#Elements of a Trading Plan

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[syluses]

love is a bitch

sylus x female reader

sylus will tolerate your tantrums if you insist on having them- but he’ll have to address them somehow, too.

▻ cw. smut, noncon elements, implied kidnapping, breeding if you squint, sylus is soft but the consent is still very dubious, 18+ characters, dark/yandere content, possessive behavior, stockholm syndrome

▻ notes. no explanation tbh. its around like 6k words i think.. with SEEMINGLY minimum plot but sylus is so whipped for mc. like truly whipped. this dynamic has a very special place in my heart its like canon to me. i wanna make a dragon sylus fic next… maybe another caleb one OR do a siren! raf thing. hope the girlies enjoy this <3

ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 (๑´ `๑)♡

You’re stubborn, tonight.

Between two days spent enduring your mean cold shoulder and the precious vase you threw to the ground, sending it sprawling in a million bits across the floor that Sylus fears will end up lodged in your feet, he’s a little emotionally-charged as well.

Sylus has never been one to bend over, no- his two most reliable henchmen are there for that, and they do it gladly. But there is something about you that makes him stick his neck out time and time again… So, without a word, just a resigning glance thrown your way, he lowers himself to a crouch and sweeps the glass shards into a dustpan.

Love will do that to you, he supposes with the ghost of an obliging grin.

It’s not in his nature to roll belly-up, but he’ll meet you halfway somewhere on his side.

It’s not the first time he bent a knee for you, anyway, and certainly won’t be the last. Still, Sylus holds abundant self-awareness and knows this is more than a bad look for him; fortunately, his weak spots only ever reveal themselves in the privacy of his manor’s walls where you hold it down in his absence.

The twins- Luke and Kieran- they won’t enter your bedroom, not tonight, regardless if there’s a mess or not. Onychinus’s leader has plans for you and no intentions of allowing any interuptions. With a watchful eye trampolining between the fragments underfoot and your rounded shoulders as you curl up to the headboard and tremble, Sylus decides he can handle this little issue fine enough himself.

With a set jaw, he trawls through the glittering pieces until his gaze darts to something particularly shiny.

He lets out a breath.

…So you did throw it out; Sylus wondered what you were fidgeting with behind your back moments before your sudden outburst, but it’s with a pang of startle- and hurt- that he unearths the nitid wedding ring buried beneath layers of geometric shards. Discarded no different than trash would be.

It’s not like he needs physical proof to boast your marriage— even strangers can spare one look at the two of you- the arm forever wrapped around your shoulder or middle, the possessive flair in his eyes paired with a doting, bottomless affection- and make the conclusion that some sort of intimacy runs deep there...

So no, some filed-down gemstone, dazzling as it may be, doesn’t determine your relationship. It certainly makes him feel good, though, to see it wrapped around your finger as a perfect match to his- a tangible token of your bond. It’s a beautiful reminder of you that he absently toys with throughout the evenings to the backdrop of a silent stopwatch, mentally counting down the seconds until he can return home to you.

It’s all the more reason to adorn you in pretty things, anyway. Jewelry and twinkling beads that clang loudly together no matter how quietly your feet fall.

And he likes that, to be fair- not to be superficial, but it’s one of his simpler joys, to pamper you like a princess in every sense of the word.

You don’t need to like it, to want for it; Sylus has always stared at you like you were the epitome of royalty. And royalty only deserves the best, doesn’t it?

He dresses you in fine silks that you slip out of as soon as he’ll allow, trading designer brands you can’t even name out in favor of one of his sweaters or shirts. Stood behind you, he’ll insist on threading dainty, flax chains around your neck, smiling softly in the reflection of the full-body mirror.

You never meet him in the eye, then, too put off by the delight that practically oozes off him as he spoils you rotten to look at him right.

Sometime later that night, his hand- large but always careful- will resume that chain’s place around your neck, and thumb over your pulse affectionately.

You never did find much use, or joy, in any of his glitzy expenditures.

If- If you’re being perfectly honest you’d much rather he buy you a ticket home. Maybe that’s the one wish of yours he’ll never bring life to, much less humor in the first place.

But you’re nothing if not persistent. Oh, sweetie, Sylus has been made abundantly aware of that fact. He takes it like water off his back, though: just another little quirk of yours to catalogue to memory and dote over.

His stubborn, precious girl.

Tonight, frustration reaches its zenith in you and you snap. Grow teeth and snarl in his face.

You don’t want to be angry— ugly— God knows you loathe what’s becoming of you, but your captor doesn’t leave many other options on the table.

You shriek when he tries to coax you towards the plush fur draped over the bed and he watches with a resigned sort of sorrow as you throw things off the coffee table and shout.

You scream your throat hoarse. You taste copper on your tongue as if you’ve been running. Maybe, the truth isn’t all that far off. A man like Sylus is something to run from; all sentient beings with a sense of self preservation, no matter how small, would take off on foot immediately.

There’s not many places you can run to, though. Not when there’s constant surveillance on you- iron-wrought gates and a damned bird that soars watchfully overhead if you so much as step into the courtyard.

Your tantrum lasts all of three minutes before you retreat to the nearest corner- Sylus’s lavish bed- and quietly lick your proverbial wounds.

He’s never hit you before, no, not physically, but he’s the kind of man to leave everything within his radius reeling sooner or later. Doesn’t matter where his loyalties lie. It will happen.

And, you know, he’ll treat you like you’re some exception to that rule- to his streak of cruelty and the chaos that he lets unravel around him- but you’re not. You’re really not and you just desperately wish he could see that—

“Talk to me, sweetie,” a low tone draws you from your reverie.

You don’t let your eyelids flutter open right away; you’re re-experiencing a vivid memory in your head- a sunny afternoon in Linkon with a warm hand woven in yours by the shore- and don’t want it to slip away just yet. It’s a comforting piece of your past you want to hold onto.

As pathetic as that may be, despite Sylus having all but birched your hope for rescue to a bloody pulp, you still look back on better days with bittersweet longing and pray someone will come and save you. If not them- your old buddies in the Hunters Association and your closer friends that Sylus has voiced a particular enmity to- then yourself. You want more than anything to save yourself, but it’s not like he gives much opportunity for that.

This is your home, now. It always was. He’s dogged in his attempts to prove it to you, purring in your ear while he fucks you slow and deep that he’ll take as long as it needs to convince you of that simple fact. It’s indisputable: you’re his.

You’ll… come around to it eventually, Sweetie.

Biting your tongue, you hold off on responding to him.

There was nothing to say, really- you’d already just screamed your throat raw and still it wasn’t enough to make him budge or even at least reconsider this awful arrangement he’d launched you into a number of months ago.

If you open your mouth, you tell yourself in a mix of childish bravery and cooling ire, sloped against the headboard defiantly, it’ll be to bite him. Certainly not talk to him. Especially not in any civil manner. You think he’s lost that right ages ago- the priviledge of your softness.

You hear him heave a faint sigh, but for the moment, he leaves it at that. “Okay, then,” he murmurs with a tinge of understanding that you hate, “You cool off, sweetie. Take slow, deep breaths. Lie down if it makes you feel more comfortable.”

You remain sat upright. One half of it is because you don’t quite feel safe going prone right now with adrenaline still buzzing in your veins, and the other half is for the sole purpose of spiting him.

Sometimes it feels like you can’t. Spite him, you mean. His wounded eyes, which resemble a kicked puppy’s to a shocking degree, are as rare as they are effective. You really shouldn’t harbor any capacity of guilt for the man, but you’re human. Glaringly human. And his forlorn little frowns after you’ve winced under his harmless pets or refuse to face him after he’s fucked you within an inch of your life and wants to curl up to you like some overgrown cat- they tug on a vulnerable part of you.

It’s- It’s not Stockholm Syndrome at all, or even the latent stirrings of it. It’s just— It’s just a basic human trait to feel, and…

You suppose that might be the one veritable thing he hasn’t quite ripped from you. Maybe more so for his benefit than yours.

After Sylus is done sweeping up your mess, he approaches the bed and caresses the blade of your shoulder. The movement is just barely hesitant, like he doesn’t want to send you flying five feet in the air with some violent flinch response. It’s happened before on more than one occasion.

You don’t know whether to count his caution as endearing, oddly sweet, or fucking maddening. Perhaps it’s a fair combination of all of that as well as sickening.

Your consolation that came in the form of a now distant memory peters out into heavy, intermittent throbs of your chest. Sadness thumping a gentle song. The smell of sea salt spraying up from the ocean fully wafts away as he brings a hand up to your forehead, gentle as ever, and guides you to turn to face him.

His own scent- a base amber with notes of vanilla underneath, in two words: warm and rich- replaces that. You draw it in in small, shallow breaths and feel it tingle behind the bridge of your nose.

Sometimes it comes like a precursor to his hands- something that’ll have you bracing for impact in fetal position. Other times, when he’e got your thighs pinned either side of your head and his cock delving in and out of your pussy, hitting so deep in your belly you think nothing will sate your appetite for days, it’s a dizzying smell.

Consuming and concentrated, rubbing off on you like a bad influence as he grabs and gropes and nips.

You hate to admit it (and don’t know how it got to this point) but on occasion, Sylus’s scent is even comforting.

You would never tell him that. In fear of it getting to his head, if nothing else.

His warmth tickles the shell of your ear, his lips peppering a chaste kiss to your shoulder as he settles in beside you. Your frenzied heart, just as it began to slow, begins to thump faster, but you remain otherwise composed. When he moves a hand to lift the blanket over you, fuzzy and stupid-expensive, you make a grunting sound and shove his wrist away.

Stubborn, Sylus thinks, and bold.

But his. His and perfect.

Behind you, his chest rumbles. He lets out a laugh, gentle and light, but you wonder if it’s the remnants of exasperation that’s interwoven in it. He nestles up at your back and curls a possessive hand around your middle, his other brushing some hair off your shoulder.

You’re not quite dumb enough to interfere with it this time. Or, for that matter, the glittering ring he puts on your finger- back to its rightful spot- and reverently slips down to the slim base of your knuckle.

“You’re not cold, kitten?” He mumbles at your ear, taking you in through slow, decadent breaths,”I guess you did work yourself up by a few degrees, huh?” The proximity used to raise the little hairs on the back of your neck, but he has dulled your fight-or-flight response considerably over the past handful of months.

Kudos to him, for that.

He’s not entirely wrong, though. Your cheeks still feel toasty with anger, your fingers twitching and unfurling by your lap as if to test your own mood.

“Are you…” he starts, contemplative, “still frustrated?”

…Are you still frustrated? You don’t know. Maybe just sad.

Everything you want you can’t have. Everything you want- your veritable livelihood- he’s plucked you out of no different than a mother would her errant puppy, by the scruff. With possessive teeth that latch on painlessly and say mine.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, before quickly remedying the part of you that grows anxious at admitting your own vulnerabilities to him- “yes. I’m upset.”

Sylus gives a little sigh.

Long fingers skim the column of your arm. He leaves behind small goosebumps and a warmth that somehow feels cold over your human flesh; a brush that tingles like a static shock.

“Don’t be,” he murmurs, voice becoming oddly heavy. Breathy, rugged. And you wryly suppose the solution he offered is just so helpful, isn’t it?

The palm laced around your middle gradually slips downward, his hooked nose pressing into your jugular like he can smell the hot blood beneath and it’s appetizing, before a feeling of dread overtakes you.

Dread, and another feeling you don’t want to name— a thrill of excitement ghosting down your spine.

When he cups the seat of your panties, you shiver and revolt as if you’ve been burned.

“N-No—“

He’s ready for that, your… hesitance. His other arm, the one that doesn’t end nestled between your bare thighs, keeps you lassoed to him, his breath heavy at your collar. Growing more labored by the second.

He hushes you, using his cheek to stroke against your hair since his hands are otherwise occupied. You don’t give any more fight other than that- the violent flinch- but you remain stiff as a board as he notes your trembling with a genuine, deep frown. Furrowed, sad brows and all as if he actually has the fucking capacity to feel sorry for something—

“It’s okay, kitten,” he breathes out, “Hush.” Four fingers deliver a series of slow, tantalizing rubs to your pussy, marking the beginning of his painless assault as his thumb toys with the waistband of your panties, and you shudder against your will.

You scramble to hold onto his thick forearm, straightening against him as he leisurely works you into a writhing, fiery mess. Your veins warm, but not out of anger- not anymore, at least. Traitorous flames sprout in the pit of your belly, fanning heat across your face— hot-blooded and filled with want over just a few of his touches.

Oh, you hate him.

“Just relax, loosen up. I’ll make you come,” he murmurs against your neck, laving the fleshy space there with amorous kisses.

Man with a mission. Man with a promise. If you know him, then you’ll know he keeps them.

He suckles gently at the sensitive skin before breaking off with a soft pop, a hot tongue lolling out to chase away the redness, rendering you speechless. Speechless and on the brink of forgetting just why exactly you loathe him so much— but a vestige of that repulsion remains, melancholic and weak, and you try one last time to push him away, throwing an ineffective elbow.

He glues his front to your back completely, locking your joints in place, and slips his fingers down your panties. His knuckles peek out from the lacy hem.

Sylus lets out a little groan when you call his name, shivering behind you.

He doesn’t care if you say it like it’s a perjorative or an invocation of some reprehensible, filthy spirit— if he had it his way, it’d sound coated in honey, but he’s learned to take what he can get with you. It still makes his cock throb beneath the white folds of his robe. In any case, it’ll sound real sweet soon enough, ringing out from your lips in pretty, gasping moans as you gouge your nails into his back.

Grudge him all you want, honey. He’ll make you shake and scream, tonight. Squash all the enmity you doggedly hold for him within the span of an hour with worshipful hands and concentrated, ardent thrusts that leave you with little choice but to take it and moan.

When your struggling stops altogether, Sylus takes ahold of your little hand and appreciatively thumbs over your ring finger. “What sort of husband would I be if I left you all hot and bothered, hm? A poor one,” he answers for you.

Gently, he maneuvers you onto your back and insinuates himself between your legs. His eyes are aflame. The look in them steals the last of your shivering breath, your heart doing a perfect backflip in your chest.

Ruby eyes flutter with passion, his pupils so big you can hardly spot the red glint as they dilate unevenly, his lashes dewy. He sucks in oxygen with short, winded intakes, his silvery hair- still slightly damp from his shower- falling over his brow. And to be fair that’s bunched together, too; all the little muscles in his face tight and strained as he lets out a clipped sigh.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers on his perusal. His gaze flits all over the place when he hoists shiny silk up your breast (tonight, a royal-blue negligee) and unwraps a stringy pair of panties from your legs.

“You’ll be good for me tonight, won’t you? Or is there any more… frustration you need to let out?”

The invisible apple of your throat bobs. You retain your silence.

He dryly comments, “I guess I owe you that.”

Sylus unties his robe, eyes glossy and intense.

He does so with an affected patience, knuckles moving ridiculously slow as he feigns autonomy over his own rampant emotions. You eye him with a misty desire as he does so, your hips giving an involuntary shimmy as you prepare for what’s to come.

Sylus grasps for the very last of his self-control like a beggar would the lavish tailcoats of passersby, but it’s all for naught. His fingers are shaking when he finally flips open his robe and shucks it from his broad shoulders. Oozing less confidence and more need than anything, the tips of his ears flushed a bright red that you don’t get to see often and nobody else gets to see at all.

He stoops over, then, laying his naked chest flat to your breasts.

“This,” he says, pinning your hand- the one with a flashy wedding band- onto the silky duvet and intwining your fingers with his. “This belongs, with you. So make a mess. Throw your fits and say those cruel things to try to get back at me, sweetie… But don’t ever take this off your ring finger, do you understand?”

He breaks off from your hickey-dotted neck to get a close look at you, pressing his forehead to yours. And right then you’re almost scared to look at him, an instinct existing deep in your gut saying you’ve just been taken into the maw of a big bad wolf— but his nose brushes with yours and he feels… human. Fleshy, warm. Shockingly vulnerable in the moment.

His hands that hold yours greedily are callous and big, sure- and you’ve seen firsthand the destruction they can raise- but they’re not clawed and malicious as they touch you. No, actually, they tremble with unbridled excitement at the opportunity to make you feel good.

And— And you hate him, y-you do.

Sylus cradles you close and nurses a few indulgent kisses from your lips, eating up every precious gasp you can’t stop from slipping in time.

Reluctantly, you return them all with budding desire.

“Do you understand?” He manages to heave out after a breathless moment. There’s no threat masquerading behind his candied words (no, he’s never been one to hold things over your head, surprisingly) but his timber is firm and meaningful. You have the implicit understanding that you must say yes- or, that’s your best option for the moment.

You look up at him and his eyes are wide, unblinking, not exactly the heavy-lidded picture you were expecting and had just witnessed mere moments prior.

And it’s a million things all in one— reverent and intense, enigmatic in its roots, you think, because you never could wrap your head around just what he saw in you and why, but he’s completely besotted. It brightly reflects in his eyes like chopped moonlight over calm waters- and you never once denied that. If you’re being honest, he made denying that- his very real, and unabashed feelings for you- an impossible task.

“Yes,” you mumble. “I understand.”

He seems contented, at that. Sighing and tempered.

He pants and nudges his brow to yours, one hand unloosening from its knot with yours to make a slow descent. Torturous and controlled like he wants you to shrivel up and die from the grudging need for his touch- for him to pivot deep up inside you and erase all conscious thought from your brain.

Sylus captures your lips in another kiss, more heated this time, raunchy and a bit toothy, as he takes his cock and, without any anticapitory strokes or anything, lines it up with your hole.

“M’ sorry, sweetie. I just don’t think I can stay away tonight. You…” His skull throbs with blunt, scalding want. “You’re worth all your trouble, you know that?”

A ripcurrent of fondness, unbidden but strong, gusts through your chest.

There’s just nothing in this world you can do to ward him off you, is there? No way to spook him?

The epiphany, dulled by a lust broiling between your thighs, is as comforting as it is horrifying. You don’t- You don’t know anything more. You just can’t be sure of what Sylus is to you, how he makes you feel— all his disservices done to you a cruel piece of your reality or not.

Tonight, you’ll blame it all on him.

He nudges apart your folds (growingly wet: an unfortunate discovery of yours that makes his chest puff with pride) with the fat head and begins his entrance. It’s grand but gentle; painstaking, almost, as his pelvis draws closer to yours but only at a snail’s rate.

A lewd squelch sounds out. You suppose you’re not entirely beyond the luxury of shame quite yet, because you toss your head to the side and refuse to meet his piercing gaze, embarrassed.

You… suppose you’re also a bit wetter than you’d thought, or wanted, for that matter.

You wince as he feeds inch after inch into you. Sylus is twitching; maybe you’re just hypersensitive or your fresh bout of anger has you experiencing everything in overabundance, but you can feel his long member writhe inside your gooey walls— every ridge and curve as you struggle to make room. On instinct, you clamp down on him and he hisses like he’s been slapped.

“R-Relax, kitten... Let me in. I’ll be gentle with you, I promise. Are… you scared?” He pants.

You swallow hard. Sylus tracks the movement with alarming precision, cardinal eyes watching your throat bob. Sweat beads there. He licks it up without thought, with half the brain to follow up his question with, “Don’t be. I would never hurt you,” he whispers. And to be perfectly honest, you believe him. In his own weird, roundabout way, he wouldn’t hurt you. Not in any physical regard, at least.

(Although, perhaps bullying his thick cock between your plushy, tooth-marked thighs is the exception to that statement.)

“Y-You’re mad at me,” you caterwaul, but it’s really a question in its own, uncertainty blipping past your wet eyes. “You’ll punish me.”

Something like hurt reshapes the hard lines of arousal in his face, tanned skin unfurling with brief sorrow. He looks sweet and puppyish- all momentary, of course, all his slips of vulnerability compiled into these isolated, intimate moments with you.

He frowns, “I won’t punish you, sweetie.”

“I broke the vase. Threw it, and- and my ring.” You reason in a thin voice, your fingers curling thoughtlessly. He takes them in his own. Kisses all the tips of them.

“So?” He dismisses with a breath, “I can buy a million more, honey. You forget who I am. As for your ring,” he pauses, gaze rapidly flipping across the bridge of your nose, as if trying to discern whether or not you’ll do it again somewhere down the line. Of course, it’s an impossible task to tell the future. Sylus wishes that wasn’t the case, though.

“…You wouldn’t do that again, would you? Throw it away, take it off. You’d cherish it, just as I do my own…” he alludes to the own band on his finger, resplendant and with a price tag you’d prefer not to count the zeroes on.

It glitters in the mellow lamp light when you briefly glance to it.

“I want you to look at it,” he decides after a beat, “and think of me. I want it to… make you happy.”

With that, you blink and he’s withdrawing, straightening his back to loom over you again- resuming that position of dominance without issue. He paints the most traditional idea of authority. Tall and muscled, with stoic eyes that glow with the silent dare to challenge him and hands that can make putty of the most rebellious spirit. He molds you like clay on a potter’s wheel. You reel underneath the unexpectedly soft ministrations of his worn palms.

Funnily enough, there was a time where you were convinced he wanted nothing more than to erase your person and rewrite your identity, but now you’re not so sure… It seems if anything, the only thing he wants to strip you of is your fear. Most notably, of him. He’s so violent but… painless. Sylus has always confused you, in that way.

With men like him, you’ve quietly wondered, maybe it’s just better to close your eyes and let your breathing slow.

“You’re doing so good,” he rewards with his words, “Relax your hips… yes, just like that. Maybe I’ve been away too much, mm? I’m sure the twins have been… more than talkative with you. Bothersome. Fuck,” he shudders.

“…You’re all pent up,” he determines out loud. “But don’t worry. I’ll make it better. I’m only asking that you’ll,” you think he gasps faintly, bringing a hand to touch over your belly, “make some room for me here. Could you do that for me, kitten?”

Without fully understanding the possible implications of his words, caught between the sweltering heat of his body and a confusing, inner blend of desire and fading resistance, you give a nod.

Sylus digs a fang in his bottom lip and forces himself to look away. His too-intense eyes settle on the syrupy juncture of your bodies, where he disappears into you and you, for once, eagerly invite him in.

“Sweet kitten.” His praise is cloying. Genuine, sappy. It sticks like frosting to the roof of your mouth— a feeling you can’t quite squirm away from because it’s lodged inside you. He’s smitten, and you think you hate him. You must. You were only screaming your head off about it moments prior and throwing precious, ornate vases to the floor, confessing your repulsion to the whole entire world (more accurately, Luke and Kieran, overhearing it from somewhere down the hall and the damned bird currently perched in his cage).

His words of encouragement, bitten and breathy, keep you from bucking your hips up and away, but only barely.

Your husband keeps you anchored beneath him with a fervid, loving stare and fingers that constantly remind themselves not to dig too deep into the fat of your hip lest they leave bruises. Save for the petal-like hickeys spiraling the pillar of your neck and your thighs- the ones that made you yelp with pleasure as he left them- Sylus doesn’t want to leave anything behind that exists for the sole purpose of hurting.

Right now, everything does. Your pussy lips mouthing around him and desperately trying to receive him, the prominent vein at the base of his cock throbbing under the tight fit.

It doesn’t matter how many times he’s nailed you against the headboard or taken you folded over the marble kitchen counters as the twins hurriedly scuttled out— you’ll never quite get used to the sheer length of him. All thick and pulsating, the upper half of it flushed and curved under its own weight.

Terrifying, the first time you saw it and he pried apart your legs all attentively and soft, tracking each and every expression that passed your face despite the drugs in you making every tiny muscle go almost entirely lax.

And it was terrifying the second and third time, too.

…It’s terrifying even now, but that sense of startle is buried deep down under gritty layers of hopelessness and bitterness and a disloyal arousal- your core throbbing with want as it nudges aside all rational thinking. It says to let him in. Let him inside your panties and heart but you still dream of homeward during every sleepless night, familiar, Linkon paths surrounded in hazy serenity. You dream of the sun, too, the buttery light that waits just outside of the N109 Zone and its boundless darkness—

Outside of him. Your stalker, your captor. With the recent addition of a big sparkling gem on your finger- your apparent husband.

Sylus is neat, down there; fine white hairs tickle above your clit as he bottoms out with a final groan- seconds before he stoops back over you and recoils his hips.

He fucks you good and slow. Expert thrusts that he pairs with tentative, darting looks from your pussy to your eyes to note every zipping emotion.

He coaxes honeyed moans out from you with relative ease. Admittedly, it feels heavenly where his body meets and parts with yours— your head made so dull, devoid of thought, your limbs weighed like bags of sand as he ruts into you like a man possessed.

He makes a pleasured sound, pulled deep from the barrel of his chest. “I love you.” You believe him. He definitely looks the part; in love. He can hardly speak. “Kitten. Tell me how it feels, tell me how you want it,”

“Good,” you cry breathlessly. “Feels good.” He watches you clamp your eyes shut and groans with dissatisfaction, taking your jaw in his whole hand and pressing his nose to yours. If he has one wish right now, it’s that you’ll understand in indisputable clarity that you make up the very atoms of his world, that in a wasteland of slate grey and white— you hold color. Hold it like a fully saturated sponge. With every piston of his hips, he drinks his fill from you.

Bitterly, you think with withering rationale, he drains.

“Then open your eyes. Look at me,” he demands. So close he’s near suffocating- every fibre of your being consumed by five letters and an adoration so heady it feels treacly. It emits from him like radiation, poisonous and insidious.

Sylus puffs out humid, minty breaths, and you take them in, recycling it between each other. Your lungs feel like a hearth. He’s gasping like he’s just concluded a several mile long run, perspiring at his temple.

Belatedly, you flutter open your eyes.

He’s handsome. He’s wolfishly handsome and the way he looks at you is both precious and earth-shattering all at once, crushing you under the sheer weight of it like a flimsy object placed under a hydraulic press: you stood no chance. Not against someone like him.

Obedient, you stare at him and whimper, half-tempted to cup his V-shaped jaw and indulge in the feeling.

Sylus moans and rewards you with a hot tongue pressed flatly to your neck. You slam your head as deep as it can go in the duvet. Your eyes fall back into your skull and you hold him tight- tighter than tight- squeezing his thick forearms like they’re fruit to juice. He doesn’t seem to mind.

Your back makes a crescent-moon. He relishes in the way you cling onto him for dear life, branding him with the tips of your fingers as he imparts mind-numbing pleasure. Euphoria thrums in your veins. It’s hard to breathe, your cheeks bloating before you dazedly remind yourself to breathe.

Your inner voice resembles Sylus’s to an unexpected degree.

“Breathe,” he really says, rasping. “Breathe, kitten.”

Your slick cunt winks around him with satisfaction, a gusty breath pouring down your throat.

Pointed teeth tickle your jugular. For a split second, you experience the very real, but perhaps needless fear that he’ll sink down and tear tendon from bone. That he’ll pull away with red spittle and a predatory smile and say, I’ve won. You’ve given in, sweetie.

It’s all for naught, however; instead, he washes you with sloppy, suckling kisses and you mewl unabashed for each and every one.

Molten pleasure sends a violent jolt through you, his saliva marking you and right then you feel no different than a bone to a dog.

Sylus wonders vaguely if you’ll ever come to the realization that while yes, he is a dog, you are his master— you give him name and purpose and occasional tugs on his leash that tell him where to go and what to do. He’ll trail you endlessly. Follow you to hell even if he smells the char clear ahead.

And you just don’t get that, do you? It’s as humorous as it is exasperating.

“Look me in the eyes, sweetie. Tell me how you feel. I want to know how- far you think I reach.” He shudders.

You whimper, “Far. S-So far, Sylus.”

A visible shiver racks his broad shoulders at the sound. His palm, callous and large, cups your chin tenderly and his damp lips shift against yours with every dull clap of his pelvis to yours. His free hand leaves its perch at your waist in favor of your breast, hovering over the valley of them with splayed fingers.

“And what about here?” He croaks, “Am I reaching this spot here?”

Your neck is straining as you plow it deeper into his fancy, expensive mattress. There’s a small uncertainty in you that raises the silent question of whether or not you’re trying to escape the man looming over you or you’re just overstimulated from his handling. Either way, it goes unanswered, put on the back burner to make room for a rattling pleasure.

Comprehension slips away. It’s taking you several seconds to grasp onto what Sylus is asking of you.

You take ahold of a pillow beside you and grab it so hard you think feathers might erupt from your fingertips. You’re getting close, you can feel it; a foamy wave in the distance growing taller and taller as it nears the shore. He’s not fairing any better, the threads of his composure splitting like dead ends.

Your heart, you finally realize in a blink. Is he reaching your heart? And it’s almost delicate, the response your chest has to it, your lungs drawing in a short breath and keeping it there for a long moment as if you need the extra time to process that morsel of information. That unexpected smidgen of fondness that bowls through you and scrunches your brow as you flit between his eyes. Cherry red and agog, wholly invested in your answer.

Before you can provide a real one— the wave crashes.

Bigger than you’d imagined, more powerful. Tsunami-like in nature: it casts its shadow over you in its entirety and steals the breath from your lungs as it curls and flattens. It rolls over you and sprawls to the crown of your head to the tips of your toes, your whole body convulsing as you’re swept up in its waters.

“Y-Yes,” you gasp without consciousness, fucked into perfect dumbness. “I love you, Sylus- I love you I love you I love you—“

Sylus’s hips stutter and fail.

“Fuck, sweetie!” He growls, “Do you mean it, do you—?” He delivers one last onerous ram into your twitching hole before letting out a roar and stilling completely. Rope after rope of hot cum glutting into you, your spasming walls feeling volcanic as he unloads his fat balls inside them.

You tremble and lose your tether to reality, for one moment. Cut off completely and barred from it.

Eventually, he lets out a deep, sated sigh and collapses over you. Drawing your boneless body to his front, tucking you safely under his muscled wing.

You numbly slant yourself against him and press your cheek to the damp, hard planes of his chest. His heart is hammering wildly beneath your ear and you don’t know whether to feel flattered, startled, or a fair mix of both. Perhaps you’re beyond the point of caring- although, sometimes it’s hard to get over the knowledge that Sylus indeed has a functioning heart capable of sorrow and anger and joy.

It’s… confusing, to say the least.

A long while passes afterward.

In the dewy afterglow, he plants a lingering kiss to the crown of your head and uses his center fingers to move away the hair pasted to your forehead. You can tell he’s holding back on something, just don’t know quite what.

Then, he murmurs, with a vulnerability that will never not look stupefying on him— cocksure, devilishly-handsome face warping into the gentle portrait of doubt—

“Did you?” He blinks, slow as he drifts along your sleepy face and watches your eyes hazily lift to meet his. “Mean what you said? Just now, when you came... Did you mean it, kitten?” He whispers softly.

Your mouth opens and wavers.

A plethora of contradictory feelings make quick work of the last of your common sense: loathing, trading itself out for hesitant affection; deepseated fear ducking out the way for the inexplicable want to unfurl your tight limbs against him and allow yourself just to be held... By him, of all people.

Your captor, who utterly uprooted you from your home and cut off every string connecting you to the people you considered most dear. Your tormentor and kidnapper and husband, whether you liked it or not, the relation only recently scrawled in paper in sloping, flowery letters. You signed yourself to him. (Albeit, you had very little say in the whole ordeal.)

You shut your eyes, hard. Your jaw follows.

You don’t give him an answer. Maybe you don’t truly know it anymore, not for certain. What this man has done to you is all too confusing and he’s made you all too tired, tonight. Nothing can keep its foothold for long in your fogged brain.

With a rapid thump of his heart, devastation falling headlong into the pit of his belly, Sylus thinks your silence, that in itself, is your answer.

…Nonetheless. He’s nothing if not persistent. And you’re warming up to him, he can tell— those fuzzy, latent feelings part of your willing acknowledgement or not.

So he arms you impossibly closer and nuzzles his hooked nose into your hair.

You think it’s a wry little smile that prods your temple. “You’re still playing the long game, hm, kitten? …It’s alright,” he breathes. You note the microscopic hitch in his otherwise even words with an unwanted pang of guilt.

“I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

[hy6erion]

Hii! Could I pretty please request a jayce×reader smut. I was thinking about collage!jayce and reader having a game night with friends. In the heat of the moment, playing some game where you are dependent on other's players willingness (like how in catan you can trade with other players or in monopoly you can buy the get out of jail card from someone), reader was really close to winning and just needed jayce to sell her something or trade with her or whatever and said something along the line of "I'll suck you off just trade with me", half joking (everyone laughing, jayce gives in etc...). And after everyone's gone home he's just there like "so... that was a joke, right". Just pathetic desperate jayce because that who he is.

~🍒

𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 - 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟-𝐣𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐣𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤- 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬.

⇢𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐩𝐚��𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐣𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞!!, 𝐬𝐮𝐛! 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐥𝐲 (´ ω `♡) 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊. 𝐎𝐡𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐣𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞....

The apartment is packed, the living room floor covered in game boards, beer bottles, and half-eaten snacks.

The air is thick with the kind of competitive energy that only comes from college students taking a game night way too seriously. You're sprawled out on the couch, eyes locked on the board in front of you, planning your next move with the intensity of someone about to make history.

Jayce is across from you, lounging back against the couch, one arm draped over the cushions, the other lazily holding his cards. He's been giving you shit all night, blocking your trades, refusing to sell you what you need, smirking every time you groan in frustration. Smug, cocky, completely in his element.

You're one move away from winning.

One stupid trade away. And of course, the only person who has what you need is Jayce fucking Talis. You glance at his cards, then at his face, and sigh dramatically.

"Jayce, come on. Just trade with me."

He grins, tapping his fingers against his chin like he's deep in thought, though you both know he's just drawing this out to be annoying.

"Mmm, nah. I don't think I will."

You throw your hands up. "Jayce, be serious. I literally just need that one fucking card."

He shrugs, clearly enjoying watching you suffer. "And I literally just don't feel like trading."

Groans erupt around the room. Vi shakes her head. "Jayce, just give it to her. It's not that deep."

Jayce smirks. "Nope."

You narrow your eyes, leaning forward, playing up the frustration, letting your voice drop into something sweet, teasing. "Jayce," you say, slow, deliberate, "I will literally suck your dick if you just trade with me."

The room goes silent for half a second before erupting into laughter.

Mel chokes on her drink. Caitlyn smacks Vi on the arm, doubling over.

Ekko leans back, eyebrows raised, looking genuinely impressed.

Jayce, though-Jayce freezes. His mouth opens slightly, like his brain is trying to catch up with his body, like the words are sinking in too slow. His eyes flick to yours, and for a moment, you swear you see something shift.

Something desperate, something raw.

But then the laughter drags him back, and he forces out a chuckle, shaking his head like it's nothing.

"You're so full of shit," he mutters, handing over the card with a roll of his eyes. "Fine. Take it. Jesus."

You grab it, grinning, and slam it onto the board. "That's game!" Cheers and groans echo through the room as you throw your hands up in victory, barely catching the way Jayce watches you, barely noticing the way he doesn't laugh as easily as the others.

—

The night winds down after that, everyone packing up, finishing drinks, stretching as they gather their things.

One by one, they leave, Vi and Caitlyn arguing about some rule from earlier, Mel throwing you a knowing look before disappearing out the door.

Jayce is still sitting on the couch, legs spread wide, his hands flexing against his thighs like he's trying to get himself under control. He hasn't moved since the door shut behind your last friend. Just staring, lips parted, golden-brown eyes locked onto you like he's still processing what happened hours ago.

Like he's been waiting.

Like he's barely holding himself together.

You stretch, pretending not to notice the way his gaze drops to the sliver of skin revealed where your hoodie rides up. "Guess I should clean up."

Jayce swallows hard. His voice is rough, low, almost careful when he finally speaks. "So, uh... that was a joke, right?"

You turn, giving him an innocent look.

"What was?"

He drags a hand down his face, groaning. "You know what."

You blink, tilting your head, playing dumb. "You mean when I said l'd suck your dick if you traded with me?"

Jayce actually whimpers.

His head drops back against the couch, his fingers tightening on his thighs, and you swear you see him press his knees together like he's physically trying to stop himself from reacting. He looks wrecked, already ruined, like he's been holding onto the thought all fucking night. His cock twitches in his sweats, barely concealed, already half-hard just from hearing you say it again.

"Fuck," he mutters, eyes squeezed shut. "Don't say it like that."

You bite back a grin, stepping closer, watching the way his breath shudders when you move toward him. "Why not?"

Jayce opens his eyes, and he looks so desperate it almost makes you laugh.

His pupils are blown, his lips parted, his whole body tense like he's about to snap. "Because," he groans, shifting in his seat, looking down at where his cock is already straining against his sweats, "I've been hard since you said it, okay?"

You blink. "Wait."

Jayce groans again, covering his face with one hand. "Since the game."

You stare, heat curling in your stomach. "Jayce."

He lets his head drop back again, groaning into his palm. "Fuck. I knew it. You're gonna make fun of me."

You smirk, stepping between his knees, reaching out to tug his hand away from his face. "Oh, I'm absolutely going to make fun of you."

Jayce lets out the most pathetic little noise, somewhere between a whimper and a plea. His thighs spread wider, inviting, instinctive, like he wants you to take advantage of him. His breath is heavy, ragged, like just the thought of what's about to happen is ruining him. "I-fuck, I don't care. Just-" He swallows, golden-brown eyes flicking up to yours, dark and pleading. "Just, please. Please..."

You drag your fingers down his chest, watching the way his abs tense, feeling how warm his skin is through the fabric. "So desperate," you murmur, grinning.

Jayce nods immediately. "Yeah. Yeah, i'm desperate. So fucking desperate. You've been teasing me all night, and I-fuck-please, just-"

You don't even let him finish before you drop to your knees between his spread thighs. His whole body jerks, a shuddered gasp escaping his lips as his head falls back against the couch.

His hands tremble where they grip the cushions. "Fuck."

You trail your fingers over the outline of his cock, feeling how hard, how thick, how absolutely wrecked he already is. He twitches under your touch, his hips lifting slightly, chasing any friction. "You've been sitting here like this all night?" you hum, pressing your palm down just to hear him whine.

Jayce nods frantically, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "I couldn't stop thinking about it. Couldn't stop thinking about you on your knees, about that pretty mouth-oh, fuck-"

You squeeze lightly, watching him tremble. "Then you should've just asked, Jayce."

He groans, his hips bucking up into your touch, his hands fisting the couch like he's trying not to just grab your head and make you take him already. "Please," he begs, voice wrecked, desperate.

"Please, I can't-| need-"

You grin. "You need what?"

Jayce actually sobs. "Please suck my cock."

Who are you to deny him?

—

Jayce is in heaven.

Completely fucking gone, wrecked, brainless with pleasure, golden-brown eyes fluttering shut, his breath coming out in ragged, desperate gasps as you work him over. He's sprawled out on the couch, legs spread wide, hands gripping the cushions like he's barely holding himself together. His body is shaking-tensing and shuddering with every slow, deliberate slide of your lips over his cock.

You hum around him, letting your tongue drag along the underside, teasing, making him feel every inch of it. He chokes on a whimper, his hips jerking up instinctively before he forces himself back down, knowing better than to move without permission.

"F-fuck-" His voice wobbles, high and needy, already so desperate, already so far gone. His fingers twitch against the couch, itching to grab your hair, to pull, to push— but he doesn't. Because you didn't tell him he could.

You pull back slightly, letting his cock slip from your lips with an obscene wet sound, stroking him slow, teasing.

"You wanna touch me, Jayce?"

His head snaps up, nodding frantically, golden-brown eyes glassy, pleading. "Y-yeah-oh, f-fuck-please, please-"

You hum, dragging your fingers up his thigh, tracing patterns against his skin, watching as he shudders, barely able to handle even the softest touch. "Mmm. I don't know, baby. You're not really being patient, are you?"

Jayce whimpers.

Actually, fucking whimpers. His abs clench, his cock twitching against your palm, already leaking, already so fucking needy.

"I-I-fuck—" His breath shatters, his head tipping back against the couch, his lips parting in the prettiest moan as you squeeze around his length. "I'll be good-I'll be s-so good for you, I swear-"

You smirk, dragging your nails lightly over his stomach, watching him suck in a breath, his whole body going tense. "You sure about that?"

Jayce nods frantically, his hands still fisting the couch, his thighs trembling beneath your palms. "Y-yeah-yes, I swear, I swear-p-please-"

You lean in, licking a slow stripe along the head of his cock, teasing him with just the tip of your tongue. His whole body jerks, a wrecked sob breaking from his throat.

"F-fuck-oh, f-fuck-" His voice cracks, completely pathetic, completely desperate. His fingers twitch, but he doesn't move, doesn't touch, doesn't do anything he's not allowed to.

"Good boy," you murmur, wrapping your lips around him again, sinking down, taking him deep, swallowing around him as you feel his whole body seize up beneath you.

Jayce lets out the most broken moan.

His hands fly up— hovering-not grabbing, not pushing, just trembling in the air like he doesn't know what to do with himself. His brain is melting, crumbling, breaking apart at the edges.

"Oh, f-fuck, baby-" His voice is high and breathless, so fucking gone already. His hips twitch, his thighs shake, his golden-brown eyes flutter shut as he lets out the prettiest fucking gasp.

"You feel so good-ohhh-f-feel so perfect, s-so fucking perfect, love your mouth, baby, f-fuck, love you s-so much-"

You hum, taking him deeper, sucking hard, watching his abs flex, watching his head tip back, completely wrecked.

Jayce whines.

Loud, desperate, needy. His fingers twitch in the air before he finally lets them settle on your head, not pushing, just petting, just stroking, his voice breaking as he babbles more nonsense.

"You're s-so good-s-so good to me, baby, s-so fucking perfect, I-love you, love your mouth, I-love the way you— oh, f-fuck-"

His hips twitch forward before he jerks back, groaning, forcing himself still. "S-sorry, baby, s-sorry-f-fuck-w-won't move, I promise-"

You grin around him, dragging your nails down his thighs, watching him shudder, his cock pulsing against your tongue. "You're so obedient," you murmur, voice warm, teasing.

"Such a desperate little thing for me, huh?"

Jayce lets out the neediest fucking moan you've ever heard.

"Yes-ohhh, f-fuck-yes, f-fuck, I'm-" His voice shatters, his hands fisting in your hair, still not pulling, still just holding on for dear fucking life.

He's so fucking close. You can feel it in the way he tenses beneath you, in the way his breath comes out in uneven little gasps, in the way his hips jerk forward before he whimpers, forcing himself back down.

"B-baby, please-" His voice cracks, golden-brown eyes wide and pleading, so fucking gone for you.

"P-please, sweetheart, I-let me cum, please-"

And fuck—

You let him.

[whoreforsexymen]

heeeey!!!! Im back with more jayce request. I would like to see jayce x reader with the prompts “Don’t act like you didn’t want to end up under me like this.” and “Shut up and take my fuckin’ cock.”. This is giving me like rivals or enemies to lovers where jayce and the reader have some heavy sexual tension under the surface. One day jayce just loses all patience and snaps and takes all of his stress and anger out on the reader

Sink Like A Stone | Jayce Talis

Prompt Fic (See, Prompt List)

Prompt(s) Used:

#2 "Don't act like you didn't want to end up under me like this."

#21 "Shut up and take my fuckin' cock."

Pairings: Jayce x Fem!Reader

Pronouns: Fem!Pronouns + Female Anatomy Descriptions

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked!

Word Count: 8.3k (IDK what happened)

Tags: Songfic, INTENSE Smut, INTENSE Angst, VERY SLIGHT dub-con (it's not really dubcon--Jayce just get's really consumed by anger at one point--the unspoken consent is there) Hate-fucking, Lovers to Enemies then back to Lovers (??), Choking, Semi-Public Sex, Biting, Slapping, etc.

Summary: You and Jayce are ex-lovers. You hate him for plagiarizing and stealing your life's work, and he hates you for leaving him over what he considered a selfless act. After months of having not seen each other, you two get into a heated screaming match turned hate-fucking. However, Jayce may have let his emotions get the better of him.

Notes: OKOKOK, so. Be warned. This one is a DOOZY. I was in no way planning on adding 90% of the elements I added to this story. They just kind of happened.

(Special note to @milkbean69 !! I really took this and ran with it. If you want me to redo it in a much tamer way. Please let me know and I will.)

((((Side note, this is going to have to be a two-parter! Stay tuned for part two, which will be much softer.))))

‘We lie,

Cold.’

Jayce.

A name so simple, so unassuming, it would slip unnoticeably through anyone else’s mind. But to you, it holds weight. Each syllable, each breath that forms it, feels impossibly significant—a name that stirs something deep within you, a quiet echo of poignancy known only by you.

Your feelings towards the Jayce Talis you once knew were complex and hard to define. On one hand, you despised the way he insinuated himself into the council of Piltover’s most prestigious Academy, taking a seat you believed was rightfully yours—one you had fought tooth and nail to earn.

‘Dam up the river,

We can go, slow.’

His so-called “vision” for Piltover’s future, with that abominable Hextech nonsense, had directly sabotaged the plans you’d spent years perfecting. You may not have had the luxury of Arcane magic to ease trade, but you had crafted a much more practical blueprint to connect Piltover to the rest of Runeterra’s trading world.

Yet the moment Jayce and his fragile “partner” wielded their so-called “magic,” your ideas were dismissed, overlooked, and ultimately erased.

‘We don’t wanna,

Know.’

On the other hand, you had always considered him a friend—seemingly more at times—until the day he practically ripped the rug of your life’s work out from under your feet.

Not to mention he had the gall to call it his idea. “His” idea? Please. It was your idea, just re-wrapped in a fancy mystical package. You had worked on it together, after all. Jayce had spent countless hours rambling about the mysticism and potential of those tiny blue stones of his, insisting they could revolutionize everything you had ever strived to achieve. Never once did you imagine that, once he unlocked their power, he’d turn against you, abandoning the partnership and the vision you had once shared.

‘Dull down our senses,

Become numb.'

What kind of name was Hextech, anyhow? It felt devoid of sophistication, lacking both subtlety and the gravitas one might expect from something so profound. It didn’t quite capture the essence of what it was—an intricate fusion of magic and technology—nor did it convey any sense of elegance or purpose.

Although, you couldn’t deny that you often reminisced in memories of your life before his grandiose “discovery”—robbery, really— of Hextech—your idea.

‘We take our time

Ignoring all the signs

Living in fear of our lies

Never bad enough to break it

Or, good enough to feel right.’

You had spent the better portion of your youth with him, much of it tangled amidst bedsheets, consumed by a shared, desperate need to relinquish each other’s physical tensions.

‘Been in overtime,

Half our lives.’

Sometimes, you could still feel the softness of his touch, the warmth of his lips grazing your skin—and other, much more tender, places. You could easily recall how your body had ached for him at times, but even more painfully, how your heart had longed for him, too. A truth you never dared to utter aloud.

The absence of anything beyond those intense moments of passion never really crossed your mind during the thick of it all. You never questioned it, and in hindsight, you’re almost thankful you didn’t—especially after what he had done after all that time. All of the time spent together, collectively fantasizing over your dreams and aspirations of a better life for all citizens, and a better future for the next generations to come.

‘Under indecision,

We become so dependent.

On the rush,

Of the moment.’

The bitterness that had consumed your heart was unbearable now, and the thought of ever confessing your feelings to him seemed almost unfathomable—impossible to imagine how much worse it could have been for you now if you had.

By this point, you were acutely aware of how deeply you loathed him. Your physical desires had long since faded, especially since you hadn’t seen or spoken to him in months. You had even gone so far as to move to a place he couldn’t find, cutting off every trace of connection, and the bond you once had.

Your skin ached with longing for him, your body and soul craving his touch once more. Yet, no matter how intense the desire, you would never allow him a single opportunity to return to your life.

It was a painful contradiction to bear—hating him, yet craving him all the same. You felt trapped, consumed by hopelessness, unable to escape the turmoil inside.

‘Sanitize

My head.’

You hadn’t moved far—just to the other side of Piltover, away from The Academy, the council, and—most importantly—-Jayce, himself.. The distance was a great relief. In your day-to-day life, there was no real risk of encountering him, and that small sense of safety gave you some peace of mind.

However…

You often found yourself testing that peace, pushing the boundaries of the distance you’d created. You weren’t entirely sure why—maybe it was the deep, unresolved desperation for him, or perhaps a semi-conscious, self-destructive choice of yours.

‘Death murders

Everything in sight.’

Each night, you found yourself walking almost the entire length of Piltover, from your new home to the Hexgate monolith on the far end—the very place you had fought so hard to escape.

Seeing the towering structure always left you with a deep, melancholic thrum in your chest. It represented everything you had once hoped for, everything you had worked and slaved over, now reduced to rubble by its mere presence.

‘Beneath the rip in the wind

The pillar push you aside.’

That tower stood as an unyielding symbol of betrayal, a constant reminder of the anger and anguish that had shattered your world at the mercy of Jayce’s hands.

‘If I make way

I can taste your sigh.

Just like the cannibal amp

It knows sound is size.’

On your nightly walks, you would make your way down the stone pier that lead to the water, your footsteps echoing in the quiet. When you reached the end, you’d grasp the railing that kept people from tumbling over the cliff’s edge, gluing yourself to the present moment.

‘Push me to

The brink, I said

Well that bitch

Is a creep

It tried to know what I think.’

There, you’d gaze up at the tower, lost in thought—re-evaluating and wondering how differently your life might have unfolded if Jayce hadn’t betrayed you—-if he hadn’t stolen your idea and torn everything apart.

‘To breathe out passion

Or suck in fate

You think the world was made

To wield your weight

And bleed out?’

Tonight was no different. Here you were, hood drawn—- hands shoved deep in your pockets—-your bodice pulled tight as you hunched in quiet disdain, eyes locked on nothing but the ground that passed underfoot.

Your expression was sour as you traced every wrong turn your life had taken to bring you here. Your chest felt heavy, as if the weight of it all pressed itself down upon you out of sheer spite.

Your mind buzzed, a relentless whirl of painful memories spinning in a dizzying menagerie inside your skull.

When your eyes met the stark, hauntingly familiar edifice, a sharper pang stabbed deep beneath your chest, more intense than you were accustomed to by now.

You weren’t sure why, of all nights, tonight seemed to bring out the most intense surge of feelings—especially since you found yourself unusually consumed by your thoughts this time around.

Especially since, long before Jayce had perfected the Hexgate, the two of you would often come here to find solace in the sound of the waves and the crisp air of the sea. You’d toss stones into the water, or compete to see who could throw them the furthest. The bittersweet memory of how often Jayce would taunt you for your lack of coordination only deepened the pain and anger digging at you.

You couldn’t control the mindless, almost reflexive way your body reacted to such intense feelings, in combination with the familiarity of the location. Without a second thought, your hand reached for a nearby rock, and before you even registered what you were doing, you hurled it as hard as you could toward the tower.

The tower, distant and perched far out in the water, seemed almost unreachable, and your rock barely made it halfway before splashing down into the water with a sound that felt like it mocked you in the same way Jayce had. You almost felt compelled to throw another rock, driven by some irrational need to make the first one atone for mocking you—despite the fact that it, like all other rocks, had no sentience to answer for its actions.

You gave in to the irrational impulse, bending down to pick up another rock, your mind still fixated on the need to make the previous one pay. But as your fingers closed around the stone, something in the corner of your vision made you pause. A pair of shoes—familiar, yet unknown—caught your eye. Shoes that were attached to feet. Feet that led up to legs. Legs that belonged to the hips and torso of an individual you couldn’t see beyond your hood.

The rock slipped from your hand, forgotten, as your attention shifted entirely to the figure standing behind you. You hadn’t heard a single indicating noise that you had been followed, or approached from behind.

The presence was sudden, unnerving, and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to be afraid. If you were anywhere else, anywhere but Piltover, you’d be terrified. But here, in this ”city of wonders”, you couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, you were still safe.

If anything, it was probably an enforcer, here to reprimand you for throwing rocks in the first place. You straightened up, brushing the thought aside, and turned to face whoever had been silently looming behind you.

As you spun around, you realized—this wasn’t an enforcer.

No, far from it.

The person standing there was more terrifying than any enforcer could ever be, and certainly more annoying, infuriating, and enraging to look upon, for lack of better words to describe the instant rush of wrath that overwhelmed you.

‘Am I the reason

That you can’t look past

Your future self?’

“Your aim is still pretty shit, sunshine.” He says plainly, the nickname he had always pegged you with burning in your ears.

Your blood ran cold as your eyes locked onto the disgustingly smug expression on his face. Every hair on your body stood on end, a shiver crawling up your spine as you stood face to face with the man you now regarded with nothing but utter disdain.

You freeze, unable to muster a response, your mind clouded with a storm of rage and contemptment.

Jayce’s gaze lingers on you, almost—dare you think it—in a way that seemed concerned, longing, and worst of all—-caring.

What a hypocrite. How dare he look at you like he actually cares?

‘Got me believin’

You’ve been stuck

And glued in frequent doubt.’

“Don’t give me that look,” you snap, your fingers twitching, aching to throw a rock at his face just to make him eat his words. For a split second, you actually consider it—and you’re sure Jayce can feel exactly what’s running through your mind as he observes the way your eyes flicker between his face, and the stone you had left behind.

“What look?” he asks, concern surging through his expression again.

Did this guy have a death wish, or was he really just that oblivious? Either way, you could crack instantaneously.

“That look. The fake concern,” you snap, your eyes dropping, fists tightening, teeth grinding.

“Fake…?” He pauses, clearly lost in thought as he crosses his arms over his chest, the hint of offense hanging off his words.

You fight the urge to lash out, to make him feel something stronger than pain.

‘I know the feeling

‘Cause I can’t keep

My mind open now.’

“Yes, fake, Jayce. As in insincere. Artificial,” you spit, taking a sharp breath.

“Ersatz,” you add, the word a bitter aftertaste.

Your words cut through the air with a venomous cadence, each syllable sharp and biting, a distasteful attempt to tear through him.

Jayce looked completely dumbfounded, as if his mind had been wiped clean. The stark look of gears no longer grinding in his brain was almost comical. He was daft, no doubt. You felt a twinge of pride prod your ego upon this realization.

You couldn’t bear to stay here, not this close to him, not after everything. The thought that he was only here to twist the knife deeper into your wounds was almost more than you could handle. Your emotions, raw and overwhelming, had already drained you, and you were done. You didn’t want to give him another moment—no chance for him to make things worse, or worse still, to somehow try and redeem himself. As if he ever could.

Steeling yourself, you gather what little dignity you have left and turn away, keeping your face carefully composed. As you pass him, you deliberately knock your shoulder against his, ricocheting his shoulders in the process, a silent and singular act of defiance as you walk away.

As if to intentionally make matters worse, Jayce turns after you, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist. He makes contact, swiftly pulling you back towards him.

“___, wait—” He begins, but his words are cut short as your hand slams into his cheek. You hadn’t necessarily meant to hit him, but the motion was as instinctive as throwing the rocks—your hand connecting with the flesh of his cheek before you even had a chance to stop it—not that you necessarily would have wanted to.

The way you had wound up the slap was only amplified by the sudden pull of his hand grabbing you mid-stride, forcing you back toward him. The momentum aided the force with which you struck him.

The weight of what you’d just done hit you all at once—grief, anger, relief, all crashing together. A small part of you, the part that still cared for him, was flooded with guilt. But the darker parts of you—those that hated him, that had longed to hurt him—felt a twisted satisfaction. Besides, it was his own fault that he had grabbed you.

You’d wanted to feel his skin beneath your hands, after all, and in an oddly perfect way, this had been the way to satiate that desire.

Jayce instantly released his grip on your wrist, his hand moving to cup the spot where your slap had left its mark.

“Ah…” he groaned, wincing as he cupped the stinging flesh. His eyes snapped shut, the pain unmistakably written all over his face.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away as he stood there, his hand pressed against the raw, reddened skin of his cheek, the mark of your slap still vivid and angry. The sight of it made your chest tighten, but you couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was you were feeling. What should you feel in a moment like this? That was the question you could neither answer or shake.

You had already acknowledged, in a quiet corner of your mind, that there was a strange satisfaction in lashing out, even if it was tangled with the thorny weight of your own hurt. There was a cruel sort of release in it, one that both thrilled and disturbed you in equal measure. Your stomach churned as you fought to suppress the abhorrent feeling of shame that crept up on you.

You could feel your instincts urging you to escape—to run, to put distance between yourself and this raw, uncomfortable moment. But you chose not to listen. The urge to flee warred with something else, something deeper, a curiosity that had begun to take root. You wanted to see how this would unfold, to witness how this tension would resolve, if it would resolve at all. The satisfaction you had felt from that sharp, ringing slap was undeniable. Maybe it had been a way to expel some of the pain that had been building inside you for so long. Maybe, just maybe, it was worth confronting whatever came next, just to relieve yourself of that heaviness, even if only for a moment.

‘Make up your mind,

We’re running out of time.’

Your heart sunk as you saw the essence of betrayal soon sweep across his face. Yet, simultaneously, that added to the anger you felt. He, of all people, felt betrayal? After the way he betrayed you? That look of his repulsed you.

He looked at you, disbelief written all over his face, his expression a mixture of shock and hurt. His hand lingered on his cheek, still tender from the sting of your slap, as though he couldn’t quite grasp the reality of the moment. The look he gave you was one of genuine confusion, as if he couldn’t fathom why you were so consumed by anger.

“___…” His voice cracked slightly, heavy with emotion, but still full of that familiar, passionate lilt, the kind that used to make your heart race. When he whispered your name—softly, almost reverently—it was as if the sound of it pained him.

‘Doubt is failure

By design.’

His eyes searched yours, full of questions that hung in the air, unanswered. Why had you struck him? Why this sudden violence? The pain in his gaze only seemed to stoke the fire inside you, making the anger flare even hotter, more reckless.

“Don’t look at me like that. Like you don’t know exactly what that was for,” you spat, each word sharp, each syllable dripping with a tang that tasted like metal on your tongue. But as the words left you, the anger morphed into something far more fragile, far more devastating. Your heart seemed to crack with the weight of it, the betrayal, the hopelessness. The tears welled up, blurring your vision as your chest tightened with sorrow.

“Why… why are you so blind to everything you’ve done?” you choked out.

“To everything we had… everything you destroyed… just so you could chase your fucking dreams?”

Your fists balled at your sides, the muscles in your arms trembling from the effort of keeping control, even though your voice shook with the strain of holding back the tidal wave of emotion threatening to break free.

‘I’m burning up

Can only take

So much.’

“What about my dreams, Jayce? What about our dreams?” you cried, your voice rising, your words feeling like they could burn everything in their path. Every inch of you ached—your body, your heart, your soul—all of it pulled taut like a string ready to snap. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep it in.

“What made sealing your own future—your destiny—more important than what we built together?” you demanded, the question sitting in the air between you like a dagger.

“Why was your ambition more sacred than our bond? More sacred than us?”

Your voice cracked on the last word, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps. The tears spilled over, leaving hot trails down your face, but you stood your ground, unwilling to back down. This—this pain, this heartbreak—was something you needed to admit, needed him to hear.

“How dare you steal my idea. How dare you take the credit, and disparage it with your stupid, fucking, magic.” You were shouting now, your voice ringing through the night air, raw and unfiltered, the weight of your anger shattering the silence that had settled over everything. The contrast between your fury and the stillness of the evening was jarring—your words felt like they were tearing through the quiet, reverberating off the walls of the world around you.

“Your idea?!” he exclaimed in response, his voice rising sharply, cutting through your tirade. He stepped forward, closing the distance between you in a few purposeful strides, his figure towering over you, his height and presence suddenly far more imposing than you remembered. His broad shoulders blocked the space between you, his stance firm, as if challenging you to face him head-on.

‘I know you

Can feel it

It’s catching up

It’s getting too heavy

For both of us.’

“Since when was it your idea?” His words were fast, biting with frustration, and he was unrelenting as he moved closer, his eyebrows knit together in upset.

“‘Cause the way I remember it—we both wanted change. We both wanted to make Piltover a better, more advanced city.” His voice was now an angry force, his face craning down to meet yours, his eyes sharp, trying to drill the point home. He wasn’t asking anymore—he was demanding you understand.

But what hit you most in that moment wasn’t just his words. It was the way his anger had suddenly shifted everything. For the first time in your life, you felt small compared to him. You had never seen him like this—not even annoyed, not in all the time you had spent together. Jayce had always been the steady one, the calm, the voice of reason. But now, his fury felt like a storm—intense, unpredictable, and completely foreign. The force of it left you unsettled, and taken aback, to say the least.

You didn’t know how to react to this. His anger was like a tidal wave, knocking the ground out from under you, and for the first time, you realized just how much power he had over you—how much he could command just by his sheer presence. The towering figure in front of you, his jaw clenched, eyes burning with emotion, made your chest tighten. You didn’t know what to do with this. His anger was new, and in some way, it was almost more frightening than anything you had ever faced.

‘We lie

Cold.’

You were baffled, not just by the words he was saying, but by the way he was saying them—like a person you didn’t recognize.

You parted your lips, ready to continue the tirade that had built up in your chest, but before you could get another word out, Jayce’s voice cut you off, raw and jagged. He didn’t give you a chance to speak, his frustration spilling over, each word more desperate than the last.

“You left me. Here. Alone.” His voice cracked, trembling under the weight of everything he, too, left unsaid, considering how you fled before he ever got a chance to explain himself. It wasn’t just anger in his tone anymore; it was pain. The kind that came from a place so deep you couldn’t ignore it, no matter how hard you tried.

“I did what I thought was best for us.” He stepped closer, his voice rising in volume, matching the intensity of your own.

“I proved what I was trying to prove. For us. For our collective aspirations.” The words came faster now, fueled by the overwhelming rush of emotion that was beginning to boil over in him.

“I worked my ass off to make sure that, with the help of my Hextech, your trade routes could flourish,” he spat, his anger now matching yours, raw and unrelenting. His face was inches from yours, his breath hot as he glared down at you.

“I won’t stand here and let you blame me, let you hate me, for acting out of what I thought was selflessness at the time. I’ve gone to bat for you, countless times, to make sure you got the credit you deserved.”

His own fists clenched at his sides, the strain of his words almost too much to bear.

“But you ran. You left, assuming my only goal was to use you, when in reality, all I ever tried to do was support you.”

His words slammed into you like a physical blow, and for a second, you were paralyzed by the force of them. But then the anger surged again, hot and insistent. Support you? The bitterness twisted in your gut, and before you even thought about it, the words exploded from your mouth.

“Support me?!” You shouted, the sound ringing through the night like a bell, sharp and accusing.

“That’s what you call abandoning me to take a seat in the highest of towers?” You could feel the heat of your own fury rising to meet his, and without thinking, you shoved both hands into his chest, pushing him back with all the force you could muster.

Jayce stumbled backward, caught off guard by the sheer force of your anger, and you weren’t done. You shoved him again, harder this time, your hands pressing against his chest until he hit the railing behind him with a loud clang. The sound echoed in the air, but you didn’t care.

“In the council, no less?! Leaving me here to fend for myself in your fucking shadow?!” Your voice was hoarse now, each scream louder and more desperate than the last. You pushed him once more, as if trying to push the weight of everything you felt, everything you couldn’t hold onto anymore, into him.

The tears you’d held back were streaming freely down your face, but there was no stopping them now. The hurt, the betrayal—it all came pouring out in that single moment. The fury and heartbreak swirled together, a force you couldn’t control, and all you could do was scream at him until your voice gave out, until he understood just how much you had suffered because of his choices.

‘Dam up the river,

We can go, slow.’

Jayce had finally reached his limit. The shouting, the anger, the constant back and forth—it was all too much. He could see now that no matter what he said, nothing would make you stop. The argument had spiraled into something beyond reason, and every word he spoke only seemed to fuel your fire. You weren’t listening anymore; you were just lashing out, consumed by rage.

Enough was enough.

‘Dull down our senses,

Become numb.’

When you shoved him again, anger blinding you, Jayce reacted quickly. His patience had worn thin, and he wasn’t about to let this go any further.

The next time your hands came at him, he caught your wrists with a swift, forceful motion, crossing them tightly over each other. Before you could react, he shoved your arms into your chest, locking you in place. Then, without warning, he spun you around, pulling you harshly against him so that your back was pressed to his chest. His grip tightened, his arms like iron bands, preventing you from thrashing away.

‘Mirin myself

All by myself.’

“Stop.” His voice was low, sharp, and commanding, vibrating against your ear as his chest caged you in. You could feel the heat of his body, the raw tension in every inch of him as he held you close, his strength completely overpowering your attempts to break free.

“___, for fucks sake! Stop!” He demands, one of his enormous hands moving to take hold of both of your wrists while the other clamped down around your jaw, bringing your face towards your shoulder, where his own chin rested in this position.

Jayce had no choice. He knew how stubborn you were, how deeply you clung to your anger when you were hurt, and how you’d never stop until you’d worn yourself out—if you ever did. But right now, he couldn’t wait for that to happen. He couldn’t let you run away from him anymore.

With one sharp, decisive movement, his lips crashed into yours. It was hard, hungry, demanding—a complete storm of sensation that left no room for resistance. Your eyes went wide in shock, your breath hitching as you tried to pull back, but he followed, his mouth pressing harder against yours, refusing to let you break free.

‘Feel the caress, so sweet

Done by my hand.’

You gasped, the sound caught between your lips, and before you could protest, his kiss deepened, his tongue slipping past your lips, twisting with yours in a way that both startled and confused you. You cried out into his mouth, the noise muffled, as his hold on you tightened, his body pressing closer to yours, grounding you in place.

Every part of you wanted to push him away, to shout, to keep fighting, but Jayce’s kiss was relentless—an anchor pulling you deeper into silence. He wasn’t pulling back, not until you stopped fighting, until you let go of that anger long enough to breathe.

And though you still burned with fury, something about the way he held you, the way his presence swallowed you whole, made it harder and harder to keep struggling.

No matter how much you had longed for his touch, how desperately you had yearned for him to kiss you like this again, you couldn’t bring yourself to accept it in a moment like this. Not when everything inside you was still burning with anger and hurt.

‘Polishing this frame of mind,

Jacked it up an ax to grind.’

You fought against him, your body stiff and tense, desperately trying to pull away from his overwhelming presence. Each movement was a silent refusal, a stubborn resistance to the way his kiss was pulling at your very core.

‘Duck n’ dodge,

Stay unaligned.'

But it was futile. You were already drained, your energy spent from the crying, the shouting, the endless cycle of rage that had led you here. As his lips pressed more insistently against yours, the fight in you began to falter. The need to escape, the impulse to run, slowly began to dissolve with every second his lips lingered on yours, and his tongue explored the depths of your mouth. What remained was the sharp sting of your rage, but even that felt like it was starting to ebb.

Gradually, your body softened, the tension in your muscles melting away. The fight left you, piece by piece, until you sighed against his mouth, the sound muffled but unmistakable. With a subtle shift, your head tilted just enough to give him more room, more access, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to stop fighting. The kiss deepened, and in that quiet surrender, Jayce released a long, relieved breath, sensing your body finally easing into his touch.

‘My recognition face

Some get withered

Some get fried.’

You kissed him back after great hesitation, your lips and tongue moving urgently against his, as if you were trying to make up for every lost moment in a single, heated breath. There was no holding back now. The memories, the longing, everything that had been buried deep inside you erupted all at once, and your mouth moved hungrily against his, each movement a desperate attempt to relive the intimacy you’d once shared.

‘I know we talked about

The shit we did

Each time.’

His grip on your wrists faltered, weakening as you started to turn toward him fully. The distance between you closed rapidly, and soon, your chest was pressed flush against his, your body responding to his presence with an intensity you couldn’t control. As your hands were freed, they instinctively traveled up to his face, your thumb brushing over the spot where you’d struck him only minutes before, feeling the remnants of your anger there, now mingling with something else.

‘Polishing this frame of mind

Jacked it up an ax to grind.’

You cupped his face, fingers digging into his jaw, pulling him even closer as if trying to erase the distance between you, to melt into him and make up for the time and pain that had come before. The urgency in your movements was raw and frantic, a wordless plea to feel everything at once—to collapse the anger, the longing, and the need that had built up inside you into this single, desperate connection.

‘Duck n’ dodge

Stay unaligned

My recognition face.’

His hands roamed over your body, searching for any way to pull you closer, his touch growing more insistent as he settled them on your hips, pulling you into him. The physical closeness only heightened the tension, the desire, but also something darker—something that still lingered between you—lust.

Though you no longer felt the need to escape, your rage simmered just below the surface, burning deep in your chest. It wasn’t gone, not by a long shot. It still gnawed at you, demanding to be felt, demanding some kind of reckoning. Part of you wanted to make him feel it, make him understand the depth of your pain. You wanted him to know what you had been through all this time.

‘Am I the reason

That you can’t

Look past your future self?’

Your tongue retracted for a moment, and you pressed your teeth against his bottom lip, the bite sharp enough to sting. It was a flash of anger, mixed with the heat of desire, and it caught Jayce off guard. You had shared passionate moments before, but nothing quite like this—nothing that carried this much intensity. He flinched at the sudden sharpness, but in that moment, something in him sparked, that familiar fire of tension growing even stronger.

If that’s what it would take to break the tension, then he’d oblige.

Jayce’s hand tangled into your hair, pulling you closer, his grip tightening. The sensation of your hair in his hand, the pressure, sent a breathless sound escaping from you—something between a gasp and a soft exhale. It was involuntary, the sound mixing with the heat building between you. Jayce had always longed to hear that from you, to feel that connection, and now that it was happening, he couldn’t stop.

For far too long, Jayce had denied himself any form of physical connection. Since you left, he’d been forced to bury his desire for you deep inside, locking it away with a painful awareness that nothing—no touch, no embrace—could compare to what he had shared with you. Each passing day, he became more acutely aware of the emptiness that lingered, knowing that any contact with anyone else would only serve as a stark reminder of the craving that burned for you.

‘Got me believin’

You’ve been stuck

And glued in frequent doubt.’

He tightened his grip, drawing another soft sound from you, the mix of pleasure and tension in the air thickening. His focus was solely on you now, on the way your body responded, on the sounds you made, and how this moment—this raw, unguarded moment—was pulling both of you closer to the unspoken lust that couldn’t be denied a moment longer.

You can’t help but let out a filthy little moan, whimpering along with it.

A shameless, guttural moan, that sent Jayce’s head into a spiral. He had been beyond desperate to coax those kinds of noises out of you for what felt like too long of an eternity. He was in no position to deny himself the opportunity to keep drawing them out of you.

His hands curled into a fist as he yanked on your hair, whimpers flying out of you like a flock of birds.

If you wanted to fight dirty, Jayce was game.

“Fuck..” He breathes out—eager, like a starved man who stumbled upon a banquet— as he pulls away from your lips, immediately pressing them against the skin of your neck he had exposed from his grip on your locks. He let his teeth drag along the skin, biting and harshly sucking on it in several places. Your reaction was deathly arousing. The slightly pained cries that flowed beside ones of pleasure sent Jayce’s burning temptation into orbit.

He knew you needed him in the way he had once gotten used to providing for you. His cock throbbed beneath his slacks, desperate to break free from the confines of the cloth that kept it contained.

It was arguably harder than it had ever been, his anger and inability to have you for so long adding fuel to the fire of his pure incessant need to bury himself deep inside you.

‘I know the feeling

Cause I can’t keep

My mind open now.’

Oh, how you both longed to be connected like that again. In the way all lovers know well—their unspoken second nature.

He ruts his hips against yours, your own body responding instinctively by meeting them in their attempt to seek friction.

You both emit low grunts at the new sensation, satiating the tension for now.

You felt as though you were being scorched from within, the intense heat of your desire and simmering rage intertwining, each stoking the other in a relentless blaze. Every nerve burned with an insatiable hunger, a craving that went beyond pleasure, pulling you deeper into a whirlwind of both ecstasy and agony.

You needed more—not just the thrill of sensation, but the raw, cathartic pain that seemed to heighten the fire within you. Your soul ached for an outlet, something that would satisfy the chaotic tension, where your lust and frustration could collide, erupting into something that might finally ease the raging storm inside.

You snaked your arms around his neck, giving a small jump into him as you anchored onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist. He hums darkly in reaction to the sudden motion, his hands releasing their clasp on your hair to instead latch onto the bottom of your ass—-supporting you as you clung to him.

Jayce’s head shot up from it’s spot between your head and chest, moving to a new vantage point in order to scan the area. He was a man with a mission.

A mission to uncover the perfect place, somewhere secluded and unremarkable—a refuge hidden from the world where he could channel the fury between you with ruthless intensity. It had to be a spot where nothing could interrupt the raw, unfiltered release of tension—a place where every movement, every act, could be as drastic and unforgiving as the anger that surged through both of you.

Needless to say—and in an extremely simple turn of phrase—-He needed to fuck the rage out of you— and he would stop at nothing to do so.

After a few tense moments, Jayce focused, his eyes landing on the perfect hidden corner in all of Piltover. His grip tightened on you as he began to lead you toward it. The alleyway was small and shadowed, tucked between two shops that had long since closed for the night. The buildings on either side pressed in tightly, their walls forming a dark, narrow passage that swallowed any light. The darkness obscured it from street lamps and passersby, though Jayce hardly seemed at all concerned about the possibility of wandering eyes, anyway.

The alley itself was already tucked away from the main streets, but the particular spot his intentions were set on was even more concealed—through the alley and to the right, behind the buildings entirely, not just in between.

Overhanging eaves, garbage bins and scattered crates cloaked the area, creating a thick, impenetrable shadow. It was a secluded pocket, completely hidden from view, untouched by the faintest glimmer from the street beyond.

A perfect haven of obscurity, though the lack of any inviting scenery was hardly worth a second thought. The cracked cobblestones, the faint smell of damp earth, rotting trash, and the forgotten clutter of the alley seemed irrelevant. In a place like this, where shadows held sway, scenery had no claim. Nothing mattered but the raw, pressing heat of the moment.

You sank your teeth into his neck, your hands exploring his shoulders with a quiet, persistent need. He groaned beneath your bite, his un-abating lust taking the lead furthermore, as he harshly slammed your back against the abrasive stone walls of the building. His mouth was quick to covet yours once more, lips voraciously seeking stimulation from them.

Your sensual tango of lips pressing against each other, hips grating and rutting into each other’s carried out, Jayce beginning to make quick work of exposing you to the elements, his cock still hard as ever as it brushed against your clit beneath the layers of clothing. You can’t help but whimper out in response.

With the new advantage of pinning you to the stone wall—-combined with the leverage of your legs still around his waist—-his hands grew eager, rushing to tear your blouse apart. His fingers slid between the buttons of the opening, pushing through the seam before he gripped tight and wrenched it apart. Several buttons flew free, briefly distracting from the sharp bite of the cold air against the newly exposed skin.

You couldn’t help but whine into the cavern of his mouth, the rough display of lust redirecting all of your aching and longing straight to your clit. It throbbed with intent, a desperate reminder that you needed more friction. You greedily rolled your hips into his, yielding another low, filthy grunt from Jayce.

“Fuck.” He pants against your mouth, hands kneading at your breasts, cock twitching beneath his trousers.

Oh, how he longed to revisit the memories of your past encounters, to re-enact the acts of pleasure he had learned to bring you. But in such a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to slow down. As much as he yearned to please you in the ways he’d spent so much time discovering, there was no time, now. The urgency of the present situation demanded everything from him. If he didn’t bury his cock deep within you, right now, and fuck you senseless, he’d probably keel over.

This was his last chance. His only chance to rewrite your history.

‘Am I the reason,

That you can’t look past,

Your future self?’

Without a second’s hesitation, Jayce tore your legs from his waist, practically dropping you to the ground. In one swift motion, he flipped you around, pressing your cheek forcefully into the cold stone wall with one hand. You groan out, the harsh force of his motions prodding your deep-seated anger once more. His chin reclaims its resting point on your shoulder, teeth claiming your earlobe between them as he pressed his mouth to your ear. You groan out of sudden distaste for the new position.

”Don’t act like you didn’t want to end up under me like this.” He growls into it, the words viscerally stabbing at your clit, earning a thirsty cry from you.

He spread your legs with his feet, his free hand clambering to release his throbbing cock from it’s fabric prison. He yanked your pants down, the sound of his belt clinking sending shivers up your spine as your cunt pulsated in anticipation.

You were beyond wet—the word a dull description of the way your cunt was absolutely sopping, dripping, and practically gushing for him.

Despite your evident arousal, you weren’t used to things happening so fast. You began to protest as your back arched against his brawny, bold, and burly chest.

“Jayce— wait!” You started to say, before his teeth clamped down onto your earlobe with increased vigor, your words fading into torrid moans as a result.

He pulls your underwear to the side, fist pumping his deprived cock before he lined himself up with your soaking cunt.

“Shut up and take my fuckin’ cock.” He barked.

Before you even had a chance to breathe, he plowed into you, curling his hips up to press flush against your ass. You had no choice but to brace yourself. Your hands flew to the cold stone wall, gripping tightly to keep from collapsing under the force of it all.

The sound that tore from deep within your chest was raw, loud enough to make anyone within a hundred feet of the building take concerned notice. Anyone outside of you and Jayce would have assumed you were being murdered.

It was a deliciously vile sound, thick with want, neediness, desperation, and all the emotions you had yet resolved.

“Fuck!” You scream, tears stinging in your eyes as Jayce began slamming up into you with at an absolutely merciless pace. He wasted no time by giving you a single moment to adjust, knowing full well the rough nature was exactly what the situation called for. If he didn’t give this his all, everything was at stake. Or so he thought.

His thrusts were, at their core, crude—filthy, vulgar.

Lascivious.

They had an animalistic quality, one that attested to his own desires, and the hurtful longing he had harbored for you.

Jayce grunted, huffing out as he ruthlessly snapped his hips against the flesh of your ass. He plunged his teeth into the skin of your shoulder, the hand that held your face against the stone withdrew from you. Jayce pulled it beneath your arm, wrapping around your chest to imperviously grip at your breast, using his hold on it to further aid in the force with which he was bucking into you.

His other hand moved to your neck, fingers tightening around it with a possessive grip. The pressure forced the air from your lungs, and you gasp, the sound barely escaping as your breath becomes shallow. You squirm, struggling to breathe, but his hold doesn’t loosen. Instead, it pulls you in deeper, mixing fury with hunger. Each ragged breath, each flicker of resistance only seems to make it worse, the heat between you both building in the space where anger and desire collide.

“Fuck you.” He spat out in sync with his thrusts.

“Fuck.” —thrust.

“You.” —thrust.

“For.” —thrust.

“Leaving.” Thrust, thrust, thrust.

The words he spat out were coated in intent, each one seething with the same anger that simmered inside of him. The way he moved, pounding into you, was frantic, his hips driven by a fire that seemed to consume him.

‘Got me believin’

You’ve been

Stuck and glued

In frequent doubt.’

You could feel it, the heat coursing through his veins with every thrust—his body shaking with the intensity of it. There was nothing controlled about the way he gripped you, no tenderness. Just a reckless, furious need, each movement angry, as if he were fighting to push the rage out of his body and into you.

His soul had been set ablaze, and all you could do was feel the burn.

“Agh—“ You pant, air still desperate to escape your lungs as he clenched your throat.

“F-fuck you for—-Pretending like—-you care.” You choke out.

Jayce’s blood boils, his grip on your throat tightening beyond the point of care.

“Pretending like I care?” He pants as well, exhausting himself from the force with which he was railing his cock up into you.

“I care. More than—anyone—sunshine.” He very well shouts, words still in sync with his thrusts, on exhaling with each. He was absolutely plowing you now, the familiar nickname cutting through the air that surrounded you.

You were groaning out in pleasure and pain, the contrasting feelings mixing into one as he continued his relentless assault on your cervix.

“T-Then why—-why couldn’t you just—-“ Your lungs begged for air.

“Love me—-like I love—- you?” You gasp, your voice barely audible above the hunger for air.

‘I know the feeling

Cause I can’t

Keep my mind

Open now.’

Jayce’s movements stopped abruptly, his hands yanking away from you as if struck by a sudden realization. You gasped, breath catching painfully in your throat, stumbling back into the wall, your body desperate for air that was slow to come. The intensity that had fueled him moments before seemed to drain in an instant, leaving you gasping in the silence.

Jayce felt an overwhelming wave of guilt crash over him, sharp and suffocating, like a bucket of ice-cold water being poured straight over his head. It hit him all at once, a gut-punch of realization that mirrored the guilt he had seen on your face earlier when you slapped him—raw, unfiltered, and impossible to escape. His chest tightened, a heaviness settling in his stomach as he stood there, frozen, unable to look at you.

His hips stilled, his body rigid as the anger that had driven him to this point shifted, replaced by something softer—-sadder. His heart felt heavy in his chest, sinking like a stone in water.

All that was left in the alley was the erratic—-uneven sound of your breathing, each inhale a struggle, sweat slicking your skin, catching the light of the moon in fragile glimmers. The silence stretched out, thick with unspoken tension, the weight of what had just transpired hanging between you like a shroud, heavy and unresolved.

His mind was a blur, thoughts scattered and jumbled, short-circuiting in a way that left him dizzy. He couldn’t make sense of the guilt spiraling through him, the crushing weight of having crossed a line he hadn’t even seen until it was too late. Until you said what you had said.

That you loved him.

He removes his chest from your back, pulling himself out of you in the process.

Jayce reached for you, his hands trembling as he gently grasped your shoulders, his touch softer than it had been all night. His fingers barely brushed your skin, as if afraid to make contact after everything that had just happened. With a careful, almost reverent motion, he spun you around to face him. The moment your eyes met, his chest seemed to cave in on itself, a sickening weight settling there.

His heart felt like it had physically dropped, plummeting to the pit of his stomach with a sickening thud. The sight of you, tears streaking down your face, the raw anguish in your expression—it shattered him. Every ounce of anger, every moment of fury that had driven him earlier seemed like a distant memory in the face of the heartbreak he had caused.

How could he have been so reckless? The thought screamed in his mind, impossible to silence. The guilt that gripped him now was suffocating, crushing. He’d seen your pain in the heat of the moment, but now it hit him full force—really hit him. The tears in your eyes weren’t just a reminder of what he’d done; they were a reflection of how far he had pushed you, how little he had cared in the frenzy of his own anger.

And now, standing in front of you, he couldn’t undo it. All he could do was stare at the damage he had inflicted, helpless, terrified of what he’d become.

“___…” He whispers.

[mandoalorian]

classified desire [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: In Tokyo for an international conference, you watch Bucky command the stage with effortless confidence—until a question about his love life throws you off balance. His public denial of looking for love stings more than it should, leaving you questioning everything between you. But back at the hotel, tension boils over into heated confessions and even hotter passion, forcing you both to confront the truth you’ve been running from: this was never just a distraction.

Word Count: 1800

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content. employer x employee, p in v, bit of bdsm vibes/slapping, rough sex, intimacy, miscommunications, slow burn with sex

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

The conference hall was buzzing with flashing cameras and murmuring reporters, the air thick with anticipation. You stood off to the side, clipboard in hand, watching as Bucky Barnes took the stage with the effortless confidence of a seasoned politician. Dressed in a crisp navy suit, his tie perfectly knotted, he was the picture of control—composed, articulate, and undeniably commanding.

The panel began smoothly, with Bucky fielding questions about foreign policy, trade relations, and security initiatives. His answers were precise, measured, and laced with just the right amount of charisma. You knew he was good at this—of course, you did. But seeing him like this, holding an entire room captive with nothing but his presence and his words, sent a shiver down your spine. It was almost unfair how attractive he was when he was in his element.

Then, the inevitable happened.

"Congressman Barnes," a journalist called out. "You’ve been in the public eye for quite some time now, and naturally, people are curious. Is there anyone special in your life? Any plans to settle down?"

The question sent a jolt through you, your grip tightening on your clipboard. You kept your expression neutral, but your heart pounded as you waited for his answer.

Bucky gave a small chuckle, shaking his head. "I appreciate the curiosity, but no, I’m not looking for love. My focus is on my work. There’s a lot to be done, and right now, that’s where all my attention is."

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to remain composed. It was the answer he had to give, the one that made sense. But it still stung. You knew what last night had been—what all of this was. Just a distraction. You had told yourself the same thing, hadn’t you? So why did it feel like a punch to the gut?

The conference continued, but you barely registered the rest of it. Your eyes remained on Bucky, on the way he commanded the room, but your mind was elsewhere. You couldn’t afford to let your feelings get in the way. You were here to do a job, and that was all this had ever been.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The car ride back to the hotel was silent. Bucky sat beside you, his fingers tapping idly against his thigh, but he didn’t say a word. You didn’t either. It was better that way.

By the time you arrived, exhaustion had settled deep in your bones. You should have gone straight to your room, should have put as much distance as possible between you and the man who had just reminded the entire world that love was the last thing on his mind.

But instead, you found yourself outside his door.

He opened it without a word, stepping aside to let you in. The tension was immediate—thick, suffocating. You turned to face him, arms crossed over your chest, trying to keep your emotions in check.

"Nice answer today," you said, your voice clipped. "Really convincing."

Bucky sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. The conference had fallen over an hour long, and yet Bucky knew exactly which question you were referring to. ”What did you want me to say?"

Your breath caught at the suddenness in his voice, but you recovered quickly. "I wanted you to be honest.” You said plainly. 

"I was honest," he shot back, stepping closer. "I can’t afford to be looking for love, remember? Isn’t that what you said? That this—whatever this is—needs to wait?"

You hated the way your stomach twisted at his words, hated the way you had set this boundary and were now resenting him for respecting it. "I don’t know what you want from me, Bucky."

He exhaled sharply, eyes darkening. "I want you. Fuck, I always want you. But I’m not going to beg for something you’re not ready to give."

The room felt too small, the air too hot. Every muscle in your body was tense, fighting against the pull, against the overwhelming desire that had never gone away.

Then Bucky moved. One second, there was space between you. The next, he had you against the wall, his hands framing your face, his mouth crashing into yours.

The kiss was searing—deep, desperate, full of all the things neither of you had been able to say. You whimpered against his lips, fingers fisting his shirt as he pressed his body against yours, erasing every inch of space.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your skin, just like he had on the plane.

You didn’t.

When he kissed you, it was like the world stopped spinning, and nothing else mattered. Your job didn’t matter, his job didn’t matter, it was like you were the only two people and in this very moment you made up one whole. That was it — that was his superpower. 

Instead, you pulled him closer, capturing his lips again in a kiss that stole your breath. That was all the confirmation he needed. He lifted you easily, damn Super Soldier, carrying you across the room before lowering you onto the plush hotel bed. You sighed in contentment as you hit the warm sheets, enveloping into the softness of them.

Within seconds, your blouse and bra were off and discarded haphazardly on the floor. 

Bucky’s hands roamed, mapping every curve and every inch of skin he could reach. His mouth followed, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, your collarbone, the valley between your breasts. When he reached the waistband of your skirt, he paused, his blue eyes locking onto yours.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he murmured, voice thick with need.

“Well, it’s been about ten hours since the plane…” you retorted smartly, but he was quick to wipe the smirk off your face when he pinched at your nipple.

You shivered as he peeled away the rest of your clothes, his hands reverent, his touch almost worshipful. He took his time, savoring every reaction, every gasp and moan that spilled from your lips as he explored your body with his fingers, his mouth, his tongue.

Bucky wasted no time, getting onto his knees and pulling your legs up so they rested on his shoulders. He towered over you, his metal hand reaching to cup at your face. “I want you to look at me while I fuck you.” He growled, pushing his cock between your folds teasingly. “Eye contact, doll.”

Just like the plane, by the time he finally slid inside you, you were already unraveling. He moved slowly at first, dragging out every sensation, making sure you felt every inch of him. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered your name like a prayer.

"You feel so fucking perfect," he groaned, his pace quickening, his grip on your hips tightening. "Like you were made for me."

Your nails raked down his back, pulling him impossibly closer. “Bucky—"

You closed your eyes briefly, and you felt a sharp sting come to your face. Bucky slapped you, and his thumb grazed your cheekbone as he kept you pinned down. “I told you, eyes open. On me at all times.”

“Eyes on you,” you repeated breathlessly, focusing extra hard. His eyes were so beautiful, blue like the ocean yet dark with lust. The eye contact made it feel even more intimate than it had before. It was like Bucky was reading your mind, staring into your soul. Often, you struggled to read Bucky’s expression, but he always knew exactly what was going on in your head. 108 years of experience on this planet would do that to someone, you guessed.

“Mhm, I’m close.” Bucky groaned, his dark brown hair sticking to his skin as he picked up his pace, faster and deeper.

“Fill me up,” you mumbled, pulling his face down to your lips for another messy kiss. “I want to feel you inside of me for the rest of the day, leaking out…”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky cursed before spilling his seed into you. You cried and arched your back into him, your walls clamping down on his cock, milking him for all he had. “You’re perfect.”

The words made you feel warm inside.

Or maybe it wasn’t just the words. 

As your bodies cooled and your breathing evened out, silence settled over the room once more. Bucky lay beside you, one arm draped over your waist, his fingers tracing lazy circles against your skin.

"Say something," he murmured after a while.

You stared at the ceiling, your heart still racing. "I don’t know what to say."

He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. "Then just listen. Because I need you to understand something."

You swallowed hard, nodding.

Bucky exhaled slowly, as if steadying himself. "I meant what I said today. I wasn’t lying—I can’t afford to look for love. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean I don’t want you."

Your throat tightened. "Bucky—"

"No," he cut you off gently, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You keep saying this has to wait, that it can’t happen now. But you’re the only one putting those rules in place. Not me. I’m not afraid of what this means. I’m not afraid of loving you. So if you are, just tell me. But don’t pretend like this doesn’t matter."

Tears burned at the back of your eyes. You had spent so long convincing yourself that this couldn’t happen, that it would ruin everything. But lying here, wrapped up in him, listening to him say the things you had been too afraid to admit…

You realised you had already lost the fight.

You reached for him, cupping his face, pulling him into a kiss that was soft, lingering. When you pulled back, his expression was unreadable, but his grip on you tightened, as if afraid you would disappear.

"I don’t want to be afraid anymore," you whispered. “Bucky… I—“

A loud knock at the door startled both you and the Congressman. You flinched at the noise, and Bucky’s grip on you tightened. 

“Mr. Barnes, dinner reservation has been set for 7pm.” A soft voice called out. The voice belonged to Tara, Bucky’s campaign manager. She had flew out to Tokyo earlier in the day to organise the press conference. 

You lay there, frozen in his arms. “You were saying…?” Bucky coughed awkwardly.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “We have dinner reservations?”

“I guess so.” Bucky sighed, rolling onto his back.

“I don’t have anything to wear.” You thought out loud.

“Well then, we best go shopping.” Bucky smiled before pulling both himself and you out of the bed.

You came so close. So close to admitting your feelings to yourself but maybe now wasn’t the right time. This felt so new and fresh, and the startling of Tara banging on the door just reminded you that your job had to come first. Without this job, you had nothing.

You just hoped that Bucky would understand. 

---------------------- <3

Taglist: @imaginecrushes @maplepepperoni @sleepysongbirdsings @mybuckynotyours @sunday-bug @bunnyfella

[harmoonix]

💤 Dreamy Astrology Observations 💤

💤 Neptune aspecting Venus can daydream about their crushes/lovers & and having scenarios in their head about them

💤 Neptune aspecting the Midheaven can inspire and influence other people, for example being some sort of influencer

💤 Neptune in the 5H/7H can fantasize about a happy life, maybe with children/spouse and overall happiness if you know in tarot terms this energy can symbolize 10 of cups

💤 Neptune aspecting Uranus, people find you different and unique, some sort of like "I never met a personlike you before but I like it"

💤 Venus in Aquarius or at 11°. 23° degrees can have a large group of friends, they can be seen as an example for others when it comes to friendship

💤 Heavy Moon aspects in your chart can make you a very dreamy/soft/kind person, you can radiate positive vibes

💤 Sun in the 8th/12th houses give the "mystic" one vibes, your subconscious is very powerful and you can often find yourself being spiritual

💤 Sun in Pisces Degrees 12°. 24° can have such mesmerizing tired eyes you'll ever see, their eyes radiate ocean waves

💤 Neptune aspecting the Ascendant especially conjunction can make the native to lose the connection with reality sometimes. They can often find themselves dreaming about sort of situations

💤 Chiron aspecting Neptune natives can be surrounded by people who don't believe in their dreams or desires, who think their dreams will never be fulfilled, is a very powerful placement for those who believe in themselves

💤 Fire Venus or Moon can make you to be attracted into passionate music/art/songs, often listening to dirty songs

💤 Capricorn/Virgo and Taurus Suns can be the most practical people in the room, they always have a solution and a back up plan for everything

💤 A REMINDER that the moon phase of your moon sign can influence it A LOT, for example a Leo Moon born under the 1st quarter will be very different from a Leo Moon born under the 3rd or last quarter (if that makes sense)

💤 Virgo Sun/Moon/Rising can be the biggest nutritionist ever. They'll have a naturist remedy for everything

💤 Sagittarius Venus Moon or those planets in the 9H, those placements are giving Tarzan!! someone very curious, wild, fierce, and charming!! They get along with lots of people

💤 Sun/Moon or Mars in the 6H need to do something productive or they can fall under a depression state and feel bad, you need activities!!

💤 Mars/Pluto/Saturn or Lilith in the 4H, if you have a disturbing family life, it will get better when you'll move out and have your own house

💤 Libra Taurus and Capricorn IC/4H can find themselves decorating their stuff with lots of vintage stuff

💤 If you have Venus in Capricorn or in the 10H and all your relationships failed, is an indicator that you need higher standards

💤 Venus in Sagittarius or 9H native is searching for someone they can evolve amd grow up together with, they are like a global mix of fun, culture, love and music

💤 Sagittarius Risings have their 4H in Pisces, they can decorate their house/home with a deep spiritual things like dreamcatchers, crystals, etc

💤 Never make fun of someone's culture or background especially if they have Sag in their big 3 or big 6 because you gonna recieve the same energy back to you

💤 Mercury or Venus in Pisces, omg I wish I had these placements instead of Scorpio...Lets trade...These placements are mesmerizing to have, especially at communicating and sharing their love

💤 Saturn/Venus and sometimes Moon in the 12th house can indicate that you're going to marry a bit later than others

💤 Saturn in the 10H!! This placement is extremely powerful. If someone does you dirty the karma comes back and exposes the person who did you wrong to the PUBLIC/people and you can find people standing up for you after someone did you dirty

💤 Lilith in Water Signs can have issues or troubles with acknowledging their feelings, because the water element rules over the feelings and Lilith indicates a wound there

💤 Capricorn Risings even if they are mature and solide, they most times wish for a sentimental and kind partner due to their 7H in Cancer

💤 Mercury in the 11H natives don't like to talk for nothing, if you bring a conversation with them make sure to finish it

💤 Venus in Leo Degrees 5°, 17°, 29° may take love to another level, you have to focus all of your attention on them if you want to attract them

💤 Ascendant in Gemini Degrees 3°, 15°, 27° degrees natives have an extremely catchy voice, is that voice that you'll remember ages and ages and especially their jokes as well

💤 If you have your IC in the 5th house you were probably raised in household with a lot of music/fun/creativity, i have this placement and my family is crazy when it comes to music style

💤If you have an Air Moon could probably be a little more logical than sentimental, like logic over feelings

💤 Sagittarius/Libra combo placements in a chart can make someone very artistic, passionate, carefree. They can aslo have a beautiful writing style

💤 Gemini/Aquarius Mercury/Moon/Venus can be that one person who has an digital diary instead of the standard book diary. They prefer the technology

💤 Mars in Pisces Degrees 12°. 24° may like to combine love/sex with art, for example painting pictures of naked statues, intense love paintings

💤 Scorpio Sun/Moon/Rising has an intense charisma, they are like a magnet, attracting all kids of people

💤 Aries Sun/Mars/Venus will be that one person who is like "what they did to you👺 let me teach them a lesson"

💤 Cancer Juno/Juno in the 4H natives are attracted to people who remind those natives about their home/who feel safe around them

💤 Taurus Juno or Juno in the 2H. If you cook or make a good dinner for them you can wake up the next day with a proposing ring 💍, these natives may love to cook for their spouses

💤 Water and Earth Signs in your 2H can be very picky with the food!!

💤 North Node in the 4H is not always about focusing on your home life and about creating your home life, you know to be like Kris Jenner a big fondator

💤 An empty 5H can indicate not wanting kids. I have this as well and I don't want kids at all!!

💤 Chiron in Leo natives should never feel embarrassed about themselves, this placement is about accepting your dark side and being yourself

💤 Saturn/Pluto in the 12H may have a harder time with sleeping the same for Scorpio or Capricorn in the 12H

💤 When Virgo or Gemini placements are under stress they can often talk a lot as a mechanism to keep themselves chill/calm

💤 You may share the same type of humor with people who have their Mercury in the same sign as yours

💤 Moon in 6th house natives. The Moon will give you servitude attitude and will help others without having any selfish motive, they are truly kind

💤 Chiron in the 5H natives may act childish when they feel comfortable or safe because that's what their inner child feels as well

💤 Juno in Leo natives will love a spouse who has a funny/creative way of seeing life, don't make these natives feel depressed because you'll regret it

💤 Cancer Scorpio or Pisces in the 6H natives share a similar nurturing style and they can often nurture others with their energy

💤 Capricorn Placements are often labelled as being "workaholics" because of their strong ambition to never give up ans to finish their thing

💤🌊 Since Pisces Season started today, I wanted to post this a memento to it🌊💤

Hope you all have good a start of the week!☀️🌊

And happy Pisces Season!!🌊☀️♥️

Harmoonix ☀️🌊☀️

[pixelplayground]

Harbour House, Home of the Potomac Maritime Society

Commissioned in 1892 by James Wellington Thorndike, a prominent shipping merchant who made his fortune establishing trade routes between Baltimore and Asia. Having immigrated from Bristol, England in his youth, Thorndike sought to create a sanctuary that merged American innovation with European maritime tradition.

The original structure was designed by renowned architect Stanford White, who drew inspiration from both Newport's Gilded Age mansions and traditional English maritime clubs. The distinctive three-story building, with its commanding views of the Chesapeake, featured a signature octagonal watchtower that still serves as a landmark for vessels today.

During the Prohibition era (1920-1933), Harbour House gained notoriety as a gathering place for Washington's elite, who would arrive by boat for "afternoon tea" - though rumors persisted about hidden wine cellars and secret passages used for rum-running. The club's guest books from this period, still preserved in the library, bear signatures of several senators and at least two Supreme Court justices.

The property survived a devastating fire in 1943, which destroyed the east wing but spared the historic main hall with its hand-carved mahogany bar and original brass telescopes. The reconstruction effort, led by Thorndike's grandson William, added the now-famous verandas and modernized the facilities while maintaining the building's historic character. In 1962, Harbour House made history by becoming one of the first yacht clubs in the region to admit women as full members. This progressive decision was influenced by Katherine "Kay" Thorndike, William's daughter, who had become an accomplished sailor in her own right.

Notable moments in Harbour House's history include:

Hosting several planning meetings for the D-Day invasion during WWII, when the club served as an unofficial gathering point for Allied naval officers.

The visit of Sir Thomas Lipton in 1925 during his America's Cup campaign.

Serving as the emergency coordination center during the historic Chesapeake flooding of 1933.

The establishment of one of the first youth sailing programs in the region in 1958.

Today, Harbour House stands as a testament to the region's maritime heritage, with many original elements preserved, including:

The original lighthouse-inspired watchtower.

The Thorndike family's private collection of maritime maps and navigational instruments.

The "Captain's Room" with its 19th-century ship models and original furnishings.

[isabelckl]

his to keep (smut)

carl gallagher x collateral!fem!reader

your brother was dumb enough to use you as collateral for his drug debt with Carl Gallagher. Now you’ve ended up in his house—waking up in a dimly lit room, completely alone, with no idea where you are or what he plans to do with you.

cw⚠︎: 18+ NSFW, age gap (no minors), dubcon elements, mild violence/threats, language, degradation, name callings

Your brother really outdid himself this time.

One night, he made the most reckless, heartless decision possible—he sold you to Carl Gallagher and his guys. Just handed you over like you were nothing more than a bag of groceries. Carl didn’t even blink. Took the deal immediately. Your brother had a habit of buying drugs he couldn’t afford, and this time, instead of coughing up the cash, he offered you as payment.

And Carl? He accepted.

You knew who Carl was. You’d seen him around before—heard his name whispered in your brother’s messier circles. You knew your brother had done business with him more than once. But you’d never interacted with Carl yourself. You stayed away from all that. You didn’t do drugs, didn’t hang out with people who did. You kept your head down.

But now, all that distance meant nothing.

Now, Carl Gallagher knew exactly who you were. And you weren’t going anywhere. Now, you’re waking up in a dimly lit room. Your body aches from the awkward position you must've been in. The air is heavy, thick with cigarette smoke and silence.

You slowly sit up, eyes scanning the space. It’s bare cold. Just shadows and silence. You get up and walk toward the door, heart pounding in your chest.

Before your hand even reaches the doorknob, it creaks open from the other side.

Carl Gallagher stands there. Leaning casually against the frame like he’s been waiting. Arms crossed. That smug look on his face that makes your stomach twist.

“Well hey there, sweetheart,” he says, voice smooth and infuriatingly calm. “Find what you’re lookin’ for?”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. “This ain’t a hotel room, so don’t get any ideas about sneakin’ out.”

Then he steps inside, closing the door behind him. “You’re here ‘cause your brother owes me money. And since he’s too much of a screw-up to pay up, you’re the collateral now.”

He gestures to the couch like he owns everything in this room, including you. “Come on. Sit. Let’s talk about how this is gonna work.”

You stare at him, confused and stunned. Your voice barely comes out. “My brother what...?”

Carl chuckles, dark and humorless. “He sold you to me. Came up short again. No surprise there. So I gave him a choice, cash or something else of value. Guess which one he picked?”

He leans in, eyes locking with yours, cold and unwavering. “You.”

You shake your head slowly, disbelief sinking in. “I know he’s an asshole… but seriously? When can I go… home?”

Carl stops pacing and turns toward you, smirk fading into a sneer. “Home? You really think you’re goin’ anywhere?”

He steps closer, voice low and sharp. “Not until your brother pays me back. Every damn cent. And even then…” he pauses, eyes narrowing, “I might just keep you around. Never know when I’ll need another little guarantee.”

Before you can step back, Carl grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “So don’t waste your breath, sweetheart. You’re mine now. Whether you like it or not.”

You turn your head away from his grip, eyes drifting around the room. It’s a living room, technically but the guns on the wall, the locked cabinets, the tension in the air—it screams something else entirely.

You glance back at him. “Are you… a drug lord or something?”

Carl just gives you that crooked grin.

He doesn’t have to answer. Carl takes a step back, a trace of pride in his voice.

"Drug lord? No," he says with a shrug. "More like a businessman. I provide a service. People want it, they pay me. Simple as that."

He nods toward the wall lined with firearms, each one looking like it has a story of its own.

"Those? Tools of the trade. Helps keep things... orderly around here."

You watch him move to a nearby table where he casually pours himself a shot of whiskey. He drinks it in one quick motion, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and speaks again.

"This life isn't pretty. There's violence, betrayal, all kinds of nasty stuff.”

You stay quiet. You slowly nod, your eyes drifting to the details of the room just to avoid looking at him directly. There's tension in your shoulders, and you try to hide it by pretending to study the setup.

"Are you alone here?" you ask, your voice soft but curious.

Carl looks around the room like he's doing a quick check before answering.

"No. I have a few guys working for me. Keep an eye on things, handle business. They're not here right now. Probably out on runs or handling other stuff."

He leans against the table again, arms crossed. He watches you closely, and there's a slight smirk on his lips.

"But with you here, things might start shifting. Could use someone with your... particular set of talents, if you know what I mean."

You meet his eyes, your brows rising slightly. You shake your head quickly.

"I'm not interested."

Carl chuckles. It's a deep, gritty sound that fills the room.

"I figured you'd say that. But that’s alright. We’ll see how long that lasts."

He pushes off the table and starts walking toward you. His steps are slow, controlled, and deliberate.

"For now, let’s just get you settled."

He stops right in front of you. His presence feels heavy, like he takes up more space than he should.

"You’re gonna need clothes. Food. A real place to sleep. Can’t have you starving or freezing on my watch."

You glance up at him, your voice quiet. "Yeah... okay." There's something with this man that makes you terrified, leaving you not to question anything, now.

A small smile forms on his face, like he's satisfied with your answer.

"Good girl."

He pulls a set of keys from his pocket and lets them jangle for a second, but he doesn’t hand them over yet.

"Room’s upstairs. Second door on the left. There’s clothes in the dresser and toiletries in the bathroom."

He tucks the keys back into his pocket instead.

"Consider them a welcome gift. But don’t lose them. You’ll regret it."

Carl’s tone shifts again, firm but calm.

"If you need anything, you come to me. No one else. Understand?”

You nod slowly, feeling awkward. "Got it. Thank you.. You're kind for someone as..” You trailed off, not knowing whether to continue or not.

That earns another laugh from him. He shakes his head, clearly amused.

"Kind? Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. I’m just taking care of what’s mine."

Then he steps in closer again. His voice lowers, quiet and tense.

"You’re under my protection now. That means you follow the rules. No smart remarks. No games. You step out of line, we’ve got a problem."

His hand rises, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is soft, unexpected.

"But since you seem to get it, I’ll give you a pass. For now."

Carl turns away and heads for the stairs without looking back.

"You owe me," he says as he climbs. "And I always collect.”

After showing you to your room, Carl disappears into the kitchen, and the faint clatter of dinner being made fills the silence. When he calls you down with a cold “Dinner’s ready,” you find him already at the table, watching you with a dark, unreadable stare, like he’s already decided something you don’t know yet. The meal is quiet and tense. After finishing his drink, he tells you not to wander. “You wouldn’t make it to the gate.” Then he heads to the basement. Left alone, you clean up and eventually drift into a dim, dusty library. You barely have time to breathe in the scent of old pages before you feel Carl behind you. His presence is heavy and calculating.

“Find anything interesting?” he asks, his voice low and echoing slightly through the quiet space.

You glance over your shoulder as he leans casually against a shelf nearby, arms crossed and eyes sharp. He studies you like he’s trying to figure out what page you’re on before you’ve even opened the book.

“The library’s my favorite part of the place,” he says. “Always liked the smell of old pages, the quiet. Not often I’ve got someone to share it with.”

He starts pacing through the aisles, his fingers brushing along the book spines with familiarity.

“What brings you here, hmm?”

You shrug and pick up a book at random, not even looking at the title.

“I don’t know… just thought of doing something.”

Carl raises an eyebrow, intrigued by your vague answer.

“Something, huh? Could be worse. At least it’s not stirring up trouble.”

He steps closer, just enough to peek at the book you picked.

“Ah. Poe,” he murmurs. “Always had a soft spot for the twisted ones. ‘The Tell-Tale Heart,’ ‘The Pit and the Pendulum’... good stuff. Messed-up, but honest.”

He straightens and folds his arms again, eyes narrowing slightly.

“But let’s be real. You didn’t come down here to talk literature. What’s really on your mind?”

You look up at him, uncertainty tightening in your chest.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I’m still… looking?”

He chuckles, deep and low.

“Still looking. For what, exactly?”

Before you can answer, he closes more of the distance between you. His voice drops to something softer — not gentle, but more private.

“This place can be stifling. But it’s not just hallways and locked doors. If you’re curious enough, there’s plenty worth discovering.”

He leans in, his breath grazing your ear.

“Want to explore some of the more… intimate corners of the estate? Find out what doesn’t make it into the house tour?”

His hand settles at the small of your back, warm and steady, nudging you gently between the shelves.

“Say the word, and I’ll show you a side of this mansion no one else has seen.”

You glance up at him, startled but unsure why your pulse quickens.

“Intimate corners?” you repeat, your voice shaky, trying to laugh it off with a nervous smile.

Carl smiles too — but it’s a different kind of smile. One that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You step back, shaking your head and avoiding his gaze as you turn to the books on the shelves once more. “I have a boyfriend,” you lie, feeling a pool of heat between your legs at the situation immediately.

Carl frowns, clearly displeased by your rejection. "Boyfriend, huh? I figured you'd cling to some naive notion of love and loyalty. It doesn't matter to me, though."

Carl steps closer again, his voice low and menacing. "You're under my roof now, and my rules apply. No more discussions about outsiders or commitments. You're mine to toy with, and that's final."

He grabs your wrist, pulling you back against his chest. "Now, let's try this again. Are you going to be a good girl and follow my lead, or do I need to remind you who's in charge here?"

You look up at him, gulping before stepping back, feeling butterflies in your stomach.

His grip on your wrist tightens as you attempt to pull away. "Too bad, sweetheart. You're already here, and you're not going anywhere until I say so."

Carl yanks you back against him forcefully, pinning you between his body and the bookshelf. "Now, I asked you a question. Are you going to behave, or do I need to demonstrate what happens when you disobey?"

His free hand snakes around to cover your mouth, silencing any protests. "Shh, none of that. You're not in control here; I am. And I always get what I want."

He presses his hips against yours, allowing you to feel the hardness growing beneath his jeans. "So, are you going to be a good little slut for me, or do we need to have a little fun first to teach you your place?"

You breathe heavily as you look up at him, the dim library lights casting shadows across your face. You shake your head, reluctantly.

He tightens his grip on her wrist, his thumb pressing into the sensitive skin. "No, Mia. You're not in a position to shake your head or refuse me. You're mine now, and you'll do as I say."

He slides his hand down from your mouth to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. "Breathe, baby. We're just getting started."

With his other hand, he hiked up your skirt, exposing your panties to the cool air of the library. "Looks like someone is already getting excited. Isn't that cute?"

He rubs his palm against your clothed pussy, feeling the heat building through the fabric. "You want this, don't you? You want me to make you feel good, even if it means submitting to me."

He leans in close, his warm breath tickling your ear. “You're so wet,” He whispered before setting your panties aside.

You keep your eyes shut tight, body trembling as Carl's fingers grazed your bare skin. The sensation sent shivers down your spine, making you gasp softly.

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through his chest and into yours. "That's it, baby. Let me hear you."

His touch was electric, igniting a fire inside you that you couldn't control. You arch into him, craving more of his attention, more of this forbidden pleasure.

His fingers dipped between your folds, stroking your sensitive skin with expert precision. "Fuck, you're so tight," he murmurs, teeth grazing your earlobe. "I can't wait to feel you wrapped around my cock."

You moan, the sound muffled against his palm. Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking friction, chasing the intense sensations he was creating.

Carl didn't disappoint. He circled your clit with his thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your knees weak.

"You like that, don't you? Getting fingered in a library where anyone could walk in and see what a dirty slut you are for me."

His words should have horrified you, but they only turned you on more. The thought of being caught, of being seen as Carl's plaything, was strangely exhilarating.

He pushes a finger inside you, then another, stretching you open. His pace was relentless, driving into you with deep, purposeful strokes.

"Come on," he coaxes, voice thick with desire. "I want to feel you come on my fingers. Show me what a good girl you can be."

Your body tense, pleasure coiling tight in your core. You were so close, teetering on the edge of ecstasy. But you held back, not wanting this moment to end.

Carl seemed to sense your hesitation. He increased the pressure on your clit, rubbing fast circles around the sensitive nub.

"Let go, baby," he commanded, fingers pistoning in and out of your dripping cunt. "I know you're close. Just let it happen."

With a sharp cry, you did as he said. Your orgasm crashes over you, waves of blinding pleasure radiating from your core. You convuls around his fingers, juices flooding out of you and coating his hand.

He kept fingering you through it, drawing out your climax until you were shaking and spent.

Finally, he pulls his hand away, bringing his slick fingers to his mouth. He licks them clean, savoring your taste with a satisfied groan.

"Delicious," he said, eyes locked on yours.

After Carl left you there, you felt used. Used and disgusted with yourself for letting a stranger finger fuck you in the library. You hurry upstairs, showered, hoping the hot water would wash away the remnants of your body's response to his touch. But as you stand under the spray, hands roaming your curves, you couldn't escape the way your pussy clenched at the memory.

You slept it off, but in the middle of the night, you woke up to someone eating your pussy. The room was dark, but you knew it was Carl by the way he grunts against your clit. He spreads your legs wider, pushing them up towards your chest as he dove in, tongue swirling around your sensitive flesh.

"Fuck, your cunt tastes even better than I imagined," he growls before sealing his lips around your clit and sucking hard.

Your back arch off the bed, hands fisting in his hair as he devoured you. His tongue was relentless, thrusting inside you, stroking your walls, lapping up your juices. He moans against you, the vibrations adding to the intensity.

"Your little pussy is so greedy for me," he pants, coming up for air. "Bet you've been fingering yourself thinking about my cock all night."

"N-no," you stammer, cheeks burning with embarrassment and arousal.

He chuckles darkly, "Liar. Dirty little slut like you can't get enough of my touch. I just know you're a slut who'll let a stranger fuck her the moment I saw you."

Then he was back between your thighs, two fingers plunging into your wet heat. He curls them just right, hitting that spot inside you that made your toes curl. His mouth returns to your clit, sucking and licking until you are a writhing mess beneath him.

"Come for me," he demands. "Let me feel this slutty cunt spasm on my fingers again."

Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, back bowing off the bed as you screamed his name. He didn't let up, fingers pumping in and out as he rode out your climax.

As the last waves of pleasure subsided, Carl crawled up your body. His jeans were undone, cock springing free, hard and thick. "My turn now."

He grabs your legs, pushing them back towards your chest as he notches the head of his dick against your entrance. With one brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groans, hips already snapping against yours. "Gonna wreck this perfect little cunt."

He set a punishing pace, slamming into you over and over. The headboard slams against the wall with each thrust, the room filling with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin and your moans.

"Take it, slut," he growls, one hand gripping your throat. "This is what you were made for - being stuffed full of my cock."

He angles his hips, driving deeper, hitting that spot inside you with each thrust. Your pussy fluttered around him, greedy for more.

"That's it," he pants. "Milk my dick with this slutty cunt. Fucking hell..."

His rhythm grew erratic, chasing his own release. He leans down, biting and sucking at your neck hard enough to leave marks. "Fucking cum on my cock like a good girl," he commanded. "Now.”

Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your pussy clenching around Carl's cock like a vice. He groans, hips stuttering as he buries himself deep inside you. "Fuck yes, that's it. Squeeze my dick, slut."

He thrust through your climax, prolonging the intense pleasure. Your moans echo off the walls, mixing with his grunts.

With one final snap of his hips, he hilted himself and came with a low growl. His cock throbs, pumping hot seed into your spasming cunt. "Take it all, baby," he pants, grinding against you. "Every last fucking drop."

As the aftershocks subsided, he collapsed on top of you, still buried inside. You were both sweaty and panting, hearts racing. He nuzzles into your neck, lips brushing your skin.

"Goddamn," he murmurs, voice rough. "That was... something else."

He lifts his head to look at you, dark eyes smoldering. "I'm not letting you go now. You're mine."

He kisses you then, deep and filthy, tongue tangling with yours. You could taste yourself on him, musky and sweet. He rolled his hips lazily, his softening cock slipping out of you.

"Clean me up," he orders, bringing his fingers to your lips. "Taste how good we are together.”

....

[dailynnt]

FRIENDS WITHIN TOUCHING DISTANCE

⊹ Summary: Jungkook and you, his childhood friend, live together in an apartment, sharing space as roommates. Your relationship, built on years of friendship, is gradually becoming strained by growing sexual tension. You decide to become friends with benefits, trying not to complicate your feelings. But Jungkook's world is not so simple. When you begin to realize that he is hiding something, you open the veil of his double life - a world of mafia, criminal activity, and risk that could ruin not only your deal, but everything you valued in each other.

⊹ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ Fem!Reader

⊹ Characters: The Reader, Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Min Yoongi, Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, Jeon Hoseok.

⊹ 🔞 Age restrictions: 18+

⊹ 👩🏼‍❤️‍👨🏻 Relationships: ⚤

⊹ 📘 Number of part: 24/30

⊹ 🖇️ Tags: best friends, friends with benefits, slow longing, sexual tension, protected sex, unprotected sex, alcohol, drunken sex, inexperienced main character, mafia au, illegal trade, deaths of minor characters, weapons, swear words.

⊹ 👩🏼‍💻 From the author: Guys, this part is so big 😁 I write this about every next chapter but it turns out that each next one is bigger than the previous one. 🤭🫣 But I had to fit it all into one part. Let me know what you think of the scenes between the main character and Jungkook and what you think of Doohoon's plan, will it work? And how is always a love all of you and many thanks for reading my creation 💗❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥💘💘🥹

⊹ 🫂 Dedication: For you, my love @myjungkookthighs. You are my favorite person 😘🥰 You know that I appreciate you so much and LOVE you🥰💜

⊹ ⚠️ Warning: English is not my native language, so there may be mistakes in the text. Please don't get mad at me too much! Those under 18, please don't read this story!

⊹ 📋Tag list: @myjungkookthighs, @notsevenwithyou, @nikkinikj, @lovelyyylunaa222, @jiminiemanura, @jalexad, @kelsyx33, @bhonbhon, @unholyforjk, @ambiee3, @mianhae-baozi, @someoneelse0109, @medstudentlifestyle, @mskookie, @kooccult , @smokinghotstargirl (If anyone wants to be in my tag list let me know)

≣ Chapter Index ↓

Part 24. The plan to destroy and the heart of the Queen. 

Tuesday. 14.50 PM.

The smell of cigarette smoke filled his nostrils unpleasantly. Doohoon grimaced because he hated cigarettes and the smell of smoke. But he couldn't say anything because his friend sitting across from him had been smoking all his life. 

Doohoon took a sip of the expensive whiskey, which tasted good on his tongue, and looked around the room in silence. 

It was a VIP room in an institution in Gyeongnidan. It belonged to the leader of the Black Pearl clan, and the man across from him was Oh Sehun, one of the closest to the leader, Kim Junmyeon. It was a clan that was consisisted half of the Chinese triad. The Black Pearl had its own power among the Chinese mafia and they were the main rivals of the Namjoon clan. 

The room was furnished with a combination of Korean and Chinese decorative elements that emphasized the belonging of this establishment to the Korean-Chinese clan.

The dark wood walls decorated with gold-framed paintings absorbed most of the light, leaving the room with an atmosphere of mysterious tension. In the corner, the soft lights of a crystal chandelier flickered, and the low coffee table between Doohoon and Sehun was made of dark glass, on which stood an unfinished glass of whiskey. The air was saturated with the scent of expensive tobacco, leather, and alcohol.

Sehun, dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, sat relaxed with his leg over his shoulder. He slowly took a drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out to the side, looking at Doohoon intently. His face, though seemingly calm, expressed skepticism. 

Doohoon set his glass down on the table, waiting for Sehun to respond to his request that he had made a moment ago. 

"Why did you want from with that Jungkook?" - He asks, ignoring Sehun's previous words. 

"He's been under my feet for a long time. And he has this stupid habit of taking everything that belongs to me. Besides, I'm proposing a deal, and Junmyeon will benefit from it." - Doohoon replies, trying to persuade his friend. 

"You think if we frame Jungkook, as if he going behind Namjoon's back, it will somehow weaken Namjoon?" - Sehun asks, taking another puff of cigarette smoke. 

"Exactly. Look, Jungkook is bothering you just as much as he's bothering me. You know how much Namjoon cares about the people around him. You know exactly what an asshole Jungkook is when you've met him in person. Have you forgotten how disrespectful he was to you? Even though you're four years older than him." - Doohoon reminded. "If Jungkook falls out of favor with Namjoon, you and your leader can easily weaken his power and take away some of their market."

Sehun took a glass of whiskey and took a sip without looking away from Dohun. Doohoon saw a spark of interest in his eyes. He knew he could talk him into it. Sehun smiled at the corner of his lips.

"That's a bold offer, my friend." - He said at last. "But you do realize that if it doesn't work, it will be a disaster for both you and me?"

"That's why I came to you and not to anyone else." - Doohoon replied, leaning forward.  "I know you can do it perfectly." 

Sehun thought about it, smiling at Doohoon’s praise. He weighed his options. Finally, he leaned over to the table, put out his cigarette, rested his elbows on his knees, and answered. 

"Okay, I'll help." - He said. "But remember, if things go wrong, it's nothing personal, I won't defend you." 

Doohoon hummed. Of course he had seen this coming. But he was confident that Sehun would do a great job. He'd been dealing with him for a long time. 

"No problem." - Doohoon agrees. He also leans closer to the table. "I'm sure it'll work out and we'll all win."

"So what's your plan?" - Sehun asks. 

"As I said before, we need to set up the arms purchase in Jungkook’s name. Make it look like he's been working with the Japanese mafia behind Namjoon's back and playing a double game. You have access to resources and people who can create a document that looks real." - Doohoon explained. "Besides, you have no problem getting this information into the right hands. We know how Namjoon reacts to betrayal, or even the hint of it." 

Sehun leans back on the couch, thinking about Doohoon’s plan. Yes, he'll have no problem doing what Doohoon suggests. But something could go wrong. The Namjoon clan has been watching the Black Pearl closely. They had a lot of different situations, because of the rights to the market where both clans wanted to have their own power. Everyone knows that Namjung is the main problem for Junmyeon.

Doohoon’s offer is very tempting, and the Jungkook in question is also a pain in the ass. The kid was annoying with his behavior and the influence he had gained in just three years. 

"So I have to do this because of the Japanese mafia?" - Sehun clarifies. 

"Yes. Actually, I'm thinking of a person who used to belong to the Namjoon clan. Do you know anyone? It would be very plausible if the person Jungkook was dealing with behind Namjoon's back was a member of their clan." - Doohoon said, looking at the man across from him. 

"I know." - He replies, after a moment of thought. He recalls a man who left the Namjoon clan almost immediately after Jungkook appeared. "Seems his name was Gyuwon."

"Who is he?" - Doohoon asks, wanting to know if this man is a good fit for the plan he's come up with. Sehun smiles, touching his chin with his fingers as if he's remembering something he's forgotten.

"Gyuwon was one of Namjoon's arms suppliers. At one time, he had quite a lot of influence in the clan, but he lost his credibility because he failed in one important mission. Namjoon threw him out, and Gyuwon decided to seek refuge with the Japan. Now he works for them and hates his former clan. I think he will be happy to play a role in our play, especially if we motivate him properly." - Sehun replies. Doohoon leans forward, listening intently. His eyes flash with excitement.

"That's great. Gyuwon will be a key element in our plan. He can confirm that he made the deal with Jungkook. But can we trust him? Won't he blow the deal because of his own ambitions?" - Doohoon asked. Sehun laughed, raising an eyebrow. 

"Don't worry. Gyuwon is not someone who would turn down money or the opportunity to harm Namjoon. If you offer him a good deal, he'll take it. But you have to be careful. Even among the Japanese, he does not have a perfect reputation. His own team may not support him if they find out about our plan. They don't want to get into trouble with Namjoon, that's for sure." - Doohoon paused to consider the new information.

"Then we'll set it up so that Hyuwon looks as convincing as possible. We'll fake the transfer of documents, sign fake contracts, and bring in witnesses. Jungkook won't even realize he's being set up until it's too late." - Doohoon says. Sehun smiles, leaning back. His eyes turn sly. 

"If we do it right, Namjoon will think this is proof of treason. He doesn't seem to be able to stand even a shadow of a doubt. And when it comes to Jungkook..." - Sehun says, but Doohoon raises his hand and stops him. 

"...it will be the end for him. He'll lose his leader's trust, and who knows, maybe Namjoon won't be so lenient this time like it was with Gyuwon." - Doohoon says. Sehun crosses his arms over his chest, satisfied with the plan. It should work. 

"Then I need some time to contact Gyuwon and organize everything. I think we'll be ready in a week." - Sehun says. Doohoon stands up, shaking Sehun's hand. 

"Do it. And don't worry - if anything goes wrong, I have backups."

Sehun looks at Doohoon carefully and then nods. His heart is wavering between interest in this intrigue and fear that the whole situation could get out of hand. But now he has no reason to refuse.

"It's a deal, my friend. I'll get back to you very soon." - Sehun says. Doohoon is pleased that he was able to persuade his friend. So the plan to destroy Jungkook is launched. 

It was a Friday night. You were at home waiting for Jungkook to pick you up to go to your parents' house. You were sitting on the couch and feeling sick to say the least.

You had your period too early and you couldn't understand why. You looked at your calendar and wondered. There were still two whole weeks before your critical days, but you had red discharge, which seemed as your period. In addition, your breasts were swollen and sensitive. Just like your period.

You were irritable and your mood could change several times a day. Jungkook patiently supported you and tried to respond to your emotions in the right way. 

He has been living with you since you reconciled. He offered you to come back, but you refused. The thing is, you had signed a six-month lease and couldn't leave the apartment. Jungkook offered to pay the landlord for the damages, but you blocked his offer again.

You also promised the manager of the convenience store that you would work until the start of the school year. Traveling from the area where Jungkook's apartment was would be inconvenient and long, because your place of work was one street away from your place of residence. Jungkook had no choice but to come to you and spend time with you at your apartment. 

From the day you reconciled, your sex life became intense. You had sex every day. Some days it was several times. Jungkook was careful and only once did he lose his temper and came inside you. It happened yesterday when he came late at night and woke you up. You were on birth control, so you didn't worry about it too much. The sex was great and your memories easily filled your mind.

You were about to fall asleep when you heard the front door knock softly. Lately, you've been feeling tired all the time. You didn't know why, maybe because of the change in the weather, which was always overcast, or because of the workload you had from preparing for your thesis and working night shifts. You worked all week and took almost all the night shifts so that you could have a free weekend to go to your parents' house with Jungkook. 

You heard Jungkook come into the room, but you didn't have the energy to greet him. You pretended to be asleep. You turned to your right side and listened to the sound of water coming from the bathroom. 

After a while, Jungkook came into the room. You felt the mattress bend under the weight of his body. Jungkook moved close to you. He put his arms around your waist, pressing his body tightly against yours. You could smell the shower gel you bought especially for him. This pleasant scent filled your nostrils. 

You heard him leaning over to check if you were still asleep. Jungkook pulled back your hair so he could access your neck. You felt his soft, hot lips. His kisses made you stir. You turned your head slightly toward him, opening your eyes. 

"What time is it?" - You ask. Jungkook kisses you on the jaw, moving his hands along your hips. He slides his hand under your panties, touching your folds. He pulls them apart to find your clit. You spread your legs to give him better access. You can't stop him from doing what he's doing. 

"Zero o'clock." - He whispers into your neck. He kisses your neck, while pushing his index finger into your passage. You become wet and moan softly. 

"Why are you so late?" - You ask quietly, but your breathing is becoming labored from his actions. You turn your whole body and Jungkook takes you captive. His naked torso is pressed against you, and his hand is still fucking your passage. You wrap your arms around his neck and he smiles slyly. 

"I think you were sleeping." - He says with the same smile on his lips. He ignores your question, but for some reason you don't notice. Maybe his closeness makes you do it. You smile back at him, too. 

"As if that possible with you?" - You sneer, feeling the pleasure of his finger fucking you. Jungkook leans down and connects your lips in a kiss. His tongue penetrates your mouth as usual, and it turns you on.

You return, by moving your lips and tongue, deepening the kiss. Jungkook continues to kiss you and pulls off his pajama shorts and underwear. He throws them somewhere off the bed. You gasp against his lips. Jungkook pulls away to hear what you have to say. 

"You want to have sex right now?" - You wondered. Jungkook laughed softly. He pulled away from you, laying down next to you, taking off his boxers. You see his ferocity and can't help but feel yourself getting even wetter. Even though you have sex with Jungkook every day, you still can't get enough of it.

That's why you don't mind having it again. Jungkook was at work all day. When you woke up, he was gone. You talked on the phone and texted, but you still missed him. So when he climbs at you you, settling between your legs, you feel a strong desire mixed with an uncontrollable expectation of his length inside you. 

"Did you think I was just touching you? My love, I missed you and my favorite pussy." - He replies, leaning down to your face. You smile at him in a relaxed way. You rise up to meet him, not letting him sink low.

He stops when he sees you standing up. You take off your pajama top and throw it on the floor. Now you are both completely naked. You hug Jungkook and kiss him with fervent passion. When you need air, you break the kiss. 

"I missed you too. How could you leave me for so long?" - You ask, mimicking your sadness. Jungkook lays you down on the bed, snuggling up on top of you. You throw your legs over his waist, crossing them. You feel his hard cock touching into your pussy. Jungkook kisses you on the lips again, your tongues intertwined. Your body temperature rises and the moisture between your legs becomes more abundant. 

Jungkook leaves your lips and goes down to your neck, leaving wet marks on it. He bites your skin, and then runs his tongue over the spot where he bit you. He is still hungry for you.

Your skin, your smell, your warmth, your sounds, your welcoming pussy, it all makes him think about you constantly all the time. He leaves you for a moment and already misses you. His behavior is like being possessed.

This was not the case before your breakup. Mean, yes, he wanted you all the time and thought about you, but now this need is acute for him. Only when he realizes that you're around does he calm down. And then he feel an unbearable desire to fuck you.

To own every inch of your body. That's why you've been having sex every day since the day you made up. Jungkook is crazy about you and the thought of being without you for so long. 

Jungkook goes down to your breasts and sees your erect nipples. He squeezes your breast with his fingers. Carefully, he takes one of them into his mouth and caresses it with his wet tongue. Your nipples have become sensitive lately, and he tries to be gentle, even though he wants to bite you. You moan somewhere on top of him. 

Having finished the foreplay he loves to do with you, he wants to get inside you as soon as possible. He kneels down and takes his cock in his hands. He rolls it, then presses the head against your clit and moves it around. You sigh, enjoying the sensations. Your clitoris is swollen with excitement and you can feel how wet it is.

Jungkook moves the head of his cock over your clit, smearing your moisture and his own pre-cum that drips from the tip. You don't expect it when he hits your pussy several times with his cock and you just feel ecstatic.

When he caresses your center again, you feel his tip twitch. He drives for so long that you have an increasing orgasm. Perhaps anticipating this, Jungkook lowers himself to your spread legs and licks your clit. He is attracted to your hole, which is dripping with your moisture.

He wants to put his cock inside you as soon as possible, but first he has to satisfy you. He puts his tongue in your passage and fucks you. His fingers don't give your cunt a rest while he's busy with your entrance.

You taste so sweet on his tongue. He's delighted with your taste. But he comes back when he hears you moaning intensely. Those sounds are a pleasant melody to his ears. If he had his way, he would listen to that melody all the time. When Jungkook sucks on your clit again, you come right on his tongue. 

You make what sounds like a squeak and a moan at the same time. But you were actually trying to say Jungkook's name. You have a perfect orgasm and can't come to your senses for a long time. Only when you feel Jungkook close to your face. 

"My baby happy?" - He asks you. Jungkook whispers right into your lips. You come into yourself open your eyes. Your lips stretch into the most satisfied smile you've ever known. 

"I’m not that happy, I'm thrilled!" - You say. Jungkook is glad to hear you say that. All the best for his love. 

"Great, then I'll just move on to fucking that juicy cunt." - He says. Without waiting for any response from you, he kisses you with such heat that you literally feel dizzy. Your breasts rise and fall heavily. Jungkook puts his erect cock against your entrance, where his tongue was a moment ago, and goes slowly so as not to cause you discomfort.

His big and thick cock stretches your walls and you envelop it tightly. Jungkook moans at the feel of your tight pussy. You've been having sex for a long time, but every time he enters you it's like the first time. So tight. So nice and euphoric.

You're driving him crazy. Your body is driving him crazy. Your love and your presence is driving him crazy. Now he feels like he has won this life because you are in it. 

Jungkook goes inside you to the very end. He presses so close that he can feel your clitoris with his pubic bone. Jungkook moves his legs so that he can lie on top of you. Your spread legs are on either side of his hips. Jungkook lies down, pressing his body against yours. He takes your hands and his, intertwining your fingers and lifting them above your head. 

You look at him without looking away. A light, playful smile plays on his lips. You are serious on the contrary, because of the feeling of how he feels inside you. Jungkook makes thrusts with his hips and you finally feel that much-needed friction. You automatically close your eyes, but suddenly you hear Jungkook's voice. 

"Open your eyes, baby." - He says. And you do. This has happened before. Jungkook has asked you to open your eyes once before during sex and keep eye contact. He doesn't usually ask this, but today he did it for the second time. You don't know why he wants to see your eyes open. 

Jungkook starts fucking you, thrusting deeply into your entrance. You look into his eyes and it makes the sex between you somehow different and more intimate than it already is. You moan at his thrusts.

He goes slowly at first, but over time his movements become different, faster, deeply. You can hear the sound of your bodies hitting each other and your moans filling the room. Jungkook kisses you without stopping fucking you. When he pulls away from your lips, he asks you not to close your eyes again.

"Look at me, my love, when I fuck you. I want to see your eyes." - You can't answer him, because his movements will only allow you to moan as you feel your orgasm building. Jungkook still fuck you speeding his movements but also slows down for a moment. His thrusts become slow but as deep as possible.

You clasp your intertwined palms, digging your nails into his skin. The sensations from these thrusts and from tonight's sex in general are special. 

Jungkook slows down and fucks you like this because he wants to stay inside you as long as possible. He gets high on the feel of your velvet, dense walls like a fucking junkie. You're his drug that gives him an eternal high.

"Kook..." - You call out to him. Jungkook looks at you but doesn't answer. "I want to... please..." - You start to beg him, almost rolling your eyes. You can't stop yourself from thrusting. You want him to speed up and finally bring you to orgasm. 

"My love need to come?" - Jungkook guessed without speeding up his movements. All he does is slowly fuck you with deep thrusts. His voice was breathless. 

"Yes..." - You breathe out. "Let me come." 

"Is that what you want, baby?" - He whispers. He bites your lips, pulling at your skin, his thrusts never stopping. His tongue explores the pads of your lips. 

"Yes!" - Your voice is not your own. Jungkook is listening to you, and he can already feel himself hardening. He accelerated his movements, his hips began to beat you uncontrollably. Just a little more and you will experience the orgasm you've been waiting for. 

"Just lose control, don't hold back, love." - Jungkook tells you. His words intensify all your feelings to the maximum and you don't hold back for long and finally come around his cock.

Jungkook continues to fuck your vagina, moaning as your walls squeeze him. He wants to come out, but he has almost no strength to do so. So he cums inside you. He still keeps moving while his cock jerks inside you and spurts his cum. 

Jungkook falls with his head somewhere on your shoulder. You feel his breath on your skin and breathe uncontrollably too. You relax when you manage to get your breath back. You stroke Jungkook's back when he lets go of your hands.

He's sweating a little, but it doesn't matter to you. Jungkook lifts his head and you can see his smile, which is visible thanks to the light from the street that enters the room. He nibbles on your lips, putting tenderness and affection into this soft kiss. 

"I wish you could always greet me like this after work." - He jokes. You laugh silently.

"I don't mind, but not when I'm already asleep." - You say. 

"Have you been sleeping?" - Jungkook asks, brushing his hair away from your face. 

"Of course." - You answer. Jungkook tilts his head slightly to the side, looking at you with a look of sly interest.

"Then you should definitely sleep more often." - He says, his voice a half-tone lower, filled with playful warmth. You just roll your eyes, but a slight smile appears on your lips.

"If you're going to wake me up like this every time, I'm going to have to give your schedule some serious thought." - You retort, feigning severity, but the laughter in your voice gives you away. Jungkook laughs quietly and sinks down next to you, pulling you closer.

"Honestly, I was waiting that you to start fighting with me for coming home too late." - He whispers, running his fingers down your arm.

"I’m did it almost." - You reply, looking directly into his dark eyes. "But... if you’re be like this after work, I will be lenient with your late arrivals from work" - You say. He smiles, leaning closer to you, his forehead touching yours.

"Oh, there are so many things I could do for you." - He whispers. 

"Don't make me feel intrigued." - You grumble, snuggling up closer. 

"You know I never promise anything I can't keep." - Jungkook says. You lie in the embrace in silence for a while. It feels good and so natural. "How are you feeling? Are you feeling better?" - Jungkook ask, worrying about your unwellness during the week. He slightly moving his head away from you to look at your face. You look up at him and press your lips together. 

"To be honest, no. I stayed in bed all day. I couldn't even write. I sketched out a few theses for the project, but then I gave it up. Maybe I was sick?" - You suppose. 

"Do you want to go to the doctor tomorrow?" - Jungkook suggests. You silently put your head back on his chest. 

"No. We're going to our parents' house tomorrow. I think I'll feel better. It's probably just a case of being tired." - You deny his offer. Jungkook kisses the back of your head and you resting in silence. You stand up, and Jungkook watches you sleepily.

"I'm going to take a shower." - You say, getting out of bed. Jungkook nods at you. He turns on his side and peers at you. You put on shorts and a pajama top. You feel his eyes on you even from behind. You smile at the corners of your lips, although you don't turn around, because you know that Jungkook just can't help but watch you. "Don't fall asleep until I get back." - You joke, throwing a quick glance over your shoulder. Jungkook just mutters something incomprehensible in response, but his smile is visible even in the semi-darkness of the room.

When you step into the bathtub and feel the warm water on your skin, you allow yourself to completely relax for a few minutes. The water seems to wash away all the burden of the day and systematic fatigue.

You step out of the shower, drying yourself with a soft towel, and quietly return to your room. Jungkook is half asleep, but when he hears your footsteps, he opens one eye.

"What, you're not even going to kiss me before I go to sleep?" - He says in a sleepy voice, lifting his head from the pillow. You smile, leaning toward him.

"Good night, my love." - You say softly, touching his forehead with your lips. He grabs your hand, holding it close, and pulls you down, forcing you to lie down next to him again.

"Are you going to run away?" - He grumbles, but his voice is filled with warmth.

"No, I was just going to sleep." - You answer, laying down next to him. Jungkook wraps his arms around you, closing his eyes.

"I can only sleep when you are in my arms and you know it. I saw that you wanted to go to bed separately." - He whispers. 

"Stop grumbling and go to sleep." - You protest. Jungkook grumbles something indecipherable into your neck and after a few minutes his breathing becomes steady and calm.

You lie there for a long time, listening to this familiar rhythm, and with every passing minute you feel your heart fill with the warmth that only he can give.

You hear the sound of the combination lock and Jungkook enters the apartment. He finds you on the couch. You smile at him and get up, trying to hide your bad feeling. You pull him into a hug and press your lips to his. Jungkook returns the kiss and you feel his shoulders relax under your hands. 

"How are you?" - He asks you immediately. You tilt your head. 

"Better now and ready to go." - You answer. Jungkook squints his eyes, as if trying to tell if you're lying or telling the truth. 

"Are you sure? Maybe we should go to the doctor. I don't like that you've been sick for so long." - Jungkook is worried. You give him a quick kiss to calm him down. 

"No, everything fine. I guess I felt like this because I got my period two weeks early. It's all because of them. That's why my breasts became so sensitive and enlarged." - You explain. Jungkook believes you and hugs you. 

"Is it normal that they started so early?" - He asks, squeezing you in his arms. 

"It happens sometimes when the cycle is adjusting." - You answer. You hear Jungkook exhaling heavily, somewhere above your head. You pull away from him and look at his face in concern. "What's wrong? Why are you exhaling so hard?" - You ask. Jungkook doesn't say anything, staring at your eyes, and then smiles. He kisses you on the forehead and lets you go. 

"It's okay, baby. I'm just tired, too." - He replies. But you feel that he doesn't tell all the truth. 

"You're not hiding anything again, are you?" - You ask, looking at his broad back as he reaches down to pick up the bag with your things. When he hears your question, he freezes, just for a second, but it doesn't escape your attention. You tense up slightly. Jungkook picks up the bag and turns to you. 

"No. I'm not hiding anything." - He answers confidently. You look into his eyes for a long time to make him speak. But Jungkook doesn't seem to be going to talk anymore. 

"Does it connected with your work?" - You ask. Jungkook raises one eyebrow. He moves toward you and stops when you're a few centimeters away. 

"What exactly is connected?" - He asks. You restrain yourself from getting too annoyed. You cross your arms over your chest. Jungkook knows exactly what you're asking. He looks at you, and you realize that he's trying to keep himself in check without giving away too much emotion. His gaze is calm, but you can feel the tension between you growing.

"You know what I mean, Jungkook." - You say firmly, tilting your head slightly. "I'm asking if your job is causing you problems again."

He frowns a little, as if he's considering whether to tell the truth. Then he raises his hand, gently touching your cheek.

"Baby, I don't want you to worry about my job. I told you everything is fine. It's nothing serious." - He says, and his voice is warm, but at the same time full of some hidden pain.

"That doesn't answer my question." - You say without looking away. Jungkook exhales heavily, rubbing the back of his head, and takes a step back, as if trying to find the right words.

"You know, I can't tell you about something. Please don't put pressure on me…" - He says after a pause. "I've got a lot of work to do, and I'm just thinking about how to do it right." 

"Not “something”, you don't tell me anything." - You throw out, not hiding your displeasure. He looks at you carefully, and then, as if deciding that it's not worth pushing any further, he relaxes his shoulders a little.

"Baby, please, let's not fight. I don't want to find out anything right now. If you want, we can talk about it when we're at my parents' house. I promise I'll share everything you want with you..." - Jungkook promises you, but you interrupt him in mid-sentence. 

"Or only that you can tell me. You'll never tell the truth anyway." - You grumble. Your heart clenches. You're well aware that his job always puts him in more danger than he's willing to tell you. Jungkook smiles at you irritably, obviously holding back with the last of his strength. 

"No. If you're so prying and curious, I'll tell you everything you want to know. But after we get to my parents' house." - Jungkook gives his word. You drill him with your eyes and feel that he is sincere. But you can't help but think that he's still hiding something from you. And even though it worries you, you decide not to push anymore. 

"Okay." - You agree, walking around him. You go to the front door to get dressed. "We need to stop by the supermarket, mom asked me to buy some groceries." 

Jungkook walks up to you and gets dressed after you. He senses that you are irritated. He doesn't want your meeting with parents to be tense because of this tiff’s. Jungkook looks at you and sees that you are not looking in his direction. You are definitely angry with him. He has to defuse the situation somehow. 

As you put on your sneakers and reach for the zipper to fasten your jacket, you suddenly feel Jungkook's arms around your waist. He is pressing you against the front door with his body. You look at him in surprise, feeling his warmth. 

"What are you doing?" - You ask indignantly, trying to get away, but he holds you tight.

"As long as you're angry, we're not going anywhere." - He says, leaning down to your face. His eyes are filled with determination, and you can feel the tension in the air. 

"I'm not angry, let go..." - You start, but you don't have time to finish because he crashes his lips into yours, silencing you. His kiss is hot and demanding, as if he's trying to get all the resentment out of you. You try to pull away, but he doesn't back down, holding your neck with one hand and your waist with the other so you can't do it.

"Jungkook, that's enough!" - You protest, pulling your head away when you finally manages to break your lips. Your breath comes in ragged gasps and your cheeks burn.

"No, that's not enough. I won't let you go until you stop sulking." - He replies firmly, lifting your face slightly by the chin. His voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "You know I hate it when you ignore me or pull away." 

"I'm not ignoring you, I'm just..." - You try to say something, but he interrupts you. 

"If you don't stop being angry now, I'll find a way to calm you down. Do you want me to do that? In bed? Or... right here?" - He casts a quick glance at the front door, and his voice takes on a playful tone.

"Jungkook!" - You look at him with indignation and shock, trying to keep a stern face, but your heart is pounding so loudly that you think he can hear it. He smiles, realizing that you are having a hard time resisting. Then he leans down to your ear and adds. 

"I'm not joking, baby. Make up your mind." - He whispers. You sigh heavily, trying to pull yourself together.

"Okay, I'm not mad anymore. But you could have been a little less dramatic." - You grumble, looking away. Jungkook is pleased with your reaction, but he's in no hurry to let you go. 

"Are you sure you're not angry? Or I should calm you at all?" - He asks. You see his hand touch the button on your mom jeans. He undoes in it and is ready to reach into your pants, but you grab his hand tightly and stop him from doing so.

"No!" - You shout. "I'm on my period." - You explain. Jungkook raises his eyebrows as if he doesn't fully understand what you're saying. He leans down to your lips, looks between you, and then kisses you.

He puts his strength into it, and you try not to let him touch you. He is stronger than you. His demanding kiss on your lips and his unrestrained tongue in your mouth makes it impossible to concentrate on holding him back. 

When Jungkook does reach your clit with his finger, you don't model any more resistance. You respond to his hot kiss and become wet. Jungkook breaks the kiss and smiles defiantly on your lips. You bite your lip to hold back the moans that threaten to come out in a loud sound. Jungkook pinches your clit and you squeal. 

"What a cheeky girl. How dare you not let me touch you?" - Jungkook asks with authority. You open your eyes and see his dark gaze staring back at you. Your eyebrows are drawn together as you try to withstand the sweet torture of Jungkook's fingers. 

"Because it's my body, and I decide when you can touch it and when you can't." - You answer with a challenge in your voice. He has forgotten how provocative you can be. Jungkook's gaze darkens even more. He increases the friction on your clit, and it even hurts a little, but at the same time you think that you'll come much faster than usual. 

"You belong to me. Your whole body belongs to me, so you don't decide when I can touch you and when I can't." - Jungkook almost growls. Your words have caught him alive. You moan loudly as he plunges his fingers into your passage. You're hot and you want nothing more than to orgasm. Your quarrelsome sex is always so hot. 

Jungkook suddenly sticks his hand out of your passage and pulls off his jacket. He takes off your jacket as well, and turns you around. He pulls down your pants and leans you toward the door. You rest your hands on the cold metal of the door and wait for Jungkook's cock.

You hear how he undresses in about half a minute. He him pulling off his pants. The sound of his belt and fly being undone indicates that he's about to fuck you right at the front door. 

As his hard cock slams into your ass, your wetness stands out more. You're breathing heavily. Jungkook immediately pushes his cock against your passage without wasting time stretching. He goes in abruptly and you scream in pain. You hear him moaning from behind and the sound excites you.

He starts moving intensely and roughly. Obviously, he is not soothing you as he promised earlier, but punishing you for daring to tell him that your body belongs to you and not to him. Of course, you belong to him completely, but it's always so much fun to irritate him and provoke him. 

Suddenly you feel a hand on your throat. Jungkook is steadying you and pressing lightly on your throat. His other hand is on your clit and you gasp because he has captured all the points through which you can feel stimulation. He doesn't stop moving his hips, and you're going crazy from all these feelings, all at once. 

"Mine. You are all mine." - He tells you with authority somewhere in front of your cheek. "And I can fuck you wherever I want, whenever I want, for as long as I want." - He declares. And you don't mind at all. You don't mind his rights to you, because you are really all his, and he can do whatever he wants with you. "Do you understand me?" - He asks, carefully pressing his hand on your throat. You roll your eyes and exhale something incomprehensible. "Say it clearly." - He orders you. You take a breath. 

"Yes, I am completely yours Kook..." - You say, trying to sound firm. Jungkook is pleased with your words. He smiles and you can feel it. He turns your head and captures your lips. The kiss is deep, hot, and dominant. Jungkook lets go of you, returning your body to its previous position and begins to move quickly inside you.

He rubs against your walls trying to bring you to the peak of pleasure. You scream from the overstimulation and don't care that the neighbors can hear you. You're right by the front door, they'll hear you for sure, but neither you nor Jungkook are afraid. 

You moan long and hard as your pussy squeezes Jungkook's cock. He comes right after you. It's no surprise that he comes inside you. But you're not worried, you're on your period, there's no way you're going to get pregnant. 

Jungkook leans you against the door and you touch your hot cheek to the cold door. He stands behind you with his hands on your hips and breathes into your hair. His breath burns your skin. You need time to come to your senses.

Jungkook comes out of you and you feel his cum dripping down your inner thighs. He turns you around and you look at his face, which expresses absolute satisfaction. He touches your chin with his fingers and smiles out of the corner of his mouth. 

"I hope you remember that now, baby. So you don't ever say no to me again. Come on, take a quick shower, we're late for our parents." - He says and kiss your swollen lips from hard kisses. This kiss is gentle to calm your hot. "You're not angry anymore, are you?" - He suddenly asks. You wrap your arms around his neck and smile. 

"I'm not angry. I tell you it before. But it's so much fun to provoke you." - You confess. Jungkook laughs gutturally. 

"You should be more careful, because the next time you provoke me, you'll be in trouble." - He jokes. 

"I can't wait for that." - You say. Jungkook moves away from you. He helps you get dressed and gently pushes you forward. 

"Hurry up, we're wasting time!" - He complains softly. 

"You should take a shower too." - You say, stopping halfway. "Besides, it's your fault, not mine." - You add finally and disappear behind the bathroom door. 

When Jungkook and you arrived at Jungkook's house, his mother opened the door, smiling as she greeted you two at the door. Her face lit up with joy when she saw Jungkook and she hugged him gently. She was just as happy to see you. You also received your share of friendly hugs. She wasted no time in inviting you inside.

"Y/N girl, how beautiful you have become! I haven't seen you for so long. Suri tells me all about you all the time. She told me you moved to a new neighborhood? I told her that you could live with Jungkook and that you don't have to spend money on rent. Jungkook has his own apartment, and you've been friends since childhood, so you'd definitely get along." - Jungkook's mom says. You smile sweetly. She doesn't even realize that you already done that. And it was hard for you to get along with them at first. You throw a quick glance at Jungkook, who is trying to hide his laughter. 

Yonok leads you and Jungkook to the kitchen where you meet Jungkook's dad. He also gives you a warm fatherly hug and tells you how glad he is that you finally made it. Jungkook's mom motions to set the table, but Jungkook stops her. 

"Mom, wait, don't set the table." - Yonok stops, completely puzzled by her son's request. 

"Why? I've been waiting for you. I've been preparing so much..." - She says, disappointed. Jungkook's father is equally surprised. He supports his wife. 

"Yes, son. Your mom spent the day making you dinner!" - He says seriously. Jungkook tries to quickly rectify the situation. 

"We just stopped by for a little while. Now we're going to go to omony and aboji Yeon and pick them up. I made a reservation at the Yongdong restaurant. We'll have dinner there together, because we haven't seen each other for a long time." - Jungkook said. His parents were pleasantly surprised by their son's announcement. Jungkook's mom looked a little surprised at first, but soon her face was full of joy. She put her hands in her waistband, looking at Jungkook with a smile.

"But you didn't say you had plans like that!" - She said, laughing. "We could have just stayed home..." 

"That's my New Year's present." - Jungkook replied. "So let's just have some tea and we'll go get Y/N's parents." 

You spent time at Jungkook's house talking to his parents. Jungkook talked to his father, and you mostly talked to Jungkook's mother. She asked you about everything and you remembered for a moment how your mother had behaved the same way with Jungkook when he came to reconcile after Christmas. 

"I can't get enough of you, my girl." - Jungkook's mom says as she touches your hair with her hands, fixing it. Jungkook hears what his mom is saying and looks at you. He thinks he can't help but admire you as much as his mom does, maybe even more. He sees your cheeks blush and laughs mesmerizingly. "You must have a lot of fans at the university." - Yonok suggests. 

"Thanks omony. But no. I don't really have many." - You say, shyly. Jungkook rubs his nose with his finger to hide his gaze, which he ready to devour you. He's turned on by your shyness. Fuck, one day he'll be able to look at you without thinking about fucking you every free minute. 

"I'll never believe that." - She denies. Jungkook's mom turns to her son and asks him for his opinion. "Jungkook-ah, hasn't Y/N become a beautiful woman that many guys should chase after. She's so gorgeous." - You look at Jungkook and your eyes lock. You see something sly in his eyes and think he's thinking about some dirty things. You know that look as well as anyone, but his parents don't notice. You raise your eyebrows as if scolding him in your mind. Jungkook smiles cheerfully and answers. 

"Mom, she doesn't have any fans, because she has a boyfriend." - Jungkook's parents immediately turn their gaze to you and you are caught off guard. You stare in horror at Jungkook, who gives you a devilish smile. 

"Is it really sweetheart? You have a boyfriend, right? Who is he?" - Jungkook's mom asks you. You open your mouth to lie, but Jungkook stands up, realizing that you don't seem to be able to do it alone. 

"Mom, mom!" - He calls. "Don't push Y/N. She'll tell you everything later. We have to go now, we have to go to the omony and aboji Yeon. Get ready you two, at 6:30 pm, we'll pick you up." - He says, moving away from the couch in the living room and calls you with him.

You smile guiltily and apologize to Jungkook's parents that you really have to go. Jungkook's mom reassures you and apologizes for her tactless behavior. 

"Please don't be offended, Y/N." - She says, hiding her embarrassment. "It's just... I haven't seen you in so long, I wanted to know more." 

You glance over at Jungkook and see that his smile is still sly. His big, sly eyes are fixed on you again. You can tell from his movements that he's wondering how you're going to react to all of this. However, you smile back resolutely and glance at your watch.

"Oh, don't worry about it. It's okay, we really have to go. I'll be sure to tell you everything at dinner tonight. Thank you for welcoming us so warmly!" - You say, trying to lighten the mood. Jungkook's mom calms down and says that she and Dad will be waiting for you. 

When you get into the car and Jungkook climbs into the driver's seat, you literally want to strangle him. 

"What was that? I almost died in there!" - You complain. Jungkook laughs merrily. 

"Yeah? I’m curious, what were you going to tell them?" - He asks, starting the car and driving off.

"I'd tell them my boyfriend is a mafia guy and I'm the future mafia queen." - You answered ironically. Jungkook's smile became less cheerful, but didn't disappear from his face. You tensed up, wondering if you had gone too far. 

"Mafia queen. I fucking love the sound of that." - Jungkook says seriously, staring at the road. You burst out laughing. He gives you a quick glance. "I'm serious. My mafia queen..." - Jungkook says, as if savoring the words on his tongue. You shove him lightly. 

"God, stop saying that. What a queen?" - You laugh. Jungkook doesn't stop even when you laugh. He understands that you're trying to lighten the mood, but his serious look speaks for itself.

"Why are you laughing?" - He asks, his voice sounding serious, but still with that same invisible smile in his eyes. "We're talking about the future. You shouldn't be ashamed to be a queen."

You glance at him, watching his expression, and feel his words tickle your nerves. His seriousness begins to convince you that he seems to be completely serious. What does this mean? You can never be a part of the mafia world, even if you're connected to Jungkook. You're too much of a good person to have any chance be half of the underworld. 

"Jungkook, you... you can't be serious right now!" - You say, even though you know he's getting serious for some reason. You can't help but feel a little trepidation in your voice. Jungkook looks at you sideways, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the armrest.

"Why? I'm completely serious. You have no idea what an honor it is for me to have such a queen." - He says, and his voice sounds like he has absolutely no doubt in his words.

You turn your head toward the window, trying to hide the emotions that are rising in your soul. A little embarrassed, but still with warmth in your heart. Jungkook seems to find another way to make you blush, even when he's being the most serious. Even though you were just joking. 

"But why the queen?" - You ask, trying to turn this conversation into another joke. 

"Because you deserve to be on top. You're always so strong and stubborn." - He sounds like he's already thought about it. You are stunned. You don't know what to say, so you laugh again, trying to change the subject.

"Well, if I'm going to be the queen of the mafia, will you be my loyal subject?" - You ask jokingly, returning his smile. Jungkook looks at you again, and his smile becomes even more mysterious.

"I'm not standing just a subject. I will be your right-hand man, ready to fulfill your every wish." - He says this in such a tone that it's hard to understand whether he's just joking or something more. You laugh softly, feeling his words penetrate deeper than you want to admit. Your eyes lock for a few seconds, and you see that he's not just playing around.

The car is approaching your parents' house, and the atmosphere between you is filled with something new-not just jokes, but feelings you're trying to hide.

"We're here!" - Jungkook says as he parks the Mercedes. He smiles at you with an expression that alarms you. You glance at him, not quite sure what exactly is going on between you two. 

You pick up your parents and return to Jungkook's house where you pick up his parents'. Your parents are chatting and discussing the upcoming dinner at the restaurant. They are really happy that after all these years they can meet and talk together. 

When you arrive at the Yongdong restaurant, the impression of the luxurious interior and elegant atmosphere immediately impresses everyone. Yours mom and dad couldn't hide their surprise at the elegant setting.

"Why here?" - Asked your mom, a little concerned.

"It's too expensive, son, we could have had dinner at our house!" - Added your father. Jungkook smiled as if anticipating these questions.

"Oh, it's been so long since we've all been together, and I want this evening to be special for everyone." - He says, and you feel the excitement building inside you. You look at Jungkook and he looks completely calm. Is he really not nervous? 

The restaurant was really impressive: an elegant place that combines traditional Korean style with modern elements. The minimalist interior is made of natural materials - dark wood, light walls with elegant decorative elements reminiscent of Korean art.

A large stained-glass window on the wall allows natural light to enter the space, creating a cozy atmosphere. The tables in the restaurant are quite simple but elegantly decorated, and the lighting adds to the warm and relaxed atmosphere.

You placed your order and waited for your food. Not much time passes and the first dishes are brought to you. Sashimi, pibimbap, kalpuksu (soup with noodles and meat), yoichi (fermented fish). 

Your parents and you are enjoying your dinner, and you've even relaxed a bit, forgetting why you're here. However, you were jolted awake by a question from Jungkook's mom. 

"So, baby, tell me about your boyfriend. I'm so curious who he is. Suri, you should have told me earlier. I'm surprised you kept this information from me." - Yonok complains, but without any anger in her voice. Your mother raises her eyebrows in surprise. She didn't know her daughter had a boyfriend. 

"Do you have a boyfriend, daughter?" - Your mom asks and you smile nervously. Jungkook sees that this is the right time to tell everyone and draws attention. 

"I think it's time to tell you why we really brought you all here." - He says calmly. You look at him, as does everyone else at the table. Jungkook takes your hand and says. "Y/N and I are dating. I've loved her for a long time and only recently told her. We thought you all should know." - He looks at your parents. "Because I am very serious about your daughter." - You look at Jungkook and his relaxed posture at the table and feel a flutter in your chest.

You turn your gaze to your parents and they all sit there with round eyes, shocked by the confession, even though all four of them wanted you to be a couple. You wait for them to say something, but it's like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. 

↰ Previous chapter ⋮ ≣ Index ↓ ⋮ Next chapter ↱

Rights protected © Dailynn T

[acotarxreader]

Stress Relief

Azriel X Reader

Synopsis: Working for the Night Court has become near impossible with Azriel determined to drive you out the door but can a camping trip arranged by Rhys smooth things over.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut, frenemies to lovers, lots of dialogue, if you see a typo no you didn't

A/N: Hehe this kinda long but I wanted to keep the chaos to one part. I'm finding writing since Other Worlds a bit stressy so I think posting this nonsense will help with that and we can return to out regularly scheduled programming. Let me know what you think!

Requests open! (I am working on your Cass request if you see this anon👀 )

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“YN you need to fucking relax”

“I suggest that you keep quiet Azriel if you'd like to keep your head attached to your shoulders” Azriel rolled his eyes at you from the couch as you paced up and down, trusty list in hand. 

“I’m just saying you’ll give yourself a heart attack”

“Hey! Do you want me to add your name to this list!”

“Az would only want to be on it if it's your To Do list” A pillow flew from alongside Azriel right at Cassian as he howled. 

“I’ll relax once we get there”

“Why do you get so fucking neurotic when it comes to travelling?”

“Why are you so fucking anno-”

“Okay okay stop it you too! We promised Feyre no fighting on Rhy’s big camping trip, she’s already upset Elain won’t come, just don’t add to her stress” You and Azriel groaned like scolded children at Cassian’s words. You counted the bags again, checking off your list as you went. Azriel stood to grab his bag, coming chest to chest with you before pushing past.

“I’m flying ahead because I can’t be around her uptight ass anymore”

“Aw you look at my ass” you smiled sarcastically as Cassian laughed in the background. 

-

You all finally arrived deep within the woods of the Night Court, luggage crashing down around the group. You couldn’t stop thinking that you had forgotten everything, glancing from the list to the pile repeatedly, your friends happily unpacking. The night had already begun to creep in, Azriel and you delaying the group by fighting about which was the fastest route to take. You busied yourself fixing up some of the tents as Azriel dug through the pile of bags in search of his own. 

“YN, what’s the plan for us sleeping together?”

“Excuse me?” you deadpaned to Azriel. 

“Sor-Sorry I meant the plan for sleeping?” he quickly corrected himself, his shadows doing their best to cover his rosie cheeks. 

“Well, Feyre & Rhysand, Cassian & Nesta, Amren & Mor and then I guess you and Lucien and then I get my own tent” you beamed, shaking a sleeping bag from its case. 

“Funny how that worked out isn't it” he remarked and you rolled your eyes but the group agreed to the sleeping arrangements, with further prodding for Lucien to agree. 

You gathered around the fire, feasting on the fire-roasted food Cassian did his best not to cremate, trading life stories in pure unadulterated ease, everything Rhysand had wanted for this trip. You swaddled yourself deeply into your sleeping bag as the fire began to sink beneath its tinder. 

“Do you regret leaving Summer Court for us YNN?” 

“I think I love the Night Court more than I ever could Summer” You smiled in reply to Cassian, your eyes flashing to Rhysand briefly before he launched into his favourite Tarquin story, Azriel noticing the fleeting glance seemingly tinged with an element of sadness. 

“You like it even though being an emissary to the Seasonal Courts clearly makes you want to pull your hair from your head?” Azriel whispered to you. 

“You and your antics are the only thing that causes me to do that, I seriously think you need a refresher training on diplomacy” you bit back to his sharp whisper. You had shared the job with Lucien but soon found yourself taking on the brunt of the work as Lucien was lost in Elain.

“You need to stop being so uptight seriously, I think you need to be fucked or something, anything to get you to relax” Your head whipped towards him, the group laughing at Rhysand's story, choosing to ignore the two of you, assuming it was an argument. You huffed out in disgust at Azriel, he watched your chest release the full capacity of air from your lungs before taking another deep breath. You shuffled slightly in the sheet, wrapping the sleeping bag tighter around yourself and facing back towards the fire. It was then Azriel realised he was fully staring at your chest. 

“I didn't…I didn't mean that I want to be the one to….fuck you…I meant …” 

“Just stop talking Az” you scoffed, choosing to listen to Rhysand instead as Azriel mentally cursed himself for losing his edge over you. The fire sank until it went out, the laughter from the group lighting the forest. 

“Okay, it's like 2am, time for bed kids especially if we’re going for the hike tomorrow” Rhysand stood, pulling a sleepy Feyre to her feet. The group said their good nights as you climbed into your canvas home. You stretched along the fabric floor and sank into sleep easily, tired from the day as you balled up in your opened-out sleeping bag. 

-

“Hey! YNN! Wake up!” 

“I swear to the Gods you better be a super polite Naga about to rip my head off otherwise you’ll wish you were” you breathed out without opening your eyes, the sound of your tent zip worse than a blaring alarm to your sleepy state. 

“It’s Az, I need to sleep in here, push over” he collapsed next to you without invitation, your hand sailing outwards to clock him flat into the chest with a thud. 

“Az, what the fuck? It's like 3am, get the fuck out we’re not braiding one another's hair!” you whisper-shouted at him while you sat up. 

“Lucien is snoring like he’s trying to deafen me and I don’t fancy interrupting Mor and Amrens beauty sleep and as for the mates, I don’t need to explain why I don’t want to go in there” you sighed at him as he gave you a look that said he wasn’t going anywhere. You sank back into the canvas, Azriel pulling the sleeping bag from you. 

“Az” you bit out. 

“I’m not going to freeze to death because you’re a blanket thief”

“You’re going to find yourself on the other side of the zip if you don’t go to sleep” you said, rolling into the slack of the sleeping bag, pulling it fully from Azriel. He almost grunted at the action, catching the end and whipping it from under you, sending you rolling into the wall of the tent. 

“Az!” you barked and he raised his hands up in surrender. You sank beneath the cover again, moving closer to Azriel to spread the sleeping bag more evenly. Azriels eyes fixed on the mesh vents on the tent roof, the sound of the night filling the tent.

“Do you ever think you’ll go back to the Summer Court?” Azriel broke the silence that filled the tent, you sighed before replying. 

“If you keep being a prick then maybe” you deflected the question successfully.

“I’m a prick because I care” You laughed at his joking tone, rolling to your side to face him more, hands tucked in under your cheek. 

“As much stress as you and Cass and your antics cause me, which is a lot might I add, I would find it very hard to leave you freaks” you half laughed, eyes still heavy. 

“We’d miss you” he admitted

“I mean who would keep your secrets from one another if not me” you teased. 

“What secrets?” you tapped the side of your nose lazily and Azriel nudged you slightly in annoyance at your grin. 

“Fine fine emmm.... Cass is the one who told all those females in the Rita's where to find you when you were home” you yawned into a light laugh. Azriel felt annoyance grow in him at this revelation, that had caused him months of being harassed by all sorts from every walk of life. 

“I swear I’m going t-”

“Just leave it Shadowsinger” you gave a small laugh, grabbing his hand as he went to leave the nest you’d both made, pulling him back down and forgetting to let go, you lost your fight to sleep then, entirely drifting back off. Azriel glanced at you sleeping peacefully next to him and found himself surprised at enjoying holding your hand beneath the sleeping bag. 

Azriel stayed awake for half an hour, staring up at the canvas above him, torn between the growing pain in his shoulder and not wanting to let go of your hand. The nerves felt like they were screaming as the muscles went dead in his arm, an idea coming to him. He quickly rolled towards you while releasing your hand and grabbing the other but he greatly misjudged the distance, sending his head straight into yours. You almost immediately dropped his hand to place it on the bump growing on your head, Azriel feeling regret for waking you but more so for letting you go. 

“You're such a freak Shadowsinger” You laughed half asleep before rolling in closer to him and draping your arm across his waist, pulling yourself closer to him softly, resting your head between the pillow and his chest. Azriel felt such an unfamiliar level of comfort at the movement but also a new level of confusion. 

You moved from next to him then, leaning on your elbow to prop yourself up and look at him as puzzled as he looked at you. 

“Sorry I-I don't know why I did that”

“Emm it’s okay YN…it was actually kinda comfortable…I’m ok-ay if you’re okay with it” he spoke the words with caution and you found a sigh of relief leave you that you didn’t know you had. You rolled away from Azriel to face the tent wall, his face slightly greying with nerves, had he been vulnerable to the wrong person? He braced for your rejection only for it not come, instead you shuffled slightly down and laid your back flat into his chest. Azriel cautiously moved his arm across your waist, only to have you catch hold of his hand and move it across faster, forgetting to release his hand again. 

Azriel nestled his chin on top of your head, pulling you in as close as he could as you both tangled your legs together. He felt so entirely comforted by how close you were to him…too close he thought suddenly. He shuffled in the bed a little to try to hide the part of him betraying any sense of secrecy he had about his changing feelings towards you. You just moved back to where you were, leaving him no place to hide. Azriel felt your whole body smirk against him as you traced little circles along the back of his hand with your thumb, he hated how you were winning. 

“You’re not hard for me to read Azriel” he definitely heard the smirk from you. He refused to let you win, he tried to push the embarrassment from his voice before speaking again-

“Well I hardly think that's surprising, I already told you what I think needs to happen for you to relax” he barely whispered, your body's turn to stiffen in the bed alongside him, he smiled with the point he won. 

Azriel slowly moved to hover his mouth above your neck, both so still in the movement that he could almost see the hairs on your neck stand on their end. He gave little thought to his next movement, now acting on his instinct as he met your neck almost painfully softly. He kissed you there until you found your neck flexing to allow him more access. A betraying soft moan of approval escaped you as Azriel smiled into the nips he gave you, gaining a further point advantage. 

You couldn’t let him hold the win for long as you began to push yourself into his growing length, a low growl escaping him before he reburied himself in your neck, more feverishly this time. Your hand wrapped tighter around his as you began to grind into him, encouraging him further. You rolled onto your back, Azriel now almost hovering over you and moved without thinking. He leaned down and met his lips with yours. Electric, you were electrifying one another. This night was going further than you both thought it would. Sex was one thing but kissing someone like that and feeling such overwhelming desire as a result was another thing. You both separated almost surprised at the waves of confusion mixed with yearning. 

“I-I didn’t mean to… I shouldn’t have…” Azriel didn’t know what he was saying, almost begging you with his eyes to say anything. 

“I-” you were cut off by the sound of Lucien's loud sneeze from across the fire pit causing you both to almost jump. It hit you both then what you were about to do, with all your friends mere metres away. 

“Night Azriel” was all you found yourself saying before rolling back to face the wall of the tent, not taking his arm with you. Azriel cursed in his head before lying back down on the canvas. He didn’t sleep for the rest of the night, the thought of what could have been controlling his thoughts. He didn’t think you were asleep either but didn’t challenge you on it, what had you both done?

-

You rolled over to find the space next to you empty as the sun leaked in the thin canvas the next morning. You ran your hands down your face, cursing your actions from the night previous. You got dressed haphazardly, removing a mirror from your pack to braid your hair back, your eyes falling on deep maroon markings on the side of your neck. You traced them gently with your fingertips, a small smile escaping you at the memory. 

“YN! Get up! We’re leaving in 10” Cassian's voice accompanied him banging on the top of your tent, chasing your smile away. You ran your hands through the loose braid, separating it out again to cover the evidence of your lapse in judgment. 

You hauled yourself out through the soft door once you were dressed to find your friends all laughing at one of Cassian's stories, ready and waiting for you to set off. Your eyes landed on Azriel as he tilted his head back laughing before his eyes met yours, he almost instantly tore them from you and looked back to Cassian. 

-

The group set off bounding along the mountain in total ease, Nesta winding Rhysand up ahead of you and Cassian. 

“So YN…you gonna tell me why Az won’t look at you?” 

“How am I supposed to read that pain in the ass’s mind?” you replied almost too quickly to him as he raised an eyebrow, catching your hand and helping you up a steeper part of the path. You looked at the back of Azriel’s head ahead of you as he lead the group along the path to the waterfall. 

“Hmm likely story YN and tell me why I could have sworn I heard Az leave your tent this morning?” he couldn’t bury the teasing tone as you sighed. 

“Lucien was snoring so Azriel just stayed in my tent, no big deal” You could see the thoughts race through Cassian’s grinning face, you tilted your head slightly forward, ensuring the truth was still covered by your hair. 

“Interesting, I don’t know Lucien to be a snorer” He gave a small laugh as you raised your eyebrow, only getting a playful shake of the Illyrian's head in return. A sudden slap of mud met the side of Cassian's face. 

“That’s for Rita’s!“ Azriel shouted back the path, his hand having just released the ball of mud. 

“You told him YN!” Cassian’s head snapped to you as you howled with laughter.

“Must have slipped out?” you tried your best to lie, only to have the broad male throw you over his shoulder as you screamed in hysterics. He ran with you, the group all roaring laughing as they followed. You suddenly couldn’t feel Cassian under you as he flung you from his arms, landing with a splash into the large lake. 

“Cassian! I’m going to kill you!” you shrieked, the cold water bursting through you sending power coursing. You sent a tendril of water, playfully pulling Cassian from where he stood straight into the water alongside you, the group following suit in fits of laughter, leaving Azriel to watch from the rocks. Azriels eye caught the slight glimpse of his handiwork beneath your soaked hair, a pang of pride beating through him then replaced by panic. A shadow met the side of your face, draping your hair back to cover the markings. You looked towards Azriel and found yourself laughing at the action, he returned a smile. 

-

After a day of hiking and swimming and being a bunch of fools, you all came back to the campsite ready to feast on whatever you could scrounge up. 

“Okay everyone, it’s time to announce the reason behind this little trip” Rhysand announced to his family gathered around the roaring fire. 

“Well, as you know, YN has been with us now for some months now-”

“Unfortunately” you hit Azriel into the chest at his sarcasm.

“Anyways-” Rhysand threw a warning glance “-YN has helped to negotiate many our trade agreements and cleaned up many of our messes-” Cassian raised a glass to you at Rhysands words, the group laughing “-But anyway, I’m sorry to announce that I have failed as your High Lord in convincing her to stay with us” the group turned to face you in almost shock. 

“I know everyone I said-”

“-You said you wouldn’t leave” Azriel cut across you, semblances of pain dripping from his quick words. 

“I know Az but-”

“-No, you said you wouldn’t leave” his words turned to tones of anger, the group looking amongst themselves, feeling as though they were intruding. 

“Yes but Az, I’m needed at home, they’re still recovering from Amarantha and Tarquin needs m-”

“-But I- I mean we need you!” He stood from the log to look down at you, your sad eyes meeting his. Suddenly aware of the scene he was making he dissolved into shadow as you tried to call after him. 

“I better go-”

“No Cass, I'll go” you winnowed out of the clearing. 

-

Azriel crashed into his room in the House of Wind. Mixtures of emotions spinning in his head like the shadows around his heels. 

“Az” he whipped around to see you stood with your hands up chest level in surrender. 

“Here to pack your bags?” he chewed out. 

“Oh fuck off Azriel, don’t actually pretend you want me to stay” you matched his tone. 

“And why do you say that?” he snapped back.

“Because you’re the reason I’m leaving!” he took a small step back in shock at your sharp admission. He sat down on the edge of his bed, brow furrowing in thought. 

“What have I done to you?”

“What haven’t you done!? You go out of your way to make my job difficult, every motion I put forward you try to shoot down, you’re constantly following me watching every move I make waiting me to fuck up! Now you have what you want, I’m leaving!” you paced up and down in front of him, releasing the tension you held in your shoulders. 

“I don’t want you to leave” he sounded almost offended that you thought so. 

“What?”

“You really think I want you to leave…especially after last night” he stood from the bed, stepping in front of you to stop your pacing.

“I thought that especially after last night you’d want me to leave” You half laughed.

“At least I guess I’ve given you something to remind you of me” he gave the smallest smile, his hand sweeping your hair off your shoulder to look at his busy work as you felt yourself blush.

“Don’t leave YN, who would I play with?”

“Cass maybe” you grinned, something seemingly darkening in his eyes. 

“I don’t want to fuck him” he breathed out.

“That’s not what Rhys told me” You laughed again before noticing his serious eyes. 

“Please don’t leave me YN”

“And what will I tell Tarquin?” you chuckled, unsure what to do with Azriels edgy tone. His hand found yours, hazel eyes fixated on you.

"Tell him you're preoccupied" "With what exactly" he moved closer to you with your words ever so slightly rattling out of you.

“Az if we kiss…this might become more than what either of us wants”

"What if its what we both want?" he was mere millimetres from you now, unable to fight against this magnetic force pulling you forward. Something bubbling between you both, the electricity coursing through the space between you both again as you kissed so sweetly. Your eyes snapped open to find his eyes meeting yours, gently pulling back from one another. Mate. Mate. Mate.

“YN- you’re my-”

“-Mate” you breathed while looking at him with such unadulterated love. Azriel burst into laughter with you following suit.

“Now you really can’t leave me”

“How convenient” you smiled, running your hands through your hair, Azriel tracing the bitemark's outline with his heated gaze.

“Care for some stress relief YN?” Azriels hands went straight for your hips, the feeling of the small calluses meeting your soft sides sent pulses down you both. He met your neck, the same place he had last night, cupping his hands beneath your lower legs and lifting you from the ground, your legs wrapped around his waist

“Why can't I keep away from you?” You breathed, the hairs on Azriel’s neck standing on their end.

“Why does that make me so happy?” Was all he could manage before reconnecting to your neck. Azriel carried you to the bed before throwing you down and closely following in pursuit. You knotted your fingers through his hair and forced down the moan trying to escape at the pleasure of having him nip you. You tugged his hair until he pulled from you to face you.

“I want all of you”

Azriel cautiously lowered his mouth to yours until they met again. Much like the first time electricity coursed through both of you but unlike the last time, neither pulled away, only growing hungrier.

You could feel him hardening against your thigh, no longer able to fight the little victory you were going to give him, you moaned gently. He smirked hard into the kiss before it became more feverish. Your hand ran across him beneath the fabric of his trousers, his turn to groan.

“You're wearing too many clothes” he rasped as you smirked and pulled your shirt from over your head, he gently caught your jaw as he kissed along it. 

“I want revenge for these” you smirked, wrapping your leg into his side to flip him so you straddled him on top. Your teeth grazed his neck with heat as he sat up in the bed with you on his lap. He pulled his shirt from over his head, his hands replacing on your hips to support you, his groaning encouraging you on.

“Enough teasing YN, I need you” he said darkly, flipping you onto your back and yanking your trousers free from your legs to discard them. Azriel kissed you sweetly before moving down the shape of your body, peppering kisses along the trail to your entrance. You felt your legs begin to tremble under his touch, begging for more as his fingers began to play with your clit, your hands tangling in his hair with a moan. 

“You’re so ready for me YN, its intoxicating” he began to kiss around you and slowly his fingers began to move in and out while he sucked your clit. You felt the tension build in your abdomen, the greatest realess you ever had just a few movements away until he stopped entirely. You looked down between your legs to meet his eyes as he moved to hover above you again, discarding his own trousers in the process. 

“You’re so beautiful YNN” Your hand met the side of his face softly before pulling him back down into a searing kiss. Your fingers began to drag up and down his bear back before tracing the spines of his wings as they began to splay in their relaxed state. 

“Is that okay Azriel?” you whispered watching his eyes close with the building pleasure. 

“Nothing has ever been more okay” he leaned his head towards your hand, taking the waves of pleasure in his stride before lowering back down to meet you sweetly. 

Azriel slowly then began to enter you, you both almost meeting your release at the feeling. He slowly began to drag in and out as the sensation grew with its addictive nature, he increased his speed, spurred on by your hitching breath. The pressure growing and growing and growing, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your back arched until the band snapped sending you into overdrive as every nerve in your body stood to attention and then exploded. You practically screamed his name sending him over the edge, returning the sentiment by moaning your name, collapsing next to you while riding out his high. 

“I had no idea how much I needed to hear you say my name like that YN” Azriel finally found some composure to rasp out, his arm wrapping around you, pulling you in. You tried not to cringe in embarrassment as you buried a laugh into his chest. 

“Don’t go shy on me now” he laughed, kissing the top of your head. You rolled onto your elbows to look into his eyes as they lit up for you. You hauled the duvet up around you, leaving a small corner for Azriel to tug at.

“Why must I be mated to a blanket thief?”

“Why must I be mated to a pain in the ass?”

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Whatcha think friends!

[jittersbitters]

The Long Game pt.1 [Doodles]

{Viktor from Arcane Smut Story}

Warnings: Smut, light dom!vik, Fingering, Exhibitionism, AFAB reader, Doodling kink?, Established acquaintanceship so there is some length to this first part, the words- note, pen, doodle, and others associated come up a lot due to the plot, sorry!

Word cound: ~4.5k (25-40 minute read)

Story plot: A holistic healer from NW Shurima works privately for Councilmen Hoskel as a sort of assistant. Viktor and her meet years before the events of Arcane and have an up-down relationship that takes shape over the course of many years. Starting all the way back in their academy years, first knowing each other as respective transcribers for their council mentor/patrons during meetings. Maybe they should have stayed in that room?

Chapter Summary: You work as an assistant for Hoskel and are attending one of the meetings as his note-taker. However, you have a horrible habit of getting distracted during said meetings and not completing notes, instead doodling. Viktor, a peer you have a growing bond with, only within the council chambers, over the last few months decides to try out positive and negative reinforcement. Perhaps taking it to far this time and taking your playful acquaintanceship to a different level.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | • Viktor Masterlist •

MDNI NSFW below cut (Far below)

Spending all day at a council meeting wasn’t the exact plan I had for my day, but it wasn’t the worst place I could be. I could be stuck outside in the winter storms that started to blow in a couple days ago. Instead, I sat in the warmth of the council chamber with lukewarm tea in a paper cup at my feet and a half-eaten cheese bangle on the bench to my right. The council heater was on above us, keeping the chill at bay as the snow outside transformed the red brick and golden frames into a picturesque white wonderland. I could appreciate it from the window rather than braving the elements to run errands for my patron in town. 

However, as the meeting dragged on, my ears began to feel numb—not from the weather leaking in, but from the endless topics blurting through the air. It was one of those informal meetings that seemed to stretch indefinitely, so much to do as the cold months approached with the dauntingnes of the holidays. Salo always complained about how the undercity's activities affected his business, while Medarada would steer the conversation toward broader trade relations. My pen had begun to wander absent-mindedly over the page, searching for blank spots to occupy. While I had come to enjoy my time in the council chamber, I found little interest in the discussions about transportation, ordinances, or tedious changes to department funding. This time spent here had become enjoyable for an entirely different reason.  

As we neared the two-hour mark, doodles began spilling flagrantly into the margins of my notes, my random scratches hidden amongst the sharp sounds of pages flipping and other assistants transcribing. Starting with simple loops and circles in the corners, they quickly grew into intricate flowers with winding vines and leaves that had crawled up the negative space. By now, I had, obvious to those around me, lost track of the meeting entirely, and my attempts at shading the petals were becoming increasingly elaborate. 

 “Don’t you think you’re playing with fire?” a hushed voice broke through my filibustered concentration, an amused lilt peppering the words. I turned to find Viktor leaning into the edge of my metaphorical bubble, his eyebrow raised as he scrutinized my embellishments. His expression blended playful scrutiny with genuine curiosity, much like a cat trying to determine whether a new toy was worth the effort. The way his brows furrowed slightly as he concentrated only made it harder for me to suppress a smile, especially as his gaze danced from my paper back to my face, a weird mix of anticipation and amusement bubbling within me. 

Having becoming Hoskel’s ward a few months ago, Viktor had made it his mission to sit next to me during these meetings. He seemed invested not only in keeping me engaged but also in observing the increasingly elaborate designs that filled Hoskel’s notes, much to the merchant's dismay whenever I handed them in. I still vividly remember my first day—nervous energy radiating from me as I tapped my foot incessantly while the other academy students settled into their seats across the room. I knew no one besides Hoskel, which made me retreat into my own small world, avoiding eye contact and trying to shrink into my bench as if it might protect me.  

By the time the meeting started, I had chewed my nails down to stubs and added the frantic clicking of my pen to my growing list of anxious habits, blissfully unaware of the glares directed my way. I scanned the room, desperate for something—anything—interesting to focus on, completely lost to the mundane political discussions swirling around me. That’s when our eyes locked. I was momentarily frozen by his intense, assessing gaze. Golden pools looking from my shoes to my hair. It wasn’t until he placed a hand on his chest, took a deep breath, and flashed me a reassuring smile that I realized I had forgotten to breathe.  

By the next meeting, he had claimed the seat beside me, casually convincing the girl on my other side to switch places with him. He became my new distraction, despite his best efforts.  

“Chairman Hoskel doesn’t, uh, exactly seem like a pagonia man,” he remarked, head tilting slightly to the notes I had filled with random foliage. 

 I pursed my lips, forcing back a smile as I lightly bumped my leg against his. “It’s begonia. Like the bergenias I drew last week."  

Viktor clicked his tongue before flipping the page of his own notes. “Your language is most confusing. I don’t understand how you manage all the, eh, nuances and rules.”  

I couldn’t help but watch him—the way his jaw tightened slightly before he licked his fingers to shuffle his papers. My thoughts wandered to less than respectable places while I jotted down something about lifting restrictions for a project somewhere. “My language? I learned it on the boat ride over-” I was interrupted by the curt shushing from those around us. I risked a glance across the benches and noticed several peers watching us. I sheepishly went back to my notes, feeling my cheeks flush. Viktor shook his head as he mirrored me, neatly correcting his misspelled words while returning my knee bump, keeping his leg pressed against mine. 

Since Viktor had settled into his spot next to me, we had developed this little game. Whenever I got distracted, he’d give me a little nudge. It started subtly—just a light bump of with his shoe when I stared into space for too long. Soon after, he began tapping my paper with a finger to bring my attention back; perhaps that's when I develop a bit of a staring problem when it came to his hands. Eventually, there came a day where he took my pen away when my doodling became too extravagant. I remember staring at him wide-eyed in embarrassment, but he simply handed back my pen with a clever grin. I was careful to keep my doodles subtle and less conspicuous until a month or two ago, when he leaned over and whispered that my sketch of his boss resembled an ‘overindulgent gerbil’. His word’s not mine.  

After that, the atmosphere in our meetings shifted significantly. The dean’s assistant, whose name I learned through conversations with Hoskel, became increasingly daring with his ‘tactics’, and as the hours dragged on, we began to seek our own ways to pass the time. Our exchanges grew bolder; Viktor’s playful teasing and my daydreaming became hinderances that were hard for either of us to ignore. Each time I got derailed—or tried to—Viktor would lean in to correct me or chuckle at my notes, seamlessly bringing me back into the moment.  

We both knew, in the back of our heads, there were very few ways this was going to end. 

I tried to refocus, again, on the current discussion about suggesting new tax policies— but with the words "withdrawal" and "ordinances" swirling around the room like a fog it wasn’t long before my pen began dancing across the page once more. I’d rather pay more attention to flowers instead of the dull, useless to me, topics of the day that seemed to never end. I tried to hide it for several minutes, drawing tiny butterflies flitting around, like the ones I saw in the courtyard when I arrived this last spring. 

It was like clockwork. As soon as I started to lose track of the meeting Viktor leeeaned in closer, his foot slowly sliding toward mine before lifting up to step on my toes lightly. “If I remember this was the theme for the last meeting, was it not?” he whispered, smirking as he eyed me trying to turn a butterfly into a weirdly shaped lizard.  

“Perhaps,” I replied, equally quiet, “but it distracts from the gloom, though, don’t you think?” I smiled proudly when he chuckled. His gaze lingered on my page; his own notes momentarily forgotten as he rubbed his chin in thought. It didn't take long for me to notice that he was still staring, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his small lecture table. When I glanced over, I caught Viktor, lips relaxed into a half-smile, his eyes flitting between me and…  

...Was he judging my lizard?  

The bench creaked as he scooted closer, his shoulder pressing against mine. The unexpected scent of caramelized sugar wafted as Viktor’s breath brushed down the side of my neck. He craned in, trying to get a good look of my entire drawing. His face was so close that, even as he mumbled to avoid drawing attention from anyone else, I could hear every drawl. I had to force myself not to shiver as goosebumps erupted along my neck, as if his words were grazing my skin. “Is that a... curved... pastry? Odd thing to be in a garden, wouldn’t you agree?”   

Even though Viktor was mummering, I could still catch that sly tone beneath it... He was judging my lizard.  

I shook his foot off mine, willing the slight chaff in my voice to no take over the volume. “No, it's obviously a lizard. Why would there be a pastry-” 

“Will you two please keep it down,” We turned to see our neighbor to my right on the other side of the pew divider, her irritation palpable even through her whispered shout; her expression sour enough to make me giggle nervously under my breath. The sound seemed to shock her even more, compounding my embarrassment. 

“Sorry...” I shifted in my seat, suddenly acutely aware of how much I had begun to slouch and returned to writing. Insecurity creeping into my shoulders and causing some muscle spasms I tried to shake off. He wasn’t usual so talkative or suggestive in his actions, something was different today. Perhaps there was a point to be made about needing to curb whatever this dynamic was... 

Tick... Tock... Tick.... Tock  

Just as my pen started to wander, Viktor seized the moment to step on my toes again. The ever-increasing pressure was a blatant warning this time, igniting a spark of irritation within me that was dangerous when in a pen drop quiet room. If he was hoping to regain my attention, he was failing spectacularly, a gem I made sure to whispered in his direction just to make sure he got the message. 

“You’re still not taking notes” He chided, making me lift my foot and step on his toes like I was a child, a fact that I tried to look past. “Your patron might start to think you’re a bad girl- hamph~” He tried to mask his obvious laugh at my humiliated retaliation - via backhand to the chest - in an ill-timed cough. The unnatural, suspicious sound only succeeded in silencing the room, the discussion between our superiors halting instantly. 

I hadn’t meant to smack him, especially not in a way that drew everyone's attention, but something about those words wrapped in his Czech accent did all the wrong things. It stirred feelings that absolutely had no place in a council meeting. And, oh, the way Viktor smirked, concealing it with his hand—he knew exactly what he was doing, the bastard. 

Always pushing boundaries, and he called me the unfocused one. 

All eyes from the council shifted towards our row, centering on Viktor and me. My patron’s face twisted into a scowl, far grimmer than the Yordle scientist beside him, who regarded his assistant with a mix of curiosity and concern rather than outright anger. I did my best to avoid his probing gaze, focusing instead on fidgeting with the edge of my papers.  

I had become accustomed to this sort of thing after spending nearly six months with Torman Hoskel. Unlike many of the more complex socialites in Piltover, Hoskel stood out as one of the most one-dimensional people I’d encountered, if not the very most. Stubborn and quick to temper, he occasionally displayed brief flashes of hope, only to have them shattered by his narrow-minded perspective. Hot and cold, blunt to snappy—he was like an emotionally detached father figure. One I couldn’t just run away from. 

“My sincerest apologies, sirs, ma’ams,” Viktor began, clearing his throat as he addressed the council on our behalf. I hadn’t even noticed he had stood up, seemingly unfazed by the hushed murmurings from our peers. “Just had a bit of a cough but we—I will remain perfectly silent,” he added, shooting a playful glance over his shoulder, “for the rest of the meeting.”  

“I trust that's the case,” Heimerdinger’s high-pitched voice echoed through the chamber, cutting off the whispers and signaling that the session would continue. He glanced at me, suspecting something, but let it go in favor of moving to the next topic on the docket.  

Viktor sank back into his seat, a horribly satisfied smile spreading across his face. He took my hand gently as he sat, pulling it away from fidgeting and pinning it between our thighs. His thumb pressed against the back of my wrist, his fingers wrapping around my pulse. As he adjusted the scattered pages on his fold-up table, dissatisfied murmurs floated among the council members, but they soon began to find their footing again. I let their words drift through one ear and out the other, jotting down whatever I could grasp, my handwriting becoming progressively less legible.  

I went to lay my arm on my table, getting comfortable again, but Viktor's grip only tightened around my wrist, pressing it firmly into the wood beneath us. “Don’t even think about starting to draw again,” he chided, sliding his fingers closer to the base of my wrist, feeling my pulse quicken beneath his touch. “Or, maybe, I should worry about potential cardiac arrest?”  

“That is yo—” I cut myself off, noticing the smug expectation in his gaze. I wasn’t ready to unpack the tangled feelings our banter stirred up. “I’m not having a heart attack, now let go.” I attempted to snap at him, keeping my voice steady and hushed.  

“No,” he said, testing the limits of my patience.  

"You’re just trying to distract me, now" I shot back, reaching the end of my rope with his antics today. This side of him was new.  

Viktor shrugged, “You need to learn how to focus. It’s an important skill.” 

 “I can focus,” I bluffed, unwilling to let him point it out. “I just… choose not to.” I felt his gaze linger on the side of my head for a long moment, watching my scribbles. His eyes eventually flitted to the chaotic lines that filled my pages, and I could see the way he tapped his pen against his notebook, his jaw tightening with a definitive look in his eyes. 

I was taken aback when his grip relaxed around my hand; I had anticipated a stronger reaction. But it didn’t take long for him to make his move, his hand gliding up to brush his knuckles lightly against my knee. My gaze shifted to his hand as it deliberately nudged the loose fabric of my long skirt aside, revealing more of my bare leg through the split. 

I tried to shift my thigh away, looking up at him, surprised by his boldness - his hand following after. A flush of warmth settled in my stomach, mixed emotions bubbling up my throat as I struggled to swallow them back down. I could feel the intensity of his gaze as I quickly looked back to my paper.  

Viktor turned his hand over, tapping a gentle rhythm on the top of my thigh like he was playing piano. “If you just needed a little motivation,” he started, leaning close as if studying my notes. His taps slowly moved to drag up and down, callouses start to scrap the goose flesh building up as he made sure to linger along the remaining hem of my skirt's slit. His intentions were unmistakable. “Then all you need to do is pay attention and write your notes.”  

I could only swallow hard, aware of the game we'd been playing over the past few months. The exchanged glances, light touches, the foot games, the playful teasing. It all began the day he took my pen, and since then, the tension had only grown, with neither of us trying to pull back, but rather escalate it.  

He kept tapping my thigh, expectantly waiting for my response or a sign.  

I glanced at Viktor again; his golden eyes sparkled with wanton glee, sending my heart racing as I thought of the possibilities and the ramifications of being caught. We rarely interacted outside this room, so I wondered what the harm could be... right? 

I tightened my grip on my pen, my ears red as I tried to focus on the concluding topics of the meeting. I held it over the page for a brief moment, granting myself a fleeting pause before I began jotting down notes. The letters started off a bit shaky as I wrestled with the distraction of his fingers nonchalantly roaming across the expanse of my exposed thigh. He watched me patiently, allowing me time to get used to the feeling - exactly the length it took me to use the rest of my page before I had to turn to the next. 

Viktor's little finger brushed against the fabric, the others following slowly as they curved around the inside of my thigh. He played delicate patterns into the supple flesh, his touch steadily gliding further and farther up. The anticipation swirled in my stomach, it increasingly difficult to breathe unless I told myself to. He closely watched the slight movement of my brows, jotting down short notes —my reactions holding his full attention. 

He was moving at a painfully slow pace, each moment stretching out longer than the last. His carefulness was more distracting than anything else, and being careful not to attract attention to his hand. The thought of being caught sent a bolt of unexpected heat through me right to my core, causing me to bite my thumbnail with my free hand in a desperate attempt to regain my waning concentration. My cheeks were burning as he halted right before where I expected... wanted. My thighs wanted to twitch, to jerk in response. I had to breath, letting out a long breath, as I gradually shift them further apart without making any sudden moves. He smiled, yet remained utterly still, offering me nothing more than his presence. 

I heard a faint chuckle from above, his eyes fixed on me as I began to squirm in place, waiting impatiently. I hadn’t realized I’d stopped writing until his fingers lifted away, leaving the spot cold and making me whimper without meaning to. I quickly stifled the sound, biting my lip enough to cause a mark as I shot a glare at Viktor from the corner of my eye. 

“Try again,” he whispered, tucking his ‘T’ as his fingers gently tracing the skin just above my knee attempting to encourage me. 

I inhaled through my nose, closing my eyes for a brief moment to regain myself - and stow irritation- before writing again. I anxiously waited for his hand to return, ignoring misspellings in favor of getting out as many words as possible in the hopes that it might hurry him along. Coincidence or cause, I still had to stop myself from rolling my hips into his hand when his fingers finally returned, going farther than before.  

At first, his fingers only gently pressed against my covered cunt, experimenting with small gliding motions before gradually increasing pressure. My eyes fluttering a bit, teeth biting down hard at the dead skin of my lip. The split focus between his hand and the meeting was excruciating already; our cat and mouse games from the past meetings winding me up.  

My thigh spasmed a bit as he pushed my underwear aside. I hiccupped out stagnate breath, sniffling a bit, to keep myself as silent when his rough fingers collected the wetness that had been dampening the cotton. Spread it around as I turned the page, feeling the edge of my thoughts become increasingly hazy — exposed by the ink of my words. 

“You’re doing so well,” Viktor cooed softly, almost mockingly. I caught a sparkle in his eye that made my hips roll forward again, becoming desperate.  

“Please,” I begged near silently into my hand, covering my mouth. Viktor seemed as though he wanted to request more, but ultimately settled for this meager display of mine given the circumstances we found ourselves in.  

Obliging finally, he slowly pushed one of his fingers into me with a second following soon after the first knuckle. The sensation, the sudden bit of stretch, making my hips roll and lift slightly from the bench to meet him. I was warned to sit back down with a foot returning to stepped on my toes. Another silent whimper escaped from my throat as I obeyed, tilting my hips slightly to make up for the pressure I lost. 

My mouth hung open, pen cutting into part of my page, as Viktor started to slowly push in and out. Curling his digits and dragging the pads against somewhere that made the muscles in my legs quiver. My struggling breath was hard to hide as all I wanted to pay attention to was the circles Viktor’s thumb drew around my swelling nub, joining the delibrate and leisurely strokes of his fingers. His motions were so methodical it made me wonder how long he had planning this. 

 The first day? Week later? Last month? I don’t fucking care. 

My heart raced, skipping a few beats, while my eyes threatened to close once more. The tightness in my stomach intensified, and I could feel the warmth pooling and spreading through me. My sight starting to blur as my lids became heavy, feeling the fringe right before the fall. It made my knuckles white around my pen as my other nails dug into the edge of the bench seat. I struggled not to clamp my legs around his hand when curled fingers swiped back and forth.  

I was so close; I only needed a little more. 

“That seems to conclude everything submitted for this meeting,” Professor Heimerdinger cheerfully called out as he closed up his file. Glancing around, he spotted what seemed to be his assistant charming Hoskel's new ward. He raised a fluffy long eyebrow, observing their peculiar interaction as Viktor stood. 

My eyes widened as my head shot forward, my palm pressing against my agape mouth. I let out a pitiable moan that came out more like a strangled cough at the sudden absence of Viktor's fingers. Offering me nothing but that infuriatingly smug smile of his while quickly standing to gather his belongings, leaving me feeling cold and vulnerable. I shot him a pointed glare, crossing my legs tightly as I began to pack up, actions expressing my dissatisfaction. I shuffled my papers into their leather binding and stuffed the remainder of my cheese bagel into my mouth to muffle my verbal lashing. 

“Need a hand?” Viktor extended his offer, his eyebrow arched playfully as I squinted back at him. Hesitating as I picked up my now cold tea and rolled my tongue over the inside of my lip, before I took his hand and stood up with a gentle pull from him. Though I found myself being drawn closer than I anticipated as he held onto my hand. The air between us crackling with tension; he leaned down, observing the blush that crept from my cheeks to my ears and raced down my neck. His thumb brushing over my wrist as he turned it over, sending my pulse racing again as his eyes darted across my face, gauging my reaction. “Sense we skipped proper formalities—” 

 Hoskel’s snap of my name cut Viktor short; his approach forcing me to jerk my hand away from Viktor’s. The atmosphere soured further as Viktor took a step back, his demeanor slightly withdrawn now. With a soft huff, I attempted an awkward smile, clinging to the flutter in my stomach as I turned away. Biting my lip, I trailed after Hoskel, who immediately began reprimanding me for interrupting the meeting. Oddly enough, I found myself too flustered to care. 

 I stole one last look over my shoulder, catching Viktor gathering his things again as he waited for Heimerdinger. Upon noticing me, he waved and, before I could return the gesture, he raised his fingers to his lips with a mischievous wink. My breath caught in my throat again as I watched him glide his fingertips across his lower lip, his tongue peeking out just to taste— “ 

I jolted at the sound of my patron screeching my name again, following him as he hurriedly exited the council building, clearly not a man of academics. 

~~<3~~

Viktor hummed, pleased, to himself as he packed the last of his things up. He hadn’t meant for things to develop today the way they did; he had jumped forward in their little game. Not that either of them minded, but it was going to make the next time they saw each other a little more interesting.  

“Viktor, come here.” The elder’s voice brought him back to the present making he straightened. After grabbing his cane from where it sat, he stepped forward — struggling to separate his thoughts still tangled in the recent encounter. As he approached the table, Heimerdinger looked up, his wizened eyes observing the slight differences in his assistant's demeanor. He was no fool, he saw the young infatuation between the two young humans. “I wanted to discuss your latest project before the day leaves us. I’ve heard the most promising feedback.”  

Viktor’s eyes widened, remember something mentioned this morning before the meeting, “Thank - thank you, Professor.” Viktor hurried toward the round council table, snapping open the buckles of his bag again to retrieve the information for this little presentation. “I’ve been refining the prototypes. I believe if I just upped the electrical imput I could, potentially, maybe—” Before he could continue his unpracticed rambling, Heimerdinger peered closer at him. The Yordl looked at Viktor with narrowed eyes, sensing a depth, something different, in him that hadn’t been there before today. Viktor just saw his boss waddle towards him with a (kind?) stare that could unsettle Noxian soldiers. “Professor?” 

 “You seem... distracted. Is everything alright?” The question hung in the air, the short creature watching the seven stages of grief flicker across Viktors face.  

 Viktor’s mind flickered back to their blush, the rush of their connection. He cleared his throat, shaking himself back to the task at hand. “Yes, quite alright, Professor. Just eager to make progress.” 

 With a nod, Heimerdinger gestured for him to elaborate, but Viktor felt the nerves in his stomach tighten. He needed to focus. Perhaps later, once the day’s work was done, he might see where this new... path took him with the ward. But for now, he pushed aside these unprofessional thoughts, diving into the technical matters at hand, trying to channel these intense feelings into the brilliance of his inventions. 

(idk how much I like the name but were going with it because that's what won the google coin toss! Plus if I can make it to the ending I have planned I got a nice piece of dialogue to go with it. Media literacy and symbolism and all that stuff.

MOSTLY I just wanted to right Vik smut!)

[robolvrr]

late night adventures  ⁠`⁠๑🍻

swerve x gn! human bartender headcanons /

i need more of this adorable little guy.

sfw / suggestive under the cut.

"wait a minute. you gotta go to academy to make drinks?!"

you end up on the lost light completely by convenience. sure, cybertronians haven't exactly gotten the best reputation - a waging war following wherever they migrated wasn't pleasing for the planets caught in between a billion years of conflict. still, you're tired of working in a shitty bar with shitty customers and shitty pay.

while brainstorm first suggested to find a way to mass displace you (which you tend to just tune out his plans because he makes zero sense), the crew has settled on just making you a mech suit. it's not boxy, fitted for your frame. you don't have a helmet on because the mechs like to look at you.

kind of like a zoo animal exhibit to be honest. look, the alien in the tin can can speak!

you quickly develop some favorites. tailgate is adorable and cyclonus is terrifying but warms up to you over a few months. rewind is chatty. rodimus is.. rodimus. whirl has his charm and you love to hear skids ramble.

but who you really click with?

swerve.

my god he is OBSESSED. a human? on board? in his lifetime? at HIS bar?

it's even better once he learns you share interests.

you talk about your experience as a bar tender and yap his audials until he's melting. he loves it though.

he finds it interesting all the personal touches humanity tends to do for drinks.

like little fruits in fancy cups? burning a glass just for the fun of it?

"do you ever experiment with drinks?"

"well, yeah. to an extent."

"huh. do your customers sometimes offline for a lil?"

"... no honey i don't think they ever have."

please help him convince ultra magnus to include their trades for wines and spirits.

sometimes he lets you get behind the bar top.

he gets posted at your side and gushes like a goof. he finds the way you're able to talk and make drinks very, very impressive.

he learns to make drinks for you over time.

the first time you kind of gag and he freaks out, but you just end up patting his helm and choking out it's alright, he just gave his drink some extra kick.

HOOO. that is LIQUOR sir.

"what's wrong, starshine? feeling nervous?"

so. swerve isn't much of a flirt funnily enough. mechs laugh at his jokes and he's gotten some great connections, but not nearly the time to actually go out of his way (or shell) to banter like that.

it doesn't help that not a lot take him seriously. :(

when you talk to him about the culture of bartending, you joke about whether or not he had to sweet-talk his frequenters for tips and such.

he looks so confused.

"huh? why would i? you come to a bar to.. drink. right?"

oh boy.

you laugh though pat his shoulder when he gives that tiny pout of his. and you have the brilliant idea to show him what you mean.

it turns into a bet. if you can casanova the armor of em you win! and he'll get to see you in your full element. that means one night, human bartending - which drags in a HUGE crowd.

swerve bumps into mech after mech, shooting a lazy set of finger guns before knocking his way up to the bar. why was it never this busy when he was tending?

maybe he should hire the human. they certainly got some flair. for business purposes, of course. not like he's been thinking about them in the middle of the night staring up at the ceiling still as a statue. that would be weird. and creepy.

is it hot in here? it's definitely hot.

he eases himself on a stool. it feels funny being on the receiving end for once.

imagine his surprise when he spots you effortlessly zipping around, making drinks and finding him in the crowd! that look in your smaller optics sparkle and he feels the ship shift. is he having a spark attack? maybe premature crisis.

"hiya, handsome. the regular?"

he doesn't even look down at the glass you set before him, but it's his favorite engex mix and you remember, you remember what he likes. frag. you are a real sparkthrob.

"haha, already starting with the show, huh? you're gonna have to do better than that if you wanna prove your point."

it doesn't take a detective to sense how nervous he sounds. or an magnifying glass, because his gaze is a little focused on where your aft would be. your mech suit is real nice. there's orange and yellow accents, dark coal mesh barely visible between rivets of armor.

sometimes in the shower he thinks about how you'd look as a cybertonian. you'd probably be just as hot.

hot galaxy babe. ha. so he's a hopeless romantic and a xenophile.

"you're my favorite customer, swervey. just admit it feels nice to be pampered. big, hard-working mech deserves a little treat now and then."

then you toss that impish look over your shoulder, shaking two steel mixers together. the motion is standard. up, down, up down, up down, shake shake.

your grip is firm and confident on the equipment. your fingers can't really fit fully around the circumference.

he gulps.

"y-you're not slick. nuh-uh-uh. takes a lot more than saucy words from a pretty thing to get this motor running."

"oh. so you'd like me to demonstrate? i am a hands-on learner."

"this kind of talk wouldn't fly around here for long, sweetspark. makes me kind of jealous - you doing this for all the crew? cause i gotta tell you, there's some reaaaal bastards--"

thank primus it's loud in here. you don't help you know, tipping over the bar with a wry grin.

something pops into his mouth. an energon cube. raw.

"then it's good i just like teasing you."

you slide down about four drinks along the metallic table. swerve wonders if love at first sight is truly like the movies.

"tell you what. these drinks? on the house. and if you stick around.. i can teach you some chemistry outside of just making a damned good cocktail."

steam whistles out his vents.

..........

yeah. you won.

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

ON AN AUGUST night in 2003, a young woman who went by the name Paulina sank into the sofa of her modest, rented apartment, opened up her laptop, and began talking about sex with a man she’d recently met in a Yahoo chat group. His name was Stephen Bolen. His first communications had been terse, but he soon warmed to Paulina. It didn’t take long for both of them to begin to open up.

Paulina had told Bolen she lived in the Atlanta area, that she had a three-year-old daughter, that her daughter’s father was no longer in the picture. Soon, she was sharing more intimate details: what it was like growing up a skinny white girl in a rough neighborhood outside of D.C.; how her dad, a Marine, had died by suicide two weeks before she was born; how her mom had been emotionally and physically abusive, and had never really shown her love. How she’d had a sexual relationship with her stepfather.

Paulina would put her daughter to bed and then she and Bolen would chat throughout the night, over Yahoo and sometimes on the phone. The back-and-forth could feel like dating, but with an added element of danger and risk: Both Paulina and Bolen knew they were tiptoeing up to a line to see if they trusted each other enough to cross it. It could take a while to figure that out.

Eventually, Bolen asked Paulina to send pictures of her daughter, and she agreed to do so, though the ones she’d shared were chaste — the little girl clothed and her face turned away from the camera or obscured behind an untamable halo of blond curls. After seeing the pictures, Bolen asked to meet. While a lot of the men Paulina had encountered in chatrooms like “Sex With Younger” just wanted to trade images and videos of children, to expand their illicit collections, Bolen was a “traveler,” someone looking to act upon his obsessions.

On Sept. 17, just as they’d arranged, Paulina sat on a bench outside Perimeter Mall with a stroller parked in front of her, scanning the parking lot nervously. Part of her hoped Bolen wouldn’t show. When he did, she could see he was handsome, a preppy guy in a pink polo shirt and khakis. “Paulina?” he asked eagerly. She nodded. As he smiled and pulled back the blanket draped across the stroller, he found himself surrounded, handcuffs slipped around his wrists.

“Paulina” watched his face fall, his confusion giving way to distress as FBI agents took him into custody. It was her first undercover arrest. It would be the first of many.

[long read]

IF ONE WANTED to hide in plain sight, one could do no better than the tidy, suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of St. Louis, where FBI Special Agent Nikki Badolato now resides. The well-tended, two-story homes are so pleasantly indistinct that I could hardly tell you what hers looks like, even if it were safe for me to do so, which it is not. Suffice to say that Midwestern comfort and conformity unspool around every gently winding curve. Here Badolato has raised her two children, a daughter who is now in college and a son who is a junior at a local high school. When planning a neighborhood scavenger hunt or tending the community garden, Badolato does not often mention her many years as head of the Child Exploitation Task Force, a joint effort between the feds and local law enforcement that targets some of the country’s most heinous crimes. Open a cabinet in her kitchen, however, and a government-issued Glock 42 can be found stowed away between the vitamins and mixing bowls.

On a sunny morning this past October, Badolato sat at her dining room table, scrapbooks and albums spread out before her on the dark wood. There was the acceptance letter she’d received from the bureau the spring of her senior year of high school, after a representative had shown up to administer a test in the typewriting room. “I chose to wear a red dress and red heels,” she says of her first day as an FBI mail clerk, two weeks after her 18th birthday. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I guess maybe I was trying to go in bold?” She pauses at a picture of herself on the gun range at Quantico almost 10 years later, her shoulders squared and her caramel hair pulled back into a ponytail as she fires off rounds. By then, she’d married a man she met just after high school, had a little girl, completed college at night, and been accepted into agent training in the heady days after 9/11. She’d seen her first dead body only a few weeks into the job, after the pursuit of a bank robber ended with a shootout in a Walmart. When Badolato got to the scene, the body was still warm, and the perp’s head was resting on a bag of cookies. “It was surreal,” she says. “How many times have you been in a Walmart and walked down Aisle 4, not really expecting there to be a dead person with his head lying on a bag of Chips Ahoy?”

Badolato wasn’t deterred. She felt like the bureau saved her, plucked her out of a shitty home life, and gave her prospects and purpose. As a new agent, she was intent on proving herself worthy. “My training agent told me, ‘You know, Nikki, it’s a marathon, not a sprint,’ ” she says. “I was like, ‘That’s ridiculous. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.’ ” She turned a few pages to show a picture of the 391 kilos of cocaine and 140 pounds of meth she’d recovered on a single raid during a stint with a cartel squad, then pointed out another in which she poses with a five-year-old child she’d rescued, the little girl’s hair cut short because the kidnapper had wanted her to look like a boy. But the keepsake she really wants to find is the card that Bolen’s wife had pressed into her hand at his sentencing, the one with the picture of their children — a blond girl of about three years and a tiny baby — and the words “These are the faces of the children you protect each day.” Bolen’s wife had been the only one she’d ever encountered who had lobbied for her husband to receive the maximum sentence. Some wives accused the FBI of planting evidence inside computers. Most seemed intent on clinging to their delusions. (Attempts to reach Bolen for comment were unsuccessful.)

“Right now some little girl is being dropped off in the parking lot of a motel. There are four girls holed up in a hotel next to a McDonald’s. It is happening all the time.”

Which, Badolato has come to understand, is the way it goes with child trafficking and sexual abuse. She had invited me into her home — had agreed to speak on the record about her decades-long career working undercover — because when it comes to the crimes she’s spent her career fighting, she has had enough of the delusions people are under. She’s had enough of the way movies like Sound of Freedom both glamorize and trivialize the work she and her colleagues do, enough of the idea that swashbuckling white men burst through doors and rescue trafficked children with a Bible in one hand and a firearm in the other, enough of conspiracy theories about Hollywood and Washington that detract from the real root causes of why children are trafficked and abused. “Human trafficking is not the movie Pretty Woman — the girl doesn’t get the guy — and it’s not the movie Taken, where people are kidnapped in a foreign country and sold on the black market, or shipped in a container across the world,” one of the detectives who worked on Badolato’s task force tells me. “I’m not saying that doesn’t ever happen, but it’s not what we’re seeing.”

What they are seeing is a lot more insidious and a lot more homegrown. A report released in 2018 by the State Department ranked the U.S. as one of the worst countries in the world for human trafficking. While the Department of Justice has estimated that between 14,500 and 17,500 foreign nationals are trafficked into this country every year, this number pales in comparison to the number of American minors who are trafficked within it: A 2009 Department of Health and Human Services review of human trafficking into and within the United States found that roughly 199,000 American minors are sexually exploited each year, and that between 244,000 and 325,000 American youths are considered to be at risk of being trafficked specifically in the sex industry. Heartbreakingly, many of these children are victimized not by strangers who’ve abducted them from mall parking lots but rather by people they know and trust: Studies have found that as much as 44 percent of victims are trafficked by family members, most often parents (and not infrequently parents who were trafficked themselves). Between 2011 and 2020, there was an 84 percent increase in the number of people prosecuted for a federal human-trafficking offense. Of the defendants charged in 2020, 92 percent were male, 63 percent were white, 66 percent had no prior convictions, and 95 percent were U.S. citizens.

Badolato started her career as an FBI agent in some of the earliest days that children could be bought, sold, and traded online. As the internet-porn industry mushroomed, its most lucrative branch turned out to be that of child sexual-abuse materials (the term “child pornography” is no longer used by those in the field, as it implies consent). And as demand for these images increased, so did the abuse that led to their creation.

In 2003, just a few months after Badolato graduated from Quantico, a Crimes Against Children squad was formed in the Atlanta office where she’d been stationed. By then, the FBI was starting to get a handle on the extent of the problem — if not exactly what to do about it. At a weeklong training in Baltimore, Badolato was given a tour of the darkest underbelly of fetish chat groups and then instructed to figure out how to infiltrate. “Everyone was a little nervous,” she explains of the directive. “It was a process, a direction that was new.” Agents were told that they would need to come up with a “persona” and a “story,” and that they would likely have to provide images of children to “prove” they had a minor on offer. They were also told that they could use images of their own children, if they were comfortable doing so (the FBI no longer endorses this policy).

Badolato’s unit with a kidnapping victim after her recovery in 2011. A Health and Human Services review found that roughly 199,000 American minors are sexually exploited each year, and that as many as 325,000 American youths are considered to be at risk of being trafficked in the sex industry. 

Badolato developed “Paulina” based on her understanding that any persona would need to share most of her own backstory and traits. “That’s the only way you can really do undercover work,” Badolato says. “People can tell the sincerity in what you’re saying, so there has to be a level of genuineness, but then you just add this criminal element to it.” Most of the things Badolato had told Bolen were true: where she was from, her family background, the monstrousness of her mother, a woman who she says would pass out cigarettes and beers to Badolato’s 13-year-old friends in a state of manic permissiveness one minute and fly into a violent rage about a piece of lint on the floor the next. (Badolato’s mother declined to comment for this article, but a childhood friend corroborated Badolato’s account.) It was true that growing up in an unstable home with a string of stepdads, she had never really felt loved, true that she had divorced her first husband, true that she was raising their three-year-old daughter on her own. The only thing that wasn’t true was her tale of being molested, her initiation into the “lifestyle” — to use the chatroom parlance — that Paulina said she now wanted for her daughter. As Badolato had familiarized herself with the language and behaviors of the chatrooms, she’d honed that added criminal element, imagining what psychological conditions might believably lead a parent to traffic their own child and how those conditions could be grafted onto her real life story. She already had a history of abuse; it was not hard to extrapolate to a fictional stepfather who had seemed to provide a gentle counterpoint, showing her love and making her feel special when no one else had, even if others couldn’t understand. From there, it was easy to convince the chatroom participants that she shared their belief — or justification — that most people had it all wrong and that “child love” was natural, and could even be beneficial for the child.

Badolato estimates that she has arrested more than a thousand people; not one of those arrests has failed to end in a conviction. She didn’t know until she was in the thick of it that most agents refuse this sort of work, that most can’t even pretend to forge a relationship with someone looking to victimize a child. But she could. “Paulina,” she points out, is not a name she chose at random; it’s similar to her own mother’s name. Badolato says she had grown up learning to compartmentalize for the sake of her own emotional survival. She’d perfected the art of engaging with someone whose actions she couldn’t stand. Doing this work had felt like a way of taking her trauma and putting it to good use, of leveraging her past as a safeguard against her daughter’s and other children’s futures.

Of course there were moments that were hard to take — when suspects mentioned which brands of lubrication were best or whether or not a parent might hold a child down. There were times when she knew that even talking about these things was a turn-on for these men, times when the conversations made her nauseous, times when she’d lie awake all night or play back a recording and think, “Holy shit, I listened to this? I said these words?” But she kept faith in the mission. She reminded herself that the pictures she sent of her daughter — the beautiful, little girl sleeping in the next room — did not represent a real child on offer. “I was thinking, ‘If I send this obscure picture of my daughter and he acts on it, then he’s never going to harm my daughter or anybody else’s,’ ” Badolato says now. “I was presenting a fake girl to save a real one.”

KYLE PARKS SEEMED to think he could get away with anything. He seemed to think, for instance, that he could get away with running a brothel, a 1-900 sex line, and a housecleaning company out of the same Columbus, Ohio, office park and under the same oxy-moronic name, XXXREC and Hygiene Services. He seemed to think he could invite one young woman and five teenagers (four of whom he had only just met) on a road trip to Florida, but instead deposit them in two rooms of a Red Roof Inn in St. Charles, Missouri. When they piled out of the minivan — high on the drugs he’d given them — saw snow falling and asked to be taken home, he thought he could make a little money off them first. All it took was a few ads in Backpage — the Craigslist of sex advertisements — and men began showing up.

Even after things started going south for him, Parks couldn’t fathom that he wouldn’t prevail. When someone alerted law enforcement as to what was going on, Parks (who, according to legal documents, had been out getting food when the police showed up) burst into the precinct the next morning looking to bail his “friend” out. When questioned about the 88 condoms found in the back of his van, he said they had been prescribed to him by a doctor. After being taken into custody, he protested that he was being set up. Most people would have cut their losses and pleaded guilty, but not Parks. He thought he could take his case to court and win.

And it wasn’t impossible to imagine that he might. Badolato knew that even the tightest cases could go sideways when put before 12 people who would inevitably enter the courtroom with a cinematic sense of what sex trafficking was supposed to be. In fact, it wasn’t just the jury that Badolato knew she would need to convince; it was also often the victims themselves, young people who had internalized the exact same misconceptions about trafficking that the jury had — along with any number of other judgments society had thrown their way — and who were loath to submit themselves to a courtroom full of more judgment.

Of all of Parks’ underage victims, the hardest to pin down had been a 17-year-old we’ll call Sierra. Once she returned to Columbus, Sierra seemed to basically disappear. Calls to her mother’s number went unanswered. When one of the other victims managed to track her down in December 2016, a month before the case was to go to trial, Sierra agreed to meet Badolato on a blighted Columbus block with a string of dilapidated homes, climbing into the bureau’s Chevy Malibu with matted hair, dirty clothes, and a wary expression.

By this time, Badolato had remarried, had a second child, relocated to St. Louis, and taken over as head of the Child Exploitation Joint Task Force, which had become one of the most productive FBI teams in the country in terms of arrests and convictions. Meanwhile, as the internet streamlined the process of buying or selling any good or service, trafficking had become one of the fastest-growing criminal enterprises, estimated by the Department of Homeland Security to bring in $150 billion globally and considered by many criminals to be a superior business model: If caught, the sentences were often lighter than those for peddling drugs; and unlike crack or heroin, the same product could be “used” again and again and again.

Badolato taught her team of 20 how to do the online undercover work she’d trailblazed in Atlanta, tracking the movements of child-abuse material through the online underworld and then prosecuting those who distributed and produced it. Her new squad also initiated her in the type of undercover work it had been doing before her arrival: covert sting operations in which a detective would pose as a john, set up a “date,” and then meet said date in a hotel room fitted out with hidden recording devices while, in the next room over, a taskforce team listened in, waiting for the code word that would let them know that enough evidence had been gathered for them to swoop in and shut the op down. This had proved a very effective technique for getting convictions, but Badolato’s arrival coincided with both a growing sentiment that consensual sex work had been over-criminalized and an increasing awareness that what looked like consensual sex work might actually be trafficking, no matter what the “date” professed in that hotel room.

Badolato has a tendency to say aloud the things she notices — about you, about others, about situations — observations that are not at all unkind but are perceptive enough that most people would keep them to themselves. She points out when someone deflects, and she has a sharp eye for defense mechanisms. She once casually mentions my tendency to mirror other people’s vocal and speech patterns. She is not shy about bringing up the emotional and physical abuse she says she experienced as a child, and she is quick to comment when someone is making excuses for someone else’s behavior. It was soon clear to her colleagues that Badolato brought a trauma-informed mentality to the work, a tendency to look beyond what someone was doing and instead try to parse why they were doing it. And she was relentless: While some squads did one or two trafficking sting ops a year, her team was doing four or five a month. In addition to the hotel rooms reserved for the john and the team, they would have a social worker set up in a third room, ready to offer services to the victims. They would have lookouts stationed to see who might be dropping the date off. If that date was found to be underage, the case was automatically classified as trafficking. But even if they weren’t, Badolato’s team was primed to get to the bottom of what was going on, to figure out whether they were being manipulated or coerced, and by whom.

“If I could put my hands on a pimp, that’s what I wanted,” says Jeff Roediger, a St. Louis county detective who was the “john” for many of Badolato’s sting ops and who makes clear that the team was not interested in policing voluntary sex work. “When I had those types of cases, and I knew they were being sincere with me, I wouldn’t book them,” he says. “It was all about talking to the girls. It’s not like in the movies where they come running to you. You know, ‘Thanks, you rescued me!’ It’s not like that. A lot of them try to bullshit you at first — ‘That’s my boyfriend, blah blah blah’— but once I talked to them for a while, they would become more forthcoming.”

Badolato’s unit was one of the first in the country to take on this “progressive and proactive” approach, as she puts it. Soon, St. Louis looked like a sex-trafficking capital — not because it was actually trafficking more victims than other cities but because the task force was so aggressively pursuing those cases, and classifying them as what they were. “I mean, I was working in vice for years,” says Roediger. “Back in the day, it was always ‘prostitution,’ ‘prostitution,’ ‘prostitution’ — until we started to figure it out a little bit, until we started digging a little deeper.”

Once they did, the task force found that roughly a third of the sex-trafficking victims they recovered were under the age of 17 — and they began to see the reach of the problem. Kids were being trafficked out of every hotel in the area, from the seediest roach motel to the fanciest Ritz-Carlton. They were being trafficked every time of day and by every socioeconomic group (“Before you go do brain surgery, you got to bust a nut real quick,” one underage victim told Badolato of her high-end clientele). Some of the victims were girls. Some were boys. Some were LGBTQ kids who’d been kicked out of their homes. Some were straight cis kids from the suburbs. “I tell people that I could probably name two or three [kids] in the school district they live in that have been trafficked,” Roediger says. “And they just can’t comprehend it.”

“If I can be perfectly honest, I truly don’t believe that the FBI realizes what they put their agents through doing that kind of work.”

There were kids who were about to age out of foster care (a particularly at-risk group, according to those who work in the field), kids who’d run away, kids who were being sold to pay their family’s rent, or to buy their family member’s drugs. There were kids who’d sit in the hotel room, backpack at their feet, dutifully working on their math homework while agents and social workers tried to figure out what to do with them. Was their home life safe enough that they could be returned to it? Would a residential program take them? Of all the imperfect options, which would make them least likely to be trafficked again?

The one common denominator was this: They all had a vulnerability that could be preyed upon. They all lacked a safety net — societal, familial, emotional, or some combination thereof — that might have broken their fall. Mostly, their stories weren’t dramatic; they were typical American tales of neglect, of abuse doled out casually, of a steady stream of letdowns by people and institutions who should have propped them up. Badolato found that she had a knack for getting them to talk about this, for getting them to open up to her. She didn’t look like an FBI agent — at least not what they’d imagined. She spoke softly, but with authority and a slight vocal fry. And she thinks that, at some level, they could probably sense that she’d once been a vulnerable kid too, that with only a few slightly different twists of fate, she could have become a trafficking victim herself — and that she knew it. “My trauma looks different than theirs, but it’s trauma nonetheless,” she says.

“And I think victims can feel that.”

AS THE TASK force learned more about the psychology of victims, they also learned more about the ways in which their vulnerability was being manipulated, and how those ways were evolving. It was known in law-enforcement circles that once a skilled trafficker set his or her sights on a vulnerable young person, they could be groomed in a matter of days: one day for an introduction, a day or two to make the victim feel special and cared for, and then the day when a “friend” comes over and he needs to be “cared for” as well. Sometimes violence was involved at that point; sometimes drug use was involved throughout. But emotional manipulation was the key element, which is why it was so easy for grooming to move online, for groomers to take advantage of the false senses of connection fostered on social media.

Of the victims who are not being trafficked by family members, the majority are being groomed in this way. “I would say that probably 75 percent of the initial grooming is happening online now,” says Cindy Malott, the director of U.S. Safe Programs at Crisis Aid International. “Recruiters used to have to work really, really hard to get access to kids, but now they’re practically sitting in a child’s bedroom. And kids put everything out there — what’s going on in their life, who they’re angry about, parents are going through a divorce, their insecurities about their body, about themselves, what they do, how they spend their time — so it’s like a gift to these predators.”

The ways to manipulate are legion: Get a kid to send a compromising photo, and she’ll do almost anything to keep you from sending it out to all her Facebook friends; find out a gay kid is still closeted, and the threat of outing him gives you incredible power. And predators aren’t just on Instagram and Snapchat; they lurk in the chat functions of Roblox, Minecraft, Grand Theft Auto. “They’re everywhere,” says Malott. “People think, ‘Oh, I just got to keep my kids away from those porn sites, those horrible places.’ Well, no, predators are gonna go where the kids are.” And once there, they’re going to zero in on the kids who are most vulnerable.

That’s what got to Badolato. In her online undercover work, she’d plumbed the psychology of pedophiles, but now she wasn’t just dealing with suspects; she was spending time with victims and seeing the same vulnerabilities in them that the traffickers had seen: the instability or poverty, the addiction or mental health issues or abuse that had been normalized in their lives long before the traffickers entered them. Sometimes Badolato couldn’t help but feel that all the conspiracies and misconceptions weren’t just a distraction from the truth of trafficking but rather some sick attempt to let society off the hook for trying to solve the much more intractable problems at trafficking’s root.

“People would rather stick their head in the sand than address the real problem, because then you have to face and talk about the societal issues,” she says. “With a movie like Sound of Freedom, it’s like, ‘Oh, this is in a jungle in South America. This isn’t actually in [my neighborhood].’ You know? It’s easier for people to ignore the problem than deal with the issues on a societal level.”

BY THE TIME Badolato was sitting in that Chevy with Sierra, on that blighted Ohio block, she knew that the rate of revictimization for children who are trafficked was as high as 95 percent, according to FBI reports. She knew that 90 percent of sex-trafficking victims have a history of child sexual abuse, that more than 75 percent had lived in foster or adoptive care. She knew that she could arrest one perpetrator, and another would pop up in his place, that she could send one pimp to prison and the same victims would show up to stings some short time later, run by a different crew. She knew that testifying was a way for Sierra to psychologically push back against what had happened to her, and she was right: After the young woman took the stand on Jan. 10, 2017, Parks was found guilty and sentenced to 25 years; while testifying, Sierra had seemed to transform, to channel and embody a sort of empowerment. But Badolato also knew that once her testimony was over, Sierra would go back to that blighted block. She wondered how long that empowerment would last.

She also wondered about her own trajectory, her own ability to continue doing this work. The youngest trafficking victim she’d ever recovered from a sting op — an 11-year-old who’d been recruited through Facebook — had been returned to her family in a house that had no heat (Badolato had used an FBI slush fund to get it turned back on). One did not become immune to the human misery of such things. They compounded, became harder and harder to compartmentalize. “It’s just a combination of all of those years — and it’s all awful,” she says. “But there are particular moments that, for one reason or another, you can’t get out of your head. I just don’t think it’s in human nature to be exposed to that for so long and it not start changing who you are.”

One night, at a restaurant near where Badolato lives, I ask her whether she thinks children are being sex-trafficked right then, in that very moment, in just the mile or two radius around us. She’s quiet for a long time, her gaze fixed downward at her glass of wine. By the time she looks up, her whole body is trembling. “It’s happening right now,” she says quietly. “Right now some little girl is being dropped off in the parking lot of a motel. There are three or four girls holed up in a hotel next to a McDonald’s. It’s not only when we think about it. It is happening all the time. And if I’m just sitting here, present, having dinner, not thinking about it, that means I’m ignoring a problem that I know is real.” Tears stream down her face.

“Many images have never left my mind,” she says. “It’s really hard to have worked your entire life in law enforcement with a lot of child crime victims and be at the end of your career looking at the situation where you realize you can only do so much to make a difference.” Badolato wipes back the tears with the palm of her hand and shudders her head, as if she can shake the thoughts away. “Damn,” she says. “Fuck. I shouldn’t be the one crying. I’m not the victim of this.” The veteran agent steels herself and repeats, “I am not the victim.”

THE HOUSE WHERE Korina Ellison says she was first sex-trafficked no longer exists. It once stood on an unassuming lot in a residential suburb of Portland, Oregon, that stumbles down to the banks of the Willamette River. Now, Ellison can’t quite bring the house’s features to mind. She was so young back then, maybe four or five. There is so much she’s repressed, or only pieced together after the fact. As a child, she wouldn’t have known what she now believes to be true: that her grandmother scored her drugs by offering up her youngest daughter, Ellison’s mom. Or that, once her mom was hooked on the meth cooked by the man who’d lived in that house, she’d known just what to do to get more. But Ellison does remember being inside the house, unclothed. She does remember how the man would touch her.

Her life unspooled from there. Her father died of a heroin overdose when she was six. Her mom lost custody for good. She bounced around foster care, then various residential institutions, then whatever shelter she could find. In the story she tells of how she was sex-trafficked again in her teenage years, there’s no moment of drama, no kidnapping, no clear coercion. There was just a random, rainy afternoon when she had no place to go and was alone in the street and a car pulled up. The man inside took her home with him, fed her, introduced her to his girlfriend. They took her shopping. They let her stay. When men showed up at the home to have sex with the woman, Ellison was invited to watch, but she wasn’t expected to participate — not at first, anyway. According to a statement Ellison later made to law enforcement, she just “realized that people aren’t going to take care of [me] for free.” Soon, the woman was posting Ellison’s services on Backpage — $150 for half an hour, $200 for a full one — and the trio were traveling the Midwest. For a long time, it didn’t even occur to Ellison, then 16, to leave. “Where would I have gone?” she asks. “I’d been missing for over a year. Nobody was looking for me.” When the man told her to call him “Daddy,” she complied.

That was more than a decade ago, near the beginning of Badolato’s tenure as head of the Child Exploitation Task Force. But by 2021, leaving it had seemed a necessary form of self-preservation. One of her last cases had gone well legally: The perp, a retired police officer from California who had produced child sex-abuse materials of three sisters in Manila, had pleaded guilty to such charges when he learned that Badolato had brought the girls to the states to testify against him. But the experience had been emotionally devastating for Badolato, who had wanted the sisters, then 16, 13, and 11, to have memories of the U.S that consisted of more than reliving their trauma in a courtroom. She took them shopping and to the zoo, invited them to her home to have dinner with her own family, saw them slowly start to open up and laugh and behave like the children they were. Then she’d had to put them on a flight back to Manila, back to the aunt who had allowed the man to abuse them and who Badolato had been unable to extradite. Fortunately, she says, their estranged father ended up intervening and taking custody of the girls, but that feeling of futility in the fight lingered.

“I stayed for a little bit longer after that trial, but it really was when I should have been able to look myself in the mirror and say, ‘Nikki, you’re done,’ ” Badolato had told me in St. Louis. “It became clear that I had been doing it too long.” She’d spend the last couple of years working national security, a position without the immediacy of child-exploitation work, but also without the heartache. “If I can be perfectly honest, I truly don’t believe that the FBI realizes what they put their agents through doing that kind of work. I just don’t,” she says.

And yet, here Badolato was in Portland, leading Ellison, now 30, up to her hotel room, telling her about all the announcements she’d heard in the Atlanta airport instructing travelers to be on the lookout for sex trafficking. “It’s like white noise in the background,” she says as Ellison settles into the sofa. “It’s a false sense of doing something to help.”

“Here’s the thing: Nobody knows what to look for,” Ellison agrees.

“And what about the victims who are in that airport, who are walking around and listening?” Badolato asks.

“I wouldn’t have even heard that announcement,” Ellison replies. “Because I didn’t feel like a victim. It goes a lot, lot, lot deeper than anybody realizes.”

That’s what she and Badolato both understand. That’s why they started talking eight months ago. Of all the teenage victims Badolato’s task force recovered, Ellison is one of the few who she knows has permanently extricated herself from being prostituted, though it took years for her to get to that point, years for her to see that what happened to her was not her fault but rather a fault in the system, a fault in many systems over the course of generations. Neither she nor Badolato can fix that.

Yet they can’t help feeling like there’s something they can fix — or at least try to. Under the umbrella of an organization she’s founded called Innocent Warriors, Badolato created a program for schools, instructing educators on the signs that might indicate a student is being trafficked and teaching kids how to avoid getting groomed online, which, she believes, is not about stranger danger but rather an awareness of subtle manipulation. Ellison has been working with trafficked youth through nonprofits like Children of the Night, the residential program where Badolato’s team sent her when she was 17. Together, they’ve been talking about having Ellison help train undercovers who are learning to do trafficking sting ops. They’ve also discussed starting a mentorship program in which children who are still being sex-trafficked are paired with young adults like Ellison who once were, providing a way for victims to begin to envision a different future for themselves and a path toward it even while being prostituted. Such a program may be retroactive rather than proactive, but it would capitalize on Badolato’s and Ellison’s experience and expertise — and it could help in the healing of mentors and mentees alike.

Badolato had traveled to Portland for the two to talk face-to-face about how the program might work. “You have to understand how they’ve been traumatized because sometimes, to a child, relating doesn’t sound like you’re relating. It sounds like you’re pointing out all the bad things in them,” says Ellison from the driver’s seat of her Nissan Pathfinder as she drives Badolato around to show her certain landmarks of her past after she’d left Children of the Night: the bridge she’d slept under for over a year after a boyfriend had gotten her hooked on heroin, the blocks downtown where she’d bounced between a children’s shelter and the needle exchange. It had taken a prison sentence for her to finally break her addiction and commit to a different kind of life, though that evolution had had less to do with not having access to drugs than with seeing her own mother cycle in and out of the same facility — like looking into her own future and witnessing how bleak it would be. Maybe, she thought, she could provide the inverse of that for kids in Innocent Warriors. Maybe she could reverse engineer her own escape.

“I just want to make it very clear that if you were a victim, you are a victim, and just to not have any shame in that,” she tells Badolato as they drive through Portland’s misty streets.

“What I anticipate and hope is that then we get survivors that are like, ‘They get it,’ ” Badolato replies. “And that it opens up doors to help, for people to recognize that there are people who get what’s really going on.”

“It took a really long time for me,” Ellison says of coming to terms with her own victimhood.

“It’s like reworking your thought process about some of those things,” Badolato agrees. “And that’s hard, and it happens slowly over time, and it looks different for everybody.”

Ellison grips the wheel tightly. “The truth does matter. It does. The truth is the fucking truth. And it’s been empowering to be able to talk about it because that’s another way that I’ve realized, like, ‘Man, I was a victim,’ is re-going over all of this. Because when it happens so many times, you do blame yourself. It’s a lot easier to just continue to live in a lie than believe that you were lied to.”

Still, Ellison and Badolato agree that the impressionability that makes children vulnerable is also what makes them open to guidance and mentorship if a relationship of trust can be established. “What do you think a parent does? They groom you. I’d been waiting to be guided and groomed,” Ellison says.

It’s been instructive to see that potential from another perspective, as a mother doing the guiding. As the afternoon wears on, Ellison stops to pick up her then-15-month-old son, who was being watched by a social-worker friend. She buckles the little boy into his car seat, ruffles his hair, and passes him a bottle. He grins widely and begins removing his shoes and socks, throwing them gleefully onto the floor of the car and then kicking his tiny feet in time with the music as Ellison glances back at him and smiles. “Kids are so perfect,” she says.

The last stop of the day is the large plot of land where the drug dealer’s house once stood. Now, it’s been turned into a playground, with brightly-colored jungle gyms, a covered picnic area, and a large lawn, where a couple leisurely walks their dog. Ellison and Badolato climb down from the car and stand at the park’s edge, as Ellison’s son toddles around the grass, oblivious to what had transpired in that very spot. There is some form of poetic justice in the land being earmarked for children’s enjoyment, but neither woman voices it. Mostly, they’re quiet. Night is falling, the air growing cooler, and the gray sky fading into dusk.

“You would never think a park could hide what it used to be,” Ellison says at last. And yet it did. Driving off with Badolato at her side and her son babbling happily in the back seat, Ellison glances in the rear-view mirror, but only for a moment. Badolato keeps her eyes fixed only on the road ahead.

[5starluvr]

ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?

Paring:Han jisung,Lee Minho × Reader

Genre: slow-burn ,smut, angst,(one second of fluff)

a/n: bare with me people, this is my first time actually writing smut so don’t expect too much. Also English isn't my first language so I apologize for any incorrect grammar

Warnings: Degrading & praise kink ,Dom/sub dynamic ,Sir kink , Threesome (m/m/f) ,Anal ,Double penetration ,Smoking ,Emotional manipulation ,Voyeurism ,Rough sex ,Power imbalance ,Obsession themes, Toxic relationship elements

Summary: You were just group partners. Just friends. Just fucking.

But Minho doesn’t do “just.” And Jisung doesn’t know when to stop loving people who hurt him.

Now you’re caught between a boy who wants to own you and a boy who wants to be owned—

—and neither of them plans on letting go.

Part 1 > part 2 > part 3 > part 4

Y/N could feel the air change when Professor Shin said the word “groups.”

The seminar room was warm with sun, bodies slouched in chairs, papers strewn like afterthoughts. “Art & Emotion: Cross-Disciplinary Expression” was supposed to be a laid-back elective, an escape from syllabi and exams. But now her name was being read aloud—slowly—attached to two others.

“Y/N… Lee Minho… Han Jisung. Group three.”

The room stirred. A low whistle from the back. Someone laughed softly.

Jisung turned around first. Two rows up, he was already smiling—messy hair, a hoodie two sizes too big, legs sprawled like he owned the floor. He gave her a lazy little wave and mouthed, “Lucky you.”

Y/N blinked.

And then, a second later, the figure at his right turned his head.

Minho didn’t smile.

He didn’t even blink.

His eyes found hers like they were tracing a target. Then he looked away. Back to the page. As if nothing had happened.

Professor Shin clapped his hands once.

“Your assignment is to collaboratively interpret an emotional state—movement, sound, language. It can be performance, installation, whatever you want. But it must be felt. Not explained.”

That word again: felt.

Y/N’s pen sat motionless on her page.

⸻

After class, the hallway was alive with the shuffle of people eager to escape. But not her. Her bag strap was caught on her chair leg, and by the time she wrestled free, most of the class had cleared out.

Except for two.

Jisung was perched on the desk like a cat, phone out, tapping something rhythmically with a pencil. “You’re Y/N, right?” he said. “Language major?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. I’m music. Minho’s…” He glanced over his shoulder.

Minho stood by the window, smoking even though the hallway sign said not to. “Dance,” he said without turning.

Y/N felt her throat tighten. His voice was low. Sharp.

Jisung grinned like he didn’t notice the tension—or maybe he lived in it. “Anyway, we should trade numbers. I’ll make a group chat.”

She handed him her phone.

He typed quickly, then flipped it to show her: Minho 🍷, Jisung 🎧, Y/N 📚.

She stared at the wine glass emoji.

“Why that?”

“Minho’s a little…intense,” he said, lowering his voice theatrically. “Red wine and judgment.”

Minho flicked his cigarette ash into a bottle cap without looking up

They stepped into the late afternoon together, golden light brushing against the stone walls. The wind lifted Y/N’s coat. She didn’t speak, too aware of the silence behind her—too aware of how Minho walked. Quiet. Too quiet for someone so solid.

“So,” Jisung said brightly. “Wanna meet this weekend? Studio’s open. We can brainstorm.”

Y/N nodded. “Sure. Saturday?”

“Perfect. You’ll love it. I make terrible coffee and excellent beats.”

Minho finally spoke.

“Don’t be late.”

Y/N turned toward him. His eyes were darker in daylight. Narrower. Still unreadable.

She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but he’d already turned, cutting through the crowd like water.

Jisung laughed softly. “Yeah…told you.”

“Told me what?”

“Wine and judgment.”

He winked.

——-

The studio smelled like cheap coffee, synthetic leather, and dust-covered speakers—lived in, not decorated. There was an ashtray balanced on a windowsill that didn’t open, and notebooks stacked in aggressive piles near a keyboard covered in stickers that said things like SAD BOY ENERGY and EAT THE RICH.

Y/N lingered by the door. “This is where you make magic?”

Jisung looked up from the couch, legs up, one earbud still dangling. “It’s where I make noise and call it art,” he said, grinning. “Come in. Seriously. It only looks like a crime scene.”

She stepped over a hoodie on the floor and dropped her bag. “You live here?”

“Minho would murder me. Nah, this is just mine. I use it when I don’t want to deal with…people.” His voice dropped slightly.

She raised a brow. “Minho’s not a people?”

Jisung chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. “Minho’s a…category. You’ll figure it out.

He played her a beat—low, throbbing, layered with fragments of strings and something muffled like a heartbeat. It was imperfect. Messy. But intimate.

“I want something that sounds like wanting,” he said.

“Like you almost get what you want. Then it slips.”

“That’s what longing is, right?”

Y/N sat on the floor. Legs crossed. Thinking. “It sounds like you’re trying to breathe through someone else’s mouth.”

Jisung froze. Then smiled. “That’s disgusting and brilliant.”

He dropped down next to her, too close. But not unwelcome.

They spent hours playing with ideas. She wrote a few lines, then crossed them out. He freestyled dumb lyrics about loneliness and hot ramen. They laughed too much.

Somewhere around midnight, she noticed how close they were. How his knee brushed hers. How his voice had dropped, no longer teasing but curious.

“Why language?” he asked.

“Because I like how words break when they matter most.”

He stared at her, lips parted like he wanted to ask more. Then he just blurted:

“I think I’m gonna kiss you now.”

Y/N didn’t answer.

So he did.

It was fast. Greedy. The kiss wasn’t clean—it was desperate. Hands in hair, fingers slipping under her sweater. She pushed back once, gently. His eyes darkened.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

“I won’t,” she breathed.

And in the blink of an eye she was up on the mixing table before she realized it, legs spread, his hands tugging at her jeans like he’d done it a thousand times before. The room felt too small. His mouth was everywhere—neck, collarbone, between her thighs. His voice was a soft, hoarse growl.

“So fucking wet for me already?”

“You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

She moaned something close to yes, and that was all it took.

When he slid inside her, it wasn’t gentle—but it wasn’t cruel. It was needy.

He kept whispering praise—dirty, soft, relentless:

“Look at you.”

“Good girl.”

“Just like that.”

“Taking it so well.”

“You’re perfect—fuck—you’re fucking perfect for me.”

Y/N came fast, fingers tangled in his hoodie, mouth open against his neck.

Jisung followed, teeth clenched, body shuddering, holding her like he was afraid she’d vanish the second he let go.

They lay there, breathless. Her hair stuck to her cheek. His hands didn’t stop moving.

Finally, he said, “Just this once?”

She nodded.

“Just this once.”

⸻

Outside, across the street, a cigarette ember flared in the dark.

Minho watched her leave.

———

The rehearsal room echoed.

Hardwood floors, mirrored walls, and silence so thick it pressed in on Y/N’s ears. Minho stood in the center, barefoot, one earbud in, eyes closed. Every muscle was coiled. Like the stillness before a strike.

Jisung leaned against the wall, arms folded. “He does this every time. Five minutes of complete freeze-frame panic before he moves.”

Y/N didn’t reply. She was too busy watching.

Then the music began — low percussion, faint vocals, no lyrics. And Minho moved.

Not gracefully. Not gently. Sharply. Deliberately. Like he was cutting the air with every limb.

Y/N forgot to breathe.

Jisung nudged her. “You’re staring.”

“I’m watching.”

“Same thing,” he said, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Minho stopped. The silence returned like a slap.

He turned to them slowly, chest rising and falling.

“The beat’s too slow,” he said to Jisung. “Start again.”

“No please?”

Minho raised an eyebrow.

Jisung sighed and moved to the speaker, muttering, “Sir, yes, sir.”

The song restarted, slightly faster. Minho walked toward them this time, eyes focused entirely on Y/N.

“Get up.”

She did.

“Move with me.”

The next few minutes blurred. She tried to follow his steps, mirror his angles, but she was too stiff, too hesitant. He moved like heat; she moved like hesitation.

He stepped behind her, hand on her waist. “Don’t think,” he said. “Feel.”

His palm slid higher, across her ribcage — not sexual, not quite. But controlling. Definite.

“Loosen your hips. You’re locking up.”

“I’m trying—”

“Stop trying. Do it.”

She swallowed, cheeks flushing. His breath was close. She felt it on her neck. Jisung was watching them from the mirror, arms still crossed, jaw tight.

Minho’s hand dropped. He circled her, slow, eyes scanning like she was a blueprint. Then he stopped in front of her.

“You bite your lip when you’re frustrated.”

Y/N blinked.

“You’ve been doing it since I started dancing. You’re not subtle.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Minho stepped back, brushing past her shoulder. “Class is over,” he said.

“But—” Jisung started.

“Next time,” Minho interrupted, “don’t be late.”

Y/N stood frozen in the silence he left behind.

Jisung came over, gave her a crooked smile. “So… how are you enjoying the Minho experience?”

“I don’t think I know what it is yet.”

Jisung slung an arm over her shoulder. “No one does. That’s the trap.”

——

Jisung’s room always felt too hot.

Not warm—hot. The kind of heat that clung to your skin and made it impossible to think. Clothes came off faster here. Words lost meaning.

Y/N wasn’t sure how they ended up horizontal again. One second, she was dropping by to “go over the group concept.” The next, she was beneath him, breath stuttering against his shoulder, moaning as he buried his mouth between her legs.

“Always this wet for me?” he asked, voice rough.

“You missed me, didn’t you?”

“Say it. Say you fucking missed me.”

“I—fuck, I—yes—”

He chuckled into her thigh. “Good girl.”

She didn’t mean to enjoy it this much. But Jisung was good at praise—too good. And when he pushed inside her, hand tight on her throat, teeth dragging over her lip, she forgot to care about anything but how he felt.

The headboard tapped the wall. Her legs trembled around his waist.

“So fucking tight.”

“You like being fucked like this, don’t you?”

“All pretty and obedient for me.”

Her nails dug into his back. His rhythm sped up. It was fast, hungry. Like he needed to fuck her just to prove he still could.

And then—

The door opened.

At first, she thought she imagined it.

Then: the soft click of it swinging shut. Footsteps. Slow.

Jisung froze.

Over her shoulder, across the room—Minho.

He didn’t look surprised.

He didn’t look away.

Y/N’s breath caught. She scrambled to pull a blanket over her chest, but Jisung didn’t move. Not at first.

Minho’s voice was calm. Cold.

“I came for my charger.”

He walked to the desk, unplugged it, and turned.

His eyes met hers.

No expression. No hint of what he thought. Just that flat, knowing stare.

Then he was gone.

Jisung sat back on his heels. “Fucking hell.”

Y/N clutched the blanket tighter. “He didn’t even knock.”

“Minho doesn’t knock,” Jisung muttered. “He knows what’s his.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Jisung ran a hand through his hair. Looked at her like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he kissed her shoulder and pulled her closer.

“It’s fine. Seriously. He doesn’t care.”

But his voice was too quiet.

And she wasn’t sure she believed it.

⸻

Later that night, her phone buzzed.

Minho 🍷:

Do you always let him finish first?

[wordsfrombudha]

The Stages of Wealth Through the Zodiac

The element most connected to wealth is earth. Earth, or Prithvi in Vedic philosophy, is the foundation of all material existence. It represents stability, groundedness, and the physical manifestation of nourishment/security. Prithvi, in its essence, is about solidifying what is necessary for growth and prosperity. It represents the material foundation upon which everything else is built. Earth is concerned with the practical and tangible, focusing on what can be used, owned. When we think about the earth, many different forms of wealth come to mind. The earth provides everything we need to survive, such as food, shelter, resources, etc., and it supports all life. Through the lens of the earth signs in the zodiac, we can understand how wealth is created, nurtured, and sustained through the physical world. By analyzing the qualities of Taurus, Virgo, and Capricorn, we can see the diverse ways in which wealth manifests and the different motivations that drive the accumulation of material success.

First, wealth starts in Taurus. Taurus represents creative and natural wealth. It is the wealth of the land and world itself, expressed through food, pastures, herbs, flowers, and fertile soil. This is the most primitive and sensory form of wealth, tied to nature and the enjoyment of life as it is. In Taurus, wealth is found in beauty, stability, and the ability to survive by being in harmony with the environment. It is about pleasure, contentment, and the richness of simple experiences. Here, to be wealthy is to have just enough and to be able to enjoy it fully. Taurus holds the foundation for creative wealth in its most literal and life-giving sense. This is the wealth of creation itself, the ability to bring living things into being. Plants grow here, animals graze, and humans reproduce. This is where the rejuvenation of life is continuous and reliable, and where cycles of growth can be trusted through the physical processes like conception, gestation, blooming, and ripening. The soil nourishes. The body heals. The world renews itself. This kind of wealth sustains entire ecosystems and communities. It gives not only food and shelter but also the sensual and emotional fulfillment that comes from living in tune with the forces that make life possible. In this way, Taurus is where wealth begins because it gives rise to everything else. It is the only kind of wealth that is truly self-generating, because it comes from nature’s power to recreate itself. This is different from wealth that is counted or traded. Creative wealth gives without needing to be taken. It is not about gain through effort but abundance through alignment. The cow produces milk not because it is forced to, but because it is nourished. The tree bears fruit because the conditions are right. This is wealth that emerges when things are allowed to grow out of harmony.

Then, wealth moves to Virgo. Virgo represents the quantification and distribution of value given to natural wealth with an acknowledgement of scarcity. What started as the untouched fertility of nature is now the cultivated intelligence that knows how to make use of it. Virgo does not create life directly, but it preserves and organizes what has been created. This is the wealth of systems, currency, planning, and precise execution. It is the wealth of the human mind applied to the material world. In Virgo, fields are no longer wild pastures and now must be carefully tended into structured rows and plots. Now instead of being cherished for the different sensations they bring, herbs are dried, categorized, and used for specific purposes, like medicine. The natural abundance of Taurus becomes usable, efficient, and replicable. In Virgo, the body is also seen as a kind of wealth because health becomes something you have to track and maintain, and you have to spend your time efficiently to hone certain skills that will allow you to accrue and maintain control of any wealth you get. Labor starts to be seen as a currency, and routines as investments. Here, success is about function and leverage, using what you have to get more. Wealth in Virgo is agile. It adapts quickly, negotiates smartly, and thrives on detail and speed. The emphasis is on process and outcome of how to get something done and make things work by increasing returns. In Virgo, accumulation becomes a skill, and even small advantages are recognized and used. This kind of wealth is built through strategy and manipulation. It is not born out of the ground directly but comes from the intangible value assigned to it based on how much other people want it, supply and demand— economics. it is being shaped by human hands through choices, timing, and exacting precision. While Taurus stays still and expects the comforts to come to it, Virgo moves and strives to achieve what it desires. It sees opportunity in flux and takes advantage of changing circumstances, knowing when to move and when to remain still. In this sign, wealth is always being handled, improved, and exchanged. Virgo teaches that wealth must be maintained, managed, and multiplied in order to remain useful. It is the sign where wealth becomes dynamic for the first time by virtue of attention, logic, and skill required to preserve it. I would also say virgo is the sign of capitalism and is why Rahu finds his mulatrikona here (but that is debatable). When people say money is the root of all evil, they usually mean that aspect of wealth tied to the endless pursuit of gain at the cost of everything else, which is Rahu's domain. It represents the kind of wealth that becomes dangerous when it loses all connection to morality or natural order and leads to exploitation, corruption, and debauchery. It is the kind of wealth that tempts people to betray others, to lie, to steal, or even to kill. It is not content with enough, no matter the consequences, and I think Virgo has this darker side to it most people tend to ignore.

Finally, wealth reaches its highest form in Capricorn. Capricorn represents wealth achieved through status, power, and the collective gains within society. Where Taurus focuses on nature’s abundance and Virgo on the management of resources, Capricorn looks at wealth as something earned through mastery over the systems Virgo creates. This is the wealth of climbing the social ladder, gaining respect, and earning widespread recognition. It is the wealth afforded by cooperative social systems that reward position. This is the wealth of power itself, where others serve, obey, and provide because of who you are and how you are in relation to everyone else. While it may require effort to get to such a position, this kind of wealth is not a result of personal efforts. Rather, it comes as a reward from being part of a larger order, such as government, corporations, kingdoms, etc. Here, your wealth is determined by how you are treated based on your perceived role or status. The king is wealthy not because he works but because of the role he holds. It is the wealth of being above the fray, of receiving more than one gives, and being supported by a larger structure (virgo's structures). In essence, it is social privilege determined by how other people view you. In Capricorn, wealth is tied to the status you hold. The higher your status in society, the more spoils of collective effort you get to enjoy. Your position places you where the labor, talent, and productivity of others flow upward. A CEO benefits from the work of thousands. A ruler eats from the harvest his people plant. The structures beneath you continue to generate value, and your place at or near the top ensures you receive a share of that value without needing to participate in the process itself. You do not farm the land, but you own it. You do not build the product, but your name is on the company. The wealth here is not transactional; it is structural. You are owed, not for what you do, but for what you represent. This is where wealth becomes detached from labor and tied to position, title, and influence. This is the wealth that comes from being in a position of respected authority, like a king whose power and influence come from the role itself, not necessarily from the righteousness or goodness of his leadership (which is closer to Leo). This is the highest form of wealth because it is given to you because of the power and status you hold, regardless of personal merit. This is a wealth earned through hard work, but it’s other people’s hard work. You may labor to reach a position where wealth naturally flows, but it is ultimately the effort of others that is supporting that position. In Capricorn, wealth ensures you are taken care of by the world around you and the systems that support your grandstanding. It represents the point where wealth becomes automatic and self-perpetuating. It is also the wealth of detachment, where material burdens can be outsourced, and personal freedom increases as responsibilities become more symbolic. This is the wealth of high office, command, and being known for your power and superiority. But like all wealth, this too can be lost and will eventually have to be abandoned as one's life comes to an end. Moreover, Capricorn also shows poverty as a result of status for the same reasons discussed. Artha is a concept. Wealth is wealth, but your experience of it is what is going to be different.

Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your guys' thoughts and any other observations you might have regarding this topic.

[argetcross]

Happy 4th anniversary to wasting beats of this heart of mine, my Zagreus becomes mortal AU! Another year, some more adventures undertaken.

This year, I've unearthed more concepts and half-finished paintings all the way from 2021. I've included notes under the cut about each piece, as well as more reflections.

If you told me in October 2020 that you'll write a fic over 100k words long, spanning multiple cities, with multiple POVs, I would have said, "Are you sure?". I think I never really imagined I could keep a story running, much less one that demands so much of its author. At the same time, this work has been my deepest and most fulfilling pleasure. It lives in my dreams, haunts my waking moments, and demands I regularly carve my heart out and poke through the viscera. I suppose such is the nature of art.

We've been approaching the end of Part III, and readers up-to-date know I've mentioned planning for five parts in total. Five acts, five biomes: it only feels fitting. Many things I had looked forward to (the chariot race! Kyane and Persephone! The return of Thymoetes!) have come to life on the page, but there's still so much of the yarn left to spin. I never expected needing years to complete this story, but I also feel strongly I am beholden to it now. To Zagreus, to Demeter's children, to the mortals and gods, above and below. I will continue to try my best.

Thank you to jules, val, nan, robin, and spleen for having beta'd for me during these years. This story wouldn't be what it is without you. Thank you to mag, for having crawled through the trenches of creating an enormous fanwork and countless hours of spreadsheeting, with me. To every artist that has ever drawn me anything, it is truly humbling to be able to inspire your work. To the House Party, whose friendship I am grateful for every day.

And to anyone who has ever read part of the story, left a comment, and stepped along on this journey with me, I cannot overstate how grateful I am. I remain baffled and pleasantly surprised that this world of mine can touch your heart. It's a story that I hope, when it completes, you will pick up again from time to time, and take pleasure in its telling once more.

With all my love,

Arget

--

Notes about each image:

Thanatos and Zagreus by the sacred olive trees of Athena. This painting was based on a photo I took in Athens. The quality of the sunlight astounded me and, in turn, made me think about life and death.

Thanatos anointing the body of the god Zagreus with nectar. This is related to the scene in Chapter 23, when he and Nyx converse by Zagreus' bedside.

Eleusis concepts. For such a powerhouse of a cult, Eleusis itself has a provincial feeling to it. I was captivated by the idea of the sea, and the fact that Zagreus had never spent any time on the coast. This would have been his first experience with it.

Athens. What can I say about Athens that hasn't been said? The trip I took late 2022 provided a lot of the inspiration for the citadel aspect of the acropolis. This is not the Athens of Classical Greece, the polis of democracy, but a fictionalized city-kingdom, under the rule of its royal family. The idea that Callisto had a student living in Athens was both a nod to the extensive trade happening during the Bronze Age and a deconstruction of the Amazon myth that the Greeks told themselves.

Clymene, the Oracle of Delphi. This was originally meant to be a Hades game-like portrait, but I scrapped the idea. She is dressed in the fashion closer to the Minoans, to give her a more Bronze Age feeling. As the head priestess, I wanted to show her age.

Apheidas and Thymoetes sketches. The two brothers are supposed to look night and day from each other. I tried to give Apheidas a pleasant sort of face, in comparison to Thymoetes' haughtiness.

The tapestry sketch. This was one of the first drawings I ever made about wasting beats, in an attempt to understand the type of story I was about to write. Key elements had already been decided, such as the chariot race and the way Demeter and Hades would play the role of the absent gods, for above as well as below. I had not written Apollo at this time, so you see him here with short hair.

Zagreus, reaching for a bloodstone. The chlamys, a gift from his foster-father's wife, has been the simple denotation of mortal Zagreus. Something bright and red, simple for it was woven by a farmer's wife, and barely able to protect his weaker mortal body.

Megaera, hurt and angry, and Than, stricken and alarmed, amidst a storm of paper. This is a scene from Chapter 18, Primordial Winter, that I had always wanted to illustrate.