quick nod, quickly jumping up from her bed. “Right! Yes…yeah I’m going….we leave in an hour alright?” He reminds her with an excited grin before finally leaving the girls bedroom.

Ellie usually tries to put in her best effort when going out, wanting to look good for any one she’d happen to run into, that wasn’t out of the ordinary for her. But tonight? Knowing you’d be there? She found herself struggling to wear something good, something that would make her feel confident, something that….

Something you’d like.

She saw the way you looked at her whenever she showed some skin, the way your eyes lingered whenever her tattoos were on full display for the old to see. Your eyes would linger on her inked skin whenever she had them out, so she knew for a fact she needed to show those off tonight. She settles on a pair of baggy jeans that rest low on her hips, and a fitted t shirt that allowed a sliver of her hips to peak out from beneath it. She lets out a soft huff as she runs her fingers through her hair, making sure she was happy with her appearance in the mirror before she started making her way downstairs.

Tonight’s different, because instead of everyone meeting at your house, it’s just Derek standing in the kitchen as he works on some drinks to pregame with.

3 drinks to be exact.

Ellie hums out softly as she makes her way to the island he’s set up at, palms resting against the cool marble as she eyes the concoction your brother works on.

“Just the three of us tonight?” Ellie hums out as she grabs a bottle of tequila, eyeing the label before she sets it back down. Derek hums softly as he nods, pouring what he’s working on into three red solo cups.

“Yeah, everyone else is just gonna meet at the club…it’s easier that way” he explains before he passes Ellie one of the cups, bringing one to his own lips as well as he eyes his friend. “Hazels coming though…she’s been asking about you for weeks man” he smirks out as he takes a sip of the drink.

Ellie practically winces at the mention of the girls name, but plays it off as the drink getting to her instead. She lets out a low groan before she shrugs. “Yeah man I…I don’t think I’m feeling her anymore” she explains, taking another sip of her drink.

Derek raises his brows at the girls words before he chuckles softly. “Oh? That’s new. You were talking about her the entire drive down here…” he quips before he takes another sip. “Got your eye on someone else?” He questions, giving the girl time to respond.

That makes a chill run down Ellie’s spine, because it’s comical how aware yet oblivious your brother is to the entire situation. She opens her mouth to respond, on the brink of actually telling him and admitting to herself that it’s you she has her eyes on, it’s you that has her so absolutely torn up she can barely get out of bed and be productive during the day because of how much she’s fucked up. It’s all you and she can barely fucking function without-

The familiar patter of your feet against the stairs has her thoughts cut in half.

You’re humming gently to yourself, hair styled perfectly when you come into view, denim shorts hugging your frame, wrapping around your hips and thighs as if your body was the only one in mind when they were made. Your pink top is such a pretty, shimmer material, the light catches different patterns on it and it looks like you’re practically glowing. Your lips are glossy, shimmery and pretty, it makes Ellie’s head fucking spin.

God, she’s so obsessed with you.

You give Derek a small smile as you slip past Ellie as if she wasn’t even there, standing beside him as you reach out to point towards the remaining solo cup. “This one for me?” You question, Derek nods as he slides the cup towards you. “Yes ma’am. Made sure to use tequila instead of vodka tonight, didn’t want to upset the princess” he mocks, patting your head gently which makes you roll your eyes as you nudge him gently. “Vodkas fucking gross. You guys are insane for guzzling that shit” you sigh out softly before you take a sip of your drink, a gentle hum leaving your lips as you give a nod of approval. “It’s good, thanks” you give your brother a soft smile as you thank him before you take another sip.

A blanket of silence falls over the three of you, Ellie’s eyes are practically glued to you as she eyes you closely, taking in your every move as her eyes linger on yours. You’re trying your best not to give into it, because you’d be able to feel those green eyes boring holes into your face even if the room were pitch black.

You let out a soft sigh before you quickly throw back the rest of your drink, not wanting to prolong things anymore or give Ellie any openings to ask you any questions in front of your brother.

“I’ll get the uber tonight, you guys can buy me drinks at the club” you hum out casually as you tug your phone out of your back pocket, mindlessly tucking your bottom lip beneath your teeth as you tap along your screen to call for the uber. Ellie’s eyes never leave your lips after this, zeroing in on the gloss painting your bottom lip while you focus on your screen.

God, tonight was going to be long.

It all happens in the blink of an eye. One moment Ellie is sat in the back of the uber with your brother, listening to you and him chatting back and forth with the uber driver. You were both always so friendly in that sense, sharing a sort of charm that she’d only ever really seen in the two of you. You were almost like twins in that sense, sharing that same charismatic, friendly, almost annoyingly likable personality. The moment either of you walked into a room, all eyes were always on either of you.

Then the next, you’re trailing behind her and your brother as they lead you both to the rest of their friends at the club. Ellie is so locked in on the idea of you, thinking of how she’d be able to get a moment with you, that she hardly realizes Hazel is squealing and practically jumping out of her spot in the booth and into her arms.

“Ellie! Where have you been!” She whines softly, pulling back and practically smashing her lips against Ellie’s before she’s given a chance to respond.

Ellie’s eyes go wide at the gesture, completely caught off guard by her forwardness. She places her hands on her hips, gently tugging her off of her body as she breaks the kiss, which is only met with an annoyed whine from Hazel. Ellie catches onto it, making out the image of the girls expression through the dim lighting of the club. She licks her lips, staring into the girls eyes for a moment before she turns her head to find you, suddenly only concerned with whether or not you just saw that.

When she does spot you, your eyes are already on the pair from your spot in the booth, snuggled between two of Ellie’s friends that are far too concerned with taking shots and laughing about whatever the hell they were talking about to notice the pouting girl in between them.

The moment you realize Ellie catches your gaze, you’re gently tapping the shoulder of your brothers friend, giving him a gentle smile as you ask him to scoot out of the booth so you could get out, wanting to head to the bar for a drink.

Ellie’s eyes linger on yours as she watches you leave, slowly losing you as you slip in between the crowded club to make your way to the bar. Hazel notices too, whining softly as her manicured fingers cup Ellie’s face, pulling her back to look at her instead of you. “What are you looking at? Didn’t you miss me?” She questions once more, the girl clearly getting more annoyed with the lack of response from Ellie’s end.

Ellie furrows her eyebrows as she lets out a sigh, looking away from the girl for a moment before she opens her mouth to speak. “Look Hazel…I’ve been thinking a lot and I just feel like-“ Hazel cuts her off with a soft huff as she shakes her head, wrapping her arms around Ellie’s neck as she leans in to press another kiss to her lips. “You just need another drink. I’ll ask Derek to grab us something, then we can dance, okay baby?” She promises with a reassuring smile before leaning in and pressing another kiss to her lips, giving her arm a gentle squeeze before she set off to find your brother.

Ellie let’s put an annoyed groan, tattooed hands running down her face as she watches Hazel completely disregard what she was saying, more so interested in following whatever narrative she had instead.

Why the fuck did Ellie ever like that girl to begin with.

Ellie tries her hardest to find you all night, but for some reason looking for you in that club was like trying to find a needle in the biggest haystack ever. Between Hazel clinging to her like a fly on a trap, to her friend group trying their best to catch her up on what she’d missed the last few outings they’d been on, Ellie felt like she was being pulled in ten different directions when all she wanted was a moment alone with you.

Ellie sees a fleeting moment when Hazel excuses herself to go to the bathroom and most of her friends have either found their way on the dance floor, or to the bar. Unfortunately for her, she’s already pretty tipsy at that point. Between her friends and Hazel, everyone wanted to show how much they’d missed her by showering her in alcohol.

Who knows, maybe the liquor is what she needed to finally face you.

She stumbles out of the booth you’d all been sat at, sighing softly as she made her way through the sea of people in search of you. She starts by looking for at the bar, then near the bathroom line. When she finds you’re neither there nor here, she inhales deeply as she makes her way to the dance floor.

Ellie wonder how it had been so hard to find you earlier, chalking it up to you most likely hiding from her, because as soon as she makes her way onto the dance floor, it’s almost like there’s a spotlight on you.

Your shirt dances in the multi-colored nights of the club, making you look almost magical. Your body moves like water to the music, hair swaying against your back as you put your hands up into the air and sway your hips without a single care in the world.

Ellie’s mouth goes dry at the sight of you, her drunk brain wishing for nothing more than to be able to call someone as beautiful as you, hers.

She licks her lips, walking into your direction. Her arms reach out for you, her hand coming down to rest against your waist as she leans in to talk into your ear over the loud music.

“Hey…can we um…can talk?” She shouts, giving your waist a gentle squeeze as if to give you a silent attempt at getting you to come with her.

You furrow your brows when you feel someone approach you, already exhausted from fighting off countless idiots that tried to dance with you. You just wanted to be alone and enjoy the music as if no one was watching. The drinks were good, the music was even better, and after how this summer had been going? Some alone time would do you good.

But Ellie clearly had other plans.

You want to ignore her, you want to put her in her place like you did in your bedroom that night. She deserves it, you know she deserves it, she knows she deserves it, and it’s about time you stand up for yourself within this fucked up situation you’d found yourself in with Ellie.

But that look in her pretty green eyes is so damn pitiful, you aren’t sure you can deny her anymore. After all, there’s still that little piece of you that’s so damn weak for Ellie.

You let out a gentle sigh, turning to look into the girls eyes before you give her a nod, knowing that denying her will only make her fight harder. You nod your head towards one of the stairs of the club, leading her up them.

Soon you two reach the rooftop patio of the club. The vibe is a bit less stuffy, and you spot an empty sofa near a corner where you think is a good spot for you two to speak.

You let out a gentle sigh as you sit down, patting the spot next to you for the girl to sit down.

The rooftop faces the beach, the cool sea breeze wafting against your warm skin. It’s a nice contrast from the hot, sticky club. If it wasn’t for the awkward circumstances, you think it would be a sweet place to bring Ellie up to.

You’re the first to speak despite Ellie asking to talk to you, a soft hum leaving your lips before the words leave your mouth. “Didn’t know you were still with Hazel….s’bit hypocritical of you, don’t you think?” You mumble out softly, your leg crossing over your knee as you wrap your arms around your own arms, staring out at the crashing waves before you.

Ellie blinks a few times at your words, the girl still a bit dumbfounded that she somehow got you out here to even speak to her in the first place. She doesn’t at all expect you to speak first, but your words make her frown gently.

“We aren’t together…we never were” she mumbles out softly, ignoring your other words as she lets out a gentle sigh.

“I don’t know how many times you want me to say sorry…I know I was wrong, okay? If I could take it back, I would” she sighs out, her back slumping into the couch as she spreads her jean clad legs, hands running down her face as she lets out an irritated sigh.

You scoff gently before you finally look over at her. “Even if I do forgive you Ellie, what do you want from me? Am I supposed to believe that after years of making my life hell, you suddenly give a fuck about me? Can’t you see how this is a little hard to believe?” You explain gently, your anger clearly having subsided since the last time you both spoke about this.

You sigh softly before you turn away from her, speaking once more. “You just want me because you can’t have me. You’ll get over this the second the summers over” you say to her, sounding almost as if you were trying to convince yourself more than you were her.

Ellie perks up at this, staring at the side of your face as you refuse to look at her. “You can’t be serious” she deadpans, the girl sitting up and resting her elbows on her knees as she cranes her neck down to look at you.

“I don’t get it either, okay? You’ve always been this…thing in my life that was so out of touch. I never even thought to think of you that way no matter how fucking irresistible you are. I knew crossing that line wouldn’t get me anywhere good but…fuck I didn’t think it would be this bad” she explains, her own eyes scanning out onto the rolling seas out on the horizon, giving herself a moment to think over her words.

She licks her lips for a moment before she sighs, finally looking back at you.

“What I do know, is that…I can’t get enough of you. And I’m willing to do whatever I can to prove that to you” She practically begs, her words filled with a sense of something you aren’t sure you’ve ever heard from Ellie before. It’s something mixed with desperation, pleading, honesty….

Longing

It makes your stomach turn and your chest burn with something for her you’d been ignoring the entire summer, your entire life even. You inhale deeply as you finally state into her green eyes that are staring desperately into yours, your tongue darting out to lick your lips before you finally speak. “Anything?” You question, your voice above a whisper as the word leave your mouth carefully.

It all happens in a blur, one moment Ellie is nodding eagerly at your question, the next, your dragging her out of the club, slipping past the mountain of sweaty people and quickly catching a cab, and the next thing Ellie knows…

She’s being dragged up to your bedroom.

Ellie feels like her head is spinning when you press your body against hers, soft mouth molding against hers as your hands wrap loosely around her neck. You taste of cherry lipgloss and mint, your soft tongue rubbing against Ellie’s makes her heart swell because she wasn’t sure she’d ever get the privilege of feeling you this way again.

Her hands roam your body, fingers sliding into the belt loops of your shorts as she pulls you flush against her body, needing desperately to feel you against her in every way possible.

You sigh against her, turning the both of you around as you begin leading her back towards your bed. She feels your palms press against her chest, forcing her back so she’s now sitting on your bed.

The sight of you above her makes her head swing, it makes Ellie tug her bottom lip between her teeth as her hands slide around the backs of your knees, pulling you closer as she spreads her legs for you to stand between them. “Missed you so much baby….more than you know…” she sighs out, eyes never leaving yours as one of her hands slides against your top, pushing it up as she presses her lips against your hips, leaving the lightest kisses.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch her. Her stare is intense, the look in her eyes telling you everything that you ever needed to know without a single word.

She was yours for the taking.

You inhale deeply as your hand comes down to Ellie’s hair, running your fingers through the silky strands for a moment before you tuck a strand behind her ear gently, tilting your head to the side as you watch her nip and suck at your skin.

“Such a pretty girl….” You hum out softly, your words making Ellie’s eyes flutter shut as they earn a gentle squeeze to your hips, her tongue swirling against your skin as her teeth come down to tug at the waistband of your jean shorts.

“But you need to be taught a lesson, Ellie….” You finish, words trailing off as they hang in the air. They excite Ellie, despite not knowing the extent of them. The fact that you have her here alone is enough for her, and she’ll do whatever the hell you want her to, to keep this going.

“Do whatever you want to me…I told you…I’ll do anything for you” she sighs out almost obediently, needy hands gripping your hips tighter just to keep you close.

Your hand goes from gently stroking her hair to taking a fistful of it, tugging it back to pull her away from your skin, forcing her to look up at you. It earns a needy whine from the girl, pink tongue darting out to lick her lips as she stares up at you almost in awe, watching as you handled her with a sense of wonder in her eyes.

“Good….because I don’t plan on being nice…” you sigh out softly, letting go of her hair roughly before you leave her for a moment, walking off to your drawer to grab something. “Lord knows you weren’t….” You mumble out softly, more so to yourself than to the girl.

Ellie hears it though, and it makes her wince with how badly she’d been treating you.

You come back soon enough, not giving Ellie enough time to dwell on things, on you. She doesn’t see anything in your hands at first, only that you’d slipped something into your back pocket. She can’t focus on that much, not when you’re straddling her lip and settling down on her. It makes her sigh with content, the girl eagerly pressing her lips back to yours now that you’re back with her.

She lets her tongue play with yours, the kiss is messy and needy and Ellie’s hands roam your body like it’s the last time she’ll ever have you, the girl desperately wanting to imprint this very feeling in her brain so she’d never have to go without it. She feels herself growing wetter and wetter by the second, panties clinging to her core as she feels too grinding against her lap, kissing her so sweetly, playing with her so nicely, she felt she could cum from it all alone.

Soon you’re pushing her back into your bed, forcing her to lay down against your pillows. The smell of your floral shampoo makes her head spin, it feels like she’s died and gone to heaven at this point. You’re on top of her, and she’s in your bed in your room and she isn’t sure she’s ever been happier to be in a girls bed.

Your hands come down, tugging at her t shirt before you pull her up a bit, pulling it off her body and tossing it somewhere in your bedroom, leaving her top half completely bare. She doesn’t care, she’d have you undress her any day. Your hands come down again, grabbing either one of hers that are rested firmly on your hips. You remove them, taking them both and holding them above her head, your hand keeping them bonded by her wrist. She doesn’t pay much mind to it, simply enjoying the feeling of your lips against hers.

Soon she’s getting antsy, and she groans as she fights against your grip. “Lemme touch you baby…need to feel you…” she groans against your mouth before she’s pushing her tongue back against yours. She feels you smirk against her lips before you sigh, one of your hands leaving her wrist for a moment, going to your back pocket and pulling something out. It’s dim in your room, the only lighting coming from the small lamp on your bedside table, so she can’t see much. All she does know, is soon she feels a soft, silky material running along her wrist that makes her shiver. She feels you tying something around her wrist, firmly creating a knot so she’s unable to move them even more so than when your hands were holding them.

She watches as you finally pull away from her, staring up at you as you straddle her waist. The look of confusion on her face makes you giggle, your hand coming down to gently trace the frown in her brows with a soft hum. “I told you, you needed to learn your lesson, Ellie….girls who treat other girls like you, don’t get things so easily…” you explain, your lips coming down to latch onto Ellie’s nipple, tongue swirling around the little bud and making the girl moan loudly as she arches her back, forcing more of her into your mouth.

You bite down onto it gently, making her whine softly before you let go of it with a pop, humming softly as your thumb comes down to flick her wet nipple from side to side for a moment before you move onto the other, giving it the same attention as the first.

“You think you can just come and go as you please…playing with me when it’s convenient for you…but that’s not how this works” you hum softly, every other word interrupted by a kiss as you make your way down Ellie’s body. She’s a moaning mess, wiggling and bucking her hips into you as she shakes her head eagerly. “That’s…that’s not it at all! I promise…fuck…I like you…I like you so much baby, you’re not like those other girls. I fucked up so bad with you, and I’m sorry” she pleads with you.

She’s only met with a soft hum as you undo her jeans, tugging them off and tossing them somewhere else in your room, sighing softly when you spot the damn spot on her panties. You’re settled between her legs now, thumb drawing small circles into her inner thighs as your other hand gently tugs her panties to the side.

“I know baby…I can’t give into you easily regardless though…you understand, don’t you?” You asked gently, watching her for a moment before you turn your attention back to her sopping wet cunt.

“Jesus Ellie…you’re so wet baby…this all for me?” You ask her gently, your finger coming down to gently rub her angry clit. This makes her moan loudly, the girls head tossing back as her hips grind into your touch, eager for more of what you’re giving her.

“Fuck…yeah…s’all for you baby…no one else” she breaths out, staring down at you with needy eyes as her hands tug at the restraints you have her tied up by.

You hum softly, nodding slowly as your fingers rub slow circles into her clit before you bring your face closer to where you knew she needed you most. “Poor thing…why don’t I help you out a bit, hm?” You question, spreading her legs further as you stare at her for a moment before you latch your lips onto her clit, sucking harshly.

The moan that rips through her chest is pornographic, the girls back arching almost painfully as she melts into the feeling for your tongue working on her clit.

“Fuck…that’s it…fuck don’t stop baby…doing so well for me” it’s almost comical how her dominating words make your stomach coil despite the clear power dynamic that you’ve set up between the two of you. You moan softly into her sopping wet cunt, tongue lapping up her juices as your hands squeeze her thighs, keeping them apart for you.

“Look so fuckin’ pretty down there baby…you don’t know how often I…fuck…think about you like this” she admitted with a whine, staring down at you as her hips rolled against you, the girl practically riding your face as you took whatever she gave you.

But that wouldn’t do, would it?

Ellie’s moans grew louder, her rhythm getting sloppy as she tugged at her restraints. She was babbling incoherently and you knew for a fact she was getting close.

“Come on baby…take it…fuckin’ take it” she whined, brows furrowing as she stared down at you, eyes never leaving the sight in front of her as she bit down on her bottom lip so hard she was sure to draw blood.

It was almost painful for you to break away from her, wanting desperately to make her cum on your tongue, but you knew you couldn’t give in so easily, not yet at least.

Ellie let’s put a pathetic whine when you pull away when she’s right at the cusp of falling over into the pool of her orgasm, hips bucking into nothing as she hides her face in her arm. “Fuck…why’d you stop I was…mm…I was so close” she whined as her hips rolled with need against the air, the poor thing searching for anything to give her the release she so desperately needed.

You hummed softly as you crawled up her body, finally giving Ellie the chance to see that you were still fully clothed and she was completely bare before you. She moaned softly when your legs came down to straddle her naked body, the girl staring up at you with needy eyes as you gave her a smirk, hair framing your face as you ran your fingers along her nipples before giving them a gentle pinch, earning a needy whine from the girl.

“You didn’t seriously think I’d give it to you that easily, did you?” You giggle softly before you hum, leaning down and catching Ellie’s lips in a messy kiss. She moans loudly against you as she tastes herself, her pussy fluttering around nothing as she welcomes your lips willingly.

She whines when you break the kiss, chasing your mouth which she fails miserably at due to the restraints.

“You’re a smart girl Ellie…use that big brain of yours” you hum out softly, your words only earning a whine from the girl beneath you.

You hum softly, leaning down and giving her one more kiss before you crawl off of her body. Ellie’s eyes never leave yours, watching as you slowly tug your tank top up and over your head, leaving your top half bare. You then work on your denim shorts, tugging them off with your panties and licking them to the side, leaving you bare just like Ellie.

She’s staring at you like a woman starved, eyes eating up every inch of your body as she licks and bites at her lips.

God she wish she could touch you.

“Untie me baby, lemme touch you…I’ll make you feel so good” she begs, tugging at the ribbon wrapped around her wrists as she watches you return to the bed, straddling her body. She has to bite back a moan at the feeling of your soft, naked body settling on top of hers. The feeling of your skin against hers alone is enough to make her cum.

“You hum softly as you shake your head, scooting back for a moment before you take Ellie’s right leg, tugging it up for a moment. You take the opportunity to settle your pussy right on top of here, letting her leg rest against your shoulder. You smirk softly as you reach down to rub her clit, hissing softly at how wet she still was.

“Stayed so wet for me baby…I know you’ll enjoy this” you tease the girl, disregarding her pleas of being cut from her restraints as you spread her lips, giving you the opportunity to press your clit right up against hers.

The feeling has Ellie’s words getting caught in her throat, because she’s no longer focused on g being cut loose. Now all she can think about is the feeling of your cunt sliding against hers.

“Fuck….feels so good baby…so fucking good” she whines out, eyes rolling back into her head as she watches the way your hips skillfully work against hers.

You moan with her, plump lips pressing along her calf as your own eyes flutter shut. You’re able to stop the act for a moment, simply enjoying the pleasure you got from riding Ellie’s pussy. One of your hands came down to pinch her nipple, which earns a loud, pathetic moan from Ellie.

“You’re so pretty when you’re not a bitch…prettiest girl ever” you moan softly, hips rolling against hers as you drive both of you closer to your orgasm.

Ellie nods eagerly at your words, accepting the compliment and the insult all in one. “M’so sorry baby…I’ll never do it again…I’ll treat you so good if you’ll let me..I fucking promise” she moans loudly, her own hips rolling to match your rhythm.

Her words make you moan loudly, because she’s practically begging for it, begging for you to give her a chance.

You weren’t sure you’d ever hear such words from Ellie.

“You get so stupid when you wanna cum…don’t you baby? Promising things you don’t mean” you whine out as you grip her thigh firmly, picking up the pace as you chase your orgasms.

Ellie shakes her head wildly, shaking her head as her green eyes go wide. “I’m not lying! I…fuck….baby I…I think I…” her words get chopped up by her moans. The pleasure is too much, and she feels tears prickling at her eyes as the feeling grows closer and closer. It’s overwhelming and Ellie is sure she’s never cried while getting fucked but she…she can’t handle this…it’s all…you’re too.

“I…fuck I love you!” She practically screams out as she cums hard against your pussy, her body shaking beneath you as she lets go completely.

You gasp loudly at her words, your own eyes going wide for a moment before it all slips away from you, your orgasm taking over as it forces your eyes to roll back in your head, your neck falling back as you ride your orgasm out against her, practically using the girl beneath you as you slowly grind against her to finish things out for the both of you.

You’re both breathing hard, the girl beneath you an absolute wreck. Ellie’s cheeks are flushed, her body covered in a thin layer of sweat as she stares up at you with hazy eyes, chest rising and falling as you both sit there in silence.

You struggle to catch your breath for a moment before you reach forward, a gentle whine leaving Ellie’s lips as your clit brushes against her sensitive one. You undo the knot on her wrists, finally giving her the opportunity to be free before you crawl off of her body, moving to lay down next to her.

The magnitude of what was said, what was done, fills the air of your room. It’s thick, and it almost makes it hard to breath as you both lay there for a moment. Ellie lays there with you, staring into your eyes as she cuddles into your pillow. You expected her to leave as she always does, this was your get back, and you were slowly accepting this being the end of it all once it was over.

But she never left.

“I meant it, you know” she finally breaks the silence, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. She licks her pink lips before she sighs softly.

“I know it’s fucking weird…and out of nowhere…but I think it’s sort of…always been there” she explains further, hating the lack of a response that comes from you as she pours her heart out once again.

Good things in life never came easy, and you were as good as they fucking came. Ellie should’ve known things couldn’t be handed to her so easily when it came to you

“I get it…if you don’t want to take things further with me. It’s weird how I’ve gone about things, and I don’t blame you for not wanting me-“ she doesn’t expect to be cut off by the feeling of your soft lips. If she was being completely honest, she didn’t think she’d ever feel your lips against after tonight.

Yet here you were, kissing her.

She doesn’t take long to return it, her tattooed hand coming down and tugging your waist closer so your body is pressed against hers. Her hand comes down to tug at your thigh, pulling it over your body to keep you even closer.

“It’ll be weird…but not being with you is gonna be even weirder” you explain with a soft sigh before you finally pull away, staring at her with your brows furrows gently.

“You’re gonna do everything you can to make it up to me though…for being so mean” you tease her, and Ellie is nodding eagerly at that. “Whatever you want. Seriously” she urges. Her eagerness makes you giggle.

You sigh out softly as you tug your plush blankets over your bodies, pulling the girl down and pressing her face against your chest. She lets out a sigh of relief at the gesture, her entire body relaxing more than it has probably the entire summer.

All of this just felt so…right.

Ellie feels herself drifting off to sleep, eyes growing heavier and heavier with each passing second.

“Ellie?” Your voice is soft and quiet, tugging the girl between sleep and wake as she gives a small hum of response.

“I love you too…” you whisper softly, barely loud enough for hear, but she does regardless.

It’s when she hears that, that Ellie knows despite all the bullshit she’d caused….

It was all worth it

#ellie williams smut #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x you #ellie williams x reader #tlou part 2

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