#i have never struggled writing as much as i have with this one shot

[thaatdigitaldiary]

for the first time

hopkins paige bueckers x hopkins fem reader

for a long time, paige didn’t know why she felt the way she did about her best friend, someone who she “wasn’t” supposed to love, she didn’t want to ruin things. it was unfortunate she didn’t know you were waiting for her first. (kinda got this idea while listening to bags by clairo so i hope this makes your heart tingle and your eyes water!)

fluff and flirtationnnn (ofc🙏🏽), slight angst & minor argument, internal homophobia, cuteness and clarity at the end | this is lengthy! i hope ya like

enjoy!🙂‍↕️

disclaimer: i write nothing but angst or fluff when it comes to hopkins p, considering she was in highschool. thank you! - im considering this a “throwback story” so i can make a part two for older reader and older paige. 🫶🏽

paige and you were completely different when it came to high school. her priorities consisted of basketball, her future career, and passing senior year so she can make way to uconn. you however, were all about academics. you were in basically any club available, maintained a 4.0 gpa, and quickly climbed the rank of class president. how you two met was random, your sophomore year you were in photography club, meaning you took pictures of all the sports teams for the yearbook, and she stayed behind to talk to you.

"cool ass camera." she said going to touch it, but you quickly swat her hand away.

"hey! no touching. you break you buy." you say slightly stern, pointing your finger at her.

"technically YOU'D have to buy, this has nothing to do with me." she says laughing and shrugging her shoulders, getting a smile out of you. for her first time seeing you smile, she sure was in love with it.

"okay "miss photographer", what's your name?" she asks you, hoping she can get to know you. "mine's paige."

"i know, i see you all the time, you're like.. the best basketball player here." you say bragging on her, feeling kind of shy when you give away that you're a big fan of her.

"oh really, you think so?" she says in a flirty tone while she flexes, making you blush out of nervousness.

"okay, okay, don't get too in your head now, but yeah, you're really good. i'm the one who records and snaps all your shots. but my name is y/n, since you asked." you say with such a sweet voice, something that sent her in a trance, completely dazed in the sound of you speaking.

"cute name. hey uh, i was gonna ask did you need any help packing this stuff up, i won't break it i promise." paige says chuckling, her smile pure and full of life, an image that stayed in your head since you met her.

two years pass, and you and paige can never separate. despite being utter opposites of each other, you're glued to the hip. you still did photography, getting the best candid photos of your best friend on the court, excited to post them on social media so she gets the attention she deserves. you gathered the pictures together and created a collage to post on instagram.

you were paige's biggest fan to say the least, buying a hoodie with her name and number on it, and being able to sit on the sidelines and watch her play, with your photographer privilege of course. anytime she made a three, she'd point at you, making you smile. watching her play was something you couldn't get enough of, learning the game so you could understand when she was frustrated with a play, or if she just rambled on to you about it, you'd know exactly what she was talking about.

paige and your bond grew stronger, going to family events together, having sleepovers every weekend, even during the week, as well as going on family trips with her. you felt like you had your person when it came down to paige. you didn't really know much about anyone at your school, and you definitely didn't expect the school's star basketball player to befriend you.

life wasn't always so peachy though. you really struggled finding yourself. for a long time you were confused, not when it came to school, when it came down to your feelings. ever since you met paige, there was this feeling you couldn't shake, this feeling of nurture and love that you gained from her, the type no one else could give you. growing up, you weren't one to express your feelings to your parents. they were always busy, super strict, and for some reason never found too much time for you. but paige, she always dropped anything even if meant seeing you for 5 minutes.

the first time paige saw you, she noticed how you radiated positive energy, even though she had no clue what you were going through at home. all she wanted was to be the person by your side through thick and thin, forever and always.

with about a month and a half of school left, paige and her teammates took home the trophy for the final game of the season, and you were more than proud for her, ecstatic even. when the final buzzer went off for the end of the game, paige made a 3 pointer, beating the buzzer. you stood up and cheered as loud as you could, while paige ran towards you and swiftly lifted you up into a hug, making your feet dangle in the air.

"i'm so proud of you p." you said, muffled into her shoulder, as you feel her start to tear up from her words, and one of her biggest achievements.

"i really couldn't have done it without you, you're my motivation y/n." you feel a catch in your throat, signaling you're about to cry, and she quickly wipes your tears.

her family takes you both out to eat, and you had a duffel bag in their trunk that you packed the night before, so you could stay over at paige's house tonight.

after eating and making it to paige's place, you and paige made it up to her room, where she dropped her bags and your duffel that she insisted on carrying so you didn't "hurt your pretty hands" as she'd say. her room has evolved so much over the years, furniture moved around, basketball posters growing on the walls every visit, but one thing that never changed, was the framed picture of you and her on your nightstand, you on her back after her first win, both of your smiles bright and lively. the same picture lingered on her lockscreen ever since you two took it, your lockscreen being a picture you and her took at a sleepover at your house, you two under a fuzzy olive green blanket, exceptionally close for "best friends", but you never really cared.

that's another thing when it came down to paige, you never really cared. sure, questions and rumors spread, "are y/n and paige together?" "is paige gay?" "what's y/n's sexuality?"

it got annoying after a while, and paige and you always seemed to avoid the questions, and simply ignore them. it sucked that you wondered the same thing though. that was a sensitive topic, you couldn't ask paige about that, what if she finds you weird and stops talking to you?

you though, you should've been asking yourself that question. you've dated one guy throughout high school, and sure you liked him, (so you thought), but he was rude and belittling. after a conversation with paige, you immediately broke up with him. "he's not good enough for you," she said to you, always knowing what was best.

the real question was, what really was good enough for me?

paige never dated anyone in highschool, she turned down girls AND guys, so it made it extra hard to read her, even though you knew her like a book, cover page to the summary on the back of it. you wanted to know, but you didn't want to lose her in the midst of your curiosity.

sitting on paige's bed, you took your shoes off and got comfortable like you usually do, and she took off her practice gear and sat next to you.

"thank you for always being here for me y/n, like seriously." she sounds so genuine and would do anything to keep you here forever.

"p, i'm always gonna be here for you, you're my best friend." you go to embrace her, her muscular arms holding you close, your perfume lingering in her nose, making her feel at home.

you and her let go and look at each other for a while, eye contact never breaking, when she leans in for a kiss, and you let her in. the kiss is slow, as she tries to learn your body language, the kiss is meaningful, but is cut short when she starts freaking out.

"jesus christ y/n i'm sorry."

"i didn't mean to do that, it was an accident,"

an accident?

"oh, uh, yeah it's fine." you say, confused on what the big deal was, you've been wanting to do that forever, but i guess things weren't reciprocated.

things quickly got awkward, and then paige says something that honestly breaks your heart a little.

"maybe you shouldn't stay the night tonight, i uh, got family stuff."

you knew that wasn't true, she just didn't want you around after a moment like this just happened. but why is she shutting it down?

"you don't wanna talk first, i mean a lot just happened i think we should ta-" you try to explain to her when she cuts you off.

"just go home y/n." her voice cold and bleak, making you queasy.

paige was never like this with you, can a kiss really change everything? you thought asking your best friend a question would make you lose her, but you two KISSED. your heart dropped to your feet with the thoughts swarming in your head, "is she gonna leave me?" being the main one.

the next day rolls around, it was 12:30, the time she usually got back home after practicing with her dad, and you’ve received no sign of her, no texts or missed facetimes, which was unusual since you promised each other two years ago you'd try to facetime every. single. day. "she just needs time," you thought to yourself, but you text her anyway.

"hey paigeyyy, i'm gonna go to the store later, did you want me to pick anything up for you? i can drop by your house and give it to you?"

read 12:35pm

she read your message, but didn't respond until ten minutes later with a simple and dry "no" which made you sigh and move on about the day.

you missed paige. you slowly start to regret last night, but there's nothing you can do to change it. you already miss her face, her hugs, her lips, and how she looked at you. you open your camera roll to see a picture you and her took last night after her game, her holding you bridal style while you hold up her trophy, both of you smiling at each other. you put your phone down and decide to lay down for the rest of the day, as you had no motivation to do anything knowing your best friend didn't even wanna speak to you.

but deep down it was more than that, you had really fallen for paige, not wanting anyone but her, was that so wrong?

paige on the other hand, was losing it. she didn't know what to do with herself. there was no way she liked girls, let alone her best friend.

so why did she kiss her?

she wanted answers, but she couldn't and didn't want to talk to anyone about it, scared of how others would perceive her, worried she'd lose people over this, and worst of all, she didn't want to lose her best friend. she had to push her away, she needed space to think.

she thought there was nothing wrong with that, but it was the worst thing she could've done.

a week passes, neither of you are talking much, you haven't facetimed in what seems like forever, and her responses to you are weak and bland, making you feel as if she's not interested in talking to you anymore.

prom is approaching, you and paige planned to go together, to dance, make fun of other peoples dancing, and have another lively moment before summer break. but after that night, you're not sure what you two are gonna do, mainly because the day of prom, paige hadn't texted you at all. you weren't gonna go since you figured she wasn't, but you needed to get out of bed and go do something fun to get your mind off of the situation.

a couple hours go by, and you're finished getting ready. you have on an all black floor length dress, with small purple accents, since you already pre picked it out, intending to match with paige. you took your pictures with your parents, and drove to the school, as prom was being held in the gym this year.

you get there, hands clammy from your nervousness. you hate being here without paige, you wanted to take so many pictures, make so many memories, slow dance, and this was gonna be the night you were ACTUALLY planning on kissing her for the first time, showing her how long you've loved her.

the whole time you've been standing around looking bored, knowing you'd have so much fun if paige were here. that's until a guy from the football team comes up to you, asking you to dance with him. you insist, as you have nothing better to do. a slow song starts, and you and him are dancing slowly, until you notice a familiar face walk in the gym. paige.

she sees you and him and storms off to the bathroom, furious at the fact that you looked so beautiful, and that she wasn't the one with hands around your waist, taking in all your beauty.

you excuse yourself from his grasp, walking towards the bathroom, letting it clear out before you walk in.

"hey.." you say softly, not wanting to come off aggressive as if she hasn't been talking to you in what seemed like ages.

"what the fuck is he doing slow dancing with you? that was our thing y/n." she says, sort of yelling at you, but you quickly retaliate.

"no paige. you don't get to be mad at me because YOU shut me out. all i wanted to do was talk to you, you made me feel crazy, like something was wrong with me." you say, starting to cry.

"you completely went ghost on me, since before that night i've wanted no one but you, but i guess it doesn't matter,"

"i didn't come with him, he just asked me to dance because i looked bored, so i said yes." you tell her, looking at the tiled bathroom floor.

paige cups your chin and pulls your head up so you can look her in the eyes.

"i'm sorry y/n. i shouldn't have ran from you, i was scared. i really did mean to kiss you, just not like that. i wanted it to be special, i wanted it to be while we danced. i thought he was about to take that opportunity away from me. it woulda been memorable y'know?" she says while looking deep in your eyes, hoping you'd forgive her. “i know i’ve been acting weird, i just didn’t know what to do if i lost you.”

"i was also scared of what people would think of me, yknow, liking girls and shit. especially liking you, you're perfect, i didn't wanna ruin anything for you."

you don't respond immediately, until she says what's been on her mind since she met you.

"i'm in love with you, y/n. i've loved you since the first time i met you, you keep me sane, and without you i was losing my shit. there’s nothing wrong with you ma, and i apologize for making you feel that way."

your eyes go a little bit wider, and you finally respond, "i love you too paige, i always have. forget what other people think p, nobody matters but me with you." you smile wide at her and she smiles back, finally feeling content with herself, knowing she said what needed to be said, and could kiss you whenever she wanted to.

she leans in to kiss you, but you stop her.

"what cmon, i can't kiss you now?" she said to you while rolling her eyes.

"you said you wanted it to be special right?" you grab her hand and hold it for a while.

"yes ma'am i did," she says, leading you out of the bathroom and back to the gym, where another slow song has started. she quickly rests her hands on your waist, your hands on her shoulders, as you two sway to the song blasting through the cheap speakers the school borrowed.

"god, you look beautiful baby." paige says, finally taking in all of your perfection. your hair, makeup, and jewelry aligned perfectly, fitting you so well, she just loved looking at you. before you two continue dancing, she pulls her phone out of her dress pants pocket, and while she does so you take a good look at her. she looks stunning. a black button up and black dress pants, a silver chain completing the look. she goes to her camera app, and you kiss her on the cheek as a pose for the picture. she snaps multiple and eagerly changes her lockscreen.

"i love seeing this beautiful face everytime i turn my phone on," she says, you roll your eyes out of her corniness, but it still makes you blush. you also take a picture of the two of you, and you update your lockscreen as well.

"and i love seeing yours, and plus, this button up looks a little too good on you," you tell her, making her bite her lip slightly.

she grabs your hand and twirls you, bringing you back in, your faces exceptionally close to one another. the slow song comes to and end, and paige takes one hand off of your waist to cup your face, and connects her lips with yours and utters the words that make you happy to have met her,

"i love you y/n."

"i love you too paige."

and for the first time, you knew you had a forever person, and that person was paige bueckers.

HEY BAD BITCHESSS!! I HOPE YOU ENJOYEDDD I KNOW THERE’S NOT MANY HOPKINS FICS OUT THERE SO I WANTED TO TRY! i’ll try and be consistent with posting, just bare with me 🙂‍↕️ love you

tags: @rosemariiaa @mrsarnold @wbbgetsmewetter

🫶🏽🫶🏽

the collage that “would’ve been posted”

[mirrortouchedsea]

Madara tapped his foot impatiently as he listened to the stage crew move around to start cleaning up after the show. Leo had asked him to come to their live showing off all of Knights' featured outfits and originally Madara hadn't been able to but things wrapped up quicker than he thought and so here he was.

He didn't need to sneak in, management knew who he was and agreed to not let Leo know that his boyfriend had made it after all. Madara hadn't taken his eyes off Leo on the screen in the dressing room, wishing so desperately that he could be in the audience with him. Ah well.

A moment later the door burst open and the sounds of Knights' bickering filled his ears. He never missed how they all still took care of each other despite the insults that were slung across the changing room about makeup or their performance. It took a few seconds before Leo noticed Madara sitting on the couch and as soon as he did he was running over to crush him in a hug.

"You said you couldn't make it!" he exclaimed, burying his head in Madara's neck. Madara smiled and hugged him back.

"My schedule cleared up at the last minute. I wanted to surprise you~" he teased, giving Leo one last squeeze before letting go.

Leo started excitedly talking about how the live went and the inspiration that he had gained from it, grabbing a notepad and pen that had been left out on the coffee table to quickly scribble some notes in. Madara sat there and took it all in, in awe of how someone like Leo had come into his life, someone so filled with light and someone filled with darkness were an unlikely pair and yet...

"Hey Mama, are you okay?" Leo asked, reacting to Madara's uncharacteristic quietness. "If you need anything you can tell me you know?"

Madara could hear Izumi's "Get a room" comment but he didn't care. Leo's face was so filled with concern for him and--

"Everything is fine, Leo-san. I'm just a little tired, don't worry about me. Get changed and we can get something to eat." Madara hoped he could at least cover up his thoughts in front of the rest of Knights. Maybe he'd actually talk about his feelings with Leo in private, but not in front of his friends.

Leo frowned for a moment before smiling again. "Okay! I'll meet you outside in five minutes!" He bounced off to where he had left his casual clothes and Madara was shooed out of the room by Arashi, who winked at him and wished him luck.

"I love you!" Leo called out from his dressing table as Madara was about to leave.

"I love you too," Madara said, just quietly enough that nobody but himself would hear it.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

one in a million when i watch smthing in the horror genre and don't end up disappointed to/and/or pissed off about it so like "also yeah i liked it. ooo" is like relative to that an off the charts rave review of media of the millennium. also i did think about mh a lot along the way so would recommend its affect/effect if you like mh's horror too

[textmel8r]

[ SMAU + DRABBLE ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( eighth installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugarmommy! reader , sugarbaby! toji , smut , submissive toji , finger sucking , masturbation , oral sex (f!receiving) , profanity

୨୧˚ an; so not happy with my writing in this one, probs will rewrite it one day but here, have a couple thousand words of smut🗣️ this is lowkey another filler but lowkey not at the same time? i wanted to fit in another intimate moment before shit goes south awooooooo

You were not fibbing when you said you knew your way around the kitchen. “Holy fuck,” Toji all but moans, tearing into another piece of tender meat with his canines. It was juicy and seasoned almost too much, just the way he likes it. He squints across the table, where you eat in tandem with much better manners than he could ever hope to have. “Who taught you how to cook like this?”

You shrug bashfully under his gawking, wiping your mouth with a dainty stroke of the napkin you had placed in your lap. “I traveled a lot in between semesters at college. Italy, France, Denmark…” You list a few more places that Toji wouldn’t be able to point out on a map. “Those European countries do food so good, I guess it inspired me to give my best shot at it as well.” Self taught, huh? Yeah, you seem like the type to succeed in everything you try. 

The man nods, ultimately wishing he had more to add. He wishes he had just an ounce in common with you, a smidgen of relatability to offer. But he doesn’t. Toji didn’t finish school. He’s never left Japan. He’s never cooked a damn thing from scratch in his life. You must’ve caught on to his struggle and decided to show mercy by adding, “actually, right now we’re eating steak au poivre.”

“Steak au po–” He cut himself off before inevitably butchering the name. “What is that? French?”

You’re nodding enthusiastically. “That’s right. I happened upon this dish when I was staying in Bordeaux with a few college mates.” There’s a sweet smile tugging sheepishly at your lips as you recall the memory. “I fell in love with it the second I tried it, and asked the manager right then and there for the recipe.”

Toji shakes his head with disbelief, talking with his mouth full of food. “You’re just full of stories, aren’t you?”

“Some would call me experienced, yes.”

His brow raises. Experienced? Was that a come on? Toji gives way to his own quaint smile, jutting his chin toward you. “Say it again.”

“Say what again?”

“Steak au whatever.”

You oblige his request, repeating the name back slowly so he could attempt to grasp it. “Steak au poivre. Now you give it a go.”

Toji finishes chewing the mouthful of peppercorn-laced meat, swallowing it down with a swig of the Château Cheval Blanc you’d poured at the start of the meal. Some fancy French imported wine is what he gathered from the long winded description you waxed as you topped off an extravagant glass for him. Wine never really appealed to the man—he usually went for the harder shit. The type that you knock back from lowball glasses. The type to get you piss drunk after three rounds—but it was all you ever drank. It was safe to say he was becoming accustomed to your tastes. Maybe the sweetness wasn’t so terrible. He clears his throat, putting embarrassingly too much effort into his “steak au poivre.” It doesn’t sound pretty the way it did leaving your mouth, and he grimaces. “Can’t fucking do it.”

“I thought you sounded good.” He scoffs at that, but you click your tongue. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll just leave the French speaking to you.” The plate before him sits scraped clean. You’re still working on your dinner. Fuck, you’re a slow eater. “You know any more?”

“Any more French, you mean?”

He nods along with a gruff hum, swishing his tongue around his teeth, collecting anything left over of that smokiness from the peppered steak. 

“Hm. Tu m'as manqué, Toji.” You hide your grin behind the rim of your glass. 

Thick forearms crossed over chest, he croons a deep, barely-there chuckle. “I heard my name. Tell me what you said.”

“No way,” you chortle.

“Ah, c’mon. You’re all blushy.” He licks over the chappedness of his lower lip, knowing gaze latched onto your lips. It was hypnotic, your smile. “You say somethin’ dirty about me, ma’am?”

The way in which your eyes widened coquettishly at the accusation had Toji’s heart beating just a bit more erratically. Like a fawn, he thinks. All that was missing on you was a white, cottony tail. 

“If I said something dirty, It would have been in a language you could understand.” Finally, you take the last bite off your dish as well. Hopefully that means dinner is officially over; Toji has been craving dessert since he stepped foot in your house and got showered in ‘welcome back’ gifts. “I’m not the type of woman easily embarrassed by my sexuality. I thought you would have picked that up by now.”

He persists. “What are you embarrassed by?”

“Toji.” His name is spoken sharply, a verbal warning that he was tiptoeing the line. Threatening to shatter that layer of thin ice he stood upon. This is what he’s been needing. This is what he’s been fucking needing.

“I’ve been thinking about you, ma’am.” Any semblance of a filter is long gone, melted by the sheer heat of his desire. His limbs feel heavy, hands tumbling into his lap. They rest on the wide surface area of sweatpant-clad thighs, just sitting there. Feeling himself. “This entire week, I’ve been thinking.”

You seem to get the implications of his confession. “In a sexual way?”

“Yeah.” That’s a white lie. To be truthful was to admit that the sexual thoughts Toji let himself think about you were the minority. Objectifying you in the depths of his mind wasn't enough. He thought about your breasts, sure. He thought about your curves, and your ass, and your mouth, and every other body part that would grant him pleasure. But that wasn’t enough for Toji. Fixations of his tended to lead him astray from fantasies, instead breaching carefully saved memories stored within his brain catalog. When he touched himself, it was more or less to remembrances of mundane tasks you’d dealt him in the past. All the times you had bestowed little gifts and knick knacks on a whim just because they reminded you of him. Or when you drag him to the outlets with you for a shopping spree and he’ll act miserable the entire time, but you both knew it was a horribly crafted facade. Or even, like now, when you’d treat him to dinner because you worry over him and his eating schedule. The little things really counted; a revelation that scared Toji shitless, so he opted to ignore those budding, foreign feelings and replace it with familiarity: lust.

“Toji, honey, are you alright?”

What? His breathing pattern was off kilter, and the muscles of his jaw flexed unconsciously. When had he started palming himself? His right hand had grown a mind of its own apparently, because when Toji stole a glance downward, there it was; kneading roughly at the bulge between his meaty thighs. How desperate was he? To go dormant like that, so consumed with the thought of you that he began to instinctually masturbate himself not even five feet away from where you sit. And why… Why wasn’t he stopping?

“Can we fuck now?”

“Oh.” You barely look shocked. Not the slightest bit appalled like he expected you to be. Instead, slide off a ring that took purchase wrapped around your middle finger. A sigh escapes you as you place the band on the table. “I still have more to ask you. I wanted to know how your work trip went.”

Toji shakes his head, something akin to a toddler trying to get fed vegetables. “No.”

“No?”

“I don’t wanna talk about work.”

“Why not?” You frown, leaning forward against the tabletop. “Was it bad?”

He knows what you’re doing. Trying to make him spill any details about his job. Well, he won’t give in. 

A heavy sigh slithers out hoarsely from the deepest part of his lungs, and Toji presses his palms to the table, pushing himself up. He stands tall, much like the tent at his crotch, and slinks along the roundness of the dinner table, walking his fingertips across the top all the while. “I don’t want to talk,” he reiterates, breathy and abrasive.

Finally, Toji stands before you. Still, you are seated, unbothered by the towering man’s presence. No, you’re swirling your wine glass sophisticatedly, lips pursed into a narrow line. Like you’re the slightest bit irritated with his persistent defiance. 

God, you won't even look at him.

Or maybe, you were never irritated at all. Toji cops a second glance to your lips, finding the faintest ghost of a frown. “You’ve been acting so… so removed. Ever since you left.” Now you’re looking at him; Toji shudders under the intense fire that billows behind your eyes, wide and wetted with worry. “I want you to feel like you can tell me things. I want your trust, Toji.”

You have his trust. Every last crumb of it resides in the palm of your soft hand.

“... And I know that it’s stupid—I’m stupid for wanting that from you. I know what this relationship is, and I know that there are these unspoken boundaries, but I—I can’t—”

It was the first time he’d ever heard you speak with such a volatile expression. There was a tremble of uncertainty in your vocal chords, carrying into the skittish dialogue that tumbled out in rambles. Something about such a show of pity from you, his Y/n, made his guts churn like butter. He can’t listen to this any more. With swiftness, Toji dives down to press his mouth against yours, swallowing the words that die on your tongue. One hand grips the back of your chair, the other holds the roundness of your cheek. He feels your gasp, feels the way your shoulders jolt in surprise, but he doesn’t release you.

This was really only his second instance of kissing you. The first had been in his bed, with his groin pressed to yours, tongue fighting its way to the back of your throat with greedy fervor. This second kiss was anything but greedy, though. Despite the ache that roiled at the base of his stomach, Toji didn’t serve you a kiss that reflected his desire. Tongues never met and spit was never swapped; just lips on glossed lips. 

At last, Toji reluctantly peels away. Lipstick residue feels heavy on his mouth, and he knows he probably looks foolish donning remnants of your dark lip lacquer, but he doesn’t move to wipe his skin. The circular bottom of the wine glass clinks as you clumsily set it down, freeing your hands. They branch upwards, finding his face. A pair of thumbs rub the sensitive pads of flesh beneath his eyes, massaging out those ugly, darkened bags that have accumulated as a result of many sleepless nights. It feels orgasmic, the way you handle him. 

“I trust you.” The words are out in the air before he has time to think.

You brighten, sunshine hiding in the crevices of your smile. “You mean that?” You ask him, hands petting down the sides of his neck.

He meant it wholeheartedly. The amount of trust left within Toji was scarce. Too many bad people fucked him for life; showed him the meaning of the phrase ‘trust is earned.’ So it really fucking freaked him out how quickly you came to earn it. A little over a year-–that’s how long he’s known you—you’ve have plenty of time to fuck him over. To batter him. And yet, you haven’t. All you’ve ever shown him was kindness and consideration and warmth and everything else Toji never knew how bad he was thirsty for.

“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

“I trust you, too, Toji.” 

He wonders if he deserves that. Because really, what has given you besides his annoyingly closed-off dickhead attitude? He provides fuck all, but you still stick around. 

Toji doesn’t say anything. He swoops once more, capturing your lips in a hungrier kiss than before. All the playful innocence is tossed aside, forgotten in lieu of Toji’s devastatingly furious need to consume you. Tongues finally greet each other in a spittle-slicked tango; he dominates yours with ease, worming behind your teeth just to collect your sweet flavor. Wine, he thinks. You taste like your goddamn expensive ass wine.

He feels feverish. One-track minded, hyper fixated on you. On your crossed legs underneath the table. “Fuck,” Toji breathes into your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip.

Your hand clashes against the hard wall of his chest, patting it softly. A wordless signal that you need some air, so he retracts. “Let’s go to the bedroom.” 

The plea goes in one ear and falls right out the other. Toji leeches against your neck, dragging the flat of his wet tongue over that little throbbing pulse point. His teeth grate against your flawless skin, completely none the wiser that you’re even talking to him. You thwack the back of his head, and he lurches into the crook of your shoulder, muffling a groan.

“No marks, I’ve got work.”

His eyes roll, face still burrowed against you. He couldn’t give less of a shit about your job right now. 

“Come on, let’s go to my room.” “Gimme a sec.” He’s still licking below your jaw, making his way down. This stupidly lavish house had been cursed with three levels, your bedroom holed up at the very top floor. Like hell Toji was going to part ways with your glorious body so you two could safely make it up the two ridiculous staircases. Fuck that.

“Toji, I’m… serious…” Your raucous pants of anticipation suggest otherwise. Toji has sunken to his knees, crawling beneath the table and finding a home on the floor before your seat. His kneecaps scream in discomfort as they pin heavily to the wooden floorboards, but Toji bears the pain well ( he’d always been somewhat of a masochist ). Your legs are still crossed, one knee hinging over the other. 

“Open these.” Two calloused hands cuff around the thinnest parts of either ankle. Your legs were conspicuously smooth; did you shave for him? There is an attempt at delicacy when Toji pries your legs apart, and it makes you giggle. 

“Here?” You laugh more. Toji suspects you’re patronizing him in a way. “I haven’t even cleared the table. Are you really so impatient?”

And here Toji thought he exercised his patience well. He didn’t jump your bones the second of his arrival. No, he waited like a good boy until after dinner. “I’ve waited for this the whole week.” Restless hands walk up those porcelain calves, strong and lean from working in high heels. They wander up, hooking beneath the junctures of your knees; Toji uses his celestial strength to his advantage, maneuvering both legs with ease until he’s got them resting comfortably over his broad shoulders. Toji turns, cocks his head to give a serpentine lick to the inside of your thigh. Then a bite. “Don’t make me wait any longer. I’ll fucking die.”

You peer down at him. “Don’t talk like that.” You feel yourself. Small hands groping your chest, sliding lower and lower. “You’re not going to die.”

His mouth feels sticky, like there’s a spoonful of honey under his tongue. “I might.”

Your heel drives into his upper back, an impish little warning that makes him throb all over. “Don’t talk like that, I said.” Those manicured hands have garnered Toji’s full attention. They descend all the way to the hem of your luxurious dress, wrenching into its hem. It’s the sexiest sight Toji had ever seen: you pulling your dress up with the quickness of a sloth, inching the fabric up until it scrunches around the dip of your waistline. 

“These are hot,” he murmurs, thumbing the waistband of the scarlet panties. They were tight, sinking into the ample pudge of your hips and soft tummy. So fucking beautiful, he thinks, the contrast between deep red lace and the flesh of which it lays upon. The perfect, little present gift wrapped in a low-rise lace thong. “Bet they cost a pretty penny.”

You spare a breathy exhale through your nostrils. “I don’t look at price tags when I buy things for you.”

You bought these just for him? “You spoil me.”

“You deserve to get spoiled, baby.”

He is so mind numbingly turned on. Sickening tendrils of appetence bleed into his vision, his lust coils around his limbs and guide his movements like a marionette. Toji thumbs your—his—panties to the side, soaking in the sight of that pretty pussy he’s longed to be back inside of since the moment he pulled out. His face is close, so fucking close that he can feel warmth radiate off your core and deepen his flush.

Perhaps this is how he begins his journey of repayment. Ever indebted to you, despite your odd relationship being a mutually agreed upon situation, Toji fears you’ve truly altered him. For the better or worse he isn’t sure yet; all he knows is that you make him feel good. Better than he’s felt in fucking ages. You said he deserves to get spoiled? Well so do you, too.

Toji eats you with erotic vigor, delving into the deepest parts of your cunt with his lascivious tongue. He’ll be the first to admit that he doesn’t possess many skills. He isn’t terribly smart, nor is he gifted with great conversational skills like you. He isn't good at holding a real job. Isn’t very good at expressing himself. Not good at abiding by the law, or staying sober, either. But if ever there was an artistry in which Toji had full confidence he had mastered, it was oral sex.

“Oh, Toji,” you gasped, forcing his face deeper with a hand on the back of his skull. “Right there.”

Toji dug you out, excavating your hole with expertise. One hand slipped up beneath your dress, under your bra, pawing at your breast whilst the other busied itself in his pants. He stroked himself to the heady taste of pussy, fanning your clit with hot puffs of breath. You writhe against his open mouth, hips dancing, hands grabbing.

It’s more enjoyable like this, Toji thinks briefly. To not expect a wad of bills afterward in exchange for his velvet tongue. He eats you for leisure, because he wants to, and because you want him, and no other reason. It’s enough that you both need each other.

Toji groans loosely when you yank his hair, getting off on the way you move his head to your liking. “Suck my clit,” you instruct quietly, and he obliges with upmost obedience, nose nuzzling against the tuft of hair at your pubic bone.

Toji opens his eyes for the first time in a while, then thanks God he did. You look something like a goddess, celestial and righteous in the way your body works against his face. Using him to cure an insatiable desperation, with your lids screwed shut and head tossed back on your shoulders. “Are you gonna cum?” He sits up on his haunches a little taller, a little more alert now to fully experience your orgasm. “Cum in my mouth.”

He begs for it. Begs like a little bitch. Over and over again, mumbling the mantra between rough suctions to your swollen clit. Begging wasn’t like him. His father beat the beggar out of him many years ago, said it was weak to yearn for things so badly. The old man was right, Toji has never felt weaker than he does right now, knelt under the table with his head between your thighs.

“Oh my God.” Your voice is strained thin, each syllable pulled taught. The vice grip on his roots start to sting, follicles ripping from the scalp, but doesn’t tell you to stop. “Toji, fuck you’re so good.”

He’s good.

“You’re so good.”

“Mmn.” He squeezes himself, chokes his dick hard. Toji feels it when you cum. Warmth floods the cavern of his slack mouth, gushing and creamy. You fall silent, stunned by the force of your orgasm he presumes. Toji licks you through your high, guzzling down every drop of wetness that seeps from your spasming slit. It’s hot and gushy and messy; cum dribbles past his lips, collecting in beads that roll down his tensing neck.

Only when you blindly push at his face does Toji part ways with your center, leaning past your trembling hand to nuzzle into your stomach. It’s concave with an ongoing exhale; he nips at your navel. “Breathe.”

“Toji,” you whisper. On the come down, you’re a lot nicer; those needy, grabbing hands of yours now stroked down the tangled mess of his damp shag. He presses a handful of sloppy smooches above your belly button.

The erection trapped in the confines of his pants twitch at the dreadfully angelic drawl of his name. “Good?” His question is gruff and pointless as ever; anyone with eyes could tell you just had the most Earth-shattering orgasm of your life.

Your head lolls forward, rolling down to face him. Fingertips brush his chin, collecting the sticky residuals that dampened his stubble. You take your lower lip in between teeth when you bring those same soaked digits to Toji’s open mouth. He doesn’t resist you. Fingers are welcomed; he unhinges his jaw, baring the same holy tongue that just drove you to Heaven. You wipe cum-ridden fingers against the muscle, and Toji clamps around them in a vacuum-esque suction, looking up at you through dark lashes all the while. Your thumb traces the raised flesh on his upper lip. That ugly, jagged scar.

He catches your wrist when you move to flee his mouth, holding you in place. Sucking on you, touching himself along the way. Lapping between fingers, tonguing the thin web of skin there.

“So good, baby boy.” There’s the praise he craved, the praise he played oblivious to get. You claw deeper, jutting towards the back of his throat, pulling a scratchy gag from the man. What kind of fetish was this? You made everything sexy, even whatever this humiliation ritual was; watching him choke down slippery fingers with fat tears bleeding at his waterline. “You are so beautiful, Toji.”

“—oh en nah,” or no I’m not had there not been a barrier blocking his teeth from touching. Toji knows he’s an aged man, one riddled with scars and wounds and bruises and gauges and what have you. His skin is nowhere near perfect, baring disgusting reminders of what he does—who he is. Beautiful is what he’d call someone like you. Someone calm and serene, humble and kind. You’re a beautiful sight, and you’re also the complete and utter opposite of him.

“You are.” He wanted to be inside you for this. Toji had been daydreaming this scenario over and out in his head over the long haul of the week, going through the motions of his plan to fuck you. He’d give you everything tenfold, a barbaric fucking unlike your first time together. He imagined finally showing you his version of things, bending you over the couch first thing and blowing his load deep into your cunt.

Toji choked again, and a single thick tear fell from his lashes. You whispered sweet prayers, holding his face, wiping his eyes, fucking his mouth with fingers that tasted of your cum. It was a damn mystery how you rendered him so fucking pitiful, to be nutting on his knees into his boxers like this. A damn mystery.

His breaths are ragged when he explodes, hand and cock obscured by the sweatpants that sat low around his hips. Toji doesn’t stop pumping, tugging the shaft with long, hard strokes, wringing himself dry. Dark eyes weld shut, and he collapses against your thigh with a quake of exhaustion. Toji doesn’t know when you withdrew your fingers; the only tell that gave it away was the string of saliva that slapped coldly against his chin in the wake of your removal. He mewls, a graveling sound that sounds as if his voice box had been dragged through a sea of razor blades.

“You alright?”

A flowery hand slithers beneath his damp cheek, and suddenly his heavy head is being lifted. Toji is forced to meet your soft gaze; adoration brims in your eyes, as though you’re proud of him for creaming in his briefs like some flimsy virgin.

“Answer me, please.”

Toji smacks his mouth, preparing for his voice to project broken and fragmented. “I’m fine.” He could do without the pity; you were cautious to a fault. He wasn’t made of glass.

“You’re filthy.”

He grumbles, feigning grumpiness and averting his eyes off to the side. “I just had your pussy in my mouth.”

You bend at the waist, leaning down to meet him for a kiss. Toji melts against you, cradling your face with his semen-stained hand. You don’t seem to mind the wetness. He’s pouting against your mouth, childlike. “I wanted to cum inside you.”

You latch onto his nose, nibbling the point. “Let’s go clean up.” There’s a telling smile etched onto your lips, and your mouth finds his ear. Whispering ever so sensually, “I have a big shower in my bedroom.”

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watch | m.s. |

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: after hearing you confess all of your insecurities to him, matt makes it his mission to have you see yourself the way that he sees you.

warnings: established relationship smut; fluff; mentions of body insecurities; hint of disordered eating; fingering (f receiving); dirty talk; choking; 18+

notes: i dreamt up this smut last night and immediately got to writing because it felt a little too real. i also knew it was gonna be a shorter one shot (compared to all of my others) so decided to try out second person narration rather than first person. i still can't decide which is better, so pls let me know which u all prefer to read. i hope ya'll enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed dreaming ab it ;)))

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

With Mac Miller playing softly from Matt’s tv, you sighed to yourself as you applied the finishing touches to your makeup. You took a moment to inspect your appearance in the full length mirror that you had been getting ready in front of, and felt like you didn’t recognize the girl in the reflection. For some reason, you were having a bad everything day. You had started getting ready by doing your hair, and it just wouldn’t fall right once you had finished styling it. Moving on to makeup, you had struggled with making your eyeliner match and all of your base makeup looked splotchy; it was like nothing was sitting the way it should on your skin.

Filled with frustration, you were tempted to tell Matt to cancel the dinner reservation, scrub everything off your face, and tuck yourself in his bed for the rest of the night. But you wouldn’t do that, because he had been so excited about planning your date night all by himself.

You and Matt had been dating for a few months, and had built a relationship filled with the perfect combination of comfort and excitement. Even though you both lived apart, there was rarely a day when you and him were not doing something together — whether that be just laying in his bed watching movies all day, or going on a random adventure in the middle of nowhere. You could never grow tired of being around him, but for some reason your insecurities in your appearance were so severe today that you almost felt like you wanted to hide yourself from him.

As you leaned closer to the mirror to inspect your creasing concealer under your eyes, Matt walked into the room with a towel wrapped around his waist. “You look pretty,” He started, heading towards his closet to pick out an outfit. “You about ready?” You watched him through the mirror as he put on a pair of boxers, feeling a lump form in your throat at how undeniably beautiful he looked. You were hit with the realization that his looks so clearly outshined your own, and hated the idea of other people recognizing that whenever you two went out together.

Trying to get the negative thoughts out of your mind so that he wouldn’t have reason to worry, you cleared your throat. “Uh, yeah I am. I just have to get dressed.” After buttoning his jeans, he looked at you through the mirror and smiled warmly. “Everything okay baby?” He must have noticed the tension in your brow, or the slight downturn of your lips, but you nodded reassuringly. “Yeah of course, I’m just not really feeling my makeup.” You added a chuckle to the end of your sentence, hoping to make him believe that it was just a light hearted confession. He walked over to you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I think it looks perfect.” He said softly into your hair, and you forced a smile onto your lips.

You walked over to the clothing rack that Matt had put in his room for you so that you could leave a variety of your clothes at his place for when you stayed over. Scanning your options, you skipped over all of your more bold pieces — knowing your head space was far too vulnerable tonight to mess around with any of them — and decided on your favourite black Skims dress. It had never failed you in the past, and you tried to reassure yourself with this fact as you removed your oversized t-shirt and replaced it with the soft dress.

Your positive attitude was gone just as quickly as it arrived once you began to examine yourself in the mirror. From the front your body looked okay, but as soon as you turned to the side you grimaced at the sight of your bloated stomach from the massive deli sandwich Matt had bought you for lunch earlier. The thin, tight material of the dress did nothing but accentuate the swell in your lower stomach, and you wanted to scream out in frustration. Maybe if your hair and makeup had worked in your favour the bloating wouldn’t have bothered you so much, but because everything that could have possibly gone wrong had gone wrong, it was enough to cause tears to well in your eyes.

As you stood in front of the mirror fighting the tears from spilling over, Matt noticed the sheen in your eyes and your wobbly chin and raced over to you. “Hey hey hey! What’s wrong baby?” He asked, his voice laced with a hint of panic. You shook your head rapidly. “Nothing, it’s nothing. I’m just being stupid.” Your voice was thick with emotion, and it made you even more angry with yourself as you knew this whole thing was stupid. “It’s clearly not nothing if you’re crying, Y/n.” He turned you around so that you were face to face with him; concern evident in his furrowed brow and racing eyes. “Tell me what’s going on sweetheart.” His voice was soft, and he rubbed his hands along your bare arms reassuringly.

You sighed and brought a shaky hand to your eye; trying to dab away any fallen tears in a weak attempt to not ruin your shitty makeup. “It’s stupid Matt.” You wined, not wanting to tell him your insecurities out of fear that speaking of them might make him suddenly see them just as clearly as you did. “Y/n, please.” He begged, desperate to try and help you. Groaning, you finally obliged; your voice barely above a whisper as you confessed. “I just hate everything about the way I look today, that’s all.” Matt stared at you with a blank expression as he took in your words, and you waited in silence — nervous to hear his response.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Y/n.” He sounded almost angry in his response, and it caused you to bite your lip nervously as you shrugged. “Nothing turned out the way I wanted it to when I got ready today, plus you’ve been feeding me too much lately and it’s been making me bloated.” You explained further, and watched as his eyes travelled from your face down to your body. “Baby, you look absolutely beautiful.” He said, and you rolled your eyes. “You have to say that, it’s one of the unwritten rules of being someone’s boyfriend.” A dry laugh escaped your lips, and Matt moved his hand to the back of your head.

“You think I’m lying?” He asked, his tone of voice mildly threatening and absolutely serious. So serious in fact, that the weak smile left your lips and you could do nothing but stare blankly at his face; unsure of how you should answer. He tilted his head quizzically, clearly still waiting for a response. Tentatively, you nodded your head yes as a singular tear fell down your cheek. Matt’s eyes softened. “Oh baby.” He breathed before pressing his lips softly against yours. He wrapped his arms around your waist as he began deepening the kiss — turning it into one filled with passion without losing its gentle nature. Delicately, his tongue skated across your lips; requesting access to your mouth without demanding it. You released a soft whimper from his tender movements as his hands travelled down to your ass; massaging it gently through the thin material of your dress.

“Turn around.” He ordered against your mouth, and you immediately obliged. Now facing the mirror, he stood behind you with his hands planted firmly on your shoulders. Into your ear, he spoke. “You are the most beautiful person that I have ever laid my eyes on, and I need you to know that.” His words — overflowing with emotion — caused goosebumps to cover your skin. Using both of his hands, he grabbed each thin strap of your dress and slowly peeled them off your shoulders. Not stopping there, he used his grip on the straps to pull the dress completely off your body — creating a puddle of dark material at your feet.

“Look at you, Y/n.” His hands moved across your upper body; exploring every square inch of your skin as he held you in front of the mirror. You shuddered from his touch; his hands lighting your body on fire as they glided across it. He grabbed your breasts in both hands, massaging them slowly as he planted a kiss to the top of your shoulder. “You might see flaws when you look at yourself in the mirror, but I don’t. And I never have.” His hands moved down to your hips, squeezing them slightly. “I think I just have to show you what I see, and then maybe you’ll change your mind.”

Dropping one more kiss to your flushed skin, he walked you forward a few steps towards the mirror, before using his hands to guide you to the floor. Knees tucked into your chest, he sat behind you and pulled all of your hair over to one side before leaning in to whisper into your ear. “Open your legs baby.” You gulped before obliging, sliding your legs apart but keeping your knees bent. Your bare chest rose and fell rapidly, beginning to feel overwhelmed by the intensity of the situation. You titled your head to the side out of embarrassment of having your legs spread in front of the mirror — with only your small pink thong covering you. Noticing this, Matt brought a hand to your jaw, grabbing it firmly and straightening your head back in the direction of the mirror. “You are breathtaking, Y/n. I don’t want you to look away.” As he spoke, he moved his hand from your jaw down to your breast, holding it firmly as his thumb swirled around your sensitive nipple. “Keep your eyes on the mirror.” He whispered before taking his free hand and sliding your panties to the side.

Your eyes planted firmly on your glistening core as he used two fingers to spread it open. You watched as your arousal began leaking from your slit, and your jaw dropped in ecstasy as he collected the fluid on his fingers. His eyes connected to yours in the mirror as he brought his wet fingers up to your lips. Confused, you furrowed your brow. “Even your insides are beautiful. Taste yourself.” He urged, and his words stirred up something within you. Slowly, you opened your mouth and immediately felt his fingers press against your tongue. You wrapped your lips around his middle and ring fingers; sucking your own sweet juices off of them and moaning at the heat of the scenario as his eyes burned into yours through the reflection in the mirror.

“Good girl.” He praised once you released his fingers, before moving them back down to your throbbing core. As soon as his fingers connected with your clit, you released a breathy moan and screwed your eyes shut in relief. “Open your eyes sweetheart, and look at how fucking beautiful you look.” He demanded sweetly into your ear, making it impossible for you to even consider disobeying him. Through your droopy eyelids you watched, mouth agape, as his ringed fingers massaged your bundle of nerves; their circular motions hypnotizing you. You also took a moment to admire your body as it writhed in anticipatory pleasure — your sweat-coated breasts heaving as you gasped for breath. Matt rested his chin on your shoulder — his left hand still caressing your tits — as he watched in awe at your various expressions of pleasure.

“Look at your pretty pink pussy, baby. And look how unbelievably beautiful you look when you bite your lip. God, I could cum in my pants just from watching you feel good.” His words were equal parts sweet and filthy in your ears, and they added to the pleasure you felt building up within you. Suddenly, his left hand moved from your tits down your stomach and towards your core. You watched in awe as he swirled two fingers around your opening teasingly, and practically screamed out once he slammed them into you. Wasting no time, his curled fingers pumped in and out of you rapidly, hitting your spongey g-spot each time.

“F-fuck Matty, feels so good.” You managed to get out through breathless moans. “Mmm.” He purred, “Looks so good too, doesn’t it? Your pretty juices like honey dripping from my fingers. Tell me how pretty it looks.” You whined before obliging. “I-it’s so pretty.” You watched his reflection as he shook his head and smirked. “Good baby, but it’s not just your juices. It’s you that’s so pretty. Say it.” As he waited for your response, he nipped delicately at your neck. “I-I’m s-so pretty.” Your voice was shaky as your mind was overtaken by your impending orgasm that was very quickly approaching. You felt Matt’s lips turn up in a smile against your neck. “That’s right. And just wait till you cum princess, there’s nothing more beautiful than that.” His words caused your walls to flex around his pumping fingers and your stomach tensed from the familiar feeling.

“G-gonna cum baby.” You cried out, tucking your chin into your shoulder and arching your back off of his chest as your orgasm began to roll through your body. Suddenly, Matt pulled his fingers out of your core and grabbed onto your throat, gently straightening your head up once again. “Watch yourself cum, Y/n.” He rasped into your ear and you watched through blurred vision as your fucked out face contorted into one filled with pleasure as your orgasm tore through your body. Still rubbing your clit at full tilt, Matt filled the space between you both with muttered praises; his eyes firmly planted to your face as he almost fell apart himself from the view in front of him.

Once you came down from your high, Matt wrapped both of his arms tightly around you; leaving small kisses on your skin as he waited for you to catch your breath. “I don’t ever want you to have negative thoughts about yourself like that ever again.” He stated as he rubbed your soft skin gently. Still waiting for the fog around your fucked out brain to clear, you could do nothing more than hum in acknowledgment. “I mean it, Y/n. I get that having insecurities is normal, but, when I look at you, I swear to god I can’t see a single flaw.” Your eyes fluttered open and connected with his in the mirror. “You are perfect, Y/n. And I’m not just saying that.” Giving him a small smile, your heart did leaps in your chest at his heartfelt testament. The sincerity in his voice was undeniable, and when you took a moment to look at yourself again in the mirror, you realized that maybe he did have a point.

Even through your makeup, your cheeks were filled with a lively glow that wasn’t there before. Your eyes seemed to glisten in the light, and your lips were swollen and pink. You would have expected your hair to be messed up, but Matt’s hands running through it had actually made it fall exactly they way you had hoped it would when you were styling it. You still struggled with your bloating, but flashbacks of your body squirming sensually under Matt’s touch — and the residual satisfaction of your orgasm a reminder of just how good your body could feel — allowed you to find a new appreciation for it. Feeling a lump form in your throat just as it had when you tried on your black dress — this time for an entirely different reason — you gazed adoringly at Matt. “Thank you baby.” You whispered before turning around and planting a deep kiss to his lips.

“It was my pleasure, sweetheart.” He responded, both of his hands on either side of your face so he could stare at it up close. “You think you’re up for dinner still? Because let me tell you, you’re on a whole other level of sexy when you’re shovelling steak into your mouth.” You erupted into giggles at this, and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I’m serious.” He continued, his voice filled with laughter. “You think I have blue balls now, just wait until after dinner. They might explode.” You shoved his shoulders playfully at this, and hoisted yourself up to your feet to find your discarded dress. “You add a lobster to my dinner plate, and I might just be able to help you out with that on our way back.”

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

[itneverendshere]

school spirit and all! - soccer!frat!rafe cameron blurb (+18)

warnings: smart!reader (doesn't take shit) x bimbo!rafe <3; pope being an absolute menace; mentions of sex but no actual p in v okay; this shit is football and y'all can argue with a wall <3 IT PAINS ME TO WRITE SOCCER Y'ALL BETTER APPRECIATE IT !!!

ps: this is just for fun cause someone asked me to post it (it was just a draft😬)

you’ve never been one for academic sports spirit.

what’s the point? okay, your school has incredible athletes, that’s good, but why the fuck would you kiss and praise the ground they walk on? you’re a fantastic student and no one gives a shit. why do they get all the glory while brainiacs get zilch?

the double standards piss you off. somehow academics always take the backseat to sports. maybe that explained your dislike towards jocks like rafe cameron.

up until sophomore year, you’d only heard about him, saw him occasionally around school. it was understandable why people talked about him so often. he looked like he’d just been ripped off a page of an abercrombie and fitch catalog, and apparently – you’d never attended a game to check – he was the best player on the team, playing forward. but, unlike many, you didn’t form an opinion about him until you met him.

the verdict? total pain in your fucking ass.

ever since you two were paired in a class project together, an annual class at that, he suddenly took an interest in you, like you were some sort of exotic animal he’d never encountered in his life, only because you wouldn’t flirt with him.

outrageous, never done before.

for the first four months, it was just him laying on the cheesy pickup lines and you rolling your eyes so hard you thought they'd pop out of your head. eventually, rafe dialed it down and you were able to be civil, perhaps friends. if you could call it that.

wich is why, as his friend, you’re starting to lose your fucking patience. the season was not going well for his team. at all. there’s little to no chance they’re going to be able to win the championship.

not that you care, but apparently the whole school does. everyone seems to be on the verge of a meltdown.

“i swear to god if they lose to standford next week–“

“pope, will you kindly shut the fuck up? it’s just soccer.”

“just soccer?”

you let out an exasperated sigh, glancing over at pope who looks at you like you’ve just shot someone, “can we study? peacefully?”

"it’s not just soccer! it's about school spirit, camaraderie, y’know?"

you raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "camaraderie? please. more like a bunch of testosterone-fueled egos chasing after a ball," you retort, disdain evident in your tone.

“you don't know what you're talking about. and i'm being dead serious, cameron’s been on edge lately. never seen him like this."

you lean back in your chair, crossing your arms. "yeah, well, losing does that to people. don't why you're complaining soooo much" you sigh, "i’m the one who has to put up with all the brooding and pouting.”

pope’s quiet. too quiet. you can picture the gears turning in his brain as he blankly stares at you. nothing good ever comes out of that.

“what?” you press, wondering if you have to break the school spirit out of him.

“you should fuck him. after or before, don't care. but you should."

you recoil, nearly tumbling out of your chair at pope's suggestion.

your eyes widen in disbelief, your mind struggling to process what he just said. for a moment, the room spins around you, and you feel like you’ve been thrust into some surreal alternate universe.

“what?! pope?" you finally manage to sputter, acting like you're about to go into cardiac arrest, "the fuck's wrong with you?"

“don’t look at me like that,” he merely shrugs, “that man is depressed. he needs to get laid if he’s going to win something.“

you hardly think a guy like rafe is not getting laid every other day, but that’s irrelevant. your jaw drops, stunned by his audacity. "are you kidding me? you don’t even like him!”

“but i like winning!” he whines, all but pushing his books aside to place in his elbows on the table, “and he’s so obsessed with you it hurts watching. he’s like one of those little crusty white dogs always running after you.”

you shake your head in disbelief, "he does it to be funny, okay? he’s not actually interested.. t's just a joke”

your best friend only laughs, a raucous, almost maniacal sound that echoes through the room. he clutches his stomach, "just joking?" pope gasps out, his laughter still bubbling to the surface. "oh man. you're hilarious, honestly, wow."

you stare at him, lips set in a straight line, feeling like you missed the entire joke. "what's so funny?"

pope wipes away a fake tear, trying to compose himself. "he almost ripped a new one to jj after he pulled that stunt last semester.”

your eyebrows knit together in skepticism. “and? i still don’t follow.”

rafe and jj couldn’t stand each other. both are incredible athletes and everyone always gushes about how great they are together on the field. outside, however? not so much. they don't mix. ever.

“and?! why do you think jj randomly talked about you in the locker room?”

“because he’s a horny creep and got a kink for fist fights with undressed men?”

you love jj. really, you do. but sometimes he’d win a lot more if he just kept his mouth shut or thought before speaking. you've lost count of how many times that boy has been suspended.

pope leans in, his tone low and conspiratorial, “cameron practically threatened to rearrange jj's face if he ever mentioned you again.”

you narrow your eyes, “nop. you’re making that up.”

pope shakes his head, a grin playing on his lips. "nah, i'm dead serious.”

your mind races, trying to piece it all together. while your brain always clicks instantly in class, feelings...emotions are a little more complicated to grasp sometimes.

"wait, so you're saying he actually cares about me?"

he nods, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "yep.”

“seriously?”

pope chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "head over heels. you’re our school’s only hope.”

your brain's on overdrive trying to process pope's bombshell revelation. rafe cameron, the big-shot jock, actually giving a fuck about you? it's like some twisted plot line from a teen drama. you didn’t see this one coming. but then again, you hardly pay attention to anything outside academics.

“so what? ’m supposed to fuck the mediocrity out of him?”

he grins, clapping you on the shoulder, “there’s that school spirit!”

you slap his hand away, “oh fuck off. ‘m being serious.”

he’s still grinning like he just cracked the code to life. "come on, hear me out. it's like a strategic move, y’ know? boost his morale, boost the team's performance. win-win."

you roll your eyes, not buying into his scheme. "yeah, because my sex habilities are definitely the key to winning soccer games."

he shrugs, undeterred. "it's not like you'd be doing it for him. it's all about the greater good."

you scoff, rearranging your notes for the millionth time, "this isn't some feel-good sports movie."

it’s not like you never thought about rafe. sure, he's a yapping idiot around you most of the time, but every time you need help or an extra hand, he’s always the first one to offer. that has to count for something, right?

“the ball’s in your court.”

yeah it is.

truth to be told, you’ve been sick and tired of rafe acting like a loser over soccer. what was the point in whining about it if he wasn’t going to try and do better? god, you'd never seen him like this before and it's been irking you to beyond. even more now that pope mentioned it again.

at this point, you just want to march up to him, shake him and make it come to his senses. you can’t even remember that last time he tried to hit on you. that’s how bad it is! the memory is buried under the weight of his brooding.

so maybe….maybe pope's onto something, y'know? maybe there's more to it than just you and rafe. and yeah, okay, you're not exactly thrilled about the idea of hopping into bed with him, but only because you’d hate the attention that comes along with his name.

but...a part of you is weirdly intrigued. not because you're dying to be his next conquest, but because you're just done with watching him drown in his own misery. maybe this could be the wake-up call he needs. a swift kick in the ass to snap him out of his funk.

you wouldn’t be doing out of selfish reasons! school spirit and all. you’d be doing everyone a favor. and you wouldn't need to blame it on yourself if things went downhill.

you had pope for that.

which is why you’re standing in front of rafe's room in his frat.

a jock and a frat boy? charming. you’ve certainly hit the jackass lottery. but you’ve been here before. he always saved the day when the library was packed or when your roommate was too busy fucking her boyfriend in your dorm room. this was weirdly your safe place to work.

taking a deep breath, you rap your knuckles against the door, trying to ignore the butterflies doing somersaults in your stomach. it's not about you! get a grip.

the door swings open, and there's the fucker, all brooding and rugged, like he just walked off the set of a sports movie. you roll your eyes at the cliché, but there's something weird about the way he looks at you. or maybe the tight wife-beater is doing a number on you.

you still notice the bags underneath his swollen eyes.

there's a flicker of surprise in him, like he wasn't expecting to see you, out of everyone in this school, standing there and you can't blame him; after all, you're not exactly a regular visitor to the frat house, only when your academic needs force you to.

“hey?”

“you look like shit, cameron.”

rafe's eyebrows raise in surprise at your blunt remark, “uh, what?”

you roll your eyes resisting the urge to scoff. "can i come in or are you going to stand there looking like an idiot all day?”

rafe chuckles, stepping aside to let you into his room, “come on in.”

you step inside, taking in the cluttered room with a mixture of amusement and mild disgust. it was never this bad before, you know rafe’s a clean freak and this? this is not him. but it is exactly how you imagined a frat boy's room would look like—dirty.

there’s laundry strewn across the floor, empty beer cans littering the desk, and a distinct musky smell lingering in the air. you shake your head in disbelief, shooting rafe a disapproving look.

"what are you? a divorced forty-five-year-old man?”

rafe laughs at your comment, though there's a hint of embarrassment in his expression as he scratches the back of his neck. "yeah, i know. sorry about that."

he’s doing worse than what you realized and it tugs a little at your heartstrings.

you raise an eyebrow, unconvinced by his apology. "sorry doesn't cut it, cameron. you should be ashamed of yourself.”

"okay, fair point. i'll clean up, promise."

“not just your stupid room. i mean your whole attitude. you've been moping around like a loser!”

rafe's expression shifts, defensiveness crossing his features. "hey, ‘m not—"

"don't even try to deny it," you interrupt, not backing down. "everyone’s noticed. you’re pissing me off.”

you don’t know why you’re suddenly so tempted to give him the scolding of a lifetime, but there’s just something about seeing someone with so much potential and drive wasting it all away without a fight. it’s not like him.

and by the kicked-puppy look on his face, you can tell he's not used to being called out so openly. but you're dead set on breaking through to him, no matter how awkward it gets.

“see! you’re just staring at me like—like, a fucking idiot!”, you fire off, frustration lacing your tone. the irony of the situation isn't lost on you. “will you speak for gods sake? for more than five seconds? i spent months trying to get you to shut up and now you do?”

rafe's stunned expression makes you second guess your approach for a moment, but you push the feeling aside, knowing you can't afford to let sympathy cloud your purpose here.

“why are you mad at me?”

you can't believe he's still clueless after all this time.

"why am i mad at you?" you repeat incredulously, feeling the irritation rising your my chest. "seriously, rafe? have you even looked in the mirror lately?"

he blinks at you, his confusion evident, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

"you've been moping around like the world's about to end.”

rafe's brows furrow even further, and for a moment, you wonder if he's playing dumb or if he genuinely has no idea what you’re talking about. "i don't—uh, i don't understand," he finally stammers out, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

that’s it.

you’re gonna pull the feelings card and hope it doesn’t backfire.

“do you like me?” you blurt out, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

rafe snorts as he lifts his finger to scratch his face, “course i do. pretty obvious.”

for a second you get a glimpse of the real rafe and it soothes you inside.

“and you want to fuck me?”

you’ve never seen him look so gobsmacked in his life, you’d laugh in his face if it wasn’t such a serious matter.

“what?” he stammers, his cheeks flushing slightly. you can’t believe the rafe cameron is blushing. over you.

you let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair. "do you want to fuck me? do i need to spell it out for you?”

he opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out, and you can't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at finally catching him off guard, “’m sorry? is this—are you…is this for punk’d?”

"punk'd? seriously, rafe?" you snap, incredulous that he would think this is some sort of prank, “it’s 2024.”

rafe's cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red, and he stammers again "no, i mean— i just...didn't expect you to— uhh”

“yes or no.”

rafe blinks at you before breathing out, “yes.”

“okay. so win your next match and you will.”

he looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, exhaling through his nose, trying to keep his agitation to a minimum. “what?”

“i’m sick and tired of this version of you. i need you to win, and if this” you gesture to the both of you with your hand, “is your motivation, then we’re doing it.”

"y’serious?" he takes a step closer, his demeanor suddenly more serious, “me and you?”

you nod firmly, crossing your arms over your chest as you tilt your head up to look at his features, “dead serious. and it’s not just you and me. it’s for the team, and for the school spirit or whatever nonsense pope keeps going on about."

rafe lets out a small chuckle, a hint of his usual cocky confident demeanor returning. "is that so? can't say no to that kind of motivation."

“i figured.”

he reaches out a hand, his fingers lightly grazing the strands of your hair, eyes fixed on your lips. "are there any rules?”

you swallow hard, feeling your heart race at his touch. “no, just win.”

rafe's lips curl into a playful smirk— the money-making smirk that makes you want to punch him and kiss him, not necessarily in that order — as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"never would've guessed you'd be the one to offer yourself as my motivation, though," he murmurs, his voice sending a shiver down your spine, "i'm surprised."

you try to maintain your composure, but his proximity is making it increasingly difficult to think straight. "just doing what needs to be done," you manage to stammer out, trying to sound perfectly unaffected by his words.

rafe chuckles softly, his hand still lingering in your hair as he leans back slightly to look at you. "my pretty prize, huh?" he says, his tone teasing as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face.

you feel a flush spread across your features at his boldness. you blame him entirely for this side of you. without thinking, you reach up to brush your fingers against his cheek, tips pressings against his skin lightly.

“just win the fucking match, cameron."

rafe's nasty smirk widens into a heart-stopping, soul-gripping grin as he leans in closer, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours.

"consider it done."

[demonicbaby666]

Dom Emily prentiss x intern fem reader is all i ask!! Smutty ofc, a lil bit of a humiliation kink if you’re comfortable!!! Thank yewww

Packing Heat

One shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Words: 4.8k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, strap-ons (r!receiving), semi-public sex (office sex, again…), praise, degradation, mommy kink, kind of dub-con at one point, top!Emily, bottom!reader

Summary: Interning at the BAU means you don’t interact with the person in charge a lot. Of course, this doesn’t mean you haven’t seen the section chief in passing or exchanged pleasantries; it's that they’re simple, short-lived and often anti-climatic. However one evening, you find yourself in the desolate office with no chance of going home, work to be done, but no one to sit with you through the process. With only one other soul residing on the sixth floor, it seems Emily may be your best bet for company.

A/n: Listen, could she be more dom? Yes. Is there any humiliation? Not really... But I got lost while writing, so please don't be mad at me... Hope you still enjoy!

When you'd first started at the BAU, it was safe to say you hadn't seen much of the woman calling the shots. There were always updates about when the team were taken out of state, what their cases would entail, the steady progress being made, and the brief comical encounters Garcia spewed around the office. When they were back, everyone made an effort to small talk. They welcomed you well and continued to appreciate the little things you did for them daily. Emily, however, was constantly on the go, meaning every encounter you'd had with her consisted of one-way glances and hopeful smiles in the event she decided to notice her surroundings and the human lifeform less than two metres away. 

She never did, though, until one uneventful evening. 

Almost everyone had vacated the building. The only remaining souls left on the sixth floor were you, Emily, and a one-person cleaning crew—whom you watched exit through glass doors before approaching the brunette's office with shaky knees. Peeking through the window, you saw her attention dart to and from the bright computer screen to the mountains of bureaucratic paperwork lying atop her desk. It was easy to get lost in the little creases between her eyebrows, brought out by the deep scowl she wore, the delicate way her fingers were woven together, and the pads of her thumbs skirting against one another as she pondered in deep thought. 

It was nearing eight, and you were struggling to understand how someone could appear so put together at this late hour, given that their day was most certainly jam-packed with non-stop slog. 

Emily's eyes suddenly flashed up. She squinted toward her door, trying to figure out who'd be here this late other than herself. When she appeared to have worked it out, she leaned back victoriously in her chair, a smug smile on her face, when she called out, "Are you going to stand out there all night?" 

You could have done two things: scurried off like a teenager caught peeping or held your chin up high and walked into the older woman's office with little to no shame. Somehow, you managed to do a mix of both, scurrying in with sagging shoulders, a guilty smile plastered on your face and trembling hands clasping your laptop over your chest.

"Well, it's eerily quiet out there, and I would go home to write this paper. It's just that my roommate and her boyfriend have an awful tendency to forget about volume control when they're—" You cut yourself off, realising it probably wasn't appropriate to talk to your boss about your roommate's over-the-top borderline pornographic soundscape. "I was wondering if I could, you know."

Emily, satirising as ever, waited with a raised eyebrow and a relaxed smile for you to continue your purposefully unfinished question. 

"Sorry, I should let you work." You surrendered to your weak resolve with flushed cheeks and began to turn around.

"Sit," she ordered before you had fully turned back around to the door, nodding to the available chair on the other side of her desk. Her eyes followed your journey to the seat, watching as you placed your laptop down and opened it with shaky fingers. Satisfied, she turned her attention back to her work. "I could do with some company." 

The following silence, starting as unsettling and stagnant, blossomed into something warm and comfortable. There were occasional glances thrown your way and vice versa. Their acknowledgement and appreciation were shown in the form of timid smiles on your end and double takes followed by teasing smirks on Emily's. 

When half an hour had passed, your shoulders had finally relaxed, your fingers had stopped their infernal twitching, and your paper neared its completion. There was a proud smile cresting, and you were trying to prevent it from forming, knowing how dorkish it made you look. But you knew there was no hope when your cheeks ached and your jaw locked. You granted yourself the freedom to display your gloating smile. 

Just as expected, Emily had a questioning look on her face when you dared to look up from the document. There was a playfulness to the upward quirk of her lips - the superiority of a predator knowing the power they have over their prey, ready to prove it at any given moment. 

"I've almost finished," you timidly admitted, feeling obligated to explain as heat infiltrated your jutted-out cheeks. 

Without a second thought, the ravenette stood up and made her way around the desk. She could have easily chosen to turn the laptop around. Instead, she took the far more intimate route. 

Soft curves grazed your shoulder blades, causing you to shiver. The weight finally settled, soft padding pressed flat against your back as Emily read your paper, and suddenly, your stomach had worked itself into looping knots, and your heart was racing. 

The struggle continued as you fought not to fidget, if only to alleviate the growing tension mounting between your thighs. This was only made worse when Emily's right hand left the back of your chair to drop down over your shoulder and land comfortably on your thigh. 

"Such a smart girl," she whispered sultrily into the shell of your ear, squeezing generous flesh between her fingers. 

With a scrambled brain, there was little fight to be put up against the meek whimper that crackled against the constricted lining of your throat. Subconsciously, your thighs tensed, and your pussy fluttered as you were reminded how close Emily's hand was to where you could only dream she'd touch. 

You'd thought you imagined it—the subtle shift in the room from breezy and light to torrid and all-consuming, but with Emily's fingers veering off course, inching higher and higher, reality came crashing down. 

"Thank you," you struggled to get the words out, and when they did come out, they were tremulous and feeble. 

Turning to look at her may have, in hindsight, been a mistake because where her gaze should have been fixed on the laptop screen, it was glued to your lips. Unexpectedly, your stomach flipped, and you felt dizzy. She was still superbly perfect up close, skin smooth like silk, cheekbones sharp as a razor, and lips cut from velvet. It was too close, dangerously so, you had to look away. Outside the window, you spotted a swarm of birds barely visible against the night sky. You ignored the clanking of your heart as you focussed on their synchronicity, watching them circle each other until they became one big blur of messy movements. 

The hand resting on the leather backing of your chair rose, skirting up and over your neck, until a firm grip was established around your dangling ponytail. She was gentle when she tugged, aware that though she wanted to educate you in the art of being owned, you were delicate.

"I think a pretty thing like you deserves a reward," she baited. "Don't you?" 

Her grip on you may have been physical. However, a stronger pull was coming from deep within you, an unimportant piece of scrap metal drawn in by a powerful magnet. It was useless to deny her. The mesmerising glow of her chocolate eyes and the promise of being made to feel special was too powerful. So, you nodded slowly but eagerly, desire painting your eyes dark shades of lust. 

"That's a good girl." 

Emily didn't miss how you preened at the praise and safely stored that information away for further use. She shifted to your side, hands migrating to the small of your waist, guiding you to your feet. The act of it was far gentler than you'd expected, like a gentleman asking a maiden to dance, sweeping her off her feet to whisk her away into a fairytale land filled with magic and romance. 

Certain the benign treatment would be short-lived, you granted yourself the leniency to enjoy it whilst it lasted, refusing to get too caught up in the dull ache between your legs that craved the form of savagery Emily displayed in the field. 

There was nothing short of passion in how she worked. It drove you crazy. As wrong as it felt, you couldn't help but envy the dirtbag the team was working to catch because you saw how badly the brunette wanted them. The look in her eyes, gratification and disgust all at once, when she'd achieved what she set out to do and was staring the devil right in the face - it made your heart race, your palms sweat and your cunt throb. 

The memory kickstarted what could only be described as a brutal attack upon the older woman's lips. To her credit, Emily indulged the outburst for a lot longer than you'd have thought. As if she'd expected it, she quickly responded, pulling you into her body and tilting her head to the side to deepen the kiss. The lead was stolen promptly from your grasp when Emily wedged a leg between your thighs, backed you up against her desk and tactically slid her tongue into your gaped mouth. You would have gasped if not for the fact you were immediately indulged in the minty taste of your boss's tongue skirting over the roof of your mouth. So much so that you scarcely noticed the pressure coming from your core was no longer just a phantom need manifested but taut clothed muscle pressing you further and further into the sharp wooden edge of the desk. 

"Emily," you breathily moaned, pulling back and separating your kiss-swollen lips from the brunette's. Ordinarily, you wouldn't have allowed what happened next to occur, but this was Emily, after all, the BAU section chief, and if you were to let anyone order you about, it would be her. 

She backed away from you with a final nip to your bottom lip, letting it go with a pop, and you fought the urge to reach out and pull her back to you. You knew you'd already tried to take things into your own hands once, and doing so again may undermine any chances you had of keeping the ball rolling on tonight's affairs. 

You could feel the tight pull of your ponytail and all the places where hair had been lead array from the confines of your hairband, and it truly dawned on you how out of sorts you must have appeared. Tracing your fingers over your lips, you could make out how swollen they were - puffy and hot, yet desperate and pouted, begging for more. Your breathing was laboured, filling the room's silence, and your shirt suddenly felt too tight as your chest expanded with each intake of oxygen. It almost came as a relief when Emily opened her mouth to finally speak until you heard what she'd said.

"Take your clothes off," she mindlessly ordered, walking around to her chair and sitting back in it. Her eager eyes trained over your body with the faintest shimmer of mirth. 

Initially, it was a shock. Of course, it was. You were in an official government building, personnel still sparsely spread throughout, and a goddess of a woman was asking you to bare yourself to her. 

For the longest time, revealing your body to someone always felt like giving up something. Perhaps some kind of purity. The moment you gave it up, it bred only guilt and shame that twisted and pulled at the pit of your stomach until you felt sick. You stood there, waiting for that feeling to come. It never did. 

Remaining still, your body pulsed not with nerves but with exhilaration and anticipation. It took a few seconds to realise this was precisely what you wanted. You wanted to give this false sense of purity away. There was not a sudden influx of courage soaring through every living cell of your body. However, there was enough for you to put on a front and do as you were told. 

"Slowly." Emily sat further back and placed her elbows neatly over the arms of her chair. She laced her fingers together, offered you an encouraging nod, and then was back to watching you raptly.

Feeling like a glutton, you followed a path of desire and heeded Emily's request, fingers increasingly fumbling over each button of your shirt. 

"So obedient." And in no way was it said negatively; the adulatory smile she gave you only sought to prove that further. 

The way she looked at you made you feel as though you were already naked. Maybe that was why it was so easy to get lost in the subtlety of undressing. It was art, and you were a performer. That's what you told yourself. And for the most part, it worked. 

With closed eyes, you trailed your fingers over your shoulders, letting your shirt drop to the floor. The AC raised goosebumps over your chest, pebbled your nipples under your plain bra, and you smiled. You smiled because this was the most alive you had felt in months. The thrill of moving on to your slacks and deftly unclasping your belt felt like being on a rollercoaster, like missing a step and laughing fear in the face afterwards. You felt utterly fearless. 

In the back of your mind, you could sense Emily's eyes still on you. You could hear her moving around but didn't think to check her reaction. You were in your element, and far be it for a look of appraisal, or lack of, to stop you. That was until your trousers hit the carpet with a soft thud, and a sharp breath was heard from across you. 

Your eyes snapped open, and you found Emily's smile was absent. The brunette now had her bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she looked you up and down, knuckles white from her deadly grip over the armrests. 

She lifted a hand, palm facing the ceiling as her index and middle finger crooked. "Come here so I can get a proper look at you," she said, slightly breathless. 

The desk had conveniently covered the lower half of Emily's body, which meant that when you circled around and came to stand next to her, you could see exactly what the earlier ruffling had been about. 

"Is that?" You froze, both shocked and utterly intrigued by the thick black dildo jutting out from the older woman's opened slacks. 

She didn't need you to finish the question, already nodding as she followed your line of sight. Leaning forward with an outstretched arm, Emily coiled her fingers around your wrist and pulled you forward, causing you to almost stumble over your own feet. At this closer distance, you could tell the faux cock would give you a run for your money. It was thicker than anything you had taken before, though that was not a hard trophy to earn, given that the most you had let anyone put inside you was three fingers. 

"Do you want to come sit on mommy's lap?" Emily asked with a tilt of her head. 

She didn't miss how your breath caught in your throat, how you seemed to stop blinking, stop moving, stop existing.

"Are you scared?" the lioness asked, sights set on her prized fawn. 

You shook your head and placed one foot in front of the other, eyes downcast as you took in the size of Emily's additional appendage. The shake of your jaw gave you away. 

"I don't like being lied to," she snapped, eyes dimming to an even darker shade of brown. 

She pulled you in by your waist and sat you on her lap, cock brushing over the thin material of your underwear. Instinctively, you wedged your bottom lip between your teeth to quiet yourself. But Emily wasn't having any of it. Her thumb came to your captive lip, where she helped release it with a soft flick. 

The smooth texture of Emily's cock through your sodden panties was a needed relief. Its head purposefully pressing against your sensitive bundle of nerves evoked a flurry of shivers to run down your spine. And with nothing holding you back, you moaned in gratitude. 

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Emily smirked, watching you rut against her. 

"Yes," you uttered, breath caught in your throat. 

Happy to watch, Emily relaxed her shoulders and leaned back, enjoying the show you were putting on for her. Only when she recognised the tell-tell signs of frustration wash over your features, from your creased brow to the bite of your lip between your teeth, did a sick smirk lick the edges of her lips. With a mischievous glint shining in her eyes, the older woman shifted her position, pointedly ignoring the sound it pulled from you. 

"Something wrong?" she asked with a hitch of one eyebrow, adamant to appear oblivious. 

You gave no reply, only held tight to her shoulders in defiance and continually ground down on her, trying so hard to pleasure yourself to no avail that your eyes began to sting with the emergence of tears. 

With sweat threatening to spill down the side of your face, the tension between your legs starting to ache, and your release nowhere near in sight, you threw your head back with a sigh and whispered a quiet 'please' to the ceiling.

"Please what?" Came the dull reply, tone bored, unamused, unimpressed.  

You tried to impale yourself, failing as strong hands held you down. It was driving you crazy—pleasure being so close yet so far. 

With one hand removed from your hip, Emily gripped your jaw and turned your attention solely to her stern gaze, "Are you going to stop being a brat and tell me what you want?" 

When no answer came, she let go, jerking your head back as if disgusted with the lack of compliance. 

"Get up." 

Ice, you were made of ice. Sat still, shocked, speechless and slightly mortified. 

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Emily's voice was no longer flat; it was not roaring either. Instead, it was layered, resembling the same barbed tone a teacher might use with a disobedient student. It was enough of a motivator to get you to rise to your feet. 

Following you closely, the older woman, too, rose to her full height, hands meticulously reaching behind your back to expertly relieve you of your bra. Never once did she look you in the eye. 

With the same callous approach, you were turned and pressed against the desk, papers sticking to your heated chest. Emily was quick to loop her fingers through the hem of your underwear and slip them down your thighs, allowing gravity to do the rest. 

The full-bodied presence behind you lessened, and you took it as the opportune moment to glance back. 

The brunette had let her trousers drop to the floor, allowing you to see how her porcelain skin was directly contrasted by the black leather of her strap-on. Unlike yourself, she did not appear nervous or afraid. As she kicked the tailored pants aside and met your gaze, you realised how in control she was. 

Her gaze moved down your body, hands running down your back, until finally, she pressed herself against you and lowered her body atop yours. 

"I can feel how wet you are," she teased, running two fingers through the mess between your legs. "Are you always this wet?" 

"Emily, please," you begged. 

"I asked before, please what?" She raked five fingers down your side, moving them back up till they wound tightly in your hair and gripped your neck to an uncomfortable arch. Two fingers pushed inside you but did no more than that, remaining still as stone. "If you're going to be a baby and refuse to tell me what you want, you'll get nothing." 

"Fuck me!" You no longer had the sound of mind to acknowledge shouting something vulgar could attract attention. Logic had evaded you, allowing you to play right into your boss's hands. "Please just fuck me."

Sliding her slick fingers out of you, she proudly stated, "That wasn't hard, was it?"

If the older woman wanted an answer, she did not allow for one. In one fluid motion, she rose from over you and snapped her hips forward, sheathing the entire length of her cock into your cunt. Your breath caught in your throat, resulting in a strained groan tumbling out of your open mouth. The pit of your stomach dropped, and try as you might have not to clench around the toy inside you, you did precisely that. 

It was new, the foreign feeling of being filled so fully that one slight move would summon pleasure that sent shivers through your whole body. It wasn't unwelcome, especially when Emily started to move, and heat engulfed your entire body. Her pace was languid, allowing you to feel each slide of her cock along your slick walls, how each push of her hips ended in the tip hitting the spot within you to cause the furling in your stomach to expand tenfold. It was all you could do not to scream when the push and pull and Emily's hips moved with more purpose, jerking your body into the edge of her desk. 

"I've barely started, and you're already dripping down your thighs." Her voice was laced with mirth, finger smearing your mess as if to prove an unnecessary point that had your cheeks burning up. "How long have you been thinking about this?" Emily finished her question with an arduous thrust. "How many times have you sunk your fingers into your pussy and thought of me?" 

The questions continued, each hitting the nail right on the head. Your cheeks were scorched with the embarrassment that comes with having your desires known and exposed, but it did not take hold of your conscience as the event of falling in front of a large crowd might have. It was comparable to how a blushing maiden may feel when caught by a suitor in only their undergarments. It excited that small part of you that gave in to demoralisation and encouraged you enough to meet Emily halfway as she thrust into you. 

As your pleasure mounted, the need for more grew. Your clit, swollen and needy, begged for relief, and you beckoned to its call, sliding one hand from above your head to the juncture between your legs. It was when the tips of your fingers brushed against your sensitive pearl and you gained the briefest taste of the euphoria that Emily removed her hand from your thigh and snatched your hand away, halting all movement. 

You could have cried, having everything, then nothing, so quickly. 

"Did I say you could do that?" 

Abruptly pulling out, Emily stood tall and proud, staring down at you with curiosity and disappointment lining the brown of her eyes. She heard you whimper and acknowledged your sniffle. 

"There's no need to cry," she tutted, flipping you onto your back and lifting you by your shoulders. "You're going to listen to me from now on." 

You nodded, and she once again lined her cock to your opening, only now she waited, taunting you with possibilities. 

"Beg," she instructed. 

And you heeded. 

"Please. I need you." 

"You can do better." She sounded bored, and this struck a nerve within you, one that begged you to impress her, show her you could be a good little girl, and beg as though your life depended on it. 

You took a heaving breath and looked into Emily's eyes, sporting your best puppy eyes. "I need you. I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me with your big cock, mommy. Make me scream out your name. I need it." 

"There's a good pet," she cooed, mesmerising you with the bating of her lashes as she looked down to where your bodies were so close to touching. 

It all happened in a blur. The next thing you knew, your nails were digging into muscled shoulders, legs wrapping around a slim waist as the brunette filled you, wasting no time in picking up a brutal tempo. You barely recognised the sound of your voice as high-pitched obscenities spilt past your lips. You felt your whole body light up, heard blood pulse in your ears, and saw in real-time just how easy it was to aid Emily in calling upon your impending orgasm. 

Your vulgar mouth, luckily, seemed to amuse Emily enough for her to let you continue rutting your hips against her. The corners of her lips curled, and her smirk lasted only so long for you to see before she inched forward and kissed you with passion and hunger. It was easy, so easy, to melt into the brief moment of intimacy. The butterflies felt tangible, and the sparks crackled in your ears; it felt so fucking good you'd almost forgotten just where you were. Of course, bubbles eventually popped, and this one was demolished by rustling outside Emily's office. 

What little movement Emily allowed, her hands holding you firmly against the desk by your waist, was not enough to wriggle free and glance behind to see what was happening. Instead, the possibility of being caught weighed heavier with each drawled-out second. 

"Emily," You tried but were cut off by a tongue sliding into your mouth. "Emily, stop."

With a bite to your lip, the older woman backed off, confusion marking her features, "What is it?" she punctuated her question with a hard thrust. 

"Someone's o-" another hard thrust. "Someone's outside."

Emily smiled, picking up her pace, forcing you to breathe so deep you felt your lungs expand. 

"You'd better be quiet then." 

Whatever protest you were about to give died in your throat when nails skirted up to your chest and dug painfully into your breast, and Emily pushed herself so deep within you that you felt her hitting your cervix. A strangled cry was briefly heard before you managed to clasp your hand over your lips and silence your own mewls. She was fucking you as if her life depended on getting a reaction out of you that would draw attention. Nevertheless, you held firm and stayed as quiet as your muffled sobs would allow you to be. 

"Emily, please," you were pleading for release and for the brutal fucking stop because you knew there would be no chance you could keep a lid on your volume; there would also be no chance you would survive not cumming. 

Taking note of this, the older woman took the route of giving you your release, dragging a thumb down over your clit and applying the right amount of pressure to have your tense legs turn into a shaky mess of tremors. She didn't stop there; with a brief slide, she ran your slick over your bundle of nerves and started to circle steadily. 

"Fuck!" You screamed out, missing the way the ruffling outside suddenly stopped. "I'm cumming. I'm cumming." 

"That's it," the brunette encouraged, her fingers coming up to crook and tangle through the mussed mess of your hair, nails slowly working against your scalp. "Let everyone hear what a slut you are, letting me fuck you over my desk." 

She didn't stop, though, not when your clit felt raw and your pussy tender, not when you begged and not even when you reached out and tried to grab her wrist. Emily only yanked you down by your hair, relishing the thud the brutal move made. She fucked you harder till stationary fell to the floor from your thrashing arms, and by then, her lips were already wrapped around a nipple, sucking firm whilst you cried through a second orgasm. 

When you finally felt empty, you didn't even try to open your eyes. You knew your vision would be blurred if not blacked out. Instead, you focussed on coming back down to earth, steading your breath and not thinking about how you strangely missed being filled by Emily despite being so fucking sore. 

"Are you still alive?" a smug voice asked from above, and you pried your bleary eyes open to weakly smile. 

"I think so," you whispered, peeling your sweat-slick back from the desk. That was when you remembered the unknown personnel outside and shot a look at the door. 

"They're gone," Emily said, cupping your chin and turning you back to her. Again, you were greeted by that conniving smirk. "After your commentary, I think they understood we didn't want to be disturbed." 

"But-" 

"Uh-uh." she silenced you with a finger to your lips, the smell of yourself still narrowly fragrant. You took the digit into your mouth, patting yourself on the back as you watched Emily's eyes turn dark. "You want to make Mommy feel good now, don't you?" She knew the answer, but oh, how she loved to watch you sink to your knees and eagerly nod anyway. You helped unclasp the straps of her harness, then set to pealing the last barrier keeping you from her heat down her legs. 

"My good little pet," she said, smiling down at you and happily watching you beam. Her hand cupped your jaw before moving to the back of your neck, where she pulled you to her core and began singing a melody of moans. 

Tags: @ssa-sapphic @aws-l @babygirlscout @red1culous @7thavenger @sapphicprentiss @five-bi-five-mind @jenna-ortega-is-pretty17177 @supercorpstan97 @kenyakimble34 @12fluffybunny12 @asensitivecookie @summoned-lust-demon @maxinehufflepuffprincess @whosprentiss @asolitaryrose3 @imlike-so-gaydude @maybe-a-humanbean @taylorswiftsboyfriend @bossofcriminalminds @asphodelvamp @jareguiromanoff @lilfartbox1 @lovelyy-moonlight @patronagrona @lostenby @storiesofsvu @mrs-prentiss @romanoffsho @paulilvsremus @waitaminutebaby @jarexuslover @lesbodietcoke @homo-oddity @milfsincrime @noahrex @pnsteblnme @asolitaryrose3 | click here to be added to my taglist

[lxclerc]

𝐬𝐨 𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 ─ 𝐦𝐯𝟏

summary: where max verstappen is the subject of a love song from a singer who never writes love songs pairing: max verstappen x american singer!reader faceclaim: no one specifically but based off olivia rodrigo

note: me? writing max verstappen? smau fluff? on main? everyone look away.

dailyynupdates

liked by user33, user4, user16 and others

dailyynupdates yn was seen around monte carlo the past few days, taking pictures with fans and allegedly cozying up with three time world champion max verstappen

view all 104,210 comments...

user12 what is going on in the house of commons because this was the last thing i expected

user39 this is quite literally the most random pairing i've ever stumbled across

user91 how do they even know each other 😭 user63 right like...where did this even come from? how did it start? literally how did they meet? they could not be farthest apart in the sphere of famous people

user19 now who the hell is max verstappen and why is he with my wife?

user49 oh girl you have a lot to catch up on the max lore user71 max is a formula one driver user56 saying max is a formula 1 driver like he currently isn't dominating the sport to the point where people hates him saying he's making it boring since he keeps winning because he's just that fucking good that literally no other driver can keep up is kinda wild user10 oh so our girl's new man is good at his job user52 "good at his job might just be the biggest understatement of the century when it comes to max. man's a fucking beast at his job

user48 i dont have to see her with her ratty ex anymore omfg war is over

user93 dare i say...they're adorable

user82 yn being in an age appropriate, healthy relationship? i never thought the day would come

user74 we won for real 🥹🫶

dailyynupdates

liked by user23, user31, user69 and others

dailyynupdates max and yn in a video posted by yn's friend 😭

view all 59,129 comments...

user93 oh my god look at them 😭

user81 they look so in love i want to cry

user65 "maximillian, do i look pretty like this?" "you always look pretty" i couldn't quite catch what he said at the end but 😭😭😭

user85 dutch here and i believe he said "laiverd" which means darling user75 this means so much to me user65 you just made my entire week

user45 seeing her in love after all the shit men is healing a part of me i didnt know was broken

user53 max fixing her hood then kissing her cheek what if you just stabbed me

user31 every time i see these, i get the urge to take a shot of bleach 😀

sincerelyyn ✓

liked by conangrey, maxverstappen1, taylorswift and others

sincerelyyn can't have a conversation if it's not all about you

view all 402,452 comments...

yourfriend as the other person of those conversations, he's fine i guess 😒

sincerelyyn you know i love youuuuu

taylorswift love seeing you happy ❤️

sincerelyyn ❤️❤️ user73 mother is all of us user63 you know it's real when it's taylor swift approved

conangrey i hate happy couples i hope you both trip 🫶

sincerelyyn die 🫶

user92 their friendship is everything to me

user15 not girlie trying to soft launch like we all don't know who it is 😭

user43 THEYRE SO ‼️🥵🥰⚠️

user65 you're so right

user24 i'm so happy finally seeing our girl happy 😭

user84 "someday i'll be everything to somebody else" YES YOU ARE BABYGIRL 😭

maxverstappen1

liked by sincerelyyn, charles_leclerc, landonorris and others

maxverstappen1 my american girl 🩷

view all 308,291 comments...

charles_leclerc i still can't believe this is happening

maxverstappen1 for someone who don't even follow me, you sure are early to my posts 😒 user91 max gagged him with that im afraid

landonorris please please max talk to her about getting me tickets 😭

user85 lando is just like us fr struggling to get guts tour tickets maxverstappen1 no ❤️ landonorris 😔 sincerelyyn @landonorris let me get you in contact with my team 🤍 maxverstappen1 baby noooo sincerelyyn be nice, max landonorris HELL YEAH THANKS YN user42 this is the crossover i never thought i needed

user66 max posting non racing content and being all soft in the comments for yn in what world am i in

user52 fr i feel like im in an alternate universe 😭

sincerelyyn love youuuu

maxverstappen1 love you more

sincelyyn i never knew love could be so golden till i met you <3

maxverstappen1 mijn hele hart is van jou, schat (you own my entire heart, darling) user42 they mean so very much to me 😭

danielricciardo god the two of you make me nauseous

maxverstappen1 hating because you ain't us danielricciardo im not liking that attitude, kid 😒 user71 daniel is so us

sincerelyyn

liked by maxverstappen1, taylorswift, yourfriend and others

sincerelyyn so american will be out on all platforms at midnight. a letter to the man i love, the only way i know how ❤️

view all 592,649 comments...

maxverstappen1 i adore you with everything in my being ❤️

sincerelyyn ik hou van je (i love you)

i hope you guys liked this as much as i loved writing it 🫶

[jinhyun]

—sugar rush.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

genre: angst, fluff, pining, non-idol au, best friend’s brother au

word count: 7.4k

summary: hyunjin’s heart had been broken by you more than once, and still, he refused to let you go through your own heartbreak alone.

warnings: many mentions of heartbreak, break up, breakdown, and a small mention of weight loss (because of heartbreak).

author’s note: she’s here! tbh i didn’t plan for it to be this long, i wanted to lightly mention hyunjin’s past heartbreaks but once i started writing i couldn’t stop lol. i hope this gives you guys some more insight on their story and feelings. if anyone casually comes across this one shot, it is part four of my social media au “heart out”. i hope you all enjoy! don’t forget to reblog and/or leave a comment if you do<3

The first time Hyunjin saw you, he was only seventeen.

Yeji was in her second year of university and was still living at their family home. She would often tell them about her best friend she made back in first year, and she must’ve shown them one or two pictures at some point, yet for some reason Hyunjin never really got interested enough to actually pay attention — being too busy trying to achieve good grades in the classes he was struggling with the most. After all, after that year he would only have one more to make it to a good university and live up to his parents’ expectations, since his older sister had made it to one of the best universities in Seoul and they were expecting just the same from him.

So, when Yeji called their mother one day and asked if her best friend could stay with them that weekend since she wasn’t from Seoul and was having a few issues with her dorm, Hyunjin didn’t think much of it. If anything, he had rolled his eyes over the thought of having to hide in his room and not being able to raid the kitchen whenever he wanted, not to run into his sister’s stranger friend.

But then you crossed the door later that night, with a shy smile curving up your lips as you introduced yourself to all three of them and thanked them for allowing you to stay the weekend, and suddenly he felt like wanting to raid the kitchen every five minutes that weekend, just in hopes of running into you and getting a glimpse of your face.

One look at you was all it took for him to get the biggest crush on someone yet, and one single weekend into meeting you was all it took for him to know that the immediate infatuation he felt towards you would only grow from then on.

Now, being only three months away from turning twenty four, he could only give his seventeen year old self a pat on the shoulder because of how well he had judged the future of his feelings for you. That, and to comfort his younger self as well, because, God, nothing could have prepared him for what was about to come his way.

Six years had passed in the blink of an eye since then, and here he was, still loving you from the sidelines.

And in those six years of loving you, he had experienced heartbreak three times. All three of them, by you.

You, who didn’t even know he had feelings for you.

You, who didn’t see him as anything other than Yeji’s little brother — not to say your little brother.

You, who had grown closer to him at one point, only to pull away when you fell for someone else.

Hyunjin wasn’t stupid, he knew how the world and feelings worked. He knew a twenty year old wouldn’t fall for a seventeen year old who was in his second to last year of high school — at least not a sane one, and you were very much sane, he found out right away.

Then again, although not stupid, he was still naive. Which is why he believed everything would change when he turned nineteen and became legal.

He spent his last two years of high school focusing on his studies, not even looking at his classmates or at any other girl at school.

He would only see you from time to time, whenever Yeji invited you over, which wasn’t that often given the two of you would much rather hang out alone at your dorm. Most of the news he got from you were because he asked Yeji about you, or, if he was lucky enough, because his parents asked about you when he just happened to be there.

He would also often find himself going through your social media in hopes of you having posted a picture that showed your face. And, sometimes, he would be brave enough to comment on your posts — just casual little comments that would leave him smiling for the rest of the day whenever you replied.

You didn’t interact much back then, and he was okay with it. Granted, he wished you talked more, and he really fucking wished he got to see you more often, but he could deal with it, because once he entered university and turned nineteen, everything would change.

But then, by the time he was nineteen, you were about to turn twenty two. He was only starting university, and you were already in your last year of it.

He refused to let go of the small pinch of hope he still had in him, however. He had made it to your and Yeji’s university, after all, and although he didn’t choose your same career path, he would use being in the same campus to his advantage.

He started by asking for your help regarding small assignments. Whether they were actually hard or easy as hell, risking looking dumb to you, he would reach out and ask for your help. Getting a simple explanation that wouldn’t take you longer than two minutes would make his entire day. You never judged him when it came to ‘dumb questions’, and sometimes, if he was lucky enough and you had some time in your hands, you would take him for coffee — the intention being to properly help him out with his assignments, yet most of the time it would turn out in the two of you just hanging out and having a good time together.

Then, deciding the few times you got to hang out at a café weren’t enough, Hyunjin became more straightforward. He realised there were days you would stay at the library while Yeji went home, as she found studying at home to be more productive, unlike you, and it so conveniently aligned with the days his schedule ended the latest. He used to despise that one last class with a passion, until he found out you were at campus alone by then. So, he took it upon himself to text you as soon as the class ended, asking if you were done and offering to walk you to your dorm.

At first you hesitated, not wanting to take up even more of his commute time, since you lived on campus and he didn’t, but after a couple of times it became your thing, to the point Hyunjin wouldn’t even text you beforehand anymore and would straight up head over to the library; whether to pick you up as you were already placing your books inside your bag, or to sit down next to you and do whatever —mainly staring at you without you noticing— while he waited for you to be done.

Sometimes he would have lunch with you and Yeji. It wasn’t very usual, since he did have his own group of friends, but there were times when he felt like spending some extra time with you, and his sister being there was a good excuse to do so without seeming too clingy.

Some days you would text back and forth. Some others you would text him something that reminded you of him and vice versa. And some others you wouldn’t text at all, but he would find a way to see you.

Before he knew it, Hyunjin grew used to talking to you every single day. And he was okay with it, because by then it had already become natural and you seemed to enjoy his company just as much as he enjoyed yours.

He didn’t get into the same university as you and Yeji just to be with you, of course, but fuck, was he over the moon now that he had multiple excuses to hang out with you.

He wanted to believe that you were at least beginning to move past the innocent image you had of him — the one of him being Yeji’s little brother, and therefore needing protection. He made himself believe that deep down you were starting to feel something for him, even if you didn’t notice. And he was willing to make you notice.

But then the second semester came, and halfway through it he felt you slip away.

Hyunjin didn’t know when or why you stopped hanging out, but he hardly got to see you anymore.

He didn’t think much of it at first. Your schedules were very different now, and he thought that was the reason. You were on your last semester and your times just didn’t coincide like they used to. Simple as that.

You still helped him out whenever he came to you with questions regarding one of his classes, you still smiled ever so sweetly whenever you saw him, you still reached out to check up on him.

But you wouldn’t wait for him to walk you home anymore, and you wouldn’t really text that much either — your conversations going from texting each other the most random of things throughout the day, to you only answering his questions regarding his classes, which, to be honest, were only Hyunjin’s miserable attempts to initiate small talk. You just didn’t seem to check your chats anymore, which he found to be quite odd considering that, whenever he saw you, you would be staring at your phone with the biggest of smiles as you typed away.

It wasn’t until Yeji slipped up one evening, when their parents asked about you at dinner, that he found out the reason behind your sudden distance from him and the giddy smiles you’d get by looking at your phone.

“I haven’t seen Y/N around in a while,” their mother brought up. “How’s she been?”

“Oh, she’s doing well. Just… a bit busy, I guess” Yeji replied, taking a small bite of her food.

“You should invite her over for dinner this weekend” their dad proposed this time. “We were thinking of having a barbecue”.

“I think she’s going out with Mingyu on Saturday” Yeji tilted her head, pensively — completely oblivious to the way Hyunjin had just frozen next to her. “Maybe she could come over on Sunday for lunch? I need to hear all the details about her date after all”.

Clunk!

Everyone turned to Hyunjin, who remained frozen still, yet the metal spoon he had previously been holding in his hand was now laying on the floor, having slipped from his fingers the moment the word ‘date’ had made it past Yeji’s lips.

He quickly picked it up and placed it back on the table. Everyone went back to their previous conversation, like nothing happened. Like his heart didn’t feel like every single inch of it was being pierced right through.

You were seeing someone.

He was in love with you. He was finally of age and somewhat in the same stage in life as you. He was doing everything in his power to get closer to you and eventually win you over.

And you were seeing someone.

That night, Hyunjin went to sleep with a heavy chest and a buzzing head. Unable to understand why it hurt so much and why it wouldn’t go away.

It was later that month, on new year’s eve more specifically, that he finally knew what the heavy chest and the annoying pinch in his heart were hinting at.

“Y/N isn’t coming this year?” He asked his sister when he finally got the courage to, impatiently staring at the clock on the kitchen wall that pointed at the numbers 22:56.

“Oh my God, no, I forgot to tell you” Yeji laughed, placing her drink down on the table. “Mingyu asked her to be his girlfriend today. More like last night, but it was already past midn—”

Everything else after that was muffled by the sound of his heart breaking.

The sound inside his chest was so clear to him, so deafening, followed by an ache a hundred times more painful than the one he felt when he found out that you were merely seeing someone, that there wasn’t any room for him to ponder what it was that he was feeling.

Heartbreak. It was clear as day.

Agonizing, infernal heartbreak.

That night, it was followed by quiet tears, as he lied alone in bed and welcomed the new year with a broken heart.

-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-♡

The second heartbreak came a year and a half later, when he was torn between trying his best to move on and still not letting go of the nearly gone hope of the two of you being together at some point.

You and Yeji were in her room, and he was downstairs helping their mother set up the table for dinner.

He was trying his best to ignore the fact that you were there. He wasn’t ignoring you, of course — he could never. But you being there made him unable to focus on anything else, and he needed to focus on literally anything else but you.

Ever since you and Mingyu became official, you hardly ever interacted anymore. All his attempts during his first year of uni seemed pointless by then, long forgotten. He ignored the reason, but he guessed it had to do with you only making time for your boyfriend now. As far as he knew, the only two friends you actually made an effort to keep contact with were Yeji and Chan — all the rest, he had not heard from since a while ago. Then again, it wasn’t like you talked that much anymore for him to actually know anything about your life other than the bits he’d get from Yeji whenever she either slipped up in front of him or straight up gushed to him about you.

So, it wasn’t hard to understand that he’d be a little uneasy, jumpy even, whenever you visited.

And it wouldn’t take a genius either to imagine how much he dreaded the moment his mother asked him to go up to his sister’s bedroom and call the both of you to go downstairs for dinner.

But orders were orders, and so he made his way to the second floor, dragging his feet all the way up the stairs.

Before he could reach the last stair, however, he heard your voice coming out of Yeji’s room, being followed by his sister’s laugh as the two of you were now apparently standing in the hallway, about to make your way downstairs before he could tell you to.

He thought of just turning around and heading back into the kitchen, since he could only guess you were heading over there and therefore he didn’t need to tell you to anymore, but the words he heard coming from your mouth made him stand still in his place.

“Honestly, I can’t believe he took me to his hometown and I met his family already. They’re all so nice it felt like a dream” you beamed.

“Kinda makes you want to become a part of it?” Yeji teased you.

“Yeah…” your voice came out rather shy, and Hyunjin could tell you were smiling. “I barely talk to my family and they were so welcoming it made me feel at home. I don’t know, Yeji, I’m so in love with him and meeting his family made me realise how bad I want him to father my children”.

Hyunjin wanted to leave. He didn’t want to hear anymore. But his feet betrayed him.

“Yeah, let’s get some financial stability before that, shall we?” Yeji chuckled, footsteps sounding closer and closer to him.

“Shut up” you laughed. “Not now of course, but Mingyu’s it for me, I’m sure”.

Move. Hwang Hyunjin, leave.

“I guess I’m waiting for my invitation to your wedding then?”

You don’t wanna hear it. Move!

“Oh, I’m definitely marrying him one day” you giggled. “And you’ll be on bridesmaid duty, so if anything you’ll be the one helping me with the invitations”.

There it was again, the unbearable pain in his chest again.

If he were holding a spoon again, he would’ve dropped it all the way down the stairs by now. Hell, he felt like he could fall down the stairs anytime by now, as his knees felt like they were about to give up any second.

“Oh?” Yeji’s voice brought him back to his senses when it was too late for him to escape — the two of you now right in front of him, as he was blocking the way. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just coming up to call you guys downstairs” he replied in a heartbeat, not sure how he managed to speak without his voice breaking. “Dinner’s ready”.

Yeji nodded, giving you a quick glance before Hyunjin squeezed against the wall so he could make some room for the two of you to start walking down the stairs.

“Aren’t you coming?” You asked him, turning around midway, when Yeji was already on the first floor and you realised Hyunjin wasn’t moving at all.

“Uh, yeah” he managed to blurt out. “Just… need to get something from my room first. I’ll go right down”.

You nodded, sensing something was wrong, yet not finding it in you to ask him what it was.

This heartbreak was somehow worse than the first one, Hyunjin decided once in his room. First, he couldn’t cry and let it out until he fell asleep, managing to keep it from everyone else like he did back then, for his parents, his sister and you were waiting downstairs for him, and he was sure his mum would burst into his room within the next five minutes if he wasn’t with them by then. And, second, it felt final. The first heartbreak came when you started dating someone else, but this one was because you decided you had found your person, the very one you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, and it wasn’t him.

A few hot tears rolled down his face, and he harshly wiped them off before taking a deep breath and making his way back down, not ready at all to face you of all people, yet knowing well enough there was no hiding this time.

The rest of the evening was a blur to him. The only thing he remembered was remaining silent and hardly touching his food, later excusing himself when he felt like he couldn’t take it anymore, like he would break down right then and there if he stayed one more second in your presence, and then nothing.

A blur.

Any small glimpse of hope he managed to keep that past year and a half was now gone.

He couldn’t afford to be torn between moving on and waiting for you anymore, because you had made your choice, and it wasn’t him. It would never be him.

Your heart belonged to Mingyu, and he would have to finally come to terms with it.

-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-♡

Two other years had passed since Hyunjin decided to move on from you for good, and still, he was hardly there just yet.

He wanted to believe he was over you. He told everyone —that being Han and Minho, the only ones who knew he ever had feelings for you— that he was over you. But deep down, he knew he wasn’t.

In those two years, he tried to give relationships a try. Both times, unsuccessful — because no matter how much he progressed, any time he saw you, he would go right back to stage one.

His first girlfriend was Seoyun, a girl he met through a dating app. Not his proudest moment, but he needed to get over you and he needed to get over you fast. His intention was to go for something casual. Just date, date and date, as many people as he could, until he could finally move on from you; but he soon realised that casual flings just weren’t for him. If he wanted to stop loving you, he needed to love someone else, and Seoyun seemed like the best candidate for it.

They lasted three months, and although he tried his best, he couldn’t fall for her. Not in the way he fell for you. Definitely not in the way you had fallen for Mingyu, who was still getting all your devoted love as you seemed to be happier together by the day.

His second girlfriend was Nara, a girl from his calculus class. This time, she chased after him, and after a while he figured why not give her a chance. His feelings for you weren’t lessening any more and neither were yours for Mingyu, so he needed someone to help him get rid of them.

He realised it was unfair to her, but he tried. Just like with Seoyun, he really tried to love her. She was great. She was pretty, she was funny, and she was head over heels for him. She met you outside his family home one day when you and his sister were visiting and you loved her, to the point of proposing a ‘triple date’, including Chan and Yeji, since they were just then beginning to date. Yeji met her too, of course, and loved her as well.

And yet, he, the one person who so desperately needed to love her, couldn’t.

He was actually sure the day you met Nara was the moment he realised it wasn’t working out and it would never work out — when you proposed a triple date and he could only think of how fucking much it would hurt to sit there and watch you be all lovey dovey with your boyfriend, while his own girlfriend was right there with him.

They had recently turned five months together when it happened, and that was as much as it lasted.

Hyunjin gave up on dating entirely after that, at least until he could get one hundred percent over you. He couldn’t just try and —unsuccessfully— force himself to love someone else while he still loved you, for in the end he’d only end up using them for his own benefit, and he hated himself for it.

He could only put his faith in time now. People always said that time heals it all, and he was really counting on it to let go of you.

But then time passed and instead of it healing his heart, it broke yours.

You and Mingyu broke up overnight, and although Hyunjin should’ve been hopeful, happy even, over the news, he realised his lingering feelings for you were very much alive when, to his own surprise, he felt his heart break for a third time.

He was at Yeji’s that evening — being too bored at his shared place with Han, he decided to annoy his sister for a while and be bored at hers instead.

Hyunjin was looking for a snack in her kitchen, when a knock on the door caught his attention. He wondered whether he should ignore it since Yeji was taking a shower and he most definitely didn’t want to deal with strangers right then, but ultimately he walked over to it and looked through the peephole when the knocks became louder, only to see you on the other side of it.

The smile that formed on his face at the simple sight of you was gone the moment he opened the door and took in how miserable you looked.

If that alone told him something was wrong, when you didn’t perk up like you always did whenever you saw him and barely even acknowledged him as you made your way inside, he knew you weren’t thinking straight right then.

“Um… are you okay?” He carefully asked, closing the door behind him as he turned to you.

“Is Yeji home?” You asked instead, voice breaking as you looked around in search of your friend.

Hyunjin nodded. “She’s taking a shower. Shouldn’t take long”.

You nodded, and although you said nothing, the way your chest heavily moved up and down told him you were hyperventilating.

“Y/N…” he called you quietly, almost scared to ask. “Are you okay?”

Again, you said nothing.

“Do you need anything?” He came closer to you.

You shook your head no, blinking rapidly. “Yeji. I need Yeji”.

“Okay, okay…” he said as tenderly as he could. “She’s coming, just—“

“Can you tell her to hurry up? I’m just…” you took a deep, shaky breath; one that made him instantly alert over how clear it was you were finding it hard to breathe. He panicked when you grabbed your chest. “Oh, God, I’m—”

“Hey, I’m here” he said, grabbing your hands and holding them tight as ever. “What happened? Tell me what’s wrong”.

He could see it in your eyes that you wanted to tell him, but although you opened your mouth to let him know what was wrong, no sound came out of it and you ended up just closing it again.

You weren’t able to speak, so he did it for you.

“Did something happen with Mingyu?” He sounded almost scared to ask.

That seemed to hit the nail on the head.

You looked up at him, and he could only grow worried, infuriated, over all kinds of thoughts that ran through his head the moment your eyes welled up with tears.

“Did he do something to you?!”

Your bottom lip quivered.

The first tear fell.

“Hyunie…”

Then you broke down.

Burying your face in his chest, you tugged tightly at his hoodie as you finally let yourself go.

Although stunned and still trying to comprehend the whole situation, Hyunjin didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you, scared you’d collapse anytime by then.

It wasn’t like any other cry he’d heard before.

This was different. Your sobs sounded like you were in excruciating pain, like it was hard to breathe, and your chest trembling against his own with every cry of yours felt like it was being ripped open from the inside.

He could only hold you closer, somehow trying to ground you, but it was of no use.

“It’s okay, it’s okay…” he repeated over and over, almost inaudibly under your sobs.

You tried to speak, either to explain what happened or to simply let it all out, but you couldn’t.

You were choking on your own words, and Hyunjin felt his own eyes well up with tears as he hurt for you and felt hopeless as ever, being able to do nothing else but run his hand up and down your back in a poor attempt to soothe you.

When your cries wouldn’t stop after a minute, he whispered a small ‘come here’ before he gently guided you towards the sofa. Slowly, not to break away from your hold, he managed to sit both of you down on it.

Your face instinctively moved up from his chest to the crook of his neck, where you hid it as you tried to calm down your sobs — finding comfort in his familiar sweet scent and in the gentle touch of his fingers running through your hair.

“What did he do?” He asked when your sobs seemed to quiet down.

You shook your head no, tugging harder at the fabric of his hoodie.

“Y/N, please…” he begged, pulling you slightly away, only enough to look into your reddened eyes. “I need to know what he did so I can do something about it”.

“You c-can do nothing about it, b-because it was his—his choice” you sniffled.

“What do you mean?”

Your bottom lip trembled, and for a moment there he regretted asking you that. But he needed to know.

Then, you took a deep breath, opening your mouth for a second and then closing it — the words you were about to say being harder to voice out than you expected.

“He left me,” you spoke in a whisper after a few seconds, and Hyunjin felt his world stop. “He d-doesn’t love me anymore. He loves her. He left me for her, for the one girl I—”

You choked on your own words once more, being unable to speak over your sobs anymore, and so he just pulled you back to his chest, allowing you to just cry until you let it all out.

He hoped you couldn’t feel his blood boiling, because he was seeing red right then.

How dare he break your heart? How fucking dare he leave you for someone else?

He had been wishing to be in Mingyu’s shoes for years now, and he, who had you all to himself in every single way Hyunjin ever wished to, didn’t feel like it anymore?

For years he had unsuccessfully been trying to stop loving you because he knew he couldn’t have you, and Mingyu, the one who had you, stopped loving you? Just like that? Because of someone else?

Who could even fucking compare to you?!

“What happened?!” Yeji bursted into the living room, snapping him out of his thoughts — only a towel covering her poorly dried body and her wet hair leaving a trail of drops behind her. “I heard—”

Hyunjin motioned for her to keep quiet, silently letting her know that he got you and she could go change before coming back to comfort you. It seemed like it would be a long night after all, and neither of them were getting any sleep until you were better.

Many times he had wished Mingyu and you would break up, but not like this. Not with you feeling so worthless and taking the worst part of it.

Not with you feeling the same kind of pain he had felt two times by now, and making him feel it a third time while at it. Because seeing the person he loved with all his being in so much pain, could only break his heart all over again.

-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-♡

After that night, Hyunjin felt himself grow protective over you.

So, the moment he read your texts, the very ones that mentioned ‘Mingyu’, ‘spamming’ and ‘losing it’ in the span of three paragraphs, he knew he was coming to you. Now more than ever, when your two best friends were out of town and he was pretty much the only person left you had.

His mind was filled with the night you broke down in his arms, and he’d be damned if you ever broke down just like that again and he wasn’t there to hold you.

He knew what the past few months had been like for you, he had been there through it all. From the weeks you isolated yourself and lost weight due to the lack of appetite you experienced through your slump, to your self-loathing ways and your complete loss of self-confidence when it came to showing yourself to the world and comparing yourself to everyone else. Because one thing was to be broken up with, and a very different one was to be left for someone else.

He, Yeji and Chan had been there for you through it all, trying their best to bring you back up and finally feeling like they were succeeding at it.

He felt nauseous over the simple thought of you crumbling down all over again, all because Mingyu decided it would be appropriate to text you regarding your relationship after he was the one to break your heart in the first place.

Therefore, Hyunjin only felt like he could breathe when you were in front of him, having opened the door not even five seconds after he knocked on it, and you looked okay. Not perfect, as the red shade in your eyes and nose let him know you had indeed cried a few minutes ago, but okay regardless. Better than you were the last time you lost it over your ex.

“You okay?” He asked tenderly, entering your place when you moved aside to invite him in.

You nodded, closing the door behind you and waiting for him to take off his shoes before guiding him to the living room, where he found a red blanket lying on your couch and the third season of Attack on Titan playing on the TV in front of it — as expected.

“You really didn’t have to come, Hyunie…” you mumbled. “Talking on the phone would’ve done it, I didn’t mean to bother you”.

“Will you just… stop saying you’re a bother?” He couldn’t help but sound annoyed. “You’re not”.

“But—”

“You’re not a bother, Y/N. I wanted to come here. I want to be here, okay?”

“Okay…”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so harsh, I just…” he sighed, coming closer to you. “You really worried me”.

“Sor—”

“And don’t you dare say sorry for worrying me” he warned you with a taunting smirk this time.

The corners of your mouth curved up at that, shaking your head in amusement before you quietly motioned for him to sit down on the couch.

Hyunjin didn’t wait to do as told, making the blanket aside so he wouldn’t sit on it, and revealing your phone under it for a moment before you took a seat next to him.

“Has he texted you anymore?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“No,” your answer gave him some peace of mind. “I said I’d block him otherwise, so he hasn’t insisted”.

Hyunjin opened his mouth to say something, but ultimately remained quiet. Still, you had managed to notice and didn’t let it slip.

“What?”

“Nothing” he shook his head.

“You were about to say something”.

“I just,” he shrugged. “Thought he’d be already blocked by now”.

You smiled weakly, grabbing your phone and placing it on your coffee table. “It’s delusional, isn’t it?” Your eyes fixed back on him. “I told him the only reason I haven’t blocked him is because we both work for the same company, but honestly I just haven’t been able to bring myself to do it”.

“It’s not delusional…” he fidgeted with the ends of your blanket. “It hasn’t been that long since you guys broke up after all”.

“I know… but given the way he left me and how I’ve seen him and Hayun together at work multiple times, I feel like I should hate him, or at least not love him anymore”.

“Oh…” he lowered his head, hurting at the idea of you still loving your ex. “So you’re still…”

“I’m trying not to,” you confessed — just like Hyunjin, refusing to say it out loud. “It’s just hard, but I’ll get there at some point”.

He nodded. “I can only imagine how hard must it be…”

“Was it hard for you?”

“Huh?”

“With Nara,” you clarified. “Getting over her…”

“Oh,” he bit his lip. “Not really…”

“It wasn’t?” You tilted your head in surprise.

He shrugged. “We only lasted five months…”

“Which is a lot?!”

He smiled bittersweetly. Sure, maybe to some people it was a lot, but it was nothing compared to the six years he had been in love with you.

Your question was being asked about the wrong person, because getting over Nara wasn’t hard at all, given the fact that he was never in love with her to begin with. Getting over you, however? Fuck, there was nothing harder than that.

He could only hope and pray that wouldn’t be the case for you with Mingyu.

“We ended it on good terms” he let you know. “We just weren’t working out. It was for the best, so there wasn’t much grieving, if I’m honest”.

“Hm…” you quietly lamented, staring down at your lap. “I mean, I’m glad you didn’t have a hard time moving on from her, but I guess I can’t ask you for tips on how to move on from someone now”.

He laughed under his breath. Honestly, he sucked at moving on. He was the last person you should come to for advice.

“I guess not… sorry” he apologized. “Time’s supposed to heal it all, though”.

Didn’t work for him so far, but he knew it was the case for most people. Hopefully it would be the case for you.

You chuckled. “Yeah, so I’ve heard. I would just like to speed the process”.

“You’ll get there eventually, don’t push yourself too hard” he offered a comforting smile. “I’m sure going zero contact and blocking him would help, though”.

This time, you couldn’t hold back a throaty laugh that had him quietly joining you right after. “You really hate his ass, don’t you?”

“I’m just saying…” he shrugged once again, trying to act nonchalant, yet failing miserably at erasing the smile curving up his lips. “What happened today wouldn’t have happened if he was blocked”.

“That’s a good point” you agreed.

“What did he even text you for again?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “He just wanted to check up on me, or so he said”.

Hyunjin shook his head in disappointment. “Sounds to me like he just wants to keep you in line”.

“What do you mean?” Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Why text you the day before your anniversary? Why now?” He wondered. “It’s like he wants you to think about it and dwell on it. Like he wanted you to be upset so he could comfort you about it”.

You remained silent for a few seconds, carefully taking in his words.

“I want to believe he isn’t that much of an asshole…”

Hyunjin snorted, shaking his head once again, but this time in amusement. “He’s proved himself to be one more than once by now”.

“Yeah, I know…” you mumbled. “I just don’t get why he’d want to keep me in line now that he’s with her. I mean, he literally left me for her, and she’s so fucking pretty, I…”

“You’re prettier”.

Your eyes shot up to meet his, and he caught a small sparkle appearing in them before you shook it off and decided to joke about it. “Yeji really trained you well for this weekend, huh?”

“No, I mean it”.

“You haven’t even seen Hayun”.

“I have, though?” His eyebrows furrowed. He was there when you’d cry and show Yeji pictures of the girl Mingyu left you for, feeling his blood boil while at it. “She’s got nothing on you, you’re way prettier than her”.

“Hyunjin…”

“I’m serious, Y/N” he stood his ground. “It sucks that you feel inferior to her just because she’s with him, because honestly you’re a thousand times better. And considering she literally came in between your relationship with Mingyu, she’s ugly and unattractive as hell on the inside while you’re beautiful inside and out, so…”

To say you were speechless was an understatement. He was speechless as well, not having planned to go off like that, yet being unable to hear you bring yourself down once again when you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

For a moment there, he feared his feelings for you had been left out in the open for you to realise.

He was lucky you were dense as a brick and still somewhat emotionally unavailable to even think something of it.

“Wow, um…” you brought your hands up to cup your face, suddenly feeling hot. “My cheeks are burning, so I guess that’s enough break up talk for now”.

Although you were avoiding the topic, Hyunjin smiled, lowering his head to hold back a small giggle that threatened to come out of his mouth. He made you feel flustered, that was enough for him to be on cloud nine.

You stood up almost in a rush, looking for the remote before placing it on his lap for him to grab. “Why don’t you look for the summer camp arc while I go make us some tea instead?”

“Are you sure you want to switch to Haikyuu when Levi’s about to get more screen time?” He teased, knowing well enough that you, just like his sister, were a Levi girl.

Snorting at his remark, you motioned for him to go on with your previous order. “I have so many edits of my man saved, I can just look at him whenever”.

Hyunjin chuckled, shaking his head amusedly as he complied with your wishes and exited Attack on Titan to look for Haikyuu instead.

“Plus, Haikyuu’s got Kenma in it, so…”

“He’s a high school student” he pointed out.

“Are you calling me a cradle-snatcher?” You raised a questioning eyebrow.

This time, Hyunjin couldn’t hold back a giggle, finding the way your voice turned a pitch higher in offense to be a little too cute. “Your words, not mine”.

“Mind you, he’s a ‘95 liner” you pointed out, only managing to make him laugh harder. “He’s even older than me!”

“I didn’t even say anything” Hyunjin held both his hands up in defense, failing once more at trying to erase his smile.

God, you looked so cute right then, he couldn’t even be mad over the fact that you didn’t seem to fall for younger guys when it came to fiction either.

“We can skip on the tea if you want, so you can see your man sooner” he taunted, pressing play on the second season before you could leave the room.

Jaw dropping in both amusement and offense, you squinted your eyes at him. “You know, I was bringing you those cookies you love so much with it, but I’m not anymore”.

“The chocolate chip ones you make?” His head snapped back towards you.

“Mhm… I made a whole batch yesterday” you nodded, not missing the way his eyes lit up with excitement. “But you don’t deserve them anymore”.

“You’re not serious”.

“Oh, but I am” you smiled cynically, turning your back to him as you made your way to the kitchen. “Just stay there, I won’t take long”.

“No way, I’m coming with you” he stated, already following hot on your heels. “Those are my favourites, I’m not leaving until I’ve tried them”.

You chuckled, feeling him stand behind you while you turned on the kettle. “I guess I’ve got no choice then, because I don’t have a spare bed for you to sleep on”.

“I can always just crash on your couch, but I would appreciate not having to and getting to try your cookies instead”.

You laughed wholeheartedly, gently shoving him towards the cabinet. “Just go grab a plate, you dork”.

Doing as told, he couldn’t help but steal a glance at you and feel his heart finally be at ease, now that a genuine smile was plastered on your face and your eyes were no longer reddened and tired like they were when he just arrived, but smiling and playful instead. All thanks to him.

And one hour later, when your red blanket was being shared and covering your legs as the two of you sat down on your sofa, and your head was hovering over his shoulder and lightly tapping on it every five seconds, given you were miserably fighting against dozing off while looking at the TV, Hyunjin wished he hadn’t tried your cookies at all, so he’d have an excuse to keep his threatening words and not leave until he did.

He hoped you wouldn’t bring up how late it was and make him leave just yet.

He hoped you would just fall asleep on his shoulder and let him enjoy your closeness for a little bit.

Most of all, he hoped one day he would be able to come over late at night —or at any given hour— just because, not only because you needed him to and because his sister wasn’t in Seoul; and you would deliberately rest your head on his shoulder when you felt your eyelids become too heavy, and he wouldn’t have to wake you up once it got too late and it was time for him to leave, because he wouldn’t have to leave.

But for now, he would let you sleep for as long as he could without falling asleep as well, which wouldn’t be hard, considering he didn’t feel a single pinch of sleepiness as he rejoiced in the coincidental warmth of your body against his.

And if you happened to realise how wide awake he was once you woke up, he would blame it all on the sugar rush he got from all the cookies he munched on while being too immersed in the series.

Using yet another small excuse to be close to you wouldn’t hurt.

tag list: @jehhskz @iknowyouknowminho @doohnut @saintcosette @lailac13 @kayleefriedchicken @rikibun @yongbokkiesworld @seungzsmin @beautifulcolorgarden @hyunetopia @velvetmoonlght @automaticpersonabatpaper @httpdwaekki @brinnalaine @wondering-out-loud @feelikecinderella @nujeskz @amarecerasus @liknws @nhyunn @midsoulz @tirena1 @tinyelfperson @thatonexcgirl @iovecb97 @hynier @phenomenalgirl9 @your-favorite-pirate @jin-from-the-block @yearofthetiger25 @quokkacidal @stayconnecteed @kwanisms @yoonguurt @143hyunes @iiriam @curlytxe @hyunlvrs @allyrarara @machaandlofi @mehli-00 @justiceforvillains @minhosprettywife @whats-my-question @armystay89 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @hyeon-yi @skzstannie @onlyhyunjin @shyshyshytwice @nicoleparadas @​broken-glowsticks @sweetbokji @linavc

[l-uminescent]

˚⁀➷｡˚GOD OF OLD VALYRIA ━━━ DAERON TARGARYEN X FEM! READER

synopsis: cregan stark's sister (reader) is sent to king's landing in order to find a suitable marriage arrangement. after a year however, you start to lose hope at finding a betrothed. that is, until the king announces the arrival of his youngest son daeron targaryen.

notes: hello! i have yet to see many daeron one shots or fics so i’ve decided to try. and as usual, i have aged him up to about 19/20. requests are also welcome bc i’m running out of ideas 😭

warnings: don’t think there is any apart from my rusty writing bc i have not written anything in years and most likely some spelling mistakes

word count: 1.8k

BEING CREGAN STARK'S YOUNGER SISTER PROVED ITSELF TO BE BOTH A BLESSING AND A CURSE. with the death of his wife arra, and being left with a son to raise by himself cregan struggled to find the time to find a suitable suitor to have as your lord husband as you came of age. the result of this, meant you being sent off to king's landing in hopes that the queen  consort, could provide help with finding you a husband. it's not like you minded being sent off to the capital, you were keen to explore the south after having lived in the north for the entirety of your life. but after being in the red keep for almost a year, you were becoming less and less confident at the queen's promise to your brother that she would find you a betrothed.

however, that was all soon to change with the arrival of daeron targaryen from oldtown.

it was his elder brother aemond, who informed you of daeron's arrival from oldtown after having been sent away years ago to squire for the hightower family. despite aemond's  intimidating aura and the obvious anger he holds within, you two often found solace with each other in the library as it appeared neither of you had many friends around the castle. tucked away, reading books on the history of the north, and that of the previous targaryen kings and queens, aemond often sat near, as he too enjoyed your presence as much you he.

today, he explained that there was to be a feast held in the throne room, at daeron's arrival as he had not been in the red keep for quite some time. your presence was to be required at the feast for some reason unbeknownst to you (but not to aemond's, who was aware of his mother's plotting).

rushing back to your chambers after waving your friend goodbye and thanking him for the information he told, your stomach began to knot as the feeling of nervousness took hold. you had heard stories of the youngest targaryen, of his beauty, how his silver hair fell shorter than his brothers, barely covering his eyes. you often heard gossip that the price frequently made the girls of the realm swoon if they were to ever encounter the boy in oldtown. if the rumours that circled around the red keep were to be believed, than it was also said that daeron targaryen was the most popular of the king and queen's sons. as well as his beauty, you had heard that he was an outspoken and witty boy, a skilled swordsman and returned the kindness that was given to him.

brushing away these thoughts, you began to wash  and paint you face with many creams and serums, until doting yourself as presentable to the targaryen family. you called on a maid to help you with your hair and dress. no matter the time you spent in the south, you were never one to forget your northern roots which often reflected in the clothes you wore and the hairstyle that adorned your head. black dire wolves, were subtly sewn onto your grey dress, a direct nod at your stark lineage, showing how proud you were of it and your hair was twisted and braided until it reflected that of what you so commonly wore in winterfell.

as the maid finished helping you ready, the nervous feeling once again made home in the pit of your stomach. deciding it was time to make your  way to the feast, your hands found themselves fidgeting with the rings on your fingers that were lovingly gifted to you by your mother father and brother, (family heirlooms that once again showed your pride of the north) in an attempt to calm your anxiety.

you still could not fathom where this sudden wave of nervousness came from. you had met the other two targaryen boys, even the three velayrons that had moved away to dragonstone a mere week after your arrival,  and this skittish demeanour was nowhere to be found back then.

taking a deep shaky breath and swallowing, willing your hands to stop fidgeting you walked through the doors to where the feast was to be held, making a beeline straight to where you usually sat. ignoring the piercing glare of a pair of indigo eyes that you were unused to, you bowed to the king and queen before taking your seat, still refusing to meet  the eyes that looked upon you intently.

"it is my greatest pleasure to announce the return of my youngest son daeron" king viserys announced. even in his sickly state the pride he had for his youngest son was not mistaken, making it painstakingly obvious who the favourite child was (second to rhaeynra of course.)

as he continued, you could not help but notice the soft look alicent had gave you. you had heard the rumours of how unkind the woman was before your arrival yet, she did everything in her power to make you feel comfortable during your stay. almost as if this was her second shot at motherhood.

you did not need to wonder for long what she had meant by the look this time before viserys continued his speech. "and to announce his betrothal to the lady of house stark."

at that moment you did not care if the shock in your face was evident  as your mind raced at a hundred miles an hour at the news. feeling your heart pump faster, a bright crimson appear on your cheeks as the entire table had turned to look at you. the  embarrassment at the attention you faced had soon turned to rage at the thought of your brother cregan not warning you of the news to have allowed yourself to mentally prepare. you cursed your brother for that. yet it soon faded and was once again replaced with anxiety as you remembered the boy beside you was the man you were now betrothed to.

you could not help the thought of this being failing marriage, one that was doomed from the start. your northern customs differed heavily from that of the royals in the south and you were afraid that it would offend your betrothed. you barely knew the man, there was no telling that he was as kind as you had heard, for all you knew one simple argument and he could feed you to his beloved dragon tessarion.

willing yourself to calm down, you took a shaky breathe before twisting your head to the side, finally allowing yourself to look at the boy that had been the cause for your nerves the past few hours. you had to hand it to the gossips of the court, the boy was handsome. with a sharp jawline and piercing indigo eyes staring into your plain ones you felt your face heat as his eyes continued to hold yours. taking in his features you noted that his hair, fell perfectly to his eyebrows, and a small scar ran down the left side of his lip. he was absolutely mesmerising. you had always been skeptical at the idea of targaryen's being closer to gods than men, but in that moment you believed.

daeron targaryen looked as if he was a god from old, straight from valyria.

you found the knot in your stomach grow and tension find it's home in your shoulders at this revelation as you struggled for words to say to your betrothed,  feeling unworthy in the presence of true targaryen beauty. your belief of the old gods wavering in favour of the valyrian ones, every time your eyes caught his.

you only prayed he was as kind as he was good looking.

━━━━━━━━━━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ━━━━━━━━━

"mother, i will accompany lady stark back to her room." it wasn't until the meal had ended when you had heard his voice for the first time. if you weren't nervous before than by the  gods you were now. with your heart rate elevated your fingers found the rings adorning your hands again, fiddling with them as you stood to be guided back to your chambers by the youngest prince. his voice perfectly matching the god like features of his face, melting like honey as every syllable reached you ear. you were truly enamoured with the targaryen boy.

with a bow to both the king and queen you and daeron had left, an awkward silence following as the words you wanted to say dying on your tongue every time you glanced out the corner of your eye at him. once again, blood rushed to your cheeks as the boy turned to you. "you don't have to be scared of me you know, my lady." he smirked. by the love of the gods, you prayed the answer that left your mouth did not make the embarrassment you felt worsen.

"i believe i have a right to my fear, my prince, seeing as your dragon lays only a hill away from where we stand."

at this, daeron let out a laugh, wondering where the shyness from the feast had gone. "well my lady, tessarion isn't as scary as she seems. maybe one day we shall go out riding."

"i would like that indeed my prince." you returned, smiling at the thought of him allowing you to meet his most precious creature. you had always wondered what a dragon had looked like up close, let alone to ride. the mere suggestion of it showed that maybe this marriage wasn't doomed after all. "well here is my chambers. thank you for walking me back."

the two of you turned to face each other now, allowing you to take in the entirety of his face. and by gods you were even more starstruck than before. in the torch lit corridor of the red keep, he seemed even prettier — truly a god of old valyria.

"goodnight my lady." daeron breathed out, seemingly as entranced as you were with him. the piercing indigo roaming about your entire face as he believed you would disappear if he even for a moment looks away. he had encountered many beautiful strangers in his time at oldtown, had read many history books that described creatures as beautiful as gods and angels. yet no matter how many detailed accounts he had read of valyria, how enchanting those who had lived before the doom were, and how he had inherited this fairness from his ancestors , in that moment he swore he had never met anyone as more beautiful as you. how you took pride in where you came from with the northern rings and stitching on your dress. how your hair was held with clips that were clearly heirlooms of the stark family. he was in awe.

"goodnight my prince." you whispered, pressing a small tender kiss to the side of his porcelain skin before turning to your chambers.

to daeron targaryen, you too were a god of old valyria

[emepe]

— Pairing: Yuuta x Reader, established relationship

— General info: 18+, one-shot, smut

— Summary: When it comes to Yuuta, “just the tip” is the start of a dangerous game.

— Content warnings: nsfw, unprotected vaginal sex, virginity loss, implied religious guilt, mild god complex if you squint, coercion, slight breeding kink.

— Notes: Honestly, I wrote this just to see if I could still write decent smut (and Yuuta fits the trope perfectly ugh, I can't lie). Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Happy reading! 

Links: Read on AO3 |  Masterlist

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. You promised each other you would wait. But an innocent kiss on the cheek while watching TV led to a sloppy makeout session on the sofa, with your legs on either side of Yuuta's lap and your clothed cunt grinding needily onto his crotch as his fingers crept under your shirt and dug into your waist. 

A whine escapes your lips when he involuntarily thrusts his hips upwards, meeting you halfway, desperate for further friction.

“My God, Yuu,” you moan into his mouth, as your combined drool trickles down your chin.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles, yet makes no effort to hold back. Because little by little, with every movement of your hips, his erection has become downright painful. It's practically throbbing in the confines of his jeans, swollen and red, aching to be let out, begging for relief.

But he promised.

It's a mental game to come down to his senses and draw an end when things get too heated between you. God knows you haven't one ounce of willpower when you're spiraling down a lustful haze. But he'd rather be the stronger one than risk the loss of your virtue ending in remorse. 

He loves you too much to force you to carry such an immense guilt. You vowed to wait until you were married and instead settled for a few steamy moments here and there — always sure you never made it too far.

You could hump and whine and he'd swallow every sweet sigh you pour into his mouth — as long as you never fully undressed and as long as he didn't ruin you by pushing himself between your legs. Then he'll wrap his arms around you, assuring you that whatever you did was still innocent, that you have no reason to feel guilty because you're both still pure. 

The vicious cycle never ends. 

You're incredibly precious to him — you're everything — but man, it really pisses him off sometimes that he has to be the one to protect a promise you were the first to suggest.

He brings a hand to collect your hair and nip at your neck, kissing it, tracing its slope with his tongue and sucking fervently at the supple skin. As if that's enough, as if it could compare to the glowing promise that being buried inside you represents. His cock twitches at the thought, the movement causing you to expel another string of holy affirmations.

His eyes land on the hand that grips at the fabric of his shirt as you whimper into his ear and the air thickens with the scent of spit, sweat, and desire.

The engagement ring on your finger has become a symbol of dread. So close to having you bound to him forever, and yet the time couldn't come fast enough.

His chest rises and falls dramatically with every shallow breath. It's all too much — the blood rushing south, the precum he can feel leaking from his tip and soiling his underwear, the line of sweat that transfers from your forehead to his as you squeeze your eyes shut and breathe against his mouth — it's all too good. 

But it's not enough.

He's tired of it, and you're not making things easier with your pathetic whimpers and your feverish body clinging to him. He can feel your pussy clenching around nothing through the layers of clothing dividing you. If he didn't know any better, he might’ve thought you wore a skirt on purpose to further drive him mad. He might be a patient man —loving, understanding, doting— but he's still a man.

“Just the tip,” he groans.

Your hips slow down as you struggle to comprehend what he just said, earning him a chance to will the cum threatening to spurt inside his jeans back.

“What?” you ask, tilting your head as you observe his blown pupils and his eyebrows upturned in desperate pleading.

“Just the tip, please.” 

Your lips part to draw a sharp breath as it dawns on you what he's asking for.

“But we promised,” you softly pronounce.

“It won't change anything if it's just the tip,” he promises. “It's barely anything. It'll be like the time you used your hand.”

He hopes your mind is too dizzy to comprehend that the two situations don't compare at all. 

Uncertainty casts over your features, but he can see a hint of consideration gleaming in your eyes at the idea. 

You'd be lying if you said you never considered loosening up on your convictions every now and then when you got so close to the act. But you didn't think you could handle disappointing Yuuta by breaking the promise you brought up in the first place. After all, he's so devoted to you and he promised to abide by your wishes no matter how long it took because the gratification when you finally joined in carnal pleasure would only make your commitment to each other all the more special. 

“As long as I get to be with you, the rest doesn't matter,” was what he said.

But now that he's looking up at you with such helpless eyes, like you're some sort of god he prays to, your morals take a toll.

His blue eyes stare adoringly into yours. 

“Please?” he asks again.

He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Please,” he insists, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth, biting down just hard enough to cause a whisper of pain before alleviating the feeling with his tongue.

“Please, please, please, it hurts,” he whines, tears lining his lashes and threatening to spill as he reaches between you to palm himself over his jeans. “I can't take it anymore. I'm begging you, I need you, I love you.”

How could you possibly say no when he asks so nicely? 

You'd have to be made of stone to deny him the pleasure. You'd have to be a monster to not relieve him of his throbbing pain. You'd have to be the cruelest god to impose him with such inhumane punishment.

“Yuu,” you whisper, his pain reflecting on your face upon witnessing his desperation. 

“Please,” he sniffles.

“Okay.”

The word falls over him like a fresh breeze.

“Really? You mean it?” 

His lips curve into an eager smile, with butterflies fluttering in his stomach in anticipation.

You nod, happy to see his teary eyes light up.

“Just the tip.”

“Just the tip, I promise.”

He brushes away at his tears with the heel of his palm.

“You're an angel,” he murmurs as he cradles your face with one hand and starts guiding your hips over his erection again with the other. 

Soon enough, you're back to panting into each other's mouths, feverish and dizzy at your new promise to fulfill. 

Your hands fumble to undo his jeans, clumsily pulling down the zipper in fragments.

“Just the tip,” you huff, as he moans upon feeling your clammy hands palm him through his underwear.

You pull on his briefs just enough for his erection to spring free.

“Oh, god,” you exhale, in awe of the intense red that consumes the head of his cock. Precum oozes from the tip, balls heavy as if he's seconds away from bursting. It's no wonder he looked so pained. 

“Just the tip,” he reminds you kindly as he pets your hair, heart rate spiking when he watches your thumb trace over his leaking tip.

He flips you over so that you're pressed onto the sofa while he hovers over you and hooks his fingers around your pink cotton panties, tugging them down your hips with ease and tossing them onto the floor, leaving you in your skirt.

The sight of your bare cunt — already a sopping wet mess from everything that now counts as foreplay — makes his cock twitch.

With his weight balanced on one forearm, he carefully drags himself between your folds, the most sinful sound reaching your ears as he coats his length in your juices. His free hand cradles your face as he bends down to capture your mouth in a heated kiss. His tongue pushes against yours, swallowing each of your moans as your hands lose themselves in his raven hair. 

With fingers trembling in excitement, he lets you go and starts lining himself to penetrate your insides.

“Yuu,” you gasp.

He watches in fascination as his reddened tip squeezes in and slowly disappears inside you, your cunt glistening with enough arousal that you barely feel any pain in the sudden stretch. In fact, Yuuta swears he can feel you suck him in the tiniest bit further as you flutter around the foreign member in your body. He can feel himself grow weaker as he's hit with the warmth and wetness of your insides. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, face dropping into the crook of your neck.

The overwhelming ecstasy of knowing he's connected to you burns at every inch of his skin as he scrambles to gather enough strength to pull out and push his tip back in again. 

You writhe under him, hands frantically pulling him in for a kiss. He complies. After all, you've gifted him with this — not that he wouldn't give in to your wishes otherwise. 

His brows furrow in concentration, eyes squeezed shut with the image of his tip swallowed by your insides flashing behind his eyelids. He pumps his head inside you — in and out, in and out — mesmerized by how good it feels even if it's barely a taste. 

It alleviates him… just a little.

He grips your hips with bruising force, rolling his hips further into you all at once, leaving a mildly burning sensation in its wake. 

A whine escapes your lips and your eyes close as you feel a tickle of his pubic hair brushing against your lower tummy. Your arms hook under his, bringing him close, scratching his back over his shirt.

An animalistic power washes over him, pushing him to penetrate the deepest part of you,  over and over again. His hand squeezes your face, demanding your attention and forcing you to meet his crazed gaze. His pupils are blown with lust, the gentle blue of his irises nearly gone. With the help of his thumb, he pries your mouth open, aggressively pushing his tongue against yours, relishing in the muffled cries of pleasure you release. 

The kiss is so needy, so aggressive, it's borderline painful and your jaw hurts from the tight grip of his hand. But it's still so fucking good.

When he pulls back, your eyes are lined with tears, much like his when he was begging to let you use just his tip minutes ago.

The sound of slapping skin echoes around you. Sloppy, wet, sinful.

“Yuuta, this doesn’t feel like just the tip,” you heave, feeling an unfamiliar knot tangling in your lower stomach. 

“It is, baby. I swear.”

You both know he's lying but you're too caught up in each other to care.

Your legs wrap around him, barely granting him enough space to move, but he doesn't care. This is better, this is what he needs to relieve the mild guilt that stems from lying to you, because this means you're just as thrilled by him ruining you as he is. And if you're so unwilling to ease your hold on him, he might as well kill two birds with one stone tonight and fill you to the brim with his cum.

The possibility of knocking you up has him reeling. A breathless laugh pushes past his lips as he looks down at you.

You're such a pretty mess and he's so in love. Your pussy does such a good job at sucking him in and he's so fucking drunk on it. 

The image of you sprawled below him, sweating and whining out his name will be burned into his memory forever. And you do have forever promised, he remembers. That ring on your finger — the very finger on the very hand that's creeping between your bodies to toy with your clit — stands as proof.

You perverted little thing, he thinks, as he feels you bucking your hips upward to meet his thrusts halfway.

“Yuuta, my god, oh my god!” you whimper as his strokes grow even sloppier and he grows even heavier on your body.

“Feel good, angel?” he taunts, using the nickname he imposed on you back before you became such a needy disaster.

An airy chuckle bubbles up his throat when you fervently nod and caress his cheek. He hooks an arm under your leg, pressing it further into your chest in a semi-mating press position. 

He carelessly thrusts his hips a few more times before he's washed over with a glorious relief that he pours inside you, marveling at the way your insides flutter around him, milking him dry with every wanton squeeze.

It's like you want to get knocked up, he thinks.

His hold on your leg loosens and his weight tumbles down on top of you as you work your way to clarity. 

He moves around on the limited space of the sofa so that you can snuggle into his chest with his arms wrapped tightly around you as he presses soft kisses onto the crown of your head.

You can feel his cum leaking from your insides and seeping into the couch cushions, but it'll be a while before either of you care to clean up your mess.

His warm embrace coaxes you to sleep. As you're teetering the line of peaceful slumber, a familiar thought pops into your head.

“Yuuta,” you murmur.

“Hm?”

“What we just did wasn't wrong, was it?”

He looks down at you, fingers lifting your chin so he can see your face. Your eyes are wide with worry. The duality with which you're able to confront these matters will forever be a mystery to him. 

His gaze softens and a smile graces his lips.

“Don't worry, angel. This was innocent.” 

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“It's pure love.”

Back to masterlist

[syrma-sensei]

hey! do you take soldier boy requests? if you do, then i have a little prompt! i can totally see this dynamic with ben x reader. ignore this if you like, i'm just curious because i love your writing !!

Heya 👋🏻

Of course I do! I love writing my man 🤭❤️

Hehehe, I can totally see it too. I almost wrote it in Home, but you know, couldn't let that happen cuz reader was pregnant and all...

Thank you so much, lovey 💕 You're in for a treat!

→ Smokey Snuggles, Zero Struggles.

gif credit.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Fem!reader.

Rating: Fluff.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Pillow talk, smoking, implied smut, soft Ben, flufffff, antiquated mentality...

Setting: Prequel to Home one-shot; can be read as a standalone tho.

Ben swept his large arm over your body to pull you closer to his chest, his rough yet gentle hand resting on your thigh. Your body curled up to his as your chest heaved with soft pants, up and down, while his seed seeped out of your opening.

“Mmm, did I tucker you out, dollface?” He teased with that deep voice of his; you could hear the smirk in his tone.

“Not at all...” You shifted your head up, chin resting on his chest and eyes gazing up at him with playful intransigence.

He glanced down at you, relishing in the way your pretty fingers ran on his chest. “Good, ‘cause I was just getting started.”

Your lips let out a sheepish giggle concurring with a cute red smear across your cheeks.

It was still all new to you; the sex, the extravagant self-indulgence, the supe business, Vought, and him.

You'd met Ben in one of his educational tours throughout the country. He'd been on an awareness campaign spree, visiting local schools to sow the American values into the hearts of the young. Needless to say, the children were thrilled having the first superhero in their classrooms, sitting and reading for them — making them laugh even. The bastard had an alluring charm; everyone had been in love with him, and you were none the better. His damn swagger had a certain lure, it didn't take long to coax you out of the skirts of modesty into the lusciousness of his arms.

You were a new elementary teacher, a young woman brought up in a conservative household; it was inevitable to have a blatant shock when you entered Ben's life as his new partner, and intended to be wife-to-be — he didn't propose or promise you anything yet, mind you. Yet, him having family dinners with your parents, you moving in with him, him having you at his arm wherever he went; movie premieres, filmmaking, photoshoots, interviews, and more, he literally had you stuck to his hip. That had to mean something, right?

You tried to shrug off the thoughts that plagued your mind of the possibility of Ben dumping you. You shiver at the thought. The truth was, you were head over heels with him, and you honestly didn't know where you'd put yourself if he left you.

You felt him flex the arm he had on your thigh up behind his head, then you heard the flick of his lighter and soon the smell of burnt tobacco followed.

You glanced up at him. Ben's green eyes were staring ahead, the look on his face told you he was deep in ponderation. He absently inhaled from his cuban cigar.

The tip of your forefinger rubs circles on the centre of his chest, stroking the fuzzy wisps on his skin.

You knew he was giving you a break after he had been balls-deep inside of you for a couple of rounds. Ben was nearly insatiable when it came to you, but he always tried to keep himself in check that your human stamina could never match his, regardless of how many times you told him not to hold back.

“No,” He had said, caressing your cheek with the back of his knuckles, “I could break you.”

You smiled with a blush at the memory, snuggling closer to him and letting your ear savour the strong beat of his heart. You really wanted the only one who'd own that heart, you really did.

When you glanced up at him again, he wasn't miles away like he was minutes ago. He was smiling down at you, before he leant in and pressed a light kiss on the crown of your head.

Your cheeks flourished red at the unbridled affection; he seldom showed such, and it never ceased to take you by surprise when he did so. Those moments of sweet dalliances assured you sometimes that you weren't just a fleeting fling.

You wanted to nuzzle closer to him but he shifted a bit to sit up, leaning his back to the headboard. You sit up as well, letting the sheets fall off your naked bosom. You weren't that shy girl anymore.

“Want a drag?” He offered you his cigar.

You smiled, “I-I could try…” You took the cigar as he turned to his bedside table and opened the drawer.

You shrugged and placed the stub between your lips and took a long drag. Wrong move. Because the moment the smouldering smoke hit the back of your throat, your eyes burnt up with tears and you started to cough.

Ben turned to you again, a rich laugh rumbling in his chest, he took the cigar from your hand and placed it in the ashtray, and patted your back gently. “Easy…”

“Holy—!” You croaked, hastily reaching for the glass of water on your bedside table, drinking it. “How do you smoke that shit?” You coughed again.

His laugh diluted into a deep chuckle, “It’s not so bad, you're the lightweight.”

“Oh, believe me, I couldn't handle you if I were one.” You let out a smooth giggle that soon turned into a chortle.

Ben chuckled again, before he wiped the drizzle of water away from the corner of your lips, and the tears away from your eyes.

You grinned at him, kissing his thumb.

“Marry me.” He said, making your eyes go wide. You blinked for a moment.

He read the confusion on your face and acted swiftly by holding a small box of velvet out for you, gently opening it. There was an elegant ring in the box, golden and meticulously-polished, encrusted with a glamorous diamond in its centre.

You opened your mouth then you closed it again; too stunned to find the right words to say.

“I-I don't know what to say.” You finally spoke, voice hushed both by the surprise and the whiff of the cigar from before.

“Say yes.” He grinned, plucking the ring from the box, twirling it deftly between his thumb and forefinger.

Your eyes teared up and you surprised him with a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He seemed to be taken aback by your reaction, but soon enough, he hugged you back, kissing your temple gently.

You found heavenly comfort in his open affections for you, relishing in the silent but blatant fact that they were only yours.

You nuzzled closer to his chest, burying your face in his neck, softly smooching his skin.

“Is that a yes?” He asked, but you could hear the smirk in his voice. Of course, he was teasing you. Typical Ben.

You pulled away, gushing, “Yes!” You sniffled cutely, “God, yes.”

Ben slipped his late mother's wedding ring into your hand before he leant in and kissed your knuckles.

“I love you…” He whispered in your ear, melting your heart with the sincerity of his words.

“I love you too.” You whispered back, “More than anything.”

Taglist: @thebiggerbear, @zepskies, @deanbrainrotwritings, @deansbbyx, @deans-spinster-witch

@venus-haze , @kaleldobrev, @k-slla, @ketchupjasmin, @demodemo909

@mystic-mara, @jqtaro, @pepsicolacoochie...

[punkshort]

Hi again !! I wanted to know if one day you could write a one-shot based off of this prompt:

“But I wanted to do that with you! You could have asked me!"

I tried to do something with this myself but failed miserably 😭

This is my current oldest request, apologies for taking so long to get through these. Okay here goes nothing:

Five Senses

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You catch Joel sneaking off to do something in the middle of the night and curiosity gets the best of you.

Warnings: language, m!masturbation, smut (18+ MDNI), some descriptions of violence and gore, angst, yearning

WC: idk I wrote it on my phone - maybe 2K?

The fire was out by the time you woke. Was it time for your turn on watch? It had to have been. So why didn't Joel wake you?

Slowly, you rolled onto your back and looked around, your eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness surrounding you. The woods were quiet. Not a single twig snapped, no leaves rustled nor bird sang. Even the wind was still. The loudest thing was your heavy breathing and your heart beating in your ears.

Where was he?

Panic gripped you then. Did something happen? He never strayed too far out, especially when the weather was fair. It brought out infected, easily the biggest downfall of living in the wilderness during summer.

"Joel?" you whispered into the dark abyss, sitting up in your sleeping bag in the process. You strained your ears, flared your nostrils, using all your available senses when sight was questionable, just like he taught you that first week after you ran into each other. It was years ago, now, but you remembered it like it was yesterday.

He saved you. He didn't know who you were, he didn't have to answer your screams of terror, but he did. Just when your arms were growing weak from holding the infected above you, it's snapping jaw so close you had to push back into the dirt to keep it from grazing you, there was a loud explosion. Then you were covered in wet, dead brains and pieces of bone, but you were alive.

He hauled the carcass off you and you furiously began to wipe the carnage from your face, worried it would still somehow get into your bloodstream.

"Here," he had said, handing you a used blue washcloth. You snatched it and whispered your gratitude, wiping off your face more throughly so you could stand and get a good look at your savior.

At the time, you chalked it up to adrenaline, but you felt like you fell in love the moment you first locked eyes. Those deep, beautiful brown eyes that could look right through you, that gazed at you with so much concern when he patched you up after scuffles with raiders, that glared at you when you fucked up and almost gave away your position, that squinted when he laughed at something you said over the fire.

It took a few weeks, maybe a month, but you eventually determined adrenaline wasn't to blame. You were hopelessly in love with Joel Miller, and you never once had the courage to tell him. Never once tried to kiss him, tried to do anything except stare at him when his back was turned, allowing your eyes to greedily take in his broad shoulders and thick, curly, tuggable hair.

He never looked at you like that. God, you wished he would, but he was far too focused. His only concern was survival. Sometimes you wondered how he was able to function properly on so little sleep. Sleep was his only luxury, and he rarely allowed himself to relish in it. It didn't matter how many times you told him you could keep watch the whole night, or on the rare occasions he found you a cabin or shed, he refused to let his guard down.

So where was he now?

Slowly, you stood, your right hand brushing against your handgun which was tucked into your leg holster. You took a steadying breath, trying to quiet yourself so you could listen to your surroundings. Pay attention, stay alert, step lightly.

That was when you first heard it. Panting, or gasping, somewhere to your right. Oh, god, what if he was hurt? What if something happened and you were sleeping, leaving him to bleed out, or worse?

You pulled out your gun and gripped it with both hands, aiming it at the ground as you quickly made your way towards the noise, your heart slamming against your ribs, fear squeezing your throat, but you stayed focused. You had to. For him.

But as you got closer, when it sounded like he was just on the other side of a thick tree trunk, you realized you were very wrong. Your feet became rooted to the ground as you listened to the unmistakable sound of skin against skin, of fabric rustling rhythmically together, and you squeezed your eyes shut. You felt your cunt throb when you heard his soft groans and you knew you should have left, you should have given him privacy, but you didn't. You couldn't. You ached for him for so long and not one time had you ever seen this side to him. He never so much as flirted with you, even just innocently, so you weren't willing to let this moment pass you by.

The clouds finally parted and the moon shined down, trickling through the thick forest. Opening your eyes, you could now see his shadow reflecting on the forest floor. You could see how fast his fist worked himself over, you could hear how eager he was for release, you could practically smell his sweat from where you were standing.

But then something happened.

He groaned again, but that time he groaned your name.

You were certain of it, unless you were in a dream and your mind was playing tricks on you.

He groaned your name.

Before common decency had a chance to catch up, you spoke, interrupting him.

"Joel?"

The sounds ceased. It was deathly quiet, and you feared you made a huge mistake. What were you thinking?

He said your name again, but it was a question. No breathy moans slipped from his mouth this time.

"What's wrong?"

He came around the tree appearing put together, and if it weren't for the flush in his cheeks and the tightness of his jeans, you might have convinced yourself it was all a mirage.

"Nothing. W-what are you doing?"

His eyes flickered around in shame, looking everywhere but at you.

"What did you hear?" he finally asked softly.

"I heard enough."

He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

"Listen-" he began, but you cut him off.

"I wanted to do that with you. You could have asked me."

His eyes popped back open in shock and it felt like time stood still. Oh, fucking hell, what were you doing?!

"What?"

Well, there was no going back now. You reholstered your gun and took a tentative step forward.

"You said my name," you told him, voice barely above a whisper. You could see him swallow as you inched closer.

"I did."

"Were you thinking... of me?" you squeaked. Slowly, he nodded, and that time if he felt any shame, he didn't show it. "I think about you, too," you confessed, taking another step closer.

"You do?"

You nodded, biting your lower lip nervously as you continued to advance. "All the time."

"Fuck," he groaned, then quickly closed the remaining distance between you. He grabbed your face with both hands, cupping your jaw, and smashed his mouth hungrily against yours.

When he swiped his tongue across your lower lip, you could have melted into the ground right then and there. Was this really happening?

His tongue slid past your lips, exploring your mouth with his jaw pried open as if he were trying to swallow you whole. And you would let him, if that's what he wanted. You trusted him with your life, you craved his touch, dreamt about the taste of his lips, and fantasized about what he would do to quell the constant ache between your legs.

Joel walked you backwards, back towards camp. Your eyes were closed and you refused to remove yourself from his mouth, so you relied on your ears and feet to guide you through sound and touch, but you knew it didn't matter. Joel had you, and he never let anything bad happen. He wouldn't allow it.

He eased you down onto his sleeping bag before he finally broke the kiss, both your chests heaving from the effort to drag in much needed air as you each worked on removing your clothes as quickly as possible. You knew Joel so well by now that he wouldn't want you to be too exposed, just in case, so you only focused on your lower half, and he did the same.

"Are you sure?" he asked when he was kneeling between your legs, poised to enter you. You spread your legs wider and nodded. You wanted to tell him you'd been waiting for so long, that you couldn't stand another second without him, but when you felt that delicious sting between your legs when he first pressed forward, your mind went blank.

"So tight," he gritted out, fingers digging mercilessly into your hips, no doubt leaving circular bruises you would cherish for days.

You cried out his name when he finally fully sheathed himself inside you, only to have him clamp his palm over your mouth.

"Gotta be quiet," he reminded you, but his voice was tender and his breath was ragged and you had a feeling his warning was for you both.

When you nodded, he slid his hand away and groaned quietly as he shifted his weight slightly on top of you before slowly pulling almost all the way out. His eyes flicked up to meet yours so he could watch your face contort when he slammed back in, something animalistic coming alive inside him at the way your back arched and your jaw hung open, a silent scream on your lips every time he rolled his hips and stretched you open, molding you to him.

Your senses came alive as he fucked steadily into you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge with every forceful thrust. Every grunt sounded like a melody, every greedy stroke of his fingers left a firey trail. When he could tell you were both getting close, his mouth crashed over yours again and you tasted the metallic flavor of his blood from where he had bit down too hard on his lip.

"I'm gonna find someplace for us," he whispered, voice trembling from the way your walls squeezed around him. "Someplace we can live. Someplace safe."

You nodded your head deliriously, too focused on the steady rise of your orgasm, your stomach tensing each time his cock brushed up against one particular spot that made it difficult to breathe.

"Then you can be as loud as you want," he continued, mouth dipping to bite and suck on your neck. Your fingers twisted in the fabric of his flannel, the worn material begging to be torn under your grip. "Just me and you. I'll take care of you. Won't let anythin' bad happen."

You nodded again, tears pricking your eyes.

"Would you like that?" he asked, his words muffled by your skin as he continued to lick and kiss and suck on the column of your throat, leaving more marks to serve as a reminder that night happened, that what you had was real.

"Yes," you moaned, "oh, god, yes, Joel, it's all I've ever wanted."

You thought you heard him whimper but then his hips began to snap roughly against you, sending shockwaves through your body with each devastating stroke.

"Joel, I think I'm gonna-" you gasped and cut yourself off, your vision blurring for a moment before his hand pressed firmly over your mouth once again, capturing your cries while your body tensed and slowly began to relax underneath him. Not until your eyes reopened did he remove his hand to be replaced with his mouth. You bent your legs so your knees were pressed against the sides of his ribs, holding him close, your tongue licking feverishly behind his teeth.

At the last moment, he yanked his hips back and spilled his seed all over the inside of your thighs, keeping his mouth pressed firmly against yours until he was done painting your skin milky white.

"All this time?" he panted, gazing down at you while you both took a few moments to recover. "All these years?"

You nodded and brushed some of his hair away from his sweaty forehead. "From the first day."

His eyes slid closed in disbelief. "Why didn't you tell me? We wasted so much time."

You smiled and sighed, breathing in the cool night air. It was going to rain soon, you could smell it.

"All we have is time."

[belxveds]

Could you write a fic where the reader is Stark’s daughter and he catches her and Peter fooling around in her room/main room whilst they think he is out?

caught in a web of kisses

pairings: peter parker x f!reader, tony stark x daughter!reader

brief: (requested!) misunderstandings and compromising situations with peter lead to a whole of cackling and screaming throughout the stark tower compound. a brief look into the life of y/n stark and your struggles with your stupidly overprotective dad and chaotically cute boyfriend.

tags: humour. fluff. borderline crack fic. "enemies" to lover. established relationship.

a/n: thank you so much for requesting! i appreciate it :) it always makes fills me with so much joy to know someone seeks out my writing <3

requests are open!

wc: 1.4k

Perhaps it wasn't your smartest idea to pretend to absolutely despise your father's intern in front of your parents and the Avengers but . . . well- how could you possibly resist yourself when it was so much fun sharing sneaky, mischievous smiles with Peter as you both shot teasing glares across the room to maintain your appearance as rivals?

Plus, it was just a little prank to keep your relationship with Peter, as well as the days spent at the compound, more interesting. If anything, you and Peter were single handedly entertaining the entirety of Avengers with your debates and arguments. You were fairly sure they had bets going on about the two of you. It was harmless, really.

And it wasn't like you were going to keep it from them forever! You would tell them . . . eventually. You just- hadn't thought anyone would find out like this. With you and Peter in such a . . . compromising situation?

You almost let out a small groan of exhaustion as you sunk into the unnecessarily large couch your dad had purchased for the lounge, melting into Peter's side as you fiddled with the remote to lower the lights and dim the windows. Pouting at the sliver of light that still managed to peek through the sunroof, you let out the smallest huff as you closed that as well before turning to take a glance at your boyfriend.

He let out a small yawn before shifting with your attention on him, cuddling into you tighter as he murmured, "You sure no one will be back for another 2 hours? 'Cause I swear if we get caught because you wanted to take a nap on the couch, I will never let you live this down."

Snuggling deeper into the blanket you'd draped over the two of you, you couldn't help but let out the smallest breathless laugh as you responded, "That's if they don't kill you first."

"Hey!" Peter quipped, voice growing the tiniest bit slurred as the nap you promised him began to look awfully tempting, "I'll have you know that I think your dad and also everyone else is quite fond of me, alright?"

You couldn't help but let out a snort as you mocked, pretending to push up fake glasses on the bridge of your nose as you raised the pitch of your voice, "I'll have you know-"

The gentle whack you got on your arm made you stop mid-sentence as you giggled, answering your boyfriend more seriously, "Everyone's schedule says they have stuff going on until at least 6:00, unless they were all just to magically-"

"What happened to, "God dad, if I have to see your stupid intern's face one more time, you're going to have to hold me back from stealing your repulsors and pulverizing the shit out of him?""

You're entire body pauses as you feel Peter tense in your arms, the both of you wincing in sync as you slowly, cautiously, turn your head around to face your dad, voice dragging out as you say nervously, "Uhm...so you see-".

Peter's bewilderment is audible as his head snaps to you, eyes furrowed in confused amusement as he hisses, "Why the fuck are you starting to quote Dhar Mann right now?"

"Peter", your dad interrupts, tone much too pleasant for the situation at hand and consequently sending both your spines into automatically locking up straight as you await his next move, fight or flight instincts activated, "You have 3 seconds to run."

"Mr. Stark, we can talk about this-"

"3 . . ."

"Oh shit!", your boyfriend scrambles, legs tangling into themselves and the blanket in his attempts to get free and run as he presses a ragged kiss to your forehead while declaring muffled through his panicked breath, "If I don't make it out of this alive, just know I wanted you to have my babies and be Y/N Parker-Stark."

The confession sends a surprised wheeze to rack through your body as you see him begin to take down the hallway, sparing a glance over his shoulder at you and your dad before maneuvering himself onto the ceiling and into the vents.

Your eyes tearing up from laughter, you try to speak through your immobilizing giggles as you address your dad, "Dad, father dearest, please- come on- spare him-" "2 . . ." "Dad! C'mon- you have to admit . . . from a completely scientific and objective lens with zero romantic emotions taken into account, considering all the teenage boys out there, Peter is definitely one of the better choices", you tried to level, summoning the critically-acclaimed award winning Y/N Stark inside of you and not the moderately concerned girlfriend worried that her boyfriend's cause of death may in fact be the same repulsors Peter had helped your father tweak in the lab earlier today. How unfortunately ironic. Shuffling over, albeit a bit awkwardly, to where your dad stood, you cautiously peered closer at his profile, trying your best to assess exactly how much trouble you were in. You knew deep down, he truly wasn't all that upset, though, maybe a bit grumpy about having been kept out of the loop for this long. In fact, you were positively confident he was quite happy with who you had chosen. Despite all of his teasing and successfully accomplished fatherly duties of bullying the both of you, it was stupidly evident how much he cared for Peter like a son. Not just anyone was allowed to intern for the Tony Stark, after all.

Lost in thought, you couldn't help but yelp slightly and flinch into your father's side as a muffled voice echoed down from the ceiling, cooing, "Aww Y/N, you really mean that?"

Cursing at your boyfriend's surprising lack of self preservation skills taking into consideration his literal job and particular set of talents, you glared upwards. Hoping your disappointment at his lack of distance somehow radiated through the insulated plaster, you deadpanned, "No, I was just playing. I wish I'd gotten with Harley."

"What?!" squeaked Peter, like a little vent rat, his offended gasp echoing in time with your dad's final countdown.

Giggling once again at Peter's frightened scuttling at the realization that he was out of time, you quickly reached to grip at your dad's suit clad bicep before he could make a motion to call at the Iron Man suit, your voice taking on a more serious tone as you asked softly, his opinion and approval still highly valuable to you, "You're ok with me and Peter dating though? Genuinely?"

The twitch of his signature smirk on the corner of his lips and the nodding glint in his eyes sent a happy thrill through your heart, instinctively grinning wide as you squealed and rushed to give him a tight hug, speaking through a stifled smile into his chest, "Ok, you have my consent to go squish my little spider now. Please don't bring him back to me flattened or burnt- I quite like how he is now." Your father's wrinkled nose and vocal sound of disgust at how you'd addressed his intern sent you into another fit of laughter as he spoke, "Ground rules since I know the kid's out of his freaky super-hearing range. One, ew. Never address him like that again, I might vomit. Two, if I see the two of you touch, I am immediately invoking a 50 year social-distancing ban between the two of you. 6 feet and everything. I'll throw in permanent masks if I ever catch you two kissing. Three, . . . no promises."

"In response- One, . . . no promises. Two, you don't want spider grandbabies crawling up the walls? All I'm hearing is that we can't get caught. Three, I'll tell mom", you grinned pulling back, your gaze filled with amusement and the look of humoured adoration you often had reserved specifically for your dad as he let out a little whine in complaint at your threat of telling Pepper.

It would just be a little rough up. You know, the classic "hurt my daughter and you're dead" speech. And Peter was Spider-Man! He'd be fine . . . probably.

mailbox ༶•┈ peter parker's mailbox! ┈•༶ send letter

[biteofcherry]

Touch The Darkness

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; possessiveness; manipulation; blackmail; power imbalance; forced marriage; D/s undertones; sexual tension; masturbation; sex; hint of choking kink;

word count: 12.5k

Author's Note: So this kinda got out of control. At first it took me so long to even start this chapter and then I couldn't stop writing 🤭 For me there are six hot pressure points in this part. I'm curious which bits you were screeching at, if they're the same as mine. Including one specific thing that is so outrageous! But also so fucking hot... And for that one you have to blame thank @buckets-and-trees, because she encouraged me to write it.

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 7. Burning needles

~ * ~

The life after signing your soul to the devil shouldn’t be anything but thorns and turmoil, but your body felt so deeply, deliciously relaxed and warm. Cozy even, as morning light filled the spacious bedroom and brushed warm streaks on your naked back.

Hotter pressure was at your front, where your body rested sprawled halfway atop Steve. 

It seemed neither of you moved much through your sleep. You chose to believe you were both simply too fucked out, than consider you may like being cuddled to him like this. 

There was no sane way someone would enjoy the intimate, soft proximity of their captor; even if his body was big and warm, sinfully shaped and adorned with tattoos which called for admiration.

Steve had one arm thrown across his face, the other loosely draped over your thigh. Your leg was hiked across his hips. If you moved it, your calf would rub against the cock that was nestled against the curve of it. 

Your cheek was pressed to Steve’s chest, one of your hands splayed on his inked pectoral. Diamond on your finger shone brightly, catching sun in its perfect cut. 

With your sleepy eyes barely half-open, you stared at the sparkle that was so beautiful you had to remind yourself to hate it for what it symbolized. 

Another glint caught your attention. 

Your gaze shifted above the outline of Steve’s impressive body, landing on the blade laying at the edge of the bedside table. The sight of it evoked an immediate shot of heat as you remembered what Steve did with it. How the threat of it spiked your arousal so high you lost control of your body’s reactions. 

You didn’t want to unpack that mess; not at the moment, possibly never. 

A blade the bastard had custom made for you, to deliver torment that was a dark sort of pleasure, but which was, after all, a weapon. One you could use to defend yourself. Or to threaten in return. 

You peeked at Steve’s face. The sharp line of his jaw, soft curve of lips that were as lethal as the rest of him. The arm over his eyes cast a shadow onto his cheeks. He appeared to be soundly asleep. His chest rising and falling in regular intakes suggested the same. 

Slowly, you inched your hand further up his body, toward his shoulder. If anything, you could play it as your body’s unconscious movement in your sleep. Or curious exploration of dark, twisted ink. But Steve didn’t even stir. 

You had to move your whole body to reach across the space between you and the bedside table. That didn’t rouse him either. Only the hand on your thigh squeezed your flesh as a small huff left his lips. 

Though another part of him reacted to your squirming.

You gulped, feeling the twitch of his cock against your leg. For a long moment your attention focused on it and nothing else. 

You had to snap yourself out of it, reminding yourself there was another task at hand; more important than reminiscing on how that velvety hardness felt in your fist. How unbelievably hot it was to stroke him into readiness as he watched your splayed, defenseless body, which he was about to possess thoroughly. 

But there was something else that you needed to curl your fingers around. Holding your breath, you grazed the ornamental handle with your fingertips. The knife swayed, nearly slipping further away. Finally, you got a hold of it, without losing balance and waking Steve up.

The knife was surprisingly light in your grip. Used only to kitchen knives, you didn’t know exactly what to expect from a switchblade. The fact it was wielded by Steve made you imagine heaviness and cold, a dreadful repulsion. Instead, it was perfectly balanced and quite elegant.

You tilted it back and forth, watching the reflection of your own eyes in the polished blade. Then you moved it lower, sliding the silvery edge mere inches from Steve’s chest. 

Slowly, you aimed it toward his throat. 

You didn’t press it against his skin, but hovered so close to where his pulse point beat steadily. 

He was a monster. He broke into your life with force and put you up on strings, which he planned to pull for the rest of your life. 

“You have to put a lot of force into it, if you want to do a single, clean cut.”

Your eyes snapped to Steve’s face instantly. He still had his arm over his eyes, but his voice was clear. Not a hint of drowsiness, which meant he was probably awake for at least a few minutes. 

Surely, when you were attempting stealthy moves to grab the knife. 

Your hand trembled as fear shot through you. A ruthless mafia boss caught you holding a knife to his throat. There was no way anyone daring to do that would be left alive. 

But Steve didn’t grip your wrist to prevent the strike. He didn’t throw you off, nor attacked you to choke the life out of you. 

He was fucking sprawled lazy and content, with his hand still on your thigh and his dick growing harder against your leg. Not the least intimidated, or worried.

Perhaps, it was his confidence in being able to prevent a real threat, if you went to make that cut. Or maybe he knew that you didn’t really have it in you to go for blood.

Steve stirred, moving the arm that was thrown across his face. He stretched it out, then slid it down your back, boldly palming your bare ass. Your body’s reaction to his touch made your hand jerk, the blade almost nicking his unblemished skin. 

He titled his head to look at you. Icy blue eyes held a light, almost warm reflection. Due to the sunlight, undoubtedly.  

“Craving to do it? To kill me?” Amusement laced his tone, but there was also some twisted hunger for a bloodthirsty wrath on your part. Like he waited for you to snap.

You shifted your gaze from his eyes to stare at the switchblade in your hand. You reached for it in some desperate hope to feel safer with it, but you brought it to his throat more out of curiosity than actual desire to cut it. 

A part of you wanted to find out how it felt to wield it, to find out if the rush of power at having someone at the sharp point of it was so addictive that conscience laid quiet. 

Honestly? You felt nothing of the kind. Surprise at how light and smooth the handle was in your hand, yes. How it shone, nearly pretty like a jewelry accessory. But you didn’t feel any safer than you had simply laying in Steve’s arms. 

“One, I’m not you.” You replied, partially resigned that you didn’t show a streak of courage to really threaten him. You couldn’t imagine yourself threatening anyone, much less taking someone’s life. 

Steve seemed to have zero remorse in that matter. 

It should repulse you. It did. At first, at least. 

“Secondly, I’m not stupid.” You huffed, shifting your gaze from the silvery blade back to Steve’s eyes. 

“I’m your wife and the word of it surely got out to everyone, all your enemies included. If you die, I become an easy target. They will assume I know your secrets and find means to torture them out of me. You staying alive is my only security.”

It was scary to admit, but remaining at Steve’s side and under his care not only saved you from his wrath, but also from any other monster out there. 

“Besides-” you couldn’t help the eye roll as you moved your hand away from Steve’s throat-  “I’m sure if I maimed you, Bucky would introduce me to unimaginable suffering. And I don’t feel like being impaled on a hook in a meat freezer while he slowly cuts away my skin inch by inch.”

Steve snorted at that. A short huff of laughter that shook his chest and your fist holding the blade along with it. 

“I don’t think he’s ever done that, but I’ll let him know you have ideas to improve his craftsmanship.” His eyes sparked genuine amusement. 

Worse, it made the corners of your mouth itch to tilt up in a grin.

That mirth on Steve’s face morphed into something darker. Hungrier. The hand on your thigh started moving, sliding up your hip and further along your ribcage. There was no way to hide the full body shiver that rocked your form, or the goosebumps rising in wake of his touch. 

His fingers skimmed down your arm and wrapped around your wrist. 

Suddenly, he flipped you over. 

His body followed, pinning you down across the foot of the mattress. He clenched his fingers on the wrist of your hand that was still holding the knife. He pressed his thumb into a point below your own and your fingers spasmed open in a short zap of pain. The knife fell out of your grip. 

Steve picked it in a flash. 

Air stilled in your chest, becoming a hot pressure that urged your heart into a staccato. You stared up at Steve, defenseless against the strong body and the blade that was now in his hand. Again. 

“So soft,” Steve hummed, slowly gliding the back of his hand - the same one that was holding the knife - across your chest.

His knuckles pressed slightly into your breast. With his knee, he nudged your legs wider apart; settling his hips between your thighs. Pulsing warmth of his hardening cock pressed into your lower belly.

“You rather have me wielding the knife, Princess?” He asked, angling his hand so the wide side of the blade grazed your skin. “Do you want me to use it again?”

A shot of electric current flipped a switch in your brain, connecting straight down with your clit. 

When you held the knife yourself, there was no such visceral reaction to its lethal potential. But as soon as the blade was in Steve’s hand, your blood was rushing. To your horror, you realized it wasn’t just fear that pulsed in your veins.

Your breath stuttered as Steve moved the blade down your side, making you feel the slide of it, but not even scratching your skin. As he reached your thigh, Steve changed the hold on the knife. Instead of the cool, sharp blade whispering against your heated skin, you felt the blunt, harder touch of the ornamental handle. 

Its rounded tip touched your skin as Steve moved it along the juncture of your thigh. He dipped it lower. When he angled his own body to the side, you realized where his hand was headed. 

Straight to your core. Not with the threat of the blade hurting you, but the shimmery handle the width of two digits which would press and slide between…

Oh God! Your brain screamed at you, all the while your pussy spasmed, priming itself for the wicked intrusion.

No! Remnants of your resolve tried to fight the reaction of your body, raging against the temptation to let him do it. But there was already so much that Steve took from you, you didn’t want to give him an ounce of satisfaction of having you so willing and needy. 

You wouldn’t let him reduce you to basic instincts, with no memory of morale.

Though your thighs were spread wide and your clit tingled, you pushed past that need. You shoved your hands between your bodies to form a barrier.

“No, I don’t.” You scrunched up your nose, bracing your half-closed fists against Steve’s chest, but not really pushing him away.

There was a pause; a shortened breath between one raindrop and another, as you waited for the pushback. 

“Okay then,” Steve’s eyebrows arched in a semi-unbelieving grimace, but he pulled away. 

Simply pulled away. 

Your hands fell down onto your chest, having lost the warm, solid wall of muscles to press against. Steve sat back, resting against the headboard, with lazy bliss glowing on his stupidly beautiful face. 

One of his legs was stretched forward, foot almost touching your hip, while he bent his other leg and rested one of his arms on the knee. Unabashed, Steve made no move to cover his half-hard, heavy cock. Only played with the knife in his fingers.

“Okay then?” You frowned, completely unprepared for the turn of events. 

“Just like that?” You lifted your head enough to stare at Steve, without having his lower body in your direct line of vision. 

“You said no.” Steve shrugged, tilting his face toward the sun filtering through the pearly white curtains. 

“And you respect a no, riiight.” Where the snort came from, you had no idea. Instead of being relieved and thankful that the bastard let go, like you had asked, you were digging into the topic with near childish petulance. 

Because this was some bullshit! To have him comply with your refusal, while he breached every boundary you tried to set before. A flash of suspicion rose that maybe he wasn’t pushing, because he already got what he wanted and there were other, very easy ways, to get his dick wet. Other women to use the knife on, or whatever other depraved tools.

“In my life I make people do many things they don’t want to, but I have no need to take your body by force.” Steve didn’t sound particularly guilty of the way he was reaching his goals. 

He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curved - “Especially not when you give it so willingly.” 

“Bullshit!” You jolted upwards. 

Driven by the sudden annoyance, you forgot that you were naked and the way you braced your hands behind yourself only made your chest push forward. 

“What about last night?” You glared at Steve. “There was nothing willing-”

“Princess,” Steve looked at you, amused, “last night you didn’t utter a single No.” 

Your mouth opened to counter this outright lie, but Steve beat you to it. With a very pleased smirk to his equally irritating calm tone:

“You claimed that you won’t be wet. But you were. You argued that you won’t want me. You did. But not a single time have those sinful lips of yours formed the word No or Don’t regarding anything I did to your body.” 

Lips still parted, you hoped for your brain to come up with any argument to topple Steve’s theory. Though last night wasn’t a haze, but rather a whirlwind of sensations and brain-melting pleasure, your mind had some trouble remembering exact words. The more you thought about it, however, the more Steve’s version appeared true. 

Worse, even. 

Because you had said Stop at one point. A pleading mess on the verge of cumming, you asked Steve to stop and put the knife away, too afraid it would really hurt you.

And he complied. 

Like he stripped you of any defenses against his machinations, binding you to this dark life you never wanted to be a part of, he knocked away your argument about him brutally taking from you what you didn’t want to give. 

Your fingers curled, gripping the sheets as you stared at Steve’s handsome face. At that smug smile and flickers of delight in his ice cold irises. 

“Aaargh!” You let out an outraged shrill. 

“I fucking hate you!” You scrambled off the bed and stomped towards the bathroom. “I should’ve stabbed that knife into your carotid!” 

Steve’s low chuckle only added to your fury, making you slam the bathroom door so hard the mirrors on the wall wobbled. 

There was this urge to smash something, break it into pieces and stomp on it over and over again. Preferably Steve’s dead, limp body. But there was no way that you would be able to deliver anything beside a meager punch, which he’d probably block anyway. 

If he caught your arm as you tried to hit him, you’d feel even more anger. And he would probably be even more amused, keeping you caged in his arms while you trashed helplessly. 

That’s what you were against him - helpless. 

Not only regarding his power, with which he could wipe you and your family out of this world and not a single cop would investigate the disappearance. Steve also made you defenseless against your own body’s reactions. 

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint the moment when his actions rewired your brain, but never before him have you ignited for sexual acts so kinky. 

Maybe it was some self-preservation instinct? Maybe your brain sent a signal to your cunt to get wet and horny for Steve’s dark brand of sex, because otherwise he’d get mad and kill you?

But he just fucking proved that he wasn’t pissed off with your refusal. 

You decided to not think too much about it. Preferably, not to think about Steve and sex at all, not in one line of thought. 

Since he, oh so magnanimously, stated that he won’t take you by force, you were adamant on saying no for the rest of your life. 

Straightening, you looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror and barely stopped another curse from spilling from your lips. There was no other way to describe your look than thoroughly fucked. 

And kinda itching for more, but thankfully your brain was back behind the wheel and there was no way it would let you dwell on the wetness between your legs and the cause of it. 

You turned around, aiming for the impressive, luxurious shower stall. As you reached your hand to turn on the water, your gaze landed on the sparkling diamond on your finger. It truly was beautiful, but you wanted to flush it down the drain. It would be a pity, but you’d have a solid argument to why you weren’t wearing it. 

Then again, perhaps Steve wouldn’t even care about it, since he had the paperwork and your last name changed to prove the marriage. 

You took the ring and the wedding band off of your finger and left them on the counter.

Stepping under the hot spray of water, you tried to focus on things other than your evil husband. First, you did your best to stay in the moment and focus on each body part you thoroughly scrubbed - sensations and the scent of shower gel, not the memories of how Steve touched you, fucked you, filled you. Then you made a list of important tasks awaiting you at work: new projects, some meetings, lots of boring, but absorbing paperwork. 

You were so successful in occupying your mind, you didn’t notice the bathroom door opening. 

When you turned off the water a moment later and opened the glass door of the stall, the sound of flushing the toilet froze you in place. Your head snapped up. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” You screeched, trying to hide behind the shower casing, but since it was clear glass it gave you no cover. 

Steve had already moved from the toilet to one of the two sinks at the long bathroom counter. With his back to you, he looked up into the mirror to meet your gaze in the reflection while he washed his hands. 

He had to wait a moment for your eyes to catch up with his, since your gaze was elsewhere.

Because he was still fucking naked!

“Using the bathroom, obviously.” He said, tone light and highly amused. 

You dragged your eyes up from his firm, perky ass and up the wide planes of his back. You noticed some scars among the splashes of tattoos. 

“But I’m in it!” You protested, once you finally shook yourself from the daze. 

Steve didn’t seem apologetic for his intrusion. But he was never apologetic about anything. He straightened, rolled back his shoulders - which resulted in your eyes greedily following the play of his muscles. Your thighs clenched. 

He turned around and started walking towards you. Your skin was already heated up from the hot water and steam, yet it seemed a much hotter wave was still able to raise your inner temperature as he came closer. Shamelessly naked. 

Your fingers clenched on the cutting edge of the glass as you tried your hardest to not drop your eyes lower and watch how his cock moved with every step Steve took. 

“You already saw me naked.” He shrugged as he stepped right beside you. 

You twisted, your back hitting the tiled wall as he leaned forward. Steve didn’t touch you, but you still felt his power pinning you in place.

“As I saw you, wife.” 

He breathed that last word into your ear; a hot, seductive puff that threatened to weaken your knees. 

His hand slipped into your wet palm, the pressure of something small and hard needling your skin. Your ring and the wedding band. A silent reminder, if the word wife wasn’t enough to put you back in your place. 

Then he stepped away and into the shower stall, turning his back to you as he switched the water on. 

You bolted forward, grabbing a fluffy towel and running with it out of the bathroom. You cared less about dripping water on the bedroom floor than about staying there and letting him watch you. Or maybe being tempted to look at him yourself. 

You wiped yourself quickly and wrapped the towel around your body. Skipping over the abundant layers of your wedding dress that lay forgotten on the floor, you walked through the door opposite of the bed - into the huge walk-in closet. 

You saw it before. When Steve made you pack and bring your belongings to his house before the wedding. Two of his men carried the suitcases and boxes, a housekeeper and another unknown person were waiting to help you unpack. It was weird and uncomfortable, having two strangers fold and hang your clothes. But it was efficient, at least. 

Maybe they were also there to check, if you hadn’t smuggled in some weapon with which you’d kill Steve. 

Now everything was perfectly arranged. Steve’s clothes on one side of the closet, yours on the other side. You noticed his side wasn’t very colorful, not that you dressed in all shades of the rainbow. 

Again, it hit you how contrasting your lives were.

His dark, earthy and navy tones versus your whites and pastels and occasional pop of color. It was stark, the contrast. At the same time, it was in some way aesthetically pleasing. Intriguing, how that grim roughness fit with the soft lightness. 

You put on a pair of leggins and a simple, cotton t-shirt with a faded Little My cartoon. Sparing one glance at the messy bed, you left the bedroom. You’d rather find yourself in a different space than one with sheets crusty with your mixed spend and the damn knife placed in an open velvet box on the bedside table. 

There was no one else in the house, but you knew it was only for the appearance of the wedding night and the first day of being a married couple. Steve’s people were guarding the perimeter of his property, but no in-house staff was going to come today. 

The next day, however? It was going to be a brutal return to normalcy, which you anticipated and loathed both.

You’d get back to work, which was a blessing as it gave you the opportunity to be as far from Steve as possible. It would also be awkward and hard, because you’d be learning a completely new routine.

Like waking up with Steve in the same room (unless, hopefully, his criminal work would keep him occupied for long nights). 

Learning to function with household staff around - he had a housekeeper, a gardener, a private chef. Who, from what you read on the nicely scribbled note left on the kitchen counter, prepared a few dishes for you and left them in the refrigerator. Along with instructions on how to heat it up, so it tasted the best. 

Being driven to work, because Steve already announced you wouldn’t be taking your own car anymore. You doubted he cared much for your actual safety, but it was important to maintain the illusion of a lovely husband protecting his wife. 

Maintaining illusion would be a new skill you had to hone. 

So many people expected to see a happy, newlywed wife. Your own family, most of all. They would already be suspicious that you got back to work so soon after the wedding, but you found it a true blessing that Steve didn’t come up with a honeymoon idea.

You couldn’t think about honeymooning with Steve. You couldn’t even think about the night and having to be back in that bed where he also would be. 

With a properly reheated panini sandwich, you walked around the house; giving yourself a tour, before Steve would. No room was locked, so you assumed he kept his dirty work in another place. 

A small blessing, truly. You weren’t sure how you’d react to dead bodies and blood in the house where you lived.

It was already hard, since it was here that you heard Felix’s last words and saw him being dragged out to his end. 

One of the rooms on the ground floor was a spacious office. Quite surprising that it looked like an actual office, not a torture chamber. Despite being certain of bloody ways Steve gained some goals, you suspected that running a successful crime organization nowadays meant keeping a lot of civilized appearances and just being a beast at negotiation. 

“There’s an unused room upstairs. You can turn it into your office, if you need a home one.” Steve’s voice startled you, but fortunately you didn’t let it show. 

“That would be great, thanks.” You nodded, swiping your gaze around his office once more.

To have a room separate from his, where you could hide and bury yourself under work would be wonderful. Perhaps there would be a pull out couch on which you could sleep, instead of in your marital bed. 

You turned to Steve, who stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. He had a plate of his own. Not with panini, though. No, he reheated himself some of those seasoned ribs from the reception. 

And ate it with his fingers, winking at you as he sucked his fingertips clean.

You were damn proud of yourself for not reacting to his obvious provocation. You remained completely indifferent. 

Somehow, you managed to keep it up even as Steve continued to follow you all around the house. Wearing only sweatpants and a white beater. You did not look at how the cotton stretched on his torso, or how his tattoos were on display, or at the outline of his cock. 

“There are two guest bedrooms,” you pointed out as you walked downstairs after seeing the rest of the upper floor.

You didn’t think Steve was a man who often had guests over. He probably never had. Unless he was keeping those rooms ready for some kidnapping victims, to store them in human conditions until ransom was paid, or whatever. 

“Yeah. But you don’t have enough stuff to claim one as your additional closet,” Steve snorted, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “And no, you can’t use one as your bedroom.” 

You huffed, annoyed that he instantly figured out what you were planning on doing. Miffed that he didn’t agree with that perfectly reasonable idea, too. 

“Why not?” You demanded, stopping mid step. “It’s empty. I could sleep there and you keep the master bedroom, we stay out of each other’s hair and no one from the outside would even know.”

“Married couples sleep together.” Steve continued walking. 

You couldn’t see his face, since he was a step or two in front of you, but you were sure the bastard was fucking smiling.

“Married couples get divorced!” You countered, tilting your chin up and marching forward in a slightly petulant, stomping kind of way. 

You were about to pass him when Steve’s arm was suddenly around you. He yanked you to his front and kept you to him, despite you trying to push away. A look from those blue eyes froze you in place. A promise of violence flashed in the frosty depths; though you weren’t sure which part of you he’d destroy in retribution. 

“ ‘Til death do us part, Princess.” 

Steve’s low voice not only reminded you of the vows, but was a new promise itself, which drove a dark, searing bolt through your chest. And into your pussy.

It was scary. Downright terrifying, to have this monster lay his possessive claim on you. 

It was also exhilarating. 

Your heart paused for a moment, then sprinted into aching pounding as Steve finally released you and walked away.

You were becoming more and more aware of the hard work you’d have to do to preserve your soul, as Steve’s darkness appeared to be corrupting you inch by inch. Such charismatic power was a deadly temptation, tricking certain unfulfilled needs with promises of satiating. 

You haven’t yet figured out what exactly was missing in your life that your body so eagerly reacted to Steve’s magnetism. You thought yourself happy with the life you had. Content and proud, eager to deal with the new challenges that taking over the health center provided. 

Perhaps you weren’t actively dating anyone recently, but you weren’t desperate for intimacy. You took care of your needs.  

Besides, Steve’s kind of closeness was never your brand of preference. 

There had to be something, however, that yearned to be filled and what Steve happened to accidentally ignite. If you found it, you could look for alternative ways of fulfilling them, efficiently cutting yourself from Steve’s influence. 

Nothing came to your mind. Not in the long hours you spent poking around the mansion, rearranging your belongings, eating more leftovers. 

There were moments when you had to postpone deep thinking, because your brain alerted your body of Steve’s presence. He appeared in random moments, slipping right next to you in the most casual way; not breaking the boundaries, but pushing against them with a brazen attitude. Increasing your irritation.

Or was it frustration?

No, it surely was annoyance and it flared when you exited the bathroom later in the evening. 

You paused a few steps away from the bed (the sheets have been changed and since no one from the staff came that day, it had to be Steve who replaced them). Your gaze was drawn to the door, to the idea of finding yourself in a different room. 

Steve was already in bed, his face pinched in concentration as he typed quickly on his phone. He didn’t even glance your way, but a breath before you even shifted your weight to make a step in the direction of the door he spoke up.

“You may hide in layers of fabric,” he jabbed at your long, silk pajama pants, “but you’re going to sleep in this bed.” 

You turned your head his way, opening your mouth to reply, when Steve tossed his phone aside and looked up at you. Serious, on the very edge of impatience. 

“If you try to hide somewhere else, I will simply drag you back here. So it’s best you lie down and snuggle up, since it’s not a fight you’re going to win.”

Unfortunately, you believed him. You’d test his words, if you had the slightest hope of him just getting tired of your rebellion and leaving you be. But you learned Steve wasn’t a man who gave up on his goals. 

He simply switched from gentle methods to brute force. 

You had no doubt that he would drag you back to this bed over and over again, no matter how hard you fought, how loud you screamed, or cried. So it really was best to not waste your energy on battles you couldn’t win. 

Though it didn’t wipe away the need for huffing angrily as you curled on the far edge of the bed, wrapping the comforter around yourself like a shield. You almost lifted your hand and flipped Steve off, when you heard his snort. 

Smothering him with a pillow, or reaching back for that knife and actually jabbing it into his heart, was becoming a very tempting course of action when you woke up the next morning - with his body too close to yours. 

His arm was thrown over your middle, his hips touching your ass. And your nipples were painfully hard against the fabric of your top. You lost the protection of your comforter, but since it fell down on your side of the bed, it seemed that you were the one to have kicked it away. 

The shower you fled into didn’t help easing your nerves, because once again Steve barged into the bathroom while you were still inside (even though you were sure you locked yourself in). 

Then there were soft voices coming from downstairs as you descended after finishing your makeup and dressing for the day. A voice you didn’t recognize - possibly the chef, or the housekeeper. 

And one very familiar voice. Which shouldn't be here. 

Instant need to get Natalie right out of the house that was the beast’s lair, to protect her from getting tangled in this web of darkness and crime, died the moment you realized she was quite comfortable moving around the kitchen and talking to the chef. 

As if she was familiar with the layout and rules of the house.

Your assistant opened the fridge and helped herself to a bottle of chilled soda, while exchanging some humorous comments about the chef's sister. 

“What are you doing here?” You stared at her dumbfounded. 

Before Natalie swallowed the sip of soda and explained, pieces had already fallen into place. 

She was the one who told you how influential Steve was, how he had people in every place in the city and far outside of it. She rescheduled your meetings to disarm you of any arguments you might have had against meeting him that cursed day. She was the one who encouraged you to work with that cop and knew about the time and place of the meeting - which Steve interrupted right on time, saving you from harm. 

She was his spy all along. 

“You work for him.” Your tone was heavy with bitter disappointment. 

Natalie didn’t seem embarrassed about the reveal. Nor apologetic for not telling you the truth sooner. 

She was reporting to Steve all this time. Probably telling him all the fears and vulnerabilities you shared with her. 

And you were such a fool, worrying for her the previous day when you saw her flirting with Bucky. Because you wanted to warn her of him, protect her from him. While she was probably already fucking him for who knows how long. 

“Did he buy you when he came to me, or did he own you before?” So much venom poured into your voice, but the betrayal hurt too much to stop it. 

The anger you felt at her was so much different from what gnawed at you with Steve. Him pushing your buttons and stripping you of defenses made you flame up. Natalie’s indifference to her betrayal of you filled you with so much cold. 

“You forget-” her eyes were trained on you, her voice a stoic drawl- “if there’s someone he really owns, it’s you.” 

The cut was well aimed. Lethal in its delivery. 

As if on cue, Steve stepped beside you. His hand a searing brand on your lower back. You wanted to jump away from his touch, but it was the only grounding you had at the moment as the rest of your safe world crumbled around you. 

“You’re here, good.” Steve addressed Natalie’s presence. 

His voice held no hint of that teasing, velvety caress that grazed your skin the previous day. He was the cold, focused king of the underworld again. 

“Nat’s going to drive you to work. And from work.” He announced, pushing you slightly forward as he moved toward the kitchen island himself. “She’s your bodyguard.”

“She’s fired,” you snarled, crossing your arms over your chest. 

There was enough control taken out of your hands; enough humiliation. To think you’d be forced to work with watchful eyes studying your every move and reporting to Steve of every misstep you took, every weakness you showed, was beyond what you could handle. 

“She’s not.” Steve’s voice was so calm and confident, you wanted to grab the pan from the chef’s hand and smack him with it. 

But you didn’t. You knew it was one of the games you wouldn’t win, anyway. 

Weird, how Steve considered potential changes to his plans, including your determination to keep the center, but wouldn’t budge for things that regarded you directly. You wondered, if he relished in the torture he was putting you through. 

“She’s already proven herself to be worthy of the task of protecting my wife.” Steve threw that word - wife - so casually, as if it was the most natural thing to say. As if he was ready to keep repeating it for the rest of his life. 

His other hand glided along your arm, pulling it away from your chest where you held your arms crossed. His fingers circled your wrist and pulled your hand up. With a warning tsk, he slid the ring and the wedding band back onto your finger. 

Because once again you tried to leave it behind. 

You blinked, processing Steve’s words, as you allowed him to slide the golden brand of his ownership onto your finger without a fuss. 

You didn’t think he meant the fact Natalie told him about the meeting with Duvall and Batroc. The word protection was deliberate here and there was only one other instance when it wasn’t Steve the one who came first to your aid. 

“That night, at the parking lot-” you looked at Natalie, who presented the most chill, unbothered stance.

All this time you thought she’s so efficient at organizing and handling work under pressure, while she probably had the cold blood of an assassin. 

She shrugged at your realization, but didn’t deny that she was the one to save you from the  goons who tried to kidnap you. Since she didn’t see it as anything big, anything beyond doing her boss’ orders to keep an eye on you, you weren’t going to thank her for it. 

“Come, eat some breakfast before you go to save the minds and frustrate yourself further,” Steve pointed to a chair by the kitchen island, grabbing a cup of steaming coffee for himself. 

Your appetite was lost. You didn’t want to be here any second longer. While less than half an hour ago you dreamed of finding your solace in work, you didn’t want to be there either. Not after the newest revelation. 

Turning on your heel, you marched upstairs to grab your handbag; only marginally caring for the awful impression you had to have made on the chef, whose name you didn’t even get, because you didn’t introduce yourself. 

You didn’t spare a second glance toward Steve as you stormed downstairs and toward the door. You kind of hoped that Natalie would stay inside, treat herself to some breakfast and whatever morning briefings a mob boss and his people had. You’d gladly stay outside in the peace and quiet of no fucking mafia people. 

But a car was already waiting for you; the back side door open.  

You wanted to ignore Natalie all day, as well poor, confused Peter who didn’t do anything wrong, but who was, after all, hired because Steve demanded it. Unfortunately, beside being named your personal guard, Natalie was also a fucking brilliant assistant. 

No, not Natalie. Natasha. 

Which she mentioned so casually as she parked the car. Apparently she didn’t have a preference for what you called her and a vicious streak inside of you wanted to spit out the word bitch. 

With anger constantly bubbling under your skin, you hissed your sharp answers to her questions and reminders. 

The day was a nightmare. When you returned home, all you wanted to do was to unwind in some way. But you hated exercises. Well, maybe hate was a too strong word, but you weren’t a fan of those beyond going for long strolls and swimming. 

You also didn’t want to get drunk. Not in a place where Steve would be and the alcohol would strip you of your perfect control over yourself; potentially enhancing uninhibited desires Steve’s brutal aura stirred. 

As you walked into the bedroom, your gaze fell upon the big bed. Neatly made. Fresh sheets bearing no proof of the mess you made when Steve fucked your brains out. 

Your fingers immediately started working on undoing your buttons and zippers, peeling off each piece of clothing at a rushed pace. The way Steve fucked you on your wedding night would be perfect for reducing your tension into a whocares puddle. 

It wasn’t going to happen, though. Ever again. 

But you could give yourself a release without the devil’s assistance. 

The shower was truly blissful. Not only relaxing your muscles with heat, but your fingers brought you delicious pleasure. Twice. 

Sparkling diamond of your engagement ring and wedding band were left on a pile of cotton pads on top of the bathroom counter. You refused to touch yourself with any remnant of Steve lingering.

Pleased with yourself (and with the orgasms), you rolled into bed before the sunset; falling asleep right as the sound of the door being opened downstairs announced your husband’s return. 

You didn’t care. Your brain and body were too exhausted from everything that happened in the day. Too relaxed, as well. They shut down before Steve even made it upstairs, saving you from any interaction with him. 

Unfortunately for you, your brain was well rested in the morning. Your body, too. So rested, it seemed ready to follow an urge that was supposed to be satiated. 

You woke up with your body plastered against Steve’s. Your boobs were pressing into his chest, your nipples stiffening the more awake you become. His hand was splayed on your hip, his knee wedged between your legs. 

Just between your knees, but you still felt it as if the pressure was right against your pussy, causing your clit to throb in desperate plea for attention. 

If his hand moved between your bodies, those thick fingers dipping between your thighs to greet you… 

A quiet whine nearly tumbled out of your mouth, but you quickly covered it with a fake yawn as you rolled away. He muttered something and in your peripheral vision you saw him rubbing his face and opening his eyes. 

But you were already locking yourself in the bathroom. 

And cursing in aggravation as you noticed the rings back on your finger. 

Later that day, you used the handheld showerhead to allow yourself that nearly painful release, which seemed to shake your body to the very toes. Something your clit forgot astonishingly quickly when Steve’s very late return (it was well past midnight) stirred you from your slumber. 

Just in time to see the outline of his body in the semi-darkness of the bedroom as he dropped his pants to the floor. 

You kept yourself in a state of near-wakefulness that night, to hold your body in position on the far edge of the bed, so that you wouldn’t roll anywhere close to Steve's body. 

It was a blessing when Steve didn’t come home at all the next night. The fact the image of his face was clear in your head as you closed your eyes to get yourself off, was a minor inconvenience. 

As was the annoying realization that your fingers, which were the most skilled at touching you how you liked and pressing those good spots, suddenly felt disappointing. 

Your confusion with yourself grew daily, especially on days when you had zero interactions with Steve, yet your body felt the most tense and out of control then. Instead of enjoying the freedom and comfort of his absence. Then on afternoons and evenings when he came home unusually early and joined you in whatever you were doing, your pulse picked up. 

Sometimes you would sense the sweat and gunpowder still hanging in his scent, or notice a splash of dried blood on his clothes. Which should repulse you. 

It didn’t. Quite the contrary, it made something in you tighten, your skin itching to have Steve’s merciless hands on you. Same hands which undoubtedly have delivered pain, or even death to someone before he returned home. 

It took a lot of strong will to not press yourself against his side while you sat on the couch watching a movie, seeking a friction that would snap Steve into taking you ruthlessly. 

You became more distracted at work. More restless at night. Regular orgasms brought pleasant relaxation, but felt somewhat… bland. 

Restoring to your final resource, you took out a small velvety box hidden in the depths of the closet, under a bundle of winter clothes. The pretty, lilac bunny vibrator winked at you when you opened the box. You took it with you to the bath, not caring for the water that sloshed onto the tiled floor as you writhed in your first orgasm. 

Blissed out smile didn’t leave your face as you got out of the bathtub two hours later - water gone cold and your skin pruned. 

You almost giggled as you tiptoed out of the bathroom and into the walk-in closet. You heard voices downstairs. Steve was talking to someone. Feeling a rush of adrenaline (a kick of thrilling excitement mixed with a shy kind of fear), you quickly put the vibrator back into its box and buried it under layers of clothes. 

It should’ve been more than enough. It certainly felt like your brain was switched off completely, not a single care bothering you. 

Yet, flashes of absolutely sinful, depraved images haunted you in your sleep. 

You had no control over your body as it rolled onto your back while you slept. No awareness of your legs spreading and your own hand reaching down to touch your wet pussy. Which was as dripping and sticky as in your dream.

In which dead bodies of faceless men were scattered around the floor of some warehouse. While you were on the bed that stood in the middle of it. Steve was in front of you, standing at the foot of the bed. His rings-adorned fingers were curled around the front of your neck. His lips curved into a sinister smirk as he urged you on.

Urged you to move your hips and slide your wet pussy up and down the handle of the knife embedded into the mattress. 

You woke up abruptly. Right before dream Steve was going to allow you to cum.

Your eyes opened wide, your mouth gasping for breath. You felt your own fingertips touching your sticky folds. Your nipples were hard, pointing towards the ceiling. 

There was also another sensation; of someone else’s touch. 

Steve’s hand had a strong grip on your thigh. His cock was throbbing against your side. 

Holding your breath, you kept staring at the ceiling. As if suddenly you found yourself in a horror movie, you were too scared to turn your head and look in the devil’s blue eyes that watched you with hunger. 

You knew that if you spread your thighs an inch more, if you let out any needy sound, if you turned your face to his, Steve would aid that burning fire. 

His fingers would slip where your own couldn’t satisfy you. His mouth would close around your nipple, bite into your breast. He would roll on top of you and stretch your fluttering cunt on his thick cock. 

The need for him was growing more maddening with each shaky breath. Still, you kept staring up and willing every part of your body not to move. 

Steve squeezed your thigh and you bit your lip in time to stop the moan from spilling. A moment later his touch disappeared. He rolled onto his back, then sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He walked into the bathroom and you sighed in relief. 

Then you had to squeeze your thighs and roll onto your side, biting into your pillow to muffle the desperate, angry scream. 

Because you heard the sounds of Steve’s pleasure.

A mixture of shameless grunts and moans, with the faint slick echo of a hand moving along a cock. 

You should be disgusted by it, not wetter. 

Not only was he jerking off a few steps away from you, but he left the bathroom door open so you heard him. And your traitorous body responded, eager to beg him for torment and release, just as your dream self had. 

You avoided Steve’s gaze the whole early morning, despite both of you not catching any more sleep and pretending nothing happened. Well, you pretended. Steve strutted around like a peacock, with no care for your visible vexation. Your shower was on the cold side and your throat parched, even after gulping three glasses of orange juice. 

Working seemed impossible, too. Every few minutes your brain would suddenly switch the channel from focused to flashes of the depraved wet dream. And your wet reality. 

Because to your great dismay, Steve wasn’t only a demon from your dreams, but looked and acted the same tempting, dangerous way in broad daylight. 

You spent the first ten minutes of your lunch break chugging cold water and pacing around your office, trying to at least reduce some of the physiological tension. Maybe you really should start running, or do some crossfit. Just so that your body would die from exhaustion and save you further humiliation.

You paused, seeing through the window a familiar silhouette cutting the inner courtyard of the center. 

What the hell was Barnes doing here?

Your fingers clenched on your water bottle as you watched him stride through the sensory garden and toward the door in the far corner. It led to an old office. Or what used to be an office, but got flooded many years ago and now served more as a storage room, since there were more important rooms and projects to invest into than renovating one, single space. 

“I swear, if he’s here to bang Nat-” you muttered angrily under your breath.

But when you yanked your office door open and stepped outside, Nat was sitting behind her desk. Pristine and sharp, like a blade herself. She arched her perfectly sculpted brow at you, but didn’t say anything when you grumbled that you’re going to the garden. 

If Barnes wasn’t here to mess around with her, it meant he was here for business. His business meant Steve’s. Who was, after all, so very set on getting his hands on the health center and you still didn’t know why.

You marched through the courtyard, gaze laser focused on those doors behind which Bucky’s all black silhouette disappeared. 

Admittedly, you were a bit scared of Bucky. Less than you were of Steve, but still. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you if you confronted him about any shady stuff (not without Steve’s permission), but it didn’t ease the pounding of your intimidated heart. 

When you yanked the door open and stepped inside, you expected to see Bucky alone, or maybe with some henchmen that snuck in earlier, doing something nefarious. For a split of a second you feared you were going to see a dead body. But the room you walked into still resembled that old room with three different desks, some chairs, broken cabinets and various smaller items gathering dust. The only difference was that they were pushed against the walls, creating free space in the middle of the room. 

However, you did not expect to see another pair of blue eyes beside Bucky’s. 

Steve held your gaze once your eyes landed on him. And though a part of you screamed at you to turn around and run away, you couldn’t move. You couldn’t even shift your eyes, ensnared by that dark pull. 

The air seemed to thicken around you. A heavy wave of stifling heat rolled up, engulfing you in the clogging, sticky memory of your wet dream and the following mess. 

The way Steve tilted his chin, how he looked down at you with an expecting challenge that slipped into boredom, because you weren’t picking it and thus wasting his time; it made you snap from the haze.

“What the fuck?” You frowned, stepping further inside. 

You kept your shoulders pushed back, your hands at your sides, as you attempted to maintain the professional power of a health center’s director. 

Neither of them responded to you. Steve held your gaze a moment longer, then turned to Bucky, who wasn’t even looking your way. 

“Make sure it’s ready by Wednesday.” Steve gave him instructions, ignoring your presence and demand. “Barton will be back Tuesday evening, so he can start the next day.”

Barnes simply gave a nod and left. No more words between them, no gestures that would indicate Steve ordered him to leave, so the two of you were alone. Rather Bucky would be leaving at this moment whether you were there, or not. Your presence marked as insignificant.

It pissed you off further. 

“What the hell are you doing here?!” You stomped forward, not giving up.

“The center’s functioning won’t be disturbed.” Steve dragged his gaze down your form as you stood in front of him. His answer not an answer at all.

“With what?” You braced your hands on your hips, taking a deep breath to quiet the tone of your voice. It was unlike you to raise your voice and to hold it in rage for more than one outburst. 

You were proud of your professional approach, even in highly stressful situations. Granted, you weren’t facing a benefactor, nor an official of any kind, but you were determined to remain in control with Steve, as well. More so than with anyone other. 

But his mere presence had your neuronal system overheating, recording and sending signals from so many parts of your body at once.

“Nothing that concerns you.” 

The way he said it… He wasn’t just avoiding the topic, he was dismissing you. 

Then the bastard dared to step around you and walk away. 

You snapped. There was no logical thought behind your actions as you grabbed a heavy, crystal ashtray from one of the desks. 

You threw it at Steve. 

Your aim wasn’t the worst, but the bowl was heavy and Steve was moving. It flew past his head, quite a distance away from causing any potential harm. It thudded against the door and fell to the floor where it broke into three chunks. 

A blur of movement filled your vision, before you even registered what you’ve done. A hand was squeezing the front of your neck as you were forced to scramble back. 

Air wooshed out of you when Steve slammed you against the back wall; with less force than you’d expect him to use on an actual enemy, but enough of it to remind you he was no gentleman. 

His body pressed into you; massive, strong, terrifying. 

He kept you pinned in place, one hand on your throat was enough of a warning for you to struggle only for breath and not fight him. Steve’s other hand squeezed your side, thumb pressing so hard above your hip bone you were certain there would be a bruise. 

A flare of fear cut through your blood, but with it came another rush. A wild pulse of thrill. 

“You best beg me to fuck that frustration out of you now,” Steve’s voice was a slice of heated scythe cutting through your composed walls.

“I’m not-” you stopped immediately when he clenched his fingers tighter.

“Princess,” he hissed in a warning. “I know you’ve been touching yourself. Playing with your needy pussy, using your pathetic toys. And still it was my name you moaned in your sleep, when you were dreaming of what you really crave.”

Tears welled in your eyes, only partially from your air flow being constricted. Most of all, it was the aforementioned frustration that squeezed salty drops. 

You hated him; hated how he made your body weak and desperate for him. 

You’d love nothing more than to deny any of his claims and walk out with your head held high. But your knees were too weak, your pussy already throbbing and primed for him. If you even managed to step out of the room, your frustration would bring you to a boiling point and make you crawl back to him. 

“Need me to take out my gun?” His words brushed against your cheek like a caress.

Whether it was that contrasting softness of his voice, or the image of the deadly weapon being pushed under your skirt, it made you clench around nothing. 

You shook your head. 

“Need you-” you finally whimpered. “Need you to fuck me.” 

Steve swallowed your next sound. He squeezed his fingers once again, forcing your mouth to open to gulp precious air. But he gave you none. Only the taste of him, the demand of his tongue that played against yours as his fingers would against your clit. 

With his other hand, he yanked your pencil skirt up; sharp moves tugging the clingy fabric. Then air was swiftly filing your lungs and rushing to your head, as he released your throat and used both hands to turn you.

He pushed you forward and bent you over one of the dust covered desks. Splaying your hands on the hard surface, you pressed your face against one palm and arched your back, pushing your ass up. A streak of shame burned your skin, but the need for Steve’s cock was too great. 

There was a jangle of belt buckle being undone and a cool wisp of air licked up your wet slit when Steve pushed the strip of your soaked panties to the side. 

“Fucking drenched, Princess.” He groaned, most pleased with the sight of your glistening pussy. 

“You did this to yourself,” he scolded you, dipping two of his fingers between your folds and smearing your sticky mess around. “Denying yourself, though you know how much your body loves what I do to it.” 

“You won’t say no from now on, right?” A single digit pushed inside and your legs wobbled.

You moaned, trying to push back against his hand and get more. So much more. But he was unyielding, repeating his question in the same patient, merciless manner. Until you clenched your eyes shut, crying in frustration - “I won’t! Please!” 

His fingers withdrew. A low chuckle responded to your whine. But the pressure of his cock against your hole rewarded your reluctant submission. 

The moan that spilled past your lips as he sank deeper reverberated through the empty room. You shifted your head, biting onto your hand to muffle the sounds that Steve would undoubtedly cause you to make. 

He wouldn’t have it. 

Growling his displeasure, Steve gripped both of your wrists and pulled your arms behind your back. He crossed your wrists together and held them in one of his hands at the small of your back.

Then his other hand was gripping your hip, holding you bent and lodged on his dick while he took three steps back. There was no surface you could brace yourself upon, nowhere to press your face into to cover your cries and moans. Bent over, your legs shaking, Steve’s strong hold was the only security you had from falling. 

It also allowed him to move your body the way he pleased. 

One testing thrust had you jerking forward, your head bowed down and a cry spilled out along with a drop of your spit. 

Steve readjusted his hold on your wrists then started pounding into you. It wasn’t the sinful, gracefully primal way he fucked you on your wedding night, but a forceful taking reflecting your frustrations of the past weeks. 

And fuck you needed it exactly like that. 

Each slam had you mewling, your pussy fluttering around him. Much to Steve’s delight. 

“That’s it, Princess,” he goaded. “Let me hear you.” 

The angle, the force of it, the sense of being completely at Steve’s mercy, had you coming sooner than anticipated. 

Your walls clenched hard. Your whole body spasmed as waves of pleasure crashed into you with the power of a sea storm. That was it - the pleasure you seeked for weeks, so numbing and good that nothing but a hum of blood filled your head. 

No self-induced orgasm felt like this. 

Steve’s hand moved from your hip to your neck, curling at the front of it and pulling your head back. His other arm released your wrists, but wrapped around your middle as Steve made you stand up and lean your back against his chest.

He was still hard. Still lodged deep in your quivering cunt. Fucking you through your orgasm. 

He slowed, but in this new angle his cock seemed to sink even deeper inside. Crown of his dick brushed over that ultrasensitive spot, causing your eyes to roll back. Your ass was squished into his hips, coarse hair on his thighs grazed your skin with each thrust. 

“Is this what you dreamed of?” He groaned into your ear, filling you in a firm stroke.

You shook your head, unable to form a sentence beyond a breathy moan. 

Cool metal of his rings was pressing into your neck, his other arm squeezing your breasts upwards, crumpling your pristine blouse. His heavy boots bracketed your pretty pink heels as his fat cock speared into your creamy cunt over and over again. 

“What was it then?” Steve snapped his hips in a sharp move, making you cry out loud. 

“The knife-” you managed to rasp out as you felt another climax coiling up low in your belly.

You didn’t tell him any of the sordid details, but revealing it was the blade you were dripping for in your dream was enough to make Steve laugh in triumph. 

The vibration of it not only shook your chest, but seemed to jolt down to your pussy.

“My fucking dirty Princess,” Steve sucked on your earlobe, quickening his pace. “You won’t hide those dark needs anymore. I’ll play them all out for you. Show you new ones.”

“Now-” he kept his hand on your throat, but moved the other one south- “Cum for me again. Wanna feel it squeezing me as I fill this married pussy.” 

Steve’s fingers slipped over your clit, drawing rough circles on your swollen nub. A shot of pressing pleasure made you arch against him, a gurgled mewl pitching in your throat. You gripped Steve’s thighs, feeling his muscles flex with each powerful snap of his hips. 

A few sharp strokes more and warm, thick seed was coating your walls. 

Steve’s moan was the hottest sound you’ve ever heard. Its deep, dark undertone tipped you over the edge. 

Your head was spinning, though Steve didn’t clench his fingers on your throat too tight. It was the amalgamate of everything: his cock throbbing inside of you, spilling more cum and filling you; your pussy was fluttering like crazy, a fairy on a rush attempting to grab each drop and stuff it into the right place; your half-conscious mind registering that you were in your workplace. 

Wrapping an arm around you once more, Steve moved your joined bodies a few paces backwards. Movement jolted his dick, causing your pussy to clench in response to renewed friction. 

Then he was pulling you down with him as he sat on one of the forgotten chairs; the wood creaking from the weight. He kept you on his cock, splaying his fingers sticky with your slick over your thigh. A few breaths later his hold on your throat eased. But you kept your head tipped back on his shoulder, unfocused gaze staring at the white ceiling.

Until Steve used his fingers to tilt your face for a kiss. 

Slow, but no less weakening. 

His tongue teased your lips open. His fingers were a pressure against your cheek, reminding you of who held the reins, even if he coaxed your response with surprising gentleness. Shushing your tiny moan by sucking on your bottom lip.

Echo of your ragged breath mingled, your heart pounding in your chest as you stayed in Steve’s lap. You didn’t think you had the strength to stand back on your feet just yet. You also weren’t sure he would let you. 

So you rolled your head back onto Steve’s shoulder and stared into the space, unfocused. His mouth pressed a kiss over your galloping pulse point, then he scraped his teeth along your shoulder. 

“Smuggling tunnels.” Steve’s words stirred your post-orgasmic brain mush. 

“Huh?” You lolled your head to the side to squint at his profile and try to make sense of his words.

“That’s why I wanted the center.” He explained, lazily roaming his fingers over your clothed body. “Entrance to the smuggling tunnels is exactly here. They were set up in the prohibition era, then supposedly locked. But not all of them. Not this loop. And according to the plans Tony provided, the web of tunnels stretches to the very harbor.” 

You blinked, processing his words. It was quite hard to take the seriousness of this information while your pussy was still pulsing and leaking cum. And while Steve’s hand was fondling your breast. 

“Tony? As in Tony Stark?” Your mind shook off remnants of haze. 

“Mhmm,” Steve nipped your shoulder. “Howard never uttered a word, though he knew of the tunnels. After his death, Tony went through all of his old man’s secret nooks and found those plans. Among other things. Tony knows how to make good deals and he’s going to gain a lot from giving me the information about the tunnels.” 

You wanted to rage, because it sounded so… insignificant. So small. Smuggling tunnels being the reason why Steve Rogers turned your life into a neverending torment. 

The logical brain knew that for a mob boss, an unknown to the police route of smuggling that would provide unlimited profits for decades, was worth one meager life. It was worth much more. He would really have killed you back then, if you didn’t comply with his marriage whim.

“Why do you tell me this?” Your nose scrunched up and a displeased whimper left your lips when Steve’s softened cock slipped out of you. 

His fingers touched your cheek as Steve’s cold blue eyes seared into yours.

“Because you’re my wife and you asked.” 

You didn’t read it in any falsely romantic way. Steve wasn’t going to be sharing his feelings and burdens with you. But he knew the power he held over you and had the privilege of being blunt, certain that you wouldn’t spill his secrets anywhere. Because he owned you. 

“Speaking of which,” he lifted you up easily and put you back on your feet. 

Which shook slightly, your pink heels barely holding you upright. 

A dollop of cum dripped down from your pussy and splashed on the floor, before you reached between your thighs with a grimace and adjusted your soaked panties back into place. 

You quickly pressed your thighs together and rolled down your skirt. Steve was tucking himself back into his pants and you tried not to glance at his cock shiny with your juices, nor at his fingers that smelled of your arousal when he pressed them against your cheek earlier. 

You were adjusting your blouse when Steve caught your wrist. His irises reminded of a cold, but clear mountain lake - as disquieting as tempting to dip in it. It was a depth from which you’d never breach the surface.

“We have an appointment at six. I’ll pick you up myself.” He announced.

“Appointment?” You frowned.

“Since you keep losing your ring-” Steve lifted your hand up to your face, your finger bare where the sparkling diamond and wedding band should be. 

You left them in your office, taking them off as soon as you walked in. Just to feel the victory of not wearing them for a few hours. 

“- I’ll get you a permanent brand.”

Your frown deepened. Your gaze shifted between your finger and Steve’s face as you tried to decipher what he meant. What was he going to do? Hot-glue it to your finger? You didn’t think it was possible to nail a ring to a bone, or was it? 

Steve’s thumb rubbed your bare knuckle. His low purr, as sinfully sounding as it was, scared you. 

“My name is going to look so fucking good on your skin, Princess.”

It took you a moment. Mostly because your mind couldn’t simply accept the idea that your husband would do something like it. But you quickly realized that he would. Considering everything he’s done so far, this was the smallest of crimes. Like nothing.

“I’m not getting tattooed!” You hissed, trying to yank your hand out of his grasp. 

He didn’t budge.

Stepping even closer, Steve held your hand trapped between your bodies as he gripped the back of your neck with his other hand.

“Yes, you are.” He stated calmly. 

“You will be a good girl and sit in the chair while my name is branded into your skin. Or-” you never knew threat and amusement could combine, but Steve’s eyes glinted that exact, lethal combo- “I’ll drug you and have it done while you’re out of it.” 

Your own eyes widened, fear muffling any outburst of rebellion that you might’ve dared to voice. 

Somehow the idea of being drugged and having something done to you, while you were unconscious, terrified you more than having a loaded gun pressed against your cheek.

“Either way, it’s happening. But I know your stance on the substances messing with the brain, so I’m sure you prefer to be conscious.” Steve’s mouth curved into a smile of a predator that knew his prey had nowhere to go. 

And he was right. You would fight him, but the threat of being pumped with some unknown drug stopped you from trying. Even if Steve made sure to apply the cleanest anesthesia medication, you wouldn’t want to risk it. You knew too well how the smallest doses of narcotics and psychoactive substances influenced the brain. Or rather massacrated it.

“I’ll wear the fucking ring,” you pleaded, though rather petulantly.

“Great!” Steve flashed you a smile and kissed the knuckle of your ring finger. “But you’re still getting that tattoo, Princess.”

No amount of glaring and arguments worked to even irritate Steve as he took you to the tattoo parlor later that day. He was so set on his decision, nothing would deter or delay it. Not even your fear as your hands visibly shook when he accompanied you inside the empty tattoo shop. 

Judging by the address and the interior, it wasn’t a random place either. 

It seemed like one of those tattoo shops that require booking half a year in advance. It wasn’t a bright, safe space, either. Nor the typical rock and heavy metal design. Dark; a mixture of wood and leather. But no harsh tones, no collages displaying various works, no neons. Almost like a spa. 

A very intimidating spa. 

This place definitely didn’t do butterflies or overused tribal tattoos. 

It would, you thought, be a place where people working for the most dangerous branch of the mafia had their skin inked. 

“Rogers.” A gruff voice greeted as you followed half a step behind Steve.

Your fingers were intertwined with Steve’s. At first because he made you hold his hand as he helped you out of the car, but as you stepped into the parlor you felt fear of pain spiking so high you needed to lean against something. 

Unfortunately for you, Steve was the only solid rock you could lean on at the moment.

A big, rather scary looking man walked out from a darkened backroom. He was a few inches shorter than Steve, but no less broad. Wearing black head to toe, his tattoos were like a refreshing splash of color that instantly drew attention.

Steve had quite a few tattoos. A lot of them. But this man was covered in ink. 

His whole hands, sleeves of his arms. Vines stretched even up his neck. Only his head was clean of any print. His hair was buzzed, his dark beard trimmed. Yeah, he definitely could be a mafia’s tattoo artist slash silent killer. 

“Will this do?” The man showed Steve a design on a small piece of paper, not glancing your way even once, even though it was you who was going under the needle. 

He either didn’t care, since you weren’t the one paying for this whole ordeal, or he didn’t want to piss Steve off by looking at the mob boss’ wife. 

“Yeah, it’s perfect.” Steve nodded his approval then tugged on your hand. “Come on, Princess. Get up on the chair.” 

There was no point in postponing the inevitable and you’d rather save yourself the humiliation of Steve putting you in the chair by force. Which he would. So you complied, though you still glared daggers at him. 

He remained indifferent, taking a seat on a small rolling stool and staying at your side. If it wasn’t to ensure you wouldn’t bolt, you might think he did it out of care. 

Turning your head away from Steve and the spark of delight in his eyes, you focused on the gloved hands of the tattoo artist. Fingers of your other hand squeezed into a fist as the man prepped the skin of your ring finger. 

“I suppose you don’t care that the bastard is making me do it?” You dared to ask right as the man was about to transfer the drawing onto your digit. 

He paused. With him paused your heart, waiting for reaction. Waiting for salvation, though you suspected it was a fool’s hope.

The man’s eyes lifted to your face. He watched you for a long, silent moment. Then huffed a short laugh and smirked.

“I get why you picked her,” he addressed Steve. Who was sitting beside you, completely unbothered and now grinning smugly. 

Gritting your teeth, you turned your head and looked down at the outline of the tattoo that was being transferred onto your skin. Not a drawing, but words that would wrap around your knuckle the way a ring does. Though most lettering would be visible on the outside, like a diamond would, ends curved into the inner side of your finger.

A bold, but neat cursive. Big letters. 

Steve

And above it, slightly smaller, but equally brazen reminder.

‘Til death

[hotnbloodied]

Hiiii can I request popular yandere classmate x oblivious reader, oh and can it be smut pleassee?

Thanks for your ask! I started randomly naming all my yanderes even if they are all one shots, I don't know if I want to keep it though. We'll see. This one almost fucking tore me to shreds, I might need a break after this. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

-˚ʚ♡ɞ˚HB˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Yan!Popular Boy X Oblivious Reader (!!SMUT!!)

!Warning! This post contains yandere themes and topics that may be uncomfortable to people who are sensitive to the topic, read at your own discretion.

CW: not proof read, yous/yours used, gn reader, there is SEX, sloppy lewd writing, yandere tendencies, reader is kind of silly here. (LMK if I'm missing anything.)

!!READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!! MINORS DNI!!

It was the first group project of the year! You and three other people were going to be randomly assigned together to work on a research project about something or another. The first two seemed like nice people but the third was Atticus, your friends have talked about him before. Wasn’t he popular or something? When the group met face to face you finally understood why, he was funny, charismatic and quite the looker. Your group decided to meet up in the library and you thanked your lucky stars that it seemed everyone was working well with each other. The other two in the group knew each other and were friends so when one of them had to leave later on in the day the other one did so as well leaving you and Atticus the only ones in the group still in the library.

Without the other two here, people were more inclined to come by to say hi to Atticus causing him to get distracted, you didn’t care much honestly, you had work to do after all. You overheard a couple of the people who came to talk to Atticus talk about some sort of group karaoke and that he should join them. “Sorry guys, I’m still with my group partner,” he apologized. You looked up, “it’s all good, this is just the first day after all.” Atticus looked at you incredulously. “See? Even your groupmate thinks it’s fine. Join us, Atticus, the girls are asking for you.” Internally he was annoyed, he already said no and the least his groupmate could do was back him up. Were you really that stupid? Eventually though, he was able to convince them to leave him alone. But when he turned expecting to see you still sitting there you were gone. Your stuff was still here so he assumed you went to get more material to research.

Scanning over the library he spots you eventually, struggling to reach for a book on a higher shelf. He sighs and starts walking over to assist but it turns into a run when he notices that you’re about to get toppled by said books. He covers you from getting hurt and curses at himself because having books fall on him fucking hurts. “What are you doing?” He says sternly, “if you can’t reach something ask for help.” He gasps, some of his true self leaked out, his image of a prince type is over. “Dang I’m sorry, you’re right. No sense in getting myself hurt, thanks! By the way, are you okay?” Suddenly, his heart raced, he didn’t know why. It might have been the way you looked under him currently, or it might have been the way you accept his rough tone with you, but either way he was going to explore it, explore you.

The project goes by smoothly, you still hang out with Atticus since the two of you exchanged numbers due to the project. You found it really weird though, each time you hung out with him and his friends, his friends were never able to make it. You hope you’re not scaring them away. Little did you know that if anyone is scaring people away it’s Atticus. The more time he spent with you was like heaven but also hell. He loved spending time and learning new things about you but, fuck, why were you not picking up any of the hints and flirty signs he was giving you?! Like today when it was just the two of you again, you two were at the movies and he tried to get an arm over your shoulder. “Oh my! Are you cold? Here, you can have my jacket.” And wrapped him up in your jacket! Sure, being able to smell your scent was nice but that’s not what he wanted! To rub salt on the wound too, after the movies his friends spotted him and invited you two to join them and you ACCEPTED! “Oh sorry, were you guys on a date?” One of his friends asked. “Oh no, we’re just chilling! We’d love to join you!” You responded. He almost choked up blood.

He went to his last resort and feigned sickness. Worry etched your face and you apologized as you helped carry him away. He convinced you to go to his place since it was nearby and was a bit hurt that you agreed so readily, you were going to be in a private space with him after all. Arriving at his place you helped him inside, all the way to his room. As you wished him better and got up to leave he tugged your arm. “Wait a minute,” he says. “Hm? What’s up, need something?” He hugs you, “I… I need you.” Not sure what he meant, but feeling like he needed this, you hugged him and both of you stayed like that for a while. That was, until his lower half decided to act up. “Do you, uh, need help with that?” You ask, almost too innocently. His face flushed, “help with this…?” “Of course, a boner is a natural part of your body, you know. Though I also heard that boners don’t happen just because someone is horny though…are you horny?” Atticus felt the blood rush to his head, all he could do was meekly nod.

You were sucking on his member, he could tell that you’ve done something like this before but maybe not too often due to the slight hesitation you exhibited. Regardless though he never imagined you would have been so willing to do this for him, should he have asked sooner? The sight of your mouth wrapped so prettily around his cock, he wasn’t the type that was quick to cum but just because it was you doing this act on him he felt close. He couldn’t have that, so he grabbed your shoulder and urged you on to his bed. “Take off your clothes,” he instructs. You did as he told, he gulped, he wanted this for how long now? It felt surreal that this was real. He couldn’t help but use his hands to explore your body, groping, touching, feeling your warmth. Your breathing quickened, you weren’t sure why he was taking so long, his exploration of your body started making you feel needy. You were close to telling him to hurry but let out a yelp when he started to suck and lick on your chest. He worked his way down to your lower area.

“What are you doing? Is all this necessary?” You ask him. “Please,” he begged, “I just need this, won’t you let me?” You whimpered, this is good and all but all this teasing is something you aren’t used to. He sucked and tongue prodded you for a while, you said that you would let him do what he wanted but you wanted to release soon and his tongue wasn’t doing that for you. “Hey, uh– hnn!!” Before you could say anything more he inserted a finger then two into you, rhythmically finger fucking you. Making sure to brush against your g spot each time. You were so close and Atticus knew it, so he stopped making you whine even louder. “Why did you stop?” “Grind on my dick,” he ordered. Sluggishly you got up and did as he was told. “Don’t even try to insert before I allow you to.” So you rubbed your sensitive area against him, slow at first but even you can grow impatient and you’ve been that for a while. Your wetness making a mess and with your bodies grinding against each other a squelching sound reverberated through the room along with the heavy panting and moaning. “Soon please?” You begged. Atticus needed you badly as well so he pushed you down on the bed again and aligned himself before pushing in causing you to scream out from the intrusion. He jackhammered you silly, “fuck, fuck, fuck, please. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” he chanted like a mantra, “I need you so bad.” What followed was one of the hardest orgasms you ever had. He unsheathed from you and quickly went to your face marking your face all over with his seed.

After a couple of beats you asked, “hey, uh, can I have some napkins?” “S-sorry,” he scrambled to his drawer and took out a box of tissues. After you cleaned yourself up you asked, “I’d like to borrow your bathroom.” He told you that it was down the hall. You took your clothes and left his room, when you came back you thanked him. “Well that was fun! I’m going to head home now. I’ll see you later alright?” And left. He was shocked, how fucking clueless can you be?? He was going to make sure you understood that you were his now and he was going to move heaven and hell to make sure that happens, his darling.