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theostrophywife · 2 months

Text

azúcar.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader.

song inspiration: baby by madison beer.

author's note: benjamin being active on tiktok is dangerous for my health. i actually feel like i'm about to crawl on the ceiling from how badly i want this man. literally tweaking. anyways, enjoy 😊

There were a lot of quidditch related superstitions you were willing to put up with.

Wearing the same socks during every match. Kissing your boyfriend good luck before every game. Even the rowdy common room parties that you and Mattheo often snuck out of to have a celebration of your own was a tradition you welcomed with open arms.

But this was not one of them.

“It’s absolutely absurd,” Pansy huffed, her sleek black hair grazing her chin as she tucked her legs underneath her on the velvet couch. “Blaise has lost his mind.”

“Sounds like you’re the one losing it, Pans.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “You would too if your boyfriend suddenly announced a sex ban as part of some weird quidditch superstition.”

Since the start of the season, the quidditch team had taken a few hits. Usually, the boys dominated the other houses, but they barely won against Hufflepuff and came to a draw against Ravenclaw during the last game. Ending in a tie was apparently the last straw because the day after the match, Blaise told Pansy that the team had taken a pact of celibacy.

For some deranged reason, the boys believed that abstaining from sex for a week would help them secure a win for the rematch on Friday. For the next five days, they intended to sleep, breathe, and eat quidditch. Apparently, your feminine wiles would have to be set aside for the meantime. As if sex were the problem and not their constant drinking and partying, which probably contributed to their lack of focus as a whole. Not that the boys would listen to common sense at this point.

You scoffed. “Please, Mattheo wouldn’t last a day without sex let alone a whole week.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Pansy said rather bitterly, picking at the cushion in her lap. “The lot of them are taking this entirely too seriously. Blaise won’t even allow himself to be in a room alone with me.”

”Well, Zabini has a surprising amount of self-control. Mattheo, on the other hand, is perpetually horny. There’s no way that he agreed to such a ridiculous pact.”

“Lucky you,” your best friend said with a long suffering sigh.

You nudged her knee with your foot and smiled mischievously. “Don’t worry, babe. I’m more than willing to help. Blaise may be disciplined, but he’s also just a man. What do you say we pop into the village? I think I saw a lace emerald lingerie set that had your name all over it.”

Pansy perked up at that. “I knew I came to the right person.”

Your best friend smiled as you hooked your arm through her elbow. “Of course you did. Now come on, let’s bring Zabini to his knees.”

Sprawled out on Mattheo’s bed, you flicked through the pages of your novel and waited for your boyfriend to return from practice. The trip to Hogsmeade had been a complete success. Just as you suspected, the little set you glimpsed through the lingerie store window looked absolutely stunning on Pansy. Blaise didn’t stand a chance.

As a matter of fact, you’d given the two of them privacy tonight. They were due for a study session at your shared dorm tonight, but you quietly slipped out in the midst of their heated argument about the Goblin Rebellion and happily skipped off to your boyfriend’s room.

Given the late hour, Mattheo was due back any second now. As if summoning him from your thoughts alone, your boyfriend sauntered into the room, looking sweaty and sexy from running though drills all afternoon. Mattheo grinned the second he spotted you on his bed.

“Hi, princesa,” he greeted, his voice low and husky.

”Hi, Matty.” You propped yourself up on your elbows and smiled. “How was practice?”

“Absolutely fucking brutal,” Mattheo grunted as he pulled off his shoes. “Theo clobbered the fuck out of me, but I suppose it’s better him than the Ravenclaws. Mark my words, we’re going to beat those twats come Friday.”

“I don’t doubt it, babe.” You pushed off the mattress and scooted closer to him.

Mattheo licked his lips as you neared, breath hitching as you brushed his damp curls off of his forehead. You smirked and leaned in for a kiss. At the last second, Mattheo turned sharply, causing the kiss to land on his cheek instead of his lips.

“I’m all sweaty,” he explained. You quirked a brow. Sweat, dirt, and grime had never stopped the two of you before, but you brushed it off. He was probably just wound up about winning. Mattheo smiled apologetically and kissed your temple. “Let me shower first and then we can cuddle, okay?’

You made the mistake of looking into those big, brown eyes. Damn him and his chocolate eyed gaze. The twat knew it was your weakness.

“Fine,” you said as you crawled underneath the covers. “But hurry up, I’m getting tired.”

Ten minutes later, you were fully engrossed in your book again. Just as it reached a particularly steamy scene, the door swung open, revealing a half-naked Mattheo. The white towel wrapped precariously around his trim waist gave you a perfect view of his toned chest and ripped abs, beads of water clinging onto his glistening skin like rain drops. You bit your lip as he tugged on a clean pair of boxers over his legs, cocking your head to appreciate the curve of his arse before he slipped into his sweatpants.

Unaware of your ogling, Mattheo climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around you. “What are you reading, mi amor?”

“Nothing that can’t wait,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss your boyfriend.

This time, Mattheo gladly accepted the kiss. His lips slanted over yours, sighing softly as you melted into him. Your kisses were soft and sweet, punctuated by cute little pecks that had your boyfriend smiling against your mouth. You took the opportunity to slide your tongue against his, making Mattheo groan as his fingers slipped through your hair.

“Damn, mami. You missed me that much?”

You rolled your eyes at his cocky smirk while you climbed into his lap and straddled him. Mattheo gripped your hips, moaning as your lips latched onto his neck. His pretty brown eyes rolled back as you left a trail of kisses along the column of his throat. You raked your nails along his chest, dragging red lines down to his abs, and tracing his happy trail as he captured your lips once more. Mattheo let out a choked groan as you tugged at his waistband. To your surprise, he grabbed your wrist and blinked up at you.

“Y/N…” Mattheo said breathlessly. “Maybe we should…maybe we should go to sleep.” His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he tried and failed to swallow his own words.

You raised a brow and settled over his lap, squirming against his hard length as Mattheo bit his lip. “You want to go to sleep? Right now? While I’m on top of you and willing to do whatever you want?”

Your boyfriend looked pained. Conflict was evident on his face. Without a word, Mattheo nodded.

“Oh my god,” you blurted in disbelief. “You agreed to that stupid sex ban, didn’t you?”

Mattheo groaned. “Only for a week, love. We really need to win this match.”

You scoffed. This was absolutely ridiculous. “I know you, Mattheo. You aren’t going to last a week.”

“Hey! Have a little faith in me.”

Rolling off of him, you crossed your arms against your chest. “First of all, you didn’t even ask me if I’d be okay with it.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. With a shit-eating grin, Mattheo cocked his head at you. “It sounds to me like you’re the one who can’t last a week, princesa.”

“Please,” you said with an eye roll. “I have my book boyfriends to keep me company. I can channel all my sexual energy into reading smut. You, on the other hand? You can’t even make it through class without dragging me into a broom closet.”

Faster than you thought possible, Mattheo flipped you onto your back and pinned you to the mattress. A cocky smirk curved against his lips as he trailed them down your neck. “Oh?” he hummed, kissing the sweet spot just below your ear, his hand gripping the inside of your thigh, making you press your legs together to suppress the need. The bloody bastard. “But can your book boyfriends touch you like I can?”

Channeling every ounce of self-control within you, a calm and unbothered expression clicked into place like a mask. You tugged at his curls, forcing him away from your neck. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about me, Matty. I’ll be just fine.” Mattheo released a choked groan when you palmed the front of his boxers. He twitched at your touch, his cock painfully hard. “Looks like you’re not doing too hot, though. Let me know if you need help. You know I’d be more than happy to give you relief, baby.”

Mattheo cursed under his breath as his own plan backfired on him. Blood rushed down to his cock as you squeezed gently, making him harder and hornier than ever. You chuckled darkly as he grinded against your hand. With one last squeeze, you kissed his cheek and peeled yourself away from his bed.

“You know where to find me, papi.”

He watched in disbelief as you gathered your things, cute little ass swaying farther and farther away from him as you hauled your bag over your shoulder. “You’re seriously leaving?”

You smirked and waved at your boyfriend as you pulled the door open. “I have a hot date with my romance novel. Good luck with your pact, babe. You’ll need it.”

Merlin, Mattheo was going out of his fucking mind.

For Salazar’s sake, he was starting to get the shakes and it had only been two days since he last had sex. Granted, it felt like an eternity since you were more than determined to get your boyfriend to break. Could lack of sex actually drive a person to the brink of insanity? Mattheo was pretty convinced that the answer was yes as he gaped at the lacy red bra peeking out under your white blouse.

Had your clothes shrunk in the wash? Mattheo could’ve sworn that your shirt hadn’t been that tight before. You were nearly bursting out of it and the view of your tits pressed together as you leaned across the table to steal a blueberry off of his plate made his mouth water and his dick hard.

“Stay strong, Riddle,” Theo whispered beside him. “We’ve got this.”

Never in his life had he wanted to throttle Theo more. The only thing Mattheo had at the moment was a painful fucking boner. Three more days. That’s all he had to endure before they called off this stupid sex pact.

He could make it. Couldn’t he?

As he looked up at you sucking on a strawberry, Mattheo’s confident wavered. You were truly testing what very little self control that he possessed. You were right when you said that your boyfriend couldn’t last a single class without dragging you into an empty broom closet. You were just so pretty and sexy and hot and that was when you weren’t trying.

Now that you were determined to tease the fuck out of him, Mattheo didn’t stand a chance.

All day, you focused on making his life an absolute living hell. Perching on his lap, fixing his tie, smiling prettily while you brushed his curls back and left glossy kiss prints all over his cheeks. His hands were in permanent fists, fingernails digging into the flesh of his palm so deeply that he wouldn’t be surprised to find himself bleeding. This was torture. Cruel and unusual punishment.

The final straw came when the two of you were studying in the library later that night. Bouncing his leg, Mattheo forced himself to pay attention to the Ancient Runes textbook in front of him instead of ogling you from across the table. It wasn’t working though. Every few minutes, he caught himself glancing up at you. Your lips, your eyes, your hair. There was nothing sexual about you taking notes yet he was so turned on that he felt dizzy.

Mattheo lowered his head, trying to keep cool. When he looked back up, you were no longer in your seat. Instead, you were reaching for a book on the shelves behind you. Whatever you were looking for was on the lowest shelves, so you bent down to retrieve it. When you did, your skirt rode up, revealing that you weren’t wearing any underwear. Mattheo hissed, scrambling to pull your skirt down.

”What in Salazar’s name are you doing, Y/N?” Your boyfriend gripped your elbow, anger and frustration radiating off of him in waves.

You blinked up at him, putting on an innocent smile. “Oh!” you exclaimed, placing a hand on Mattheo’s chest. “Did I forget to wear underwear? Silly me.”

Your boyfriend groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He muttered something under his breath repeatedly. Breathing exercises. You bit back a smirk.

On his third count to ten, Mattheo finally opened his eyes. Without a word, he gathered your belongings and hauled you out of the library. He didn’t speak until the two of you were back in the dungeons.

“I’m going to study in my room,” Mattheo declared as he handed you your book bag. “You’ll study in yours.”

You grinned. “Oh, Matty. We both know the only thing you’ll be studying is your cock in your hand.” Mattheo tensed as you traced a finger down his jawline. “What a shame. I’d be more than willing to put an end to your misery if you just admit that the pact is stupid.”

For Salazar’s fucking sake. Mattheo was so close to calling this whole thing off. He wanted you. Screaming underneath him. Crying from pleasure. Moaning his name. But he couldn’t. He had to stay strong.

Mattheo sighed and kissed your temple. “Good night, mi amor. I love you. Even though you’re determined to drive me fucking mental.”

You smiled before pulling him in by his tie. Mattheo groaned as you placed a sweet kiss on his lips, barely giving him a taste of what he wanted. “Love you too, Matty. Sleep tight. I hope you dream of me tonight.”

With that, he watched you saunter off in the direction of your dorm, skipping through the common room without a care in the world. Mattheo stared up at the ceiling and counted to ten again.

Friday could not come any fucking faster.

You had to admit that you were impressed. Your boyfriend had miraculously survived an entire week without sex.

Despite your best efforts to thwart the stupid pact, Mattheo stayed true to his word. A pretty impressive feat given the fact that you’d practically thrown everything you had into seducing him. Sitting on his lap, licking your lips while he talked, kissing that sweet spot below his jaw, wearing your clothes shorter and tighter than ever, and even sleeping in his favorite silk red set, which you knew was particularly hard for him if the erection pressed against your back all night was any indication.

Still, Mattheo withstood all of your attempts.

You would’ve been upset had it not been for the fact that Mattheo looked absolutely pained by the whole ordeal. This entire week, his fists were permanently clenched at his side, his jaw locking and unlocking with every suggestive comment you threw his way, his eyes flickering over your body, groaning in frustration as he tortured himself by looking at what he couldn’t have.

It was amusing to watch your boyfriend twitch at your every move. As you predicted, you fared better than Mattheo had. After all, you had a wild imagination and a collection of toys to hold you over. That wasn’t to say that you weren’t needy and aching for him, but you had ways of coping.

“I’m so fucking glad it’s Friday,” Pansy grumbled beside you as she took a swig from her flask.

After the whole bring Zabini to his knees plan failed, she’d been crankier than ever. Neither one of you expected either of your boyfriends to even make it this far without caving at least once.

“Me too, babe. As much as I’m rooting for our boys, I can’t wait for this bloody game to be over. Win or lose, I know the sex is going to be insane.”

Your best friend smirked as she handed you the firewhisky. “I’ll cheers to that, babe.”

Surprisingly, the tension and frustration helped the boys play better than ever. They were ruthless on the field. Theo and Enzo were vicious as they defended the goalposts, giving way for Blaise and Mattheo to chase after the opposing beaters, nearly taking some poor bloke’s head off with a bludger. You almost felt bad for the Ravenclaws.

When Draco caught the snitch, you cheered loudly. You and Pansy screamed until your throat felt raw and hoarse by the time the game was officially called. The two of you swayed as you descended from the stands, slightly inebriated from your generous swigs, but you didn’t mind. The liquor kept you warm and served as preparation for a night of drinking and debauchery for the common room party.

Blaise wasn’t at all surprised that you and Pansy pregamed. In fact, he took the flask and downed the rest before tugging his girlfriend towards the castle.

“Have fun, you crazy kids!”

Zabini chuckled. “Oh, we will. By the way, your boyfriend’s waiting for you in the locker room.”

With a conspiratorial wink, Blaise wished you good luck as Pansy grinned from ear to ear. You chuckled before making your way over to the locker room. The doors opened, revealing a very smug looking Theo. With a frown, you swatted the back of his head.

“Ow!” The brunette exclaimed, rubbing his newly acquired injury. “What was that for?”

“For encouraging my boyfriend to agree to this stupid sex ban.” You crossed your arms and glared at your friend. “I know it was your idea, Theodore.”

“Hey! We won the game, didn’t we? So obviously, my idea was brilliant.”

“It was just dumb luck,” you replied with a scoff. “Honestly, I didn’t think you guys would take it so seriously. Especially you. You’re even worse than Mattheo. Celibacy for a week must’ve been hell, huh?”

Theo shifted his weight, looking abashed. You narrowed your eyes at him as you read the guilt in his body language. “You little weasel! You caved, didn’t you?”

“There was this really hot Ravenclaw…”

“With the opposing team, too? You’re shameless, Nott.”

“Please don’t tell the guys.” He looked genuinely contrite as he pleaded with his eyes. “They’ll murder me if they knew that I couldn’t even stick to my own pact.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, but you owe me big time.”

Theo smiled before leaning over to kiss your cheek. “You’re the best. I’d say see you at the party, but with how tense and insane your boyfriend has been, I probably won’t see you two for the next few days.”

“I wonder who’s fault that is.”

“The pact was my idea. Teasing him was yours. Honestly, he almost stabbed a fork through my hand because you bent over in front of him.” He smirked as he held the door open. “You’ve got that man on a tight leash.”

You fought a smile. “Leave before I get the urge to hit you again.” Theo nodded, making his way out. “Oh, and congratulations on the win.”

After a cheeky wink, Theo was gone. Leaving you to find your boyfriend on your own. When you rounded the corner, you could hear the sound of water running echoing off the tiled walls. You ventured farther in the stalls and found Mattheo standing underneath the scalding hot shower, tipping his head back against the spray. With a smile, you leaned against the wall and admired your boyfriend. Merlin, he really was beautiful.

Mattheo was a sight to behold; biceps flexing, abs taut, and back muscles tense as he washed away the sweat and grime. Your gaze trailed down to his trim waist, licking your lips as your eyes snagged on his backside. The longing sigh you released gave you away.

Water glistened on his skin as Mattheo looked over his shoulder, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he surveyed you. Your boyfriend didn’t bother covering himself as he sauntered over to you. His chocolate brown eyes roamed over your body, smiling softly when he saw that you were wearing one of his jerseys. Mattheo traced over his surname embroidered right above your heart.

“The Riddle name looks good on you, mi amor,” he whispered huskily, backing you against the tile. “I can’t wait to make it official one day.”

You hummed while you tangled a wet curl between your fingers. “Oh? That won’t be happening any time soon, Matty.” Mattheo frowned as you caressed his cheek. “Not with the way you’ve neglected me this week.”

“Don’t be like that. You know it was hell for me, princesa.”

“I know,” you said with a grin. “I’m just teasing you. In reality, I’m kind of impressed. You didn’t cave once even when I threw everything I had at you. You were so good, baby. You crushed those Ravenclaws too.” Mattheo groaned as you kissed his jaw, nipping at his sweet spot. “Maybe the pact wasn’t so stupid after all.”

Your boyfriend groaned as he gripped your hips and pinned you against the wall. “Oh, I won’t be doing that shit again.” Mattheo rested his hand on the base of your throat, eyes black and filled with lust as he squeezed. “It was torture not to touch you.”

When you spoke, your voice sounded husky and seductive thanks to his possessive hold. “Could’ve fooled me. You seemed perfectly in control. So much so that maybe we should extend it another week. Abstinence really helps clear the mind, doesn’t it, baby?”

Mattheo chuckled darkly. He knew you were baiting him. You weren’t used to not getting what you wanted in your relationship. Your boyfriend was well aware that he spoiled you rotten. You were going to make him work for it tonight, but he didn’t mind. In fact, the idea thrilled him. He wouldn’t have been dating you if he wasn’t up to the challenge.

Without warning, Mattheo tugged you into the shower, making you squeal as the water soaked your clothes. He wasted no time before crashing his lips onto yours, claiming you in a starved and possessive way that had you gasping for breath. Your boyfriend was frantic as he hoisted you up and wrapped your legs around his waist.

Mattheo sucked harshly at your flesh, his dark chuckle a seductive caress against your skin. You groaned as he grinded his cock against your clothed pussy, which was already throbbing and aching for him. “Brace yourself, sweetheart. We have a whole week to make up for and we’re not leaving here until you’re properly punished for teasing me like the little brat that you are.”

You flashed him a saccharine smile. “Do your worst, baby.”

“You’ll regret that, mami.”

With a wicked grin, Mattheo slid your panties to the side and teased along your folds. He hissed when he felt how soaked you were, practically dripping down his fingers as he eased one into your pussy. You bit down on your lip as the delicious pressure awakened a familiar heat in your core.

“Not so brave now, are you?” Your boyfriend taunted as he slowly fingered you. After going without, you were embarrassed to find that a simple touch was enough to set your teeth on edge. “This is payback, baby. Wearing those tiny little shirts with your lace bra peeking out. Bending over in front of me knowing that you had no panties on. Grinding on my lap and making me so fucking hard that I almost sprained my wrist wanking off in the restroom like a madman.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.” You rasped, groaning as Mattheo picked up the pace. “Not if this is what I get in return. I like when you’re rough, Matty. It makes me wet.”

Your head lolled back as he added another finger, curving them inside of you and reaching that spongy spot that had you seeing stars.

“Good,” Mattheo whispered as he nibbled at your earlobe. “Because I’m about to fuck you until you can’t walk.”

The filthy words sent you over the edge. Mattheo flicked his thumb over your swollen clit and you clenched around his fingers. “I can feel you squeezing me, pretty girl. So fucking greedy, hm?”

You let out a choked moan. Mattheo grabbed your wrist and slid your hand down his front. “Do you feel that, princesa? I’ve been hard as fuck for you all week. Are you gonna be a good girl and help me out?”

“Yes,” you breathed out. “Let me take care of you, papi.”

Mattheo twitched in your hand as you gripped him, tugging as he watched you with lust blown eyes. The intensity of his stare made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“I thought about this while getting myself off this week. Your hands. Your eyes. Your voice.”

“I thought about you, too,” you confessed. “But it doesn’t compare to the real thing. God, you’re fucking sexy.” You rubbed your thumb over his tip, rubbing his precum over his head. Mattheo whimpered against your neck. “I missed you whimpering for me.”

“I don’t whimper,” Mattheo countered.

You raised a brow and picked up the pace, working him until his eyes rolled back. Despite his denial, Mattheo whimpered even louder this time.

“You’re playing dirty, baby.”

“I thought you liked it dirty, Matty.”

“I do,” he said with a smirk before curving his long fingers inside of you. You shuddered as he hit that sweet spot. “Now come on, pretty girl. Come with me.”

You nodded, picking up the pace and groaning as Mattheo pulled you in for a sloppy kiss. He licked the roof of your mouth, shuddering as he bucked into your hand. You tugged at him, coaxing him to cum as he panted against your neck.

“Fuck. Don’t stop, baby. I’m so fucking close.”

“Me too, Matty,” you whimpered, grinding against his fingers to take more.

The orgasm crackled over you like a lightning strike, singing your veins with heat as your boyfriend continued to fuck you with his fingers. Mattheo wasn’t satisfied with one orgasm. He coaxed another out of you, laughing as you greedily bucked against his hand, biting into his shoulder while the second wave hit.

By the time your third orgasm rolled around, you genuinely felt as though you’d left your own body. Mattheo only relented when your eyes rolled back and your legs trembled, cries of his name falling sweetly from your lips.

“Tú eres dulce como el azúcar.”

You opened your eyes slowly and found Mattheo lapping up your cum, swirling and sucking his fingers clean with a smirk. You’re sweet like sugar. Though the words were seemingly innocent, Mattheo was anything but. Your boyfriend knew exactly how much it turned you on when he spoke Spanish and he was definitely using it to his advantage.

“That was just the appetizer, baby. Got you all warmed up for my cock. Think you can take it, Y/N?”

“I’ve been waiting all week,” you responded hoarsely.

“It’s worth the wait,” Mattheo declared cockily as he flipped you over. He stripped you of your clothes, carelessly tossing them behind his shoulder while he positioned your hands on the tiled wall. You groaned as he bent you at an angle, smacking your ass before he lined up behind you. “I promise to fucking ruin you, mi pinche puta.”

Anticipation coiled in your stomach as Mattheo sank in slowly. Both of you groaned as he slid all the way in, twitching as he stuffed you full. It was familiar yet new at the same time. It had always been a tight fit, but given your involuntary break, you could feel yourself struggling to adjust to his size once again.

Mattheo gripped your hips, leaving bruises in his wake as he slid all the way out. You whined at the loss, but it wasn’t long before he thrusted all the way back in, knocking the air out of your lungs as he set a punishing pace. You braced yourself against the tile as he spread your legs further apart, allowing him to hit an even deeper angle.

“Oh fuck, how do you always feel so good?” Mattheo grunted as his hips snapped against your ass, brutally burying himself inside of your pussy over and over again. “You were made for me, princesa. We’re perfect together.”

”Matty, baby, please…”

You keened as Mattheo tugged you by the hair, kissing you sloppily as he continued to ruin you. He cupped your tits, flicking his thumb over your nipples as he squeezed your flesh between his rough, calloused hands. Mattheo kneaded your breasts and used the momentum to drive deeper. His palm trailed down your torso, pressing against your stomach to feel himself moving with each thrust.

Tears streaked your cheeks as your eyes rolled back. “Oh gods. Fuck me. Right there, baby. You fill me up so good. I love being full of you.”

“Yeah?” Mattheo drawled as his hand crawled up your throat. “You like when I fuck you rough? Deep down, you just want to be treated like a slut. Don’t you, princess?”

“I do,” you breathed, groaning as Mattheo squeezed your neck. “But I’m only a slut for you, Mattheo.”

“Damn fucking right, baby.” He said proudly. “This pussy is mine. All fucking mine.”

You clenched, squeezing him so tightly that Mattheo felt like he might cum then and there. “So greedy. Milking me fucking dry. God, you’re perfect. Mi princesa, mi vida, mi amor.” Your boyfriend shuddered as you grinded against him, picking up the momentum as the two of you neared euphoria. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Fuck, I’m gonna cum—“

”Cum inside me, Matty. I want to feel you. I want all of it.”

Mattheo cursed, his body seizing as he came with a loud cry. The sensation of him filling you to the brim, his hot cum dripping out of you and coating the inside of your thighs was enough to send you over the edge. You trembled as the orgasm hit you all at once and nearly passed out from the sheer force of it.

Fortunately, strong arms wrapped around you before your legs could give out from underneath you. Mattheo pulled you against him, holding your trembling body as you came down from the high. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder as he cleaned you up. Your boyfriend took his time washing your body, taking great care when it came to your sensitive core.

You smiled up at him as he lathered shampoo into your hair, letting you return the favor and sighing in satisfaction as you scratched his scalp. Mattheo grinned, flashing you a lovesick smile as you rinsed the product out of his hair.

“I love you so fucking much,” he whispered softly.

“I love you more,” you countered.

”Impossible.”

After the two of you dried off, you leaned against the wall and allowed Mattheo to clothe you in his hoodie and sweats. He tied your shoes before giving you a sweet peck.

“Ready, princesa?”

You nodded and took his hand. Without the support of the solid wall, your legs wobbled as you struggled to walk. Mattheo caught you around the waist, a smirk tugging at his handsome face.

“I warned you, Y/N.” He looked entirely too smug and satisfied for your liking. “Told you I’d fuck you until you couldn’t walk.”

Your boyfriend chuckled as you rolled your eyes. “Poor baby. Don’t worry, mi amor. Let your Matty take care of you, hm?”

“I take it back. I kind of hate you right now, Mattheo.”

You squealed as he picked you up bridal style. He didn’t even break a sweat as he carried you across the field. “No, you don’t. But you can fuck me like you do.”

“Deal.”

#this came from the deepest pits of hell aka my overactive imagination #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo smut #mattheo x you #mattheo x y/n #mattheo x reader

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mrschtappen · 25 days

Text

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄

I : The Call of the Circuit -> II : Dreams Ignited (soon) -> III : Untitled (soon)

masterlist

Max Verstappen x Schumacher!reader

Synopsis: childhood friends Max Verstappen and you, the daughter of racing legend Michael Schumacher, evolve from best friends to fierce rivals to teammates. maybe then to lovers....?

Monday, 10th December, 2018 Faenza, Italy

You sat alone at your new office, your eyes fixed on the glowing screen of your phone. The Twitter announcement you had posted earlier that day was still causing ripples across the internet, igniting a firestorm of reactions and responses from fans and followers around the world.

As you scrolled through the flood of comments, memes, and well-wishes flooding your feed, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. The overwhelming wave of support and excitement from your supporters served as a poignant reminder of the incredible journey that lay ahead.

You made sure you turned off the lights of your new office when you were about to go. Settling inside your Audi R8, the soft chime from your phone took your attention away from driving.

As you read Max's message about bringing a Michael Schumacher merch from Germany, a wave of mixed emotions washed over you. The mention of your father's name, especially in connection with Germany, brought back vivid memories of the ski accident that had changed your lives forever in 2013.

your heart felt heavy, a subtle ache resurfacing as you recalled the challenging times that followed your father's accident. The uncertainty, the hope, and the unwavering support from loved ones, including Max, during those difficult years played like a reel in your mind.

Despite the pain and the bittersweet nostalgia, you weren't angry with Max for bringing up those memories. In fact, you felt a sense of gratitude for his thoughtfulness and the comfort of your shared history. Max had been a pillar of strength and understanding throughout your journey, and his genuine care and friendship meant more to you than any merchandise ever could.

Sitting alone in your car, you took a moment to let the emotions wash over you. You reflected on your journey and the pivotal decision to join Formula 1, a deep sense of determination and purpose filled your heart. Since you were three years old, the dream of racing in F1 had been a beacon of hope and ambition, driving you to push boundaries and defy expectations.

You knew that stepping onto the track wasn't just about fulfilling your childhood dreams; it was also a tribute to your father and the legacy he had built. The memories of watching Michael Schumacher's triumphant moments, especially his 6th championship title, had ignited a spark within you, fueling her passion and commitment to chase after her own aspirations.

Despite the challenges and the weight of the past, you felt a profound sense of gratitude and pride. You knew that your journey was a testament to your resilience, determination, and the unwavering support of those who believed in you, including Max.

Sunday, 12th October, 2003 Suzuka, Japan

As a three-year-old, you may not have comprehended the complexity of Formula One racing, the excitement buzzing in the air, the infectious energy of the crowd through the grandstands. The vibrant colors of the racing cars zooming past, the deafening roar of engines, and the flashes of cameras captured your attention, painting a kaleidoscope of sensory impressions.

Although your understanding was limited at such a tender age, the sight of Michael Schumacher, dressed in his iconic red racing suit, elicited a sense of pride and admiration within your young heart.

"That's my dad !" your little fingers pointed at the red car zooming the finish line, practically screaming at everyone as you started clapping then.

The warmth of your mother's embrace welcomed you as you cheered together, caught up in the euphoria of the moment.

your eyes wide with wonder as you watched your father bask in the spotlight and as Michael Schumacher descended from the podium, triumphant and beaming with joy, his eyes sought out you, your mother and your older brother Mick in the crowd. With a tender smile, he reached out to scoop up his young daughter, lifting you into his arms and hoisting you high above the crowd.

the cameras flashed and the crowd erupted into applause, you enjoyed the attention, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world to be held in the arms of your racing hero.

The image of your bond captured for all to see, you knew that this was a moment you would cherish forever—a moment when you felt truly seen and cherished by the man who meant the world to you.

your dad, Michael Schumacher.

Saturday, 27th November 2003. Gland, Switzerland

you stepped onto the karting track for the very first time, your heart pounding with excitement and nerves. The whole family was there along with your dad's friend's family, the Vertsappens. With your tiny hands gripping the steering wheel of your go-kart, you were confused on how the whole kart operates.

"You've got this schatzi !" You heard your dad cheer for you from a distance, calling you a nickname that means sweetie in German.

Frustrated, you spoke

"How do I do this ?"

Max Verstappen, the seasoned six-year-old racer, flashed you a mischievous grin as he leaned over to offer his expertise.

"Watch and learn, little rookie. First, you gotta push down on the pedal like this..."

With a swift motion, Max demonstrated, his foot pressing down on the accelerator pedal with practiced ease. You watched intently, your eyes wide with fascination.

"Like this?"

you mimicked Max's actions, but your foot hesitated on the pedal, unsure of the right amount of pressure to apply.

Max chuckled, reaching over to gently guide your foot.

"Almost there, y/n ! You just need to press a little harder."

you nodded eagerly, determined to master the art of go-karting with Max's help.

"Got it! Thanks, Maxie !"

As you zip around the track, the conversation turned to your shared love for Formula One racing.

"Do you think we'll ever drive in Formula One, Max ?"

Max grinned, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

"Of course! And when we do, I'll be the world champion, then Mick and you will be my trusty sidekicks."

you rolled her eyes playfully, a giggle escaping your lips.

"Dream on, Max! I'll be the one leaving you in the dust!"

"Hey, you two ! How's it going ? " a familiar voice chimed in from behind you, causing both Max and you to turn around

Max grinned, giving Mick a playful nod.

"We're having a blast ! little rookie here is a natural behind the wheel."

you blushed at the praise from Max

"Thanks, Maxie ! And hey, Mick, I'm going to beat you someday !"

Mick laughed heartily, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Is that so ? Well, I look forward to the challenge ! Let's see who can get to formula one first"

Your banter filled the air with laughter as the three of you raced around the track, your friendship growing stronger with each passing lap. And as you crossed the finish line second, just a few millisecond behind Max, a smile grew wide on your face.

"Looks like you've got a prodigy, are you sure this is her first time ? She's a natural" Max's dad said, a chuckle escaped from your dad

You crossed the finish line just 4 tenths of a second later than someone who was 3 years older than you. You can feel the pride surging even when you were just so little.

"wow you're fast" your older brother said, giving you a high five as you returned it enthusiastically with a tiny jump

"yeah, not so bad little rookie !" Max also gave you a high five

you smile with your tiny teeths showing, your dad embraced you, lifting you up in the air

"my daughter is a soon to be formula one racer, and the world shall know you as for you are, not the daughter of a six time world champion but y/n Schumacher."

you couldn't help but feel grateful for everyone's guidance and support, knowing that with them by your side, you knew you were able to achieve anything.

Thursday, 14 March 2019 Melbourne, Australia ROUND ONE

As you took your first steps out to greet the fans, a wave of exhilaration and gratitude washed over you. The energy from the crowd was palpable, a mix of excitement, anticipation, and overwhelming support. The sight of fans waving flags, holding up banners, and wearing team colors was a surreal and heartwarming experience for you.

Walking along the barricades, you were met with a sea of merchandise bearing your name and face, along with the iconic Michael Schumacher memorabilia that fans had brought along. The presence of the Michael Schumacher merchandise added an extra layer of emotion to the moment, reminding you of the legacy you were a part of and the immense responsibility that came with it.

As you greeted fans, signing autographs and posing for photos, several fans couldn't help but comment on the striking resemblance between you and your legendary father, Michael Schumacher. Their kind words and compliments about your beauty and resemblance to your father filled you with a sense of pride and humility.

Amidst the flurry of interactions, one fan caught your attention with a cheeky remark that left both of you laughing.

you backed away with laughter, cupping your mouth, looking at a marriage certificate by an older fanboy, a good looking one you couldn't lie.

"I'm 19 !" You exclaimed, a wide laugh still visible on your face

"Maybe in a few years !" You joked, before moving to another fan, signing her cap with the number 57 on it, a number you chose to drive for.

It was media day today which means there's no driving and the press conference began with Lewis Hamilton from Mercedes, Sebastian Vettel of Ferrari, Daniel Ricciardo from Renault, Max Verstappen of Red Bull Racing and of course yourself, y/n Schumacher from Scuderia Toro Rosso.

"We’re gathered under very sad circumstances, following the news that Charlie Whiting, the FIA’s Director of Formula One died during the early hours of this morning. I’d like to start this press conference by asking each of the drivers present for their thoughts and memories of Charlie. Lewis, could we start with you, please?" Lewis spoke to the mic

"I’ve known Charlie since I started in 2007. I made some comments this morning on my Instagram. It may have not worked, as I think it’s down but obviously incredibly shocked this morning to hear the sad news and my thoughts and prayers are with him and his family. What he did for this sport, I mean, his commitment… he really was a pillar, as Toto said, such an iconic figure in the sporting world and he contributed so much for us, so may he rest in peace."

as the other drivers stated their comments regarding the passing of the late Charlie Whiting, it was your turn to answer

"How about y/n ? I believe this has come to a big shock as well as your father was also racing when he was the f1 racing director ?"

"yes, my father raced during Charlie's tenure as F1 Racing Director. I've met Charlie a few times and found him to be a wonderful person. His dedication to safety and fairness in Formula One was unmatched. Charlie's ability to connect with everyone in the paddock and his unwavering passion for the sport made him irreplaceable. My thoughts are with his family, friends, and the entire FIA community during this tough time. His legacy in Formula One will always be remembered"

as they continued tho the next question, you were shocked as to how bold and daring for this male interviewer to ask the whole lot of drivers with you

"Given the whispers around the paddock about nepotism getting y/n Schumacher this seat due to her father's legacy, and considering she is the sole female on the grid, do you drivers genuinely believe she is as competent as the other drivers, or do you acknowledge a potential gap in her skill?"

As the interviewer's words cut through the tension of the room, your face tightened, a blend of disbelief and frustration clouding your features. The weight of the question bore down on you, amplifying your discomfort and vulnerability in that moment.

You felt exposed, the spotlight glaringly bright, intensifying the scrutiny you felt as the only female driver on the grid.

Sensing your discomfort, a subtle shift occurred amongst the drivers on the panel. Eyes darted towards you, expressions reflecting concern and empathy.

Among them, Max Verstappen's gaze lingered a moment longer, his usually confident demeanor softened by genuine concern for his fellow driver.

The collective silence that followed the question seemed to stretch on, the atmosphere thick with tension. But within you, a resilient fire ignited. Drawing strength from the supportive glances of your peers and your own unwavering determination, you steadied yourself. You would not let this moment define you or shake your belief in your own capabilities.

"could we start with you again Lewis ?"

Lewis's expression tightened, clearly upset by the nature of the question.

"Honestly, I find it disappointing that in this day and age, we're still having these discussions. Women have proven time and time again that they can compete at the highest levels of motorsport. I've been a staunch supporter of women in racing, and I've seen firsthand the talent and determination they bring to the track."

"Look, in Formula 1, everyone's path to the grid is different. Yes, some of us come from racing families or have certain connections, but ultimately, talent and hard work are what count. I've faced skepticism throughout my career for various reasons, and I've always chosen to let my performance on the track speak for itself. As for y/n, she's shown promise and skill in her journey to F1. The sport is better when we have diverse talents, and I believe she deserves her place here"

"Thank you for the answer, could we move on to Vettel next ?"

Vettel's brows furrowed, eyes narrowing with a mix of disbelief and growing indignation. "It's disappointing, really, to hear these questions. Every driver on this grid has earned their seat through dedication, hard work, and skill. Formula 1 is a tough environment, and to suggest that anyone is here purely because of their name or gender undermines the effort we all put in. I've met y/n and seen her commitment firsthand. She belongs here as much as anyone else."

Then they moved on to Danny. His jovial demeanor momentarily shifted as he heard the interviewer's pointed question directed at you. Being someone who often exudes positivity and fairness, Daniel values meritocracy and respects the grind every driver goes through to reach Formula 1. Hearing a fellow driver being questioned on the basis of nepotism and gender struck a chord with him.

"Ah, the old nepotism and gender card. It's not a new question in F1, but it's one that misses the mark. Sure, having a famous last name might open some doors initially, but it won't keep them open if you can't deliver on track. As for being the only female driver, I think it's about time we focus on skills and capabilities rather than gender. I've had the chance to get to know y/n, and she's got talent. End of story."

Then they moved on to Max, who is known for his fierce competitiveness and straightforwardness. It was clear that he was infuriated by the audacious implication and the discomfort it caused you.

Seeing you visibly uncomfortable only intensified Max's emotions. He felt a surge of protective anger, recognizing the unfair scrutiny and challenges you faced as the only female driver on the grid. In that moment, the friendship among drivers was evident, as Max's concern for your well-being was palpable.

His eyes flashed with fury as he seized the opportunity to address the interviewer's audacious question. His voice dripped with venom as he unleashed his pent-up frustration.

"Firstly, the audacity to question anyone's place on this grid based on gender or family name is just absolute garbage. She's earned her spot on this grid through sheer talent and hard work, just like the rest of us. Anyone who suggests otherwise is either blind or just plain ignorant."

His words were sharp and cutting, each syllable laced with disdain for the backward mindset behind the question. Max's aggression was palpable as he continued to tear down the baseless accusations.

"In case you missed it, Formula 1 is about racing, talent, dedication, and hard work, not gender or who your parents are. It's disappointing to still be facing these backward stereotypes in this day and age. We should be focusing on racing and the incredible talent we have on this grid, not trying to create controversy where there isn't any . For the record, I've raced alongside her, and I've known her my entire life. Y/n is an extraordinary racer through and through, and she's proven herself time and time again."

He paused, taking a breath to temper his rising emotions before continuing,

"So, how about we focus on the actual sport instead of dredging up this garbage ?"

Max's aggressive defence reverberated through the room, leaving no doubt as to where he stood on the matter and silencing any further attempts to undermine your place in the sport.

As you listened to Max's vehement defense, a mixture of emotions washed over you. Initially, there was a sense of relief and gratitude. Max's and the other drivers' unwavering support and fierce defence of you felt like a shield against the unfair scrutiny you had faced. It was reassuring to know that your fellow drivers stood your her and were willing to call out the injustice.

Your eyes briefly met Max's intense gaze, conveying a silent thank you and mutual understanding of the gravity of the situation.

Then it was finally your turn to answer

With a poised demeanor, you addressed the room, your voice steady and confident.

"I'd like to extend my sincere appreciation to my fellow drivers for their support. It speaks volumes about the fellowship and respect we share as competitors."

Pausing momentarily, you continued with a touch of irony,

"Regarding the questions raised about nepotism and being the only female on the grid, I was under the impression that Formula 1 valued skill, determination, and performance above all else. My presence here is a testament to my commitment, capability, and qualities I believe are fundamental to every driver on this grid."

Maintaining your composure, you added, "While these questions may have been posed, my focus remains unwaveringly on racing. I am here to compete, to challenge, and to succeed, just like every other driver. I look forward to letting my performance on the track speak for itself. Besides, I don't see 19 men ahead of me, I see 19 challenges to be conquered."

With this response, you gracefully but firmly addressed the issue, highlighting your professionalism and determination to rise above the noise and excel in your chosen profession.

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mymegumi · 4 months

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SHOULD BE ME, GIRL ෆ KAMO CHOSO

⠀ word count: 0.9k ⠀ warnings: DARK CONTENT!—stepbrother!choso ⠀ (stepcest), afab!reader, masturbation, unknowing ⠀ voyeurism, choso listens in on stepsis!reader having sex, ⠀ choso fantasizes abt reader, protective!choso, reader says ⠀ daddy, choso calls you babygirl in his head ⠀ note: @doobea welcome to my mind may u enjoy this as ⠀ much as u can hehe

sometimes, oftentimes, choso has to wonder if sharing a wall with his stepsister is a curse or a blessing.

a curse—he can hear you crying over your boyfriend missing your birthday, the loud music trying to drown out the sounds of your crying whenever he dumps you, or the constant arguing on the phone whenever the two of you end up back together a few days after he’d left you. the guy wasn’t good for you, and despite being not blood-related for the last half a year or so, choso felt as if he was intruding. had it been itadori or any of his other friends or family having any sort of bad relationship, he wouldn’t have had a second thought for saying that they deserved better.

with you, however, everything is and remains to be different with you.

choso feels… mildly guilty about his less than innocent feelings for you. it’s not his fault that your father had fallen for his mother and the two had gotten married, nor was it his fault that he found his stepsister to be the most alluring being on the earth. everything about you had been exactly as if he’d dreamed it himself, but he had to make do with the fact that he, by law, couldn’t have you.

the walls on the house are thin, and it’s times like these that he considers sharing a wall with you a blessing.

‘oh—! oh—!’ you moan, your voice carrying across the drywall separating yours and choso’s rooms. ‘please, i love feeling your cock in me!’

pressing the palm of his hand into his cock he groans so softly, so strained, that it feels desperate even to him. to imagine feeling what the soft, silkiness of your pussy clamp around his cock—he shudders at the mere thought of it.

choso is practically humping his own hand, desperate to feel any sort of friction on his cock as he can feel his moans leaving his mouth, but he’s trying to be good, to be quiet. grabbing the hem of his shirt, he pulls it up to his mouth and clenches down on it, pressing an ear against the drywall to get a better listen in on you and your boyfriend.

‘fuck me,’ you swear loudly, well aware of the fact that you and your partner were supposed to be alone in the house, ‘you love when i ride your dick like this, baby?’

his eyes slide closed as he worms his hand into his briefs, cock straining against the material and it’s sweet relief when his hand wraps around the base of his cock. he’s hard—he’s been listening to the two of you fucking for about twenty minutes already—and just the image of you, riding his cock with your breasts on full display before him, makes his dick grow just a little bit larger.

behind his eyelids, he imagines you with your hands sliding on your waist, your thighs gripping his hips as you bounce yourself up and down on his cock. he watches as his hands slide from your knees, to your thighs, fingers gripping your thighs and his hand uncontrollably grips his dick just a bit tighter. tightening his legs, he lets his shorts drop to the ground with his underwear. he squeezes gently when his hand reaches the tip, but lets it glide down his shaft smoothly and the sensation leaves goosebumps along his spine.

‘d-daddy!’ you whimper, ‘can i come?’

of course you can, babygirl. he thinks to himself, eyes opening as he watches sweat from his exertion trickle down his abdomen, disappearing in the line of his dark pubes. but only for me.

he hates to think it, but it doesn’t matter who you were riding—the only man who could please you, who knew you inside and out, was choso. your boyfriend would fuck you, but he knew that you’d never experience a true orgasm unless it was by his hand—by his cock.

he just wanted to protect you. your boyfriend was bad news, sleeping with other girls and probably calling you all sorts of names to his friends when you weren’t around. choso wouldn’t ever treat you like that, he’d treat you like the princess you were. choso would treat you like a goddess.

with a burning desire to protect you, to keep you safe from other men’s carnal instincts and unearthly desires, his hand begins to speed up, his grip tightening ever so slightly to, hopefully, send him over the edge. with his teeth bearing down on his shirt stuffed in his mouth, shorts pooled at his ankles and hand rubbing vigorously on his cock, choso listens to you ride your boyfriend in the other room.

he listens to you get yourself off, straining to hear every whimper and moan coming out of your mouth and imagines that it’s his cock you’re riding, that he’s the one eliciting those sounds. when he hears your soft, desperate admission that you were about to come, he feels his own heart stutter.

choso gasps, shirt dropping from his mouth as he lets his come splatter against his side of your shared wall, wishing he could’ve been coming inside of your squidgy pussy, instead. he stands still for a moment, head rested against the wall as he lets his heart rate calm down, his breathing return to normal before he begins to make himself presentable again.

this isn’t the first time he’s come to the thought or the sound of you. it is the first time you send him a knowing smile and wink in the living room a mere ten or so minutes later, which sends a zing straight to his dick.

ʚ reblogs greatly appreciated! ɞ

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angelicyoongie · 3 months

Text

lovesick (XIII)

— pairing: yandere ot7 x (f) reader — word count: 6k — warnings: yandere, obsessive behaviour, other content that may be triggering. — summary: You dreamed of the day you would get your very own soulmark. Though, you didn’t expect to wake up to a searing hurt in your arm, the phantom pain of your shoulder being dislocated and your forearm fractured. As if dealing with the worst possible soulmark ever wasn’t bad enough, you also have to come to terms with the fact that you’re being stalked. When the letters and gifts you receive begin to escalate and the police offers no help, you have no other option than to figure out who’s behind it yourself – and hopefully before it’s too late.

Previous - Next

You flip to another page in Jungkook's textbook. You absentmindedly worry your bottom lip between your teeth, concentration high, as you look for any information that might be helpful for his assignment.

Despite the pleading look he gave you when he asked for your assistance, you know that he would be able to handle the paper perfectly fine on his own. It feels like another lifetime ago now, but you do remember how quickly he finished up the shared assignment you had in Ms. Eun's class. Jungkook had practically written the whole thing in just a matter of days.

But, even though you know you're not needed, it's still nice to feel included; like you're doing something that matters instead of just wasting away in the cabin. As long as you ignore the crackling fireplace next to you, you can almost imagine that you're back on campus, working with Jungkook in the library like you did back then. You can't even begin to describe how much you miss doing things that aren't just playing house.

The thought makes a burst of irritation flash through you as you turn to another page, causing you to bite down too hard on the soft flesh of your lip.

Jungkook yelps on the other side of the table as he feels the sting, instinctively touching his mouth in an attempt to soothe the pain.

"Y/n, are you okay?" He gives you a worried look.

You release your lip with a soft pop, chuckling awkwardly to hide your souring mood as you say, "Sorry, I think I was concentrating too hard."

Jungkook furrows his brow with a low hum, eyes lingering on your mouth. You feel like you can see the thought that forms on his face, his eyes lighting up as he gets an idea.

"Ah!" He makes a small noise, quickly clambering to his feet, "I think I know something that can help. I'll be right back!"

"Sure," You nod. You plop your head back to rest on the couch behind you, watching out of the corner of your eye as Jungkook hurries to the kitchen.

You let out a soft sigh when he's out of sight, the sounds of him opening and closing different cupboards fading into the background as you stare up at the ceiling. The past week has been weird. You don't want to call it unexpected based on what caused it, but the last seven days have been surprisingly nice at the cabin. The boys have started giving your tight leash some slack, allowing you to stay in a room alone if they need to leave it to grab something. It's not for more than a few minutes at the time but with how they've been constantly watching you for a month, it's been a more than welcome change. They've given you a sliver of trust and you're finding yourself desperate to hold on to it.

You know what the reason behind it is, of course, you'd be a fool not to.

The shift was notable in the air that morning you awkwardly shuffled out of Jimin's room, the back of your neck sore from the hickeys he had proudly decorated your skin with. You felt awfully exposed by the six pairs of eyes that scanned you from top to bottom, burning with jealousy as Jimin came up behind you to plant a wet kiss over one of his marks. Namjoon's eye had twitched as he pulled back, Jimin no doubt sporting a smug smile behind your back.

It had only taken a second before Hoseok had stormed over to wrap you up in a hug, pulling you away from Jimin and over to the rest in the common room. They felt like territorial puppies with the way all of them made sure they got to touch you and hug you as if they were leaving their own marks behind too. As you were passed between arms you kept catching them looking at your neck, their eyes longing. It was only when all the attention started getting a little overwhelming that you ran away to the bathroom, escaping under the guise of needing a shower.

You hadn't had much time to think about what happened with Jimin until you came face to face with yourself in the mirror, the evidence of the night before staring right back at you. Leaning on the sink, you studied how your skin proudly displayed the marks left behind by Jimin's lips, how your eyes held a shine that you hadn't seen in a long while. Your soul and by extension, your body, was glowing in the aftermath of your intimacy with Jimin.

Guilt climbed its way up your throat so fast it made you gag. You knew that spending the night with Jimin – letting him touch you like that – was terrible, that you were letting yourself down by giving in, but even then you couldn't find it in yourself to hate what had happened. You didn't feel disgusted and that in itself made you feel even more ashamed. How could you not feel bad about letting your stalker, one of your kidnappers, get you off like that? How could you like it? You could blame the bond all you wanted but perhaps it was time to face the fact that you were just weak; easily broken by the connection you had always craved.

You rub your forehead with a sigh.

Jungkook is humming a low tune in the kitchen, the sound of crinkling plastic accompanying it as he pours something into a bowl.

You can mull the situation over all you want but you doubt you'll ever get a definitive answer. What you do know is that there is no use denying that your night with Jimin didn't change anything – for them and you. Despite your best efforts, you are starting to grow fond of them and as much as it pains you to admit, you doubt that it'll be the only time you let any of them touch you. Jimin's touch felt right, good, and you're tired of feeling lonely and isolated.

You think the others have noticed your wavering will, their affections increasing in turn. They have slowly been testing your boundaries, stretching them thinner and thinner day by day. You've come to expect the hands that slip under your shirt when someone leans in for a hug, warm fingertips caressing your waist and back as they hold you close. They let their touches linger longer too, gauging how long you'll allow it before you start to grow uncomfortable. Hoseok and Seokjin have taken a particular shine to resting their hand possessively on your thigh whenever they're seated beside you, the placement inching a little higher every time. Even so, there's still some resemblance of respect in their actions, in how they always stop whenever you show signs of discomfort. It's obvious they're impatient to share the same kind of intimacy with you as Jimin did, but they seem to understand that letting you come to them on your own terms is the best option.

You lift your head as Jungkook returns from the kitchen, straightening yourself up as he rounds the table to plop down next to you on the ground.

"Here!" He exclaims as he places a bowl in front of you, filled with a colourful variety of your favourite kind of candy. "I brought the chewy gummies you like! If you chew on those then you won't hurt your lip if you get distracted again."

The unexpectedly sweet gesture sends a rush of warmth through your body, your cheeks heating under Jungkook's adoring gaze. He reaches out, taking your hand in his. A small furrow appears between his brows, his lips pouting slightly as he says, "I saw you spacing out, are you okay?"

"I know you're upset about missing out on so many assignments but you don't have to be! Namjoon hyung has already applied for you to postpone your studies so you won't lose your spot. I'll help you catch up whenever it's time for you to go back, I promise."

You blink, taken aback that Namjoon had the forethought to do so. You figured you must've already been thrown out of your program by now, having missed out on too many important midterms in just your first month here. The fact that they cared enough about the after to do this for you, does give you a glimmer of hope that you will get out of this cabin at some point, that you will be able to rejoin society in some capacity once they deem you ready – broken – enough.

Jungkook has such an earnest expression on his face, like he genuinely believes they've done you a favour as he says, "Hoseok hyung even quit your job for you! You don't have to worry about anything, Y/n, we have it all under control."

They have it under control. The reality of the situation feels like a smack to the face. While their intentions may have been pure, at least in some aspects, the truth is that the boys have been slowly cutting off all and any ties you have to your old life. The implication is obvious; when you're allowed to go back, it won't be to anything you know.

"What about my apartment?" You ask.

What about my things? My life?

"We're keeping it for now. It would seem weird if we break the lease early when your friend–" Jungkook cuts himself off with a strangled cough, "I mean, the lease is up in a few months anyway! So Jimin hyung said it's better to just grab the rest of your stuff then."

Your stomach sinks at the off-handed mention of Heejun and Jaemin. They haven't been brought up at all since that night but you can tell it's only a matter of time before you'll have to reach out to them. The frown on Jimin's face seems to grow deeper with every return from his shift. It's obvious your friends have no intention of backing down and that Jimin is reaching the last of his rope trying to fend them off.

You still have no idea how you're going to successfully get Heejun to back off. You know your friends, you know they'll see right through you if you try to convince them that everything is fine, so how in the world are you going to accomplish this? It's not like you can ask any of the boys for help, either. You're in this alone and only you can keep them out of harm's way.

You startle slightly as Jungkook squeezes your hand, bringing you out of your ruminating thoughts.

"Do you know why I'm so close to Dasom noona?"

It takes you a second to realize that Jungkook has jumped to another topic – that he's talking about Ms. Eun. He's not subtle in his attempt to distract you from your troubled mind, but a small part of you appreciates it all the same. You've been thinking about Heejun and Jaemin so much that you feel like you've started to go backward, like the solution is slipping further away with every new idea that strikes you.

"No," You shake your head.

"You know I'm not close with my parents, that they didn't treat me well," Jungkook adverts his gaze down to your joined hands, "They have a lot of money, so my aunt and uncle always bent themselves backward trying to cater to their whims. They were desperate for something extra to fill their pockets with so they didn't care that their joy came from my suffering. I wasn't the son my parents wanted, I c-couldn't be. I wasn't perfect, so in their eyes, I wasn't worth the trouble. My parents' obvious distaste for me painted a target on my back and my family is known for being ruthless when there's something they want."

Jungkook lets out a bitter snort, jaw tense as he soothes his thumb across your knuckles. "The only one that made family gatherings bearable was my oldest cousin – he was too grown to be swayed by my parents. He was the only one that ever cared, the only one that never mocked me for my s-stutter."

The pain in Jungkook's voice is almost tangible. You can't imagine having your entire family turn against you just because of a small speech disorder; just because you're not cookie-cutter perfect. From the small glimpses Jungkook has shared from his past and tidbits of information you've overheard over the past months, you think it's safe to assume that Jungkook is part of the Jeon family – the ones that run the city, pulling strings behind the curtains without ever showing themselves on stage. They're the definition of old money, seemingly satisfied to have complete control over a decently sized city instead of fighting for power in the major ones. You don't doubt they would be willing to cut Jungkook loose if they notice his strings fraying, desperate to uphold their perfect image. It's clear the trauma of it all runs deep for Jungkook, his stutter always becomes more prominent whenever he brings up his past.

"Oh, Jungkook," You murmur, heart squeezing at how such a sweet person could be so horribly mistreated by his own family. It makes sense that Jungkook would latch on to the other boys so firmly, idolize them, if they're one of the few who have given him the love and comfort he never got at home.

Jungkook shifts a little closer at the sound of your voice, subconsciously seeking comfort as he picks at old wounds.

"When my parents finally cut me off and left me to fend for myself, I lived on my cousin's couch for a few months before Seokjin hyung hired me. My cousin had been dating Dasom noona for a little over a year already then, so we had briefly met a few times. I felt terrible for always being in their business but noona said she was always thrilled to see me – that I was like the younger brother she never had," Jungkook smiles softly.

"I moved out as quickly as I could to give them privacy but I never lost touch with them. They're part of the reason I'm able to attend university; they're covering half of my tuition. My cousin held a big speech about how he's investing in the future or something like that, he refused to take no for an answer," He lets out a fond snort, shaking his head. "I really care about them a lot. Hyung and noona are planning on getting married next year, but I hope she keeps her own name. She's too good to be a Jeon."

"They sound like they're pretty great," You murmur.

"They are," Jungkook agrees. His face suddenly brightens up as he seems to recall a particular memory, "I ran into my mom once, after everything that happened. I was out with hyung and noona, and Dasom noona was amazing at telling her all these half-truths that made it seem like I was thriving without my parents. She insulted my mother to her face over and over in the sweetest way possible and I doubt my mom realized what had even happened until she was already on her way home."

"Good," You allow your lips to quirk, "I'm glad she stood up for you."

"Yeah," Jungkook glances up at you, his big doe eyes staring you down for a second before he swallows thickly. His cheeks flush as he quietly admits, "Dasom noona was the first person I told about you. I know I shouldn't have but I didn't know how to approach you, so noona offered to help. She came up with the idea to pair us together for our project when I realized we were taking the same class."

"Please don't think too badly of her, she only wanted to help!" He hurries to add, gripping your hand tightly.

You know Ms. Eun – Dasom – to be impressive just from the many awards and accomplishments she has rightfully displayed around her office. But, listening to Jungkook sing her praises like this, it makes you realize that it takes someone very special to practically adopt your boyfriend's cousin as your own brother and love him as such. It's no wonder they seem so close, why Ms. Eun was so protective of him. Jungkook has a kind heart, she said. Even with his stalker tendencies, you know that to be true.

"Hyung and noona don't know about our.. uhm, c-circumstances, just that we're spending time together to work on our bond. The wedding will be happening in the spring and noona really wants us to come, if you want to. She's very excited to see you again!"

Spring. It's not that far away. Maybe four, five months? You have no idea what the boys have planned for you, but Ms. Eun's wedding might be one of your only chances at seeing people again. If you play your cards right, you might even be able to slip away. Escape.

You try to tamper down the rush of emotion that courses through you, the adrenaline urging you to go go go. Five months is a long time, long enough for you to break, to lose yourself entirely if you're not careful – but also enough to win their full trust.

"I would love to, Jungkookie," You grin, elated that you finally have something to look forward to. A small light at the end of this endless, dark tunnel.

A brilliant smile blooms on Jungkook's face at the use of his nickname, his eyes sparkling like tiny stars. He drops your hand in favour of wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you to his chest. It's comfortable, comforting even, to feel his muscular arms holding you steady, your chin hooked over his shoulder. Closing your eyes, you melt into Jungkook's embrace, hugging him back.

"Thank you, Y/n, that's going to make Dasom noona really happy," Jungkook murmurs. He tucks his face against the side of your neck, inhaling deeply before he sighs and says, "And it makes me very happy too."

You make a non-committal sound in return, stroking his back. It's not the wedding you're excited about but there is no way you're going to tell Jungkook that. You know how devastated he'll be once you run away, so you can spare him the hurt for now.

Jungkook isn't innocent in all of this but he isn't the mastermind behind everything either. His betrayal still stings and you think it always will, but the months you've spent here have slowly been mellowing it out, making it more bearable. Enough that you almost find yourself willing to forget about it.

"Can I ask you something?" Jungkook's voice is soft against your skin.

"Yeah," You say.

"That night with Jimin hyung, did you... did you kiss him? It's okay if you did! I'm just– curious."

The unexpected question gives you a slight pause. You figured Jimin would've told the others everything by now but it appears he hasn't. You're honestly surprised that vague is even a word in Jimin's dictionary.

"No, we didn't kiss."

"That's good. I mean–!" Jungkook pulls back, expression panicked as his gaze flits across your face. "Sorry, that's not what I meant. You're allowed to kiss Jimin hyung or any of the other hyungs if you want, it-it's not my business. Well, it is? But also not!"

"It's okay, Jungkook. What are you trying to say?" You ask, half-amused.

Jungkook shyly ducks his head, palms warm against your middle as he says, "Sorry. What I want to say is; Can I be the first to kiss you? Please? I-I'd really like that."

"Yeah," You breathe, the answer coming a little too easy, a little too quickly, "You can kiss me."

You can perhaps fool yourself into thinking it's all just a means to an end, but the way your heart skips a beat as Jungkook brings a hand up to cup your face, fingers shaking, doesn't lie. You want to kiss him. Perhaps it's your soulbond, perhaps it's just Jungkook, but a part of you likes him. Enough to make your heart flutter whenever he's near.

Jungkook always looks at you so reverently – like you're something precious. Something to be cherished.

You can't help it. You're only human, after all, seeking love and comfort where it's easily available to you.

He wets his lips, nervous, as he slowly begins to lean in. His brown eyes are glued to your mouth, wide and wondrous as if he can't believe that he's allowed to kiss you.

Your eyelids flutter shut as Jungkook thumbs across your cheek, tilting your head just so before he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is soft, warm, and Jungkook's mouth tastes faintly of something sweet. He moves his mouth cautiously against yours, testing the waters for what you'll permit.

There are no sparks that fly when your lips meet, no fireworks that ignite behind your closed eyes – but a steady warmth that slowly engulfs you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. It feels like part of you is coming home, like an important piece is slotting into place. Your head feels light and airy, heart thumping in your chest as if it's trying to reach out for Jungkook.

You clutch the back of his shirt, leaning into the kiss to deepen it. Jungkook lets out a soft whimper when you part your mouth, your tongue teasing at his bottom lip until he lets you in. You're not sure if it's Jungkook's breaths or yours that are shaky when you slip inside, your tongue brushing just the faintest touch against his.

"Y/n," Jungkook suddenly pulls back with a gasp.

You open your eyes to find Jungkook's screwed shut as if he's in pain, cheeks flushed as he quickly retreats his hands into his lap.

"Are you okay?" You hesitate to reach out to touch him again, having yanked them away at the sound of his gasp. You tentatively settle a hand on Jungkook's knee, seeing his nose scrunch as he lets out a labored breath.

"I'm fine," Jungkook awkwardly shifts away from your touch, his hands moving just enough to expose the bulge straining against his jeans.

"Oh," You clear your throat, heat rushing up the back of your neck. You barely kissed and Jungkook is this affected by it?

"Have you not?–"

"No. I've been with people before, it's j-just–" Jungkook shakes his head, biting his lip in embarrassment at having to clarify that he's not a blushing virgin, it's just that, "It's not the same. Everything feels more when it's with you."

"Jungkook," You breathe, a little stricken at the confession. It's hard for you to fathom that your kiss was that special. You don't feel the bond in the same way as they do, your feelings dulled by six other souls pulling you in their direction. For the first time since all of this started, you almost feel bad for them. You can almost understand their desperation in wanting to share something with you, even if they know you'll never fully feel the same way as they do.

"Please, um– Just excuse me for a minute? I-I need to go deal with this," Jungkook seems too lost in his embarrassment to have picked up on your mood shift. His eyes stay glued to the floor as he jumps up, hands awkwardly covering his crotch as he hurries to the bathroom.

You slump back down against the couch, dragging a hand over your face. You slow as you reach your mouth, lips tingling as you press on the soft flesh. You shouldn't have kissed him. You shouldn't have let Jimin touch you either. But it's too late to change any of it. And the matter of the fact is that you wanted it – them. It's exhausting having to war with yourself over every single decision you make, especially when you know that your control over them is very limited. You're only trying to make the best out of your situation, to keep everyone you love safe. Perhaps losing yourself in the process isn't the worst sacrifice.

You reach out for the gummies Jungkook left with a shake of your head, unwrapping one and popping it into your mouth. A sour-y-sweet filling is released as you bite into it, coating your tongue as you mindlessly chew on the candy. You swear you have tasted that slight strawberry flavour somewhere else, somewhere more recently. It's not until the gummy is gone and you swipe your tongue over your lips to catch the last of the sticky filling that it hits you.

Of course.

You throw your head back with a groan, muttering a curse under your breath.

It tastes like Jungkook.

The air in the common room feels suffocating. It's only a few days after your talk, and kiss, with Jungkook that you find yourself here; sitting on the couch in the middle of Seokjin and Taehyung, the rest spread out in a janky circle around the coffee table. Your gaze finds Jimin's as he steps forward, his expression carefully blank as he places your phone down in front of you. Your fingers twitch in your lap, itching to grasp onto the freedom that is now so close, yet so far away.

Seokjin seems to mistake the motion for nerves as he gently takes one of your hands in his, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. "It's going to be okay," He murmurs, mindful of the tense atmosphere.

They're all here to oversee your call to Heejun, to make sure you don't attempt to drop any hints of what's really going on. It's obvious that they don't like Jimin's idea, that they're scared of something going wrong, but it's the best option you have. Heejun will never stop looking for you unless you give him a reason to do so. This is easier for all of you and less messy. The boys will finally get rid of the one person that's trying to ruin their plans and you won't have to live with your friend's murder on your conscience. It's a fucked up, terrible, win-win.

"Whenever you're ready," Namjoon nods.

You reach out for your phone with a trembling hand, picking it up. It feels almost foreign to hold a phone after so long, your fingers clumsy as you type in your password. You balance it on your knee, your other hand still occupied by Seokjin. His grip is tight, tense, like he's hoping it'll prevent you from doing something stupid.

You brush your finger across the screen, aiming for the phone but the slight shake to it makes you accidentally touch your texts instead. Your stomach drops as you quickly scan down the list of unanswered messages; Heejun and Jaemin have sent you the most, but your friends at work are a close second. You can see that the last text in the group chat with your parents is from you – the message only a few days old. You're certain Namjoon is the one behind it.

You swallow thickly, heart aching, as you swipe out of the app. You miss your parents and your friends something terribly, but all of this is for them. You're the only one that can keep them safe.

You quickly switch over to your calls, thumb hovering over Heejun's name and the hundreds of missed calls next to it. Jaemin has placed nearly as many, as if Heejun figured you might pick up his boyfriend's calls instead of his. It's such a Heejun thing to do that it makes your chest tighten.

"Go on, angel," Seokjin says, squeezing your hand.

You suck in a deep breath as you tap his contact, quickly putting the call on speakerphone. Part of you hopes he won't pick up, that perhaps it'll spare your heart some pain if you don't hear his, but the much bigger part of you prays that he will. You need to hear that he's okay.

As the loud rings echo in the quiet cabin, your hands begin to clam up, your heart thumping harshly against your chest. It rings once, twice–

Heejun picks up, sounding breathless as he says, "Y/n?"

The sound of his voice wraps you in a chokehold. The glass walls you've built around yourself in an attempt to pretend that everything is fine come tumbling down in an instant, shattering into the silence.

"It's me," You rasp.

"Y/n, gods! What happened? Are you okay? Where are you, we've been worried sick that–" Heejun rambles quickly and the poor service you have out here in the woods struggles to pick up on all of his questions.

You glance up as you notice Jimin shifting on his feet, his previously blank expression growing more and more annoyed with every question Heejun fires off. Not good.

"Heejun," You cut him off, barely more than a whisper, but your best friend goes quiet immediately, "I'm okay."

You hear Heejun let out a rough sigh. He sounds pained as he says, "I don't believe you."

Taehyung's hands curl into fists, vexed that Heejun isn't accepting your story as easily as they had hoped for.

"Trust me," You plead, eyes flickering between Jimin and Taehyung's evident annoyance.

Please trust me, please, please, please.

"How?" Heejun huffs, "You've been gone for months – months! – without a word! The last thing you told me was that your stalker was after you and then you're suddenly gone! Disappeared off the face of the earth. Y/n, please, what's going on?"

"I–" You falter, the explanation you had come up with only hours before stuck in the back of your throat. You don't want to lie. You want Heejun to know – to know that you're not okay, that you don't want to be here, but you can't. You can't and you think lying might tear your heart apart.

There's an ominous silence on the other side of the phone, the line so quiet you're worried he might have ended the call. Heejun's voice is hard, seething, as he finally asks, "Is he there?"

Jungkook straightens up in his chair, doe eyes wide with panic. Seokjin's grip on your hand grows so tight you think he might be cutting your circulation off, the tips of your fingers taking on an ashy tint. Yoongi and Namjoon look like they're two seconds away from jumping over the table to take your phone back, their bodies taut with tension as they stare you down.

"No," You rush out, clutching your phone as hard as you can. "Heejun, I–I chose to run away." The lie feels like it's flaying your throat open as you force it out.

"Y/n, please–"

"Listen to me," You say, the desperation in your voice catching Heejun's attention, "I ran away because I didn't want you or Jaemin or anyone else to get hurt. This was the best thing I could do. It was the only thing I could do."

You screw your eyes shut, swallowing hard. You know this is the only thing Heejun will believe. There's no way in hell he would ever accept you just growing bored of him or losing interest in your friendship – the only thing that would ever convince him is self-sacrifice. Gods knows you've both done your fair share of that over the years.

Heejun pauses. "But why take so long to reach out to me?"

"I couldn't. Things had to settle down first. I'm so sorry, I wanted to, but–" You cut yourself off, "I'm sorry."

"I don't care about all of that, I just care about you, Y/n. Are you safe?"

Are you?

The cabin is so silent you could hear a pin drop. You seek comfort in the darkness behind your closed lids, biting down on the inside of your cheek so hard you know that it hurts the others. The truth is this; the situation you're in is not safe, but you also know that the boys would never intentionally hurt you. Your bond is too strong to ever allow that to happen. In some ways you are safe, in others, you are not.

You can settle for a half-truth then, just like those Ms. Eun is so good at inventing.

You open your eyes slowly, skin crawling as you stare down at the floor and say, "Yes. I'm safe right now."

".. Okay," Heejun murmurs. You can't quite tell if he believes you or not.

The boys let out a collective sigh of relief, some of the tension draining out of their bodies. You notice Jimin giving you a sign to hurry up out of the corner of your eye, your pulse kicking up speed as you realize your time with Heejun has come to an end.

"I have to go," You choke.

Heejun tries to protest, but you cut him off. The longer the conversation goes on, the higher the risk of him figuring out that something is wrong.

"I'm sorry. I'll call you again later, okay? I promise. Just.. take good care of yourself and Jaemin. I'll come find you when it's time. I miss you," Your voice wavers as your vision grows cloudy, tears blurring your sight.

You don't want to let him go, you don't want this to be the last time you ever hear his voice. You miss him and you're scared. Scared that things will never go back to what they were.

"Miss you too. Please be safe, Y/n. Protect yourself, not us, okay?" Heejun sounds defeated, as sad and broken, as you feel.

I can't promise you that.

"Bye, Heejun," You whisper instead, a half-sob. You hear your own name being murmured back at you as you touch the red button to end the call, the line going dead.

"Was it enough?" You sound feeble even to your own ears.

"I think so. We'll find out soon. As long as your friends don't show up at the station anymore, we should be fine," Jimin says. His mouth is downturned, upset, like he doesn't like seeing you cry.

You can only nod in return, not trusting your voice.

Hoseok steps closer, gently taking the phone out of your trembling hand. He hands it off to Namjoon before he settles his fingers on the top of your head, stroking your hair. He hushes you as the first tear escapes you, voice tender and proud as he says, "You did well, sunshine."

You feel sick. You want to scream and claw at the hands touching you, you want to pull your own treacherous heart from your chest and stomp on it until it stops beating for them and it's yours again. The emotions bubbling up under your skin feel like burning hellfire, scorching your insides. You hate this. You don't want this and yet–

The fire quells as more hands reach out to touch you, to comfort you.

Taehyung pulls you into his lap, rocking you gently as you begin to sob. You should be running away, but instead, you find yourself curling closer to his chest, seeking his warmth. He presses fluttering kisses to your hair, murmuring about how good you are, how perfect, how well they're going to take care of you.

And for the first time since you woke up trapped in the cabin, you actually want to believe him.

Anything to make your reality hurt a little less.

a/n: happy new year!! lovesick is finally back after a few intense months of exams and other happenings. this chapter shed some more light on jungkook's backstory and he even got the first kiss from the mc! the conversation with heejun was the final nail in the coffin so to speak for the mc, so we'll see her being more open to accepting the boys' affection from here on out. the poor girl is starting to get worn down :( the next chapter will be more taegi-focused and the mc will finally learn more about their soulbond!

please leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed the chapter!! it means so much to me 💖

(and you know the drill, please excuse any mistakes until i have time to go through and edit!)

#yandere bts #bts x reader #yandere x reader #yandere jungkook #yandere jimin #yandere hoseok #yandere taehyung #yandere seokjin #yandere yoongi #yandere namjoon

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 20 days

Text

Bluebird — Azriel x Reader — Part VIII

Hey! Sorry for the wait on this one, it’s a big one and took me longer than I anticipated! I haven’t had the chance to properly proofread so sorry for any mistakes! Hope you enjoy all the same 💕

Summary: Forced to go on the road with her father, Reader gets a rude awakening that starts to play on her mind. But Azriel’s not willing to let go so easily.

Click here to be added to the Bluebird taglist! Please remember to check your settings and make sure you can be tagged! 💕

Word count: 8.7k

Warnings: Pretty gruesome descriptions of violence and injury. Masturbation. Nsfw, 18+, minors dni!

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The curtains were drawn.

To superior fae sight, nothing lay behind them besides darkness. Not even the flickering of a candle.

Azriel waited. And waited, and waited. His eyes did not once stray from the window, and hope burned fierce in him that those curtains would suddenly part, that a beautiful human face would appear that made his heart race and his skin feel too taut on his bones.

The fabric didn’t even twitch.

He knew, after a couple of hours, that he would not be seeing his Bluebird tonight. He tried not to feel too disappointed as he flew back towards the wall, the comfort of the fae realm. Such was the nature of their…relationship. It was clandestine and risky, and sometimes things would come up. Sometimes, one or both of them would be unavailable.

But as he stripped off his leathers and fell into his huge bed, he couldn’t tear his thoughts from her. Thoughts of where she was, what she was doing, what had rendered her unavailable to meet — whether she was safe.

Too many thoughts like that would do him no good. Would only worsen this…this alien sensation, of needing her with him all the time. Needing to have her in sight. Needing to have her at all.

He could only pray to the Mother that the next week pedalled on fast.

That he’d see his Bluebird soon.

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It had been the most uncomfortable day of your life.

A monotonous day on horseback, one landscape blurring into another. The village you were travelling to seemed like worlds away — and the journey was only made worse by the sticky summer heat, and the fact that you rode with Devin, slotted between the tight press of his muscled thighs.

Still, you were unflinching in your resolve that while you may not have been able to wriggle out of sharing a horse with him, you weren’t going to talk to him, no matter how much he tried to ply you with conversation.

It was his fault you had to come on this trip in the first damn place.

You tried your hardest to while away the time by sinking into your thoughts. It seemed that with each hour that passed, those thoughts became more vibrant, more longing. Thoughts of you, Azriel, a wildflower meadow. The ability to just…be in each other’s arms.

The ability to kiss him. Touch him.

Those thoughts didn’t help at all. It was an effort to keep them at bay, lest you make the ride even more uncomfortable.

But eventually — thankfully — you and your father’s group had arrived in the target village, just as the sun had been setting. News of your father’s cause had spread wide enough that it seemed his presence was expected. And very much welcomed.

You’d been ushered into the village tavern and supplied with more food and drinks than any of you needed. The feast kept you occupied while your father was absent awhile, apparently visiting a few villagers he was familiar with. And when he’d returned, it was there, that evening, nestled at the very back of the old, crumbling building, that you’d watched your his passionate presentation.

You’d heard the words spoken numerous times, of course. To his friends, and to anyone at the Bluebird Inn who would listen. But this was more than just a speech. This was an entire damn performance.

And it surprised you, how uncomfortable it made you to watch.

For all your father was quiet, brooding, sometimes soft-spoken, he commanded the tavern with a voice louder than you’d ever heard come out of him. His cheeks had grown ruddier as his own words riled him up. Spittle accompanied the angered, venomous words that left his mouth.

And it was all you could do to watch, your dinner feeling leaden in your stomach as you listened to the words — listened to him reel off a list of people he, personally, had met, who had suffered at the hands of the fae. As he told the story of your mother’s brutal death, and the details formed a lump in your throat, never lessening in impact. As he presented his ideas, his plans, in a way that was so refined, so expert, that it almost had you considering that they were the best course of action.

But you knew Azriel. You knew Azriel. These faeries that your father raged about were not his brethren. Azriel himself would abhor their actions.

You repeated that to yourself in your head, like a chant. Azriel was not like them. Azriel was good. Azriel cared for you.

Two whole hours, you had to sit there and listen to your father talk about frightening creatures who stole babies from their bassinets, who brutalised young girls, who tore families apart. Two whole hours, and your muscles were stiff and aching. Your head throbbing. Your body and mind desperate for the oblivion of sleep. A respite away from the pang in your gut.

Azriel was not like them. Azriel was good. Azriel cared for you.

The sight of your father and his men traipsing around the room with rolls of parchment and gathering signatures was a relief — only because you knew this would soon be over.

You sighed softly to yourself, slumping back in your chair and absentmindedly rubbing a hand over your stomach. As though it would somehow ease the complicated feelings that twisted it so violently.

“Impactful.” The chair beside you was pulled out, and Devin lowered himself into it. “Don’t you think?”

You gave the slightest dip of your chin. Couldn’t deny that your father had a way with words.

Devin pursed his lips, his eyes skating over you. “We have a long ride home, Y/N. Are you going to ignore me the whole way back, too?”

“Yes,” you hissed. “Because you had no right to talk to my father on my behalf.”

He folded his arms, appearing unflinching and unbothered by what he’d done. You may have thought he was in the wrong, but he certainly didn’t.

“I did so out of concern for you,” he replied. “Because what you said about the fae was wrong. None of them are good. The sooner you see that, the better.”

You bit inside of your cheek, simply to prevent yourself from arguing. But gods, you wanted to contest the statement. You wished you could tell him that you had cold, hard, beautiful evidence that he was wrong.

But doing so would only make things worse for you.

So you merely folded your own arms, and focused your gaze on the men weaving in and out of tables, gathering signatures, clapping supporters on the back and parting with well wishes. You stared and stared until the sight of them blurred.

And then Devin said, “You haven’t been yourself recently.”

You whipped your head around to look at him — gape at him. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”

“I know you were acting shifty as fuck the night I came to check on you during the Summer Festival. You couldn’t get rid of me quick enough. I’d be forgiven for thinking you had someone there with you.”

“Who would I possibly have at my house?” you narrowed your eyes. “I’m not allowed to make friends, to form connections.”

His gaze softened. “I’m your friend.”

It wasn’t that long ago that you’d fantasised about him being more than that. He’d seemed so incredible, so gallant — a young man who could sweep you off your feet, and protect you while he guarded an entire village. You’d wondered if there was ever any likelihood of him being drawn to you, instead of one of the many other beautiful girls within proximity. You’d wanted to impress him.

Now, you just wanted him out of your fucking sight before you said something that would land you in more shit.

“You—”

The tavern’s front door flung open, hard enough to slam against the wall, abruptly severing your sentence.

All fell still and silent as every face looked up to take in the man who entered. Hair ripped from the knot at the back of his neck, and he was drenched in sweat, clothes rumpled and—

And saturated with blood.

There was a beat, and then everyone who crowded the small space appeared to collectively clock what they were seeing. A wave of gasps rippled through the room like a breeze.

“I—” the man’s eyes immediately landed on your father, as though it were him he searched for. “I tried to do something, but I was too late. I couldn’t—”

“What has happened?” Your father strode forward.

“I was too late,” he repeated. “I…I think you need to see this.”

Just like that, every member of your group was readying themselves to leave — to throw themselves straight into the unknown. Devin, too, rose.

But your father was wrenching round to face them, shaking his head. “I’ll take only a couple of you with me. The rest of you should stay here until I send word,” he angled himself towards your table. “Devin, Y/N — you’ll join me.”

“Me?” Your eyes widened. Granted, you didn’t know what, exactly, you’d be facing, but one look at the blood-drenched man at the entrance told you it was bad. You didn’t know nearly enough about fighting, or defending, or healing—

“Yes.” Your father’s tone brooked no room for argument. “You.”

There was no chance to protest as you were yanked out of your seat by Devin and pulled along with him while your father headed out of the door. Your heart raced in your chest as Devin helped you up onto his horse, and you were lurched into action.

All you could think was that you wished — so badly wished — to be back in the safety of the Bluebird Inn. And Azriel’s arms.

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You didn’t travel far. A few dirty, dusty roads brought you straight to a house that was mostly unassuming, no different to the houses in your village.

But the similarities stopped at the first scream that ripped through the night and had you violently flinching, had the horses panicking.

Devin dismounted with ease and promptly lifted you off, setting you on your feet at the exact same moment another scream sounded, thinning out into a strangled sob.

“Come.” Your father beckoned to you as Devin made quick work of tying the horses up.

But you couldn’t get your feet to move. You stayed firmly rooted to the spot as you shook your head. “I can’t go in there.”

“You can and you will,” he beckoned again. “Don’t let me down.”

With him in front of you and Devin now at your back, you felt you had no choice but to follow. The man that had burst into the tavern held the front door open, increasing the volume of what now seemed to be wailing sobs.

“I’ve heard of your cause,” he said quietly as your father stepped in first. “Which is why I think you should see this. So you can report back firsthand to the Queens.”

The entryway was just light enough to catch the incline of your father’s head. He said nothing as you were led through—

You stopped dead in the doorway of what seemed to be a dining room. So abruptly that Devin’s front collided with your back.

“Her name is — was — Dahlia.” The man inched towards the table, balling his fists at his sides. “She was only fourteen years old.”

“What happened?” Those two little words came from you — and you didn’t even realise it.

Because lying motionless on the table was the body of a young girl — from what you could make out beneath the injuries that covered her skin, anyway.

Her pallor was such a deathly white that you knew she was long gone. Her clothes were dirty, ripped…by what looked like claws. Chunks of flesh had been gouged out, her throat cut—

Your ears were ringing too loudly for you to think. But as your heart beat at a gallop, another cry rent the air, stealing your attention to the corner of the room.

“This is Marin,” the man breathed, moving closer to the woman who sat curled up and distraught in the corner. “Dahlia’s mother. She saw the attack with her own eyes.”

“Oh, gods,” you whispered. Devin’s hand landed on your shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze.

Your father took slow, careful footsteps towards the grieving mother. And the softness with which he knelt before her, laying a tentative hand atop of hers…it had your eyes stinging.

“My name is Marschal,” he introduced himself quietly. “I’m so sorry for what those monsters have taken from you. Your beautiful daughter is safe in the Beyond now. The fae can hurt her no more.”

Another soft cry shuddered out of Marin. But she nodded her head and answered, her voice watery, “I know who you are. What…what you do.”

“Then you’ll know why I’ve been brought here. What happened…it’s something I believe our queens should know about,” he paused. “If you’re able, I’d like to know exactly what it was you witnessed. As much as you can manage, of course.”

The request almost made you flinch. It seemed callous, somehow, when her child’s body was still right there on the table and hadn’t yet been sent back to the earth. But after a beat of Marin staring at your father through her tear-filled eyes, she offered the slightest dip of her chin.

“I…” Her voice wobbled. “I’ll try.”

“Devin,” your father murmured over his shoulder. “Fetch her a drink to steady her nerves.”

You were jostled ever so slightly forward as Devin slipped past you — too close to Dahlia’s poor, broken body than you could handle. You turned away, your feet numbly carrying you to Marin’s side. You took her hand into your own, and she didn’t object to the comfort.

In fact, her voice was a little steadier as she said, “It was just me and my Dahlia.” She inhaled slowly through her nose, steeling herself. Her eyes fluttered shut for the briefest second before they opened again. “We were returning home from visiting my sister in another village. It was such a nice night that we decided not to spend coin on transport. The walk was a bit lengthy, but we’d made it before. We knew which way to go.”

The story was momentarily interrupted by Devin re-entering the room and handing a glass of amber liquid to Marin. Her free hand trembled as she took it and lifted it to her lips. Beads of dark liquid coloured her pale lips as she swallowed it down and continued.

“Only, Dahlia insisted on cutting through a forest to look at some plants,” she whispered. “She’s into botany, you see — she was into botany.” A fresh wave of shuddering sobs threatened to overpower her, but somehow, she found the strength to tamp down on them. “So we went into the forest, but Dahlia, she…she had a habit of wandering off, and I got separated from her. It wasn’t for long. But when I found her again, she was with a man.”

Your father repeatedly softly, “A man?”

“I knew at once that it was a faerie. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. And Dahlia thought so, too. He was talking to her, and she had this glazed look in her eyes like she was somewhere else. He offered her his hand, and she took it. I knew in my bones that he was going to take her away from me, so I stepped forward, announced myself. I told Dahlia to come, that we were going home. The man answered for her in a voice like music.”

“What did he say?” you rasped.

“He said — he said that Dahlia would make a pretty wife for a faerie. That faerie men liked human brides. He said that she was coming back with him, across the wall. He asked her if she wanted to do that, and she said yes. I think he had her under some sort of spell. I could tell that it wasn’t my Dahlia talking. And I panicked. I stepped forward to grab her out of his arms, and he attacked. Immediately. It was all so quick, I couldn’t register what he was doing. But then he was disappearing before my eyes, and Dahlia was crumpling to the floor, and I knew…I could see she was gone.”

A keening, horrendous wail left her, and she was curling herself up so tightly — like she was trying to hold herself together. It was all you could do to grip onto her hand as she rocked back and forth and cried over and over and over, my Dahlia, my Dahlia, my Dahlia.

You waited for your father to say something else — to come up with an answer as to what might ease her suffering, if anything at all could.

But it was Devin who lowered himself to one knee before her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, his face gentle, open.

“Madam, the last thing I wish to do is cause you any more distress at such an awful time.” He spoke in the calm, sure way that all village guards did. “But I am a guard of the village from which my companions and I hail. Our girls have been suffering attacks at the hands of the fae, also. If, perhaps, you could describe the faerie you saw…who hurt your child…”

“He was beautiful, as I said,” Marin snivelled. “So beautiful, it almost hurt to look at him. Dark hair and golden-brown skin. Eyes that seemed to glow. That beauty made him easy for Dahlia to trust. He seemed kind. His voice was just as stunning as he was.”

“Their beauty,” your father supplied sympathetically, “is a calculated part of their thrall. Do not blame yourself nor your daughter for being allured by it. The fae know what they are doing.”

You did not hear whether the reassurance brought Marin any comfort. You didn’t catch what Devin then said to her, despite you looking right at him, watching his lips move.

Your mind was roaring, ears screaming. You felt…panic.

Their beauty is a calculated part of their thrall.

The fae know what they are doing.

So beautiful, it almost hurt to look at him.

Dark hair and golden-brown skin. Eyes that seemed to glow. He seemed kind. His voice was just as stunning as he was.

Faerie men like human brides.

You felt like you were going to be sick.

Was it so easy to be lured by the mere beauty of the fae?

Was that what Azriel had done to you?

Dahlia’s attacker had seemed nice to her…just as Azriel seemed nice to you.

And Dahlia was now lying lifeless and brutalised just inches away. Allured by a beautiful faerie. Like the other village girls. Like your mother. Like you—

You launched up, nausea turning your stomach. This was too much. If all fae were the same…if all of them were capable of this…

“What is it?” Devin asked. Your father didn’t speak; merely stared at you with an indiscernible expression.

“I need some fresh air, I’m sorry.” Feeling as though you were gasping for breath, you pushed through them, stumbled clumsily past Dahlia’s body and out of the room before they could stop you. You focused on forcing your legs forward, finding your way out of the house. Balmy summer air coaxed you towards it and had you practically falling out of the door.

What had you been thinking, having regular, secret meetings with a faerie who could tear you apart with his bare hands? Inviting him into your village, your home? Allowing yourself to think that he was somehow different? Finding ways to justify your involvement with him?

Azriel may not have been responsible for the attacks himself, but his kind were. You didn’t know him. Didn’t know what he was capable of. For all you were aware, your warming to him had been carefully manipulated by him, by magic. For all you were aware, he could have an extensive list of human girls that he’d softened and lured. He could be using you for something.

You didn’t want to think about what. Didn’t want to know.

What you did know was that you couldn’t see him anymore. Dahlia was some sort of sign that your dealings with the fae had to stop. What you had with Azriel needed to stop—

“It hits a little close to home, doesn’t it?” Your father’s soft voice reached you from the doorway. Amidst your reeling thoughts, you hadn’t heard him follow you out.

You sucked in a huge gulp of fresh air and pivoted to face him. “It does,” you agreed. “I’m sorry if I disappointed you by running out of there.”

He shook his head, took a step closer. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I felt it was necessary for you to see just what a single faerie was capable of. That doesn’t mean I expect you to be unfeeling and unaffected. That sight in there is…it’s terrifying. And gods, if it were you lying on that table—” he cut himself off, swallowing hard. It was a rare thing for him to share such sentiments with you. That was as close as he’d allow himself to get.

So you nodded, letting him know that you got it. He was terrified of you meeting the same fate that poor Dahlia had.

The moment hung between you, thick as the sticky night air. And then you were taking the plunge and asking the question that lived somewhere deep and heavy inside you, trying to claw its way out.

“Was it like that when Mama was attacked?” you studied your father, waiting for him to flinch, grimace, something. “When she was attacked by a faerie, did she…did she look much like Dahlia does?”

A gruesome question, and perhaps an unfair one.

But for the first time in your life, you needed to know — the gory details. How bad it had been.

Your father pursed his lips, staring back at you. For a moment, you thought he might not answer.

But then he shook his head. Shoved his hands into his pockets. He looked…vulnerable.

“No,” he answered, his voice laced with something you couldn’t grasp. “No. There was far less left of your mother after her attack. Nothing of the woman I had loved.”

Before you could answer, he turned and trudged back inside.

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Three weeks in a row.

Three weeks in a damn row, the curtains had remained shut at Y/N’s bedroom window.

Azriel thought his need to see her was starting to eat him alive.

But gods, he missed her. He missed her curiosity, that she did not seem to fear him. Missed that he could lose hours talking to her about everything and nothing. Missed her scent, the taste and feel of her lips—

He heaved a sigh, sprawling back in his bed and running a hand over the panes of his bare stomach. His blood thudded and thrummed in his veins. Burned too hot.

He knew, at least, that she was well, only from the rare glances he caught of her from the sky above the village. Seeing her and not being able to swoop down and speak to her was a whole torture of its own. But if the curtains were closed, that meant it wasn’t safe. The last thing he wanted was to get her into trouble.

Still, that didn’t stop his bones from feeling too hot with need, his heart too heavy—

Another quiet sight escaped him, the pads of his fingers stroking absentmindedly over his abdomen. It felt entirely out his control that his thoughts quickly ventured down the same avenue they’d been walking for three weeks, now. Yet again recalling that conversation he and Y/N had had when he’d last been with her. The broadened confidence that had lain within her actions.

She’d asked him about lovers. She’d kissed him deeply, yearningly, and had he not stopped her, she would have taken it further. He knew she would have — knew it from the way her scent had changed.

Gods, that scent. He was sure it had followed him everywhere these past weeks. It would drive him mad yet. The scent of fresh summer air and sweet, ripe apples. It was perfect, and mouthwatering, and Cauldron boil him, Azriel wanted more. A touch. A taste—

A low noise rumbled in his chest as his cock instantly hardened. This was why it was best to keep his mind occupied. Because as time went on, so too did his growing, strengthening, snowballing attraction for the human woman.

She was likely unaware of what affect she truly had on him.

With only the covers draped over his naked body, the light brush of the fabric against his hardened length was too much. He kicked them away, glancing down at his body’s reaction to the mere thought of Y/N. Nothing to do with him not having had sex for a while now.

All to do with the fact that he wanted Y/N. Badly.

He wrapped a hand around his cock, releasing a hushed moan at the touch. And as his thumb mopped up the precum at the head, and he began to pump slowly, languidly, he closed his eyes and imagined it was her hand that touched him.

That mental image threw the unhurried pace straight out of the window. Fantasies swarmed him as he writhed on the mattress and bit down on his husky, growling moans. Thoughts of Y/N stroking and squeezing and licking him, of her guiding him through his pleasure with filthy words and promises. Watching his length disappear between those perfect, full lips—

A shout shuddered out of him that he was too slow to suppress, his chest heaving as he emptied his cock onto his stomach. The pleasure was too much. He couldn’t think around it, couldn’t see anything but the stars that burst in his vision.

He didn’t know when he’d last cum so fast, so hard.

But somehow, he did know that no other woman, female, whatever, would ever be enough again. Only Y/N. He wanted Y/N.

He needed to find a way to see her.

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Resolving to have nothing more to do with Azriel did not, unfortunately, banish thoughts of him. Nor did it banish the feeling of missing him, missing what you’d grown comfortable with.

It was hard to go from looking forward to weekly rendezvous to just…nothing. No social interaction, besides what you got from behind the bar of the inn. No personal connections.

It was for the best, you told yourself. In the three weeks since you’d been on the road with your father and his men, those images of Dahlia’s broken body had not left your mind. They haunted you as thoroughly as the sounds of Marin’s cries and wails. As thoroughly as those words she’d spoken.

The most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

Azriel was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. And while he may not have been responsible for Dahlia’s attack, or the attacks on the girls in your village…that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable.

The fae were a violent people. There was no getting around that. And you…you could not take that risk. No matter how much your heart yearned to do so, just to feel the touch of Azriel’s hands and hear the smooth lilt of his voice.

He was fae. You were human. It could never work.

So you kept your curtains closed, and you kept yourself busy. You knew Azriel must have wondered what was going on, why you’d been unavailable three weeks in a row. Soon enough, you told yourself, he was bound to get bored and seek connection with somebody else, and your brief brush with the fae would become a bizarre, distant memory.

You hoped.

Perhaps if you chanted it to yourself enough, it would come true.

But gods, you’d become so comfortable with him. Had found what felt like a real, genuine bond with somebody, like nothing you’d been able to experience before. It was no easy thing to return to loneliness, just you and the inn and your piano. Everything was suddenly too dull, too quiet.

At least your father hadn’t asked you to come on the road with him again.

His trips were getting longer, the further he ventured. Two days had stretched to four. You were more alone than ever.

Tonight, when the last of your customers had filed through the door, you were not in the mood to play piano, nor to read a book. Your frame of mind was a tricky one. You felt…restless and misplaced. Tired in your bones and yet wide awake and longing.

You tossed and you turned, kicking your sheets, writhing against your mattress until you were sticky with sweat. You wanted to pull back the curtains and wrench open the window, but…not at this hour. Not while Azriel might still be circling above, searching to see if you were available.

So in the dark, you let the hours tick by, waited for sleep to find you or…some semblance of peace. You listened to each chime of the village’s clock tower, making you aware of every hour you’d lain awake; one o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock. No passing time made a difference. Restlessness still commanded your body until finally, you’d had enough.

It was nearing four o’clock by the time you threw your sheets off you and stormed out of your bed, exasperated and fed up — by your constant thoughts that would not leave you alone, and how they seemed to control everything. What were you to do without the few hours of oblivion that sleep afforded you?

Was even this some power of the fae…to command your mind and drive you mad with sleeplessness and restlessness until you were losing yourself entirely, becoming an empty shell who lived only to harbour feelings for an ethereal being who saw you as some sort of toy? Was your longing even real, or just the product of magic?

You weren’t sure of anything anymore.

Though still very much night, the darkness had lifted just slightly over the village with another summer morning rapidly approaching. Birds were beginning to wake and sing their songs. It wouldn’t be too long before the milkman ventured through the village with his wagon, leaving bottles at the residents’ doors.

If Azriel had tried to visit, he certainly wouldn’t be around any longer — not with the world waking up.

So you resigned yourself to the fact that you wouldn’t be sleeping. You threw a robe over your nightgown and trudged down the stairs, irritated and ill at ease. You headed straight for the back door, to your small yard that was just as grey and dull as everything else. At least the air would be fresh. Somewhat.

Though tinged with the smells of the countryside, it was nice to feel it wash over you. Cool, in the absence of the sun, and yet not cold. You slumped down onto the wooden bench against the wall and rested your head back, closing your eyes.

How, you wondered, had you been foolish enough to land yourself in such a predicament? How had you gone from being some human, village nobody, to brushing arms with the very beings you’d been raised to despise? It had to be magic that had weaved its way into your mind. Perhaps Azriel hadn’t meant to bewitch you, but he had. Perhaps it was some natural facet of his kind that he had no control over, that you’d fallen victim to. You’d heard stories of the kinds of fae who were love talkers — Gancanagh — whose sole magic was to pour sweetened words into women’s ears and so thoroughly seduce them until they were nothing more than their feelings. Could that be what Azriel was? Could he have—

A thud ripped you from your thoughts so abruptly that you jolted, your eyes flying open.

Just in time to see Azriel jump down from the opposite wall, feet landing smoothly on the cracked concrete ground of the yard.

You stared at him, knocked speechless, for a moment, by the mere sight of him. You couldn’t deny that you’d missed gazing upon his brilliance. The dark leathers and flawless appearance. The shadows.

But you quickly yanked yourself out of it, shaking your head. You would not be bewitched or love-talked or…whatever. Not again.

“It’s so good to see you,” Azriel breathed, cleaving the silence.

But you were up on your feet, still shaking your head, suddenly cold all over. “You can’t be here.”

“I checked the village before I came down,” he stepped closer. “All is fine—”

“No,” you interrupted. “You need to leave.”

He paused, seeming to take his time studying you. His brow furrowed at your guardedness, the way you crossed your arms over your chest and eyed the distance between yourself and the door.

“I don’t understand…” he murmured, taking a step closer. “Where have you been? What’s happened?”

The backs of your legs hit the bench in your attempt to back up. “None of that matters. You just need to stay away from me. Leave, and don’t come back.”

Surprise seemed to steal him so suddenly that it gave you an opening the move. You made to cross your way back to the door, to get yourself inside. Locks were no use against his ability to winnow, but at least you could find a weapon in there, should you need it.

But Azriel was stepping closer just as fast, his warm hand closing around your elbow in a gentle yet firm touch. Gods, you’d missed that touch—

“Don’t,” you snapped, recoiling. “Do not touch me—”

“Y/N, just look at me. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Why?” Pivoting to face him didn’t ease his grip even a little. “So you can charm me into believing you’re not dangerous?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked, his eyes blazing. “I never claimed not to be dangerous. But I am not a danger to you.”

A brusque, almost hysterical laugh broke from you. “Resorting to faerie riddles? How convenient—”

“Y/N—”

“Let me go.”

This time, when you yanked your arm back, his hand fell. You didn’t wait around to see his reaction as you darted through the door and slammed it shut, locking it with trembling hands.

But when you turned, he was right there in front of you, in your fucking house. You backed yourself up against the door to stop your body colliding with his.

“Get out,” you breathed. “I mean it. Get away from me.”

Slowly, he rose his hands in a placating manner. There was pleading in his tone as he carefully bit out, “I just want to talk to you. Please. Tell me what I’ve done.”

You stared at him, pressing your palms flat against the door. It hurt so, so badly that you wanted to hear him out. Wanted to wipe that crestfallen, devastated expression from his face and hold his hand and talk to him and kiss him—

No, no, no. You shook your head, shook the thoughts away. Azriel watched with wide eyes.

“I am not a danger to you,” he said again, slowly lowering his hands. “But if that’s what you’re worried about…” smooth as a damn waltz, he unsheathed a blade, sharp enough to slice through the sky itself. He gripped the hilt, holding the beautiful weapon out to you. “Take this. It is the only thing I am currently armed with, and if at any point you feel in danger, you have my permission to stab me with it. I just want to talk.”

Your gaze flicked between the blade and his face, unsure and upset. Upset, because you knew that the longer you spent in his presence, spent listening to his voice, the harder it would be to remember the driving force behind your hostility. The harder it would be to convince him to leave and never return.

But perhaps the key to that was not being hostile towards him, but rather, making him hostile towards you. That would be easier. You had never been completely honest with him — about who your father was. Maybe fessing up to the fact that you’d joined him in his campaign would be enough to anger Azriel into leaving.

You jerked your chin at the blade, squaring your shoulders. “Place it on the floor and step away.”

He didn’t hesitate. A shadow snaked out, coiling around the dagger and easing it to the floor with barely a noise. And then Azriel stepped back, and back, and back. Until he was pressed against the wall opposite you.

He didn’t move an inch as you reached for the knife and took it into your hand. The feel of it was weighty and foreign — and beautiful.

“I just want to talk to you,” Azriel said again, his voice gritty. “Tell me what happened. Tell me what…what’s changed.”

You met his eyes, squaring your shoulders as you admitted, “I wasn’t completely honest with you.”

His face showed no reaction. He didn’t even stir. Just stared back at you and spoke clearly, carefully. “Alright. Talk me through that.”

“We once discussed a band of humans who are raising a cause against the fae. Do you remember?”

“I do.”

“I never told you that it is my father who set up the cause. He is the one behind the campaigns. He is the one who takes his men village to village and spreads word of the evil deeds of the fae. He’s behind it all.”

A heavy silence filled the space between you. Azriel stared at you, his expression unreadable. This was the moment he would curse you for keeping the truth from him. The moment he would leave and never look back.

Except, all he did was nod his head once. Like you’d merely offered him a droll comment about the weather.

“Do you not understand what I’m telling you?” you pushed. “I sat up on that hill with you and discussed the matter when I knew the entire time who you were talking about. What they were doing. I deceived you. Kept it from you.”

“There are things you don’t know about me, too,” he answered quietly. “Things that I, for certain reasons, have not told you yet. I would be foolish to assume the same wouldn’t be the case for you,” he stared at you, head-on. Unflinching. “I know better than anybody, Y/N, that you cannot help who or what you come from. I won’t judge you for it, just as I’ve asked you not to judge me.”

Gods, he was so damn reasonable. So much more…worldly and mature, than the human men you knew in the village.

Then again, Azriel had centuries of life on them.

“I’m not angry that you didn’t tell me,” he studied you. “I can understand why you’d be cautious—”

“My father took me on his campaign three weeks ago. Took me on the road with him and his men.”

It was that which seemed to really stop Azriel in his tracks. Something — the slightest thing, a tiny reaction — flared in his eyes. You weren’t sure what it was.

Good. This was good. Maybe now he would get the point, that you and he needed to stop seeing each other.

“Night after night, I sat and listened to what my father had to say. To what he knows,” your hand gripped hard at the knife’s hilt, like it was the only thing grounding you and making you able to speak. “None of it was stuff I hadn’t heard before. I even resented listening to it. I curled myself up in a corner and repeated to myself over and over that whatever was being said, you were not like that. You were not the kind of fae of which my father spoke.”

Azriel’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I am not. Just as I told you.”

“I found it frustrating to hear him tarnish all of your people with the same stories when you had proved to me otherwise. That some fae could be good. That I had been ignorant. And then,” a short laugh rasped out of you, “and then, as if the universe was trying to send me some sort of message, a man came looking for us and said we needed to accompany him somewhere. And we did. My father, a member of his group, and myself. We followed this man to a house in that village, and I knew it was bad from the other end of the street. I could hear the cries coming from within that house, the wailing.”

That information was met with a wall of silence — as though Azriel was biting back his words and waiting for you to finish your story before he would deign to speak. Even if the rigid set of his shoulders told you he desperately wanted to do otherwise.

“There was a girl’s body in that house.” Merely recalling the image of Dahlia had a lump rising in your throat. You silently begged your eyes not to tear up. “The body of a fourteen-year-old girl. A child. A fae male had attacked her, and her poor mother had seen the entire thing.”

Azriel swallowed. “That’s awful—”

“She told us exactly what she saw. Described the faerie to us. How he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, with dark eyes and golden skin and such a charming demeanour. How her daughter hadn’t stood a chance, because he was already weaving his way into her mind and appealing himself to her. Making her think that he was no threat. Because his beauty, his allure, was above anything else.”

“And…what are you saying?” Azriel asked bleakly. “That you think it was I who attacked that girl—?”

“No, but it was a faerie! It’s always the fucking fae!”

The words left you so angrily, so loudly, that you realised you’d been waiting for someone to yell them at. That they burned inside you, and they hurt. You felt…foolish. Betrayed.

And Azriel appeared to read all of that on your face. He swallowed again, hard, balling his fists at his sides like it took everything in his power to hold himself back and not approach you.

“I never once denied that faeries are capable of such atrocities,” he stared at you. “Not once. I simply asked you to acknowledge that there is good and bad in all people, whatever we are. It’s not as black and white as the fae just being bad.”

“And yet,” your voice was cold, “I haven’t been presented with anything to say otherwise.”

That might have been a low blow. You were guessing it was, from the way Azriel physically flinched, before schooling his features.

Because he…he was evidence of good, wasn’t he? He certainly had been, before the situation with poor Dahlia. He’d shown you that he was tender and soft, patient and kind. It had been enough for a while.

But you had more or less just said that it had never been enough at all. And that seemed to bother him more than anything else.

“You and I are worlds apart,” you added, sounding weaker. “Whatever or whoever you are…we simply have no business getting involved with one another.”

“That’s bullshit.” In a flash, Azriel was pushing off the wall. He strode forward a couple of steps, before thinking better of it and stopping in his tracks. Ferocity turned his golden skin a ruddy hue. “I don’t care what sides of the wall either of us fall on. What matters is that I feel right around you. I feel alive because of you. If we have no business getting involved, tell me why I cannot sleep for having constant thoughts about you. Tell me why you have consumed me as though you have bewitched me.”

You blinked, almost — almost — wanting to laugh. The description was one you absolutely had fitted to him. To consider that he’d come to the same conclusion about you—

“I swear to you that I have never used any sort of faerie sway to appeal myself to you,” he continued. “What we feel for one another is genuine. I keep coming back to you because I ache for you. And I don’t judge you one bit for thinking badly of my kind — especially after what you saw on your father’s trip. It’s awful, and I abhor what was done to that girl. But I beg of you, Y/N — please. Do not paint me in the same light.”

Each word pelted you like hailstones, the impact of them sending a shiver coursing down your spine. So quickly, your body wanted to falter, to fold, to go marching over to him. It took every shred of effort to stand your ground and grip onto the knife as though your life depended on it.

“I’m not trying to invalidate what you’ve seen, what you’ve experienced.” Azriel took another slight step forward. “I would never. I just…I ask you to give me one more chance to prove that there is another side to the coin. That good can exist as well as bad.”

You pointed the blade towards him, stopping him in his tracks. But you lifted your chin as you asked, “How? How would you prove that? I don’t want any faerie trickery.”

“And there would be none. I want to show you…for you to see with your own eyes…”

“…see what?”

“The good that I know. The good that I live amongst.” Pleading lay within his eyes. “Just give me one more night. One more night of your time to take you into my world. To show you more of myself. And if you still want nothing more to do with me…” Slowly, he shook his head, as though he could hardly bear the thought. “Then I will find a way to accept it, and you will never have to see me again.”

You shook — trembled — with the effort to rein yourself in. You didn’t understand this carnal…thing, deep inside you, that was drawing you to him. Like a thread in your body, connected to one in his, begging you to close the gap and go to him.

You rocked on your feet, eyeing him with none of the anger you’d felt moments before, and all of the caution at how he so often made you feel. Like you wanted to be in front of him. To touch him.

“I don’t…understand what you’re suggesting,” you said slowly.

Azriel took a single, tiny step closer. You didn’t stop him. “Let me take you across The Wall for one night. A few hours, if that’s all you’re willing to give. To my city, my home. Let me introduce you to my family. To everyone and everything that reminds me how much good exists amongst my kind, even when I sometimes doubt it myself.”

“Across The Wall—?”

“It would be entirely safe.” Another step, closing that gap between you. “I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. And if we get there and you don’t even want to talk to me, you don’t have to. I just…I just want you to see. You deserve to see the good.”

So many feelings warred inside you at once. Intrigue, curiosity, fear — such raging fear. Excitement. Maybe…maybe a little bit of hope.

Hope that you could still be proved wrong. Because you still wanted to be proved wrong.

You didn’t want to let Azriel go.

Swallowing hard, your eyes shuttered. What he was asking of you was huge, and that wasn’t even considering the logistics of how you would do it. “I don’t…know if I could.”

With another step, Azriel was close enough to touch. The familiar scent of him was almost enough, alone, for you to fold. The hand that held the blade lowered entirely without your willing.

“Why don’t you take the day to think about it?” Hazel eyes were a long-awaited caress against your face. “Your father is away for another night yet, isn’t he?”

Your gaze clashed with his abruptly. “How do you know that?”

Quickly, he held his hands up. “Just going by the pattern of his previous trips, that’s all. He doesn’t usually return until the weekend.”

Right. Perhaps you were being a little bit paranoid. You forced yourself to relax a little.

“Yes,” you concurred. “He’s away for another night.”

Azriel’s chin dipped. “So…how about this? You take the day to think my offer over. If you decide you want to accept and come with me, I’ll be waiting for you above. At midnight, on the dot. If you decide you don’t, and you do not want anything else to do with me…well, like I said, I’ll find a way to accept it somehow.”

You knew your resolve was already slipping, leaning more towards what felt right, rather than…that what you’d been raised to believe was right.

And it wasn’t as though it was an unreasonable offer. You believed that Azriel could keep you safe either side of The Wall. Your wellbeing wasn’t what concerned you in the slightest.

You supposed that it was that if you were to go along with this…there would likely be no turning back. You’d so far merely dipped your toe into the world of the fae.

Crossing The Wall would be like submerging yourself in it.

“Take the day to think about it,” Azriel said again, studying you closely. “All I ask is that you do think about it…properly. Don’t just…don’t just write me off. Please, Y/N. I couldn’t bear it.”

Something in his voice smothered that last shred of doubt that tried to hold you back. Your own voice was quiet as you replied, “Alright. I’ll think about it.”

In front of you, his shoulders seemed to slump with something like relief. Pleading still lay within his eyes. You weren’t sure, in that moment, if you could handle staring back at it.

So you instead held the knife out to him, ripping your gaze away. “You can have this back.”

“Don’t want to stab me?” he said, and your lips threatened to quirk up. You forced the smile away as he took the weapon back and sheathed it.

“I’ve yet to decide. I’ll spend the day contemplating that, too.”

So easy, to fall back into the natural rapport you had with him. Azriel didn’t bother to bite down on his smile.

But the smile then faltered, and worry clouded his eyes. “I really do hope you’ll give me another chance.”

“Why?” you blurted. “Why me?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. And then he stepped away from you. Something in his stance told you he was readying himself to disappear.

“I’ll tell you why, if you come across the wall with me,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “I want to be transparent with you. But I have to protect my heart, too.”

“You—”

“Just think on it,” he spoke softer, gentler. “And get some sleep, Y/N.”

Before you could respond, a breeze rippled through the room, tinged with the smells of winter.

And just like that, you were alone.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

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togrowoldinv · 8 months

Text

Friends

Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

You’ve been there for Wanda as a friend, but it’s always felt like something more

Note: Milf Wanda 😌 Enjoy!

Wanda Maximoff Masterlist, Main Masterlist

Wanda was intrigued by you from the moment she met you. You were different from anyone she had ever met.

And you were definitely different from the man she was married to, who is now her ex.

What set you apart was your thoughtfulness. You always made sure Wanda was okay and that her and the boys had everything that they needed. You stepped up when she needed you the most. Especially after her divorce.

You were a good friend to Wanda, but sometimes you felt like it was more. She often asked you to be there for things that felt more like the job of a spouse or parent, but you never complained. In fact, you loved it.

So, when Wanda almost kissed you two weeks ago you felt like the world stopped spinning. She stopped short of your lips and apologized, saying she got caught up in the moment. You desperately wanted to kiss her, but you let her go.

It’s been radio silence from Wanda since that night. And you’re tired of it, so you stand here now at her doorstep to confront her.

You knock on the door, and Wanda opens it. She looks stunning even in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. She always looks good.

“Hey, Wanda,” you greet her. “I come bearing pizza.”

Two sets of feet run up behind Wanda and they grin at you.

“Is it cheese?” Tommy asks.

“It’s cheese,” you answer. “May I?”

Wanda steps back and lets you inside. You take the pizza to the kitchen and get plates and napkins for the boys. It’s a practiced motion, one you’ve done plenty of times.

“Thank you, y/n!” Billy says, ever the sweetest little boy.

“You’re welcome, buddy.”

Once the boys are settled at the table, you turn to Wanda. She is standing at the threshold of the kitchen with her arms crossed.

“Sorry, I didn’t ask before coming over,” you say. “Or before feeding them.”

“It’s fine. They missed you,” Wanda says. You wonder if she missed you too. “Vis is picking them up in ten minutes. It’s his problem that they won’t be hungry.”

You can’t help but smile at that. Wanda comes further into the kitchen and grabs a piece of pizza. She accepts your olive branch even in just a small way by eating the pizza. You catch up with the boys for a few minutes before their dad is there to get them.

Wanda and Vision don’t share many words as they exchange the kids. The boys seem a little sad to go, but Wanda assures them they can call if they want to talk to her.

That leaves you and Wanda alone in the house. You look to Wanda and decide to start the conversation.

“Wanda, about the other night,” you begin. She opens her mouth to speak, but she shuts it before any words come out. “I’m not upset that you almost kissed me.”

“You’re not?” Wanda asks. She seems truly shocked at your words.

“No,” you answer. “Honestly, I’m upset you ran away after. And that you’ve been ignoring me since.”

Wanda pulls her hoodie sleeves further down her hands, an old nervous habit that you recognize. You want to reach out and comfort her.

“I just got scared,” Wanda admits. “You’re my best friend, y/n. I don’t want that to change.”

“That’ll never change, Max,” you tell her.

You walk closer to her, and she sits on the kitchen counter. You stand between her legs and put your arms on either side of her waist. It’s not a position you’re unfamiliar with, but as you look into Wanda’s green eyes it feels different this time.

“I want to kiss you,” Wanda whispers. “But what if everything changes?”

“Then it’ll change for the best,” you answer. You’ve always been more positive than Wanda. “Hey, look at me. I promise we will always be best friends.”

“Even if we do this?”

“Even then,” you assure her. “Now, I want to kiss you too, so let’s do it.”

Wanda breathes deeply before you connect your lips with hers. It’s like the whole thing happens in slow motion. Her lips move against yours. It feels like everything in the world is right.

You kiss her until she’s gasping for breath. And then you kiss down her neck. The moans she lets out are music to your ears. Your hands slip under Wanda’s hoodie. She loves the feeling of your hands moving over her abdomen and up to her breasts.

“Y/n,” she mumbles as you kiss her again.

“Yes, dear?”

“Let’s go to my room,” Wanda says. There’s a hint of mischief in her eyes.

You help her off the counter and to her bedroom. You two finally got your timing right, and it’s the best night of your lives.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff comfort #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut

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navybrat817 · 1 year

Text

What Goes Around

Pairing: BFD/DBF!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky is your friend's dad and your dad's friend and nothing more. Until he isn't. Word Count: Over 6.2k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, vaginal unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), semi-public sex, possessive behavior, dirty talk, light Daddy kink, age gap (reader is in early 20's and Bucky late 40's), arguing, light violence, swearing, conflicted reader (everything is consensual!), everyone is a mess, Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?). A/N: Woohoo! Stepped out of my comfort zone a bit on this and I'm so proud! Thank you to @sweeterthanthis , @dreamlessinparis , @buckyownsmylife, @targaryenvampireslayer , @christywantspizza , @sgt-seabass , @lookiamtrying for listening to me ramble about this. Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby (thank you as well), but any and all mistakes are my own. Banner and moodboard by yours truly. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated! ***Any soft!dark undertones are unintentional as everything is consensual.***

You met Bethany Barnes your freshman year of college. While some of the girls on your floor knew each other, you went off to university not knowing a soul and had to be assigned a roommate. Your nerves shot up when you walked into the shared room. Beth, as she preferred to be called, was intimidatingly beautiful. You hadn't met any supermodels, but she could've chosen that as her profession with her tall, slender build, long auburn hair, and sparkling blue eyes.

Your nervousness faded when she smiled and gave you a hug, after asking if it was okay.

"You're here!" she smiled more when she pulled away, looking over your shoulder at who you thought was your dad. "By the closet."

You weren't normally stunned silent by looking at a person, but that was what happened when you met James "Bucky" Barnes. With the beard and quiet confidence in which he carried himself, you would've mistaken him for a professor had it not been for the fact that he was in the dormitory. Call it instant attraction or lust, but you found yourself openly staring at the handsome man as he carried a box into the room. He gazed at you, too, or so you thought. Your mind may have been playing tricks on you.

"Dad, quit staring at my roommate. That's weird."

The needle on the record scratched. Her dad. You could see where she got her good looks. He was taller and broader, his hair dark brown instead of auburn, and eyes a deeper shade of blue. One of the hottest men to ever grace the earth, if anyone asked for your opinion.

It didn't matter how good looking he was. This was Beth's dad. It put him in the "look, but don't touch" column.

Your dad, Dave, appeared moments later and introduced himself. Bucky was kind enough to help him with the rest of your stuff and even offered to buy lunch. While he didn't look the least bit upset about leaving, it was clear your dad was having a tough time holding it together and even had tears in his eyes. You understood. It was the two of you for so long and now you were out the door.

Beth put a hand on his arm and gave him a small smile to ease his worries.

"Hey. Your daughter and I will look out for each other, okay? You have nothing to worry about. Plus, I think we're going to be good friends."

She was right.

To your surprise, you discovered that Beth only lived about an hour away from your hometown. Like you, Beth didn't know anyone, but she was friendly and welcoming. Definitely more outgoing than you would ever be. Her popularity grew quickly, but the two of you were there for each other like she promised. While you had lost your mother, hers took off when she was so young she couldn't even remember her face. Bucky did the best he could to raise her. Like your dad had done for you.

Maybe that was why they became such good friends, too.

The two of you traded off different weekends at each other's houses when you left campus and spent a few holidays together. You did a couple of summer trips with your dads doing their best not to be overbearing. Eventually Beth joined a sorority and moved into the chapter's house, so you no longer lived together. Bucky suggested that your dad move closer to his place when he decided to sell the house, that way everyone could still spend time together.

"You wouldn't mind, would you?" your dad asked at the time.

You didn't at the time. It still gave everyone a chance to hang out and your dad seemed to need it more than you. He admired Bucky for being self-made, having a nice house, and a good job. It was as if the man's confidence rubbed off on him. He began to dress better and get in shape. He mentioned possibly dating again, which you encouraged. Your dad deserved to be happy.

You couldn't have predicted it would all go to hell after graduation.

You nursed your wine as you sat at the bar, staring into the abyss of the liquid as you swirled it around. Maybe if you looked long enough, you'd forget about tonight. It should have been an evening of celebration for you. Nothing major, but it was something that meant the world to you.

"I think you need something stronger."

You stayed silent when you turned to your right, slightly surprised when you saw none other than Bucky take a seat beside you. The citrus scent of his cologne filled your nostrils when he moved his stool close enough that your knees touched. Up close, even with the dim bar lightning, you could see the gray hairs in his trimmed beard and perfectly coiffed brown hair. Of all the people you expected to see, he certainly wasn't one of them.

"What are you doing here?" you asked.

"I thought you could use a friend."

"Are we friends?" You asked softly.

Hurt flashed in his eyes, which filled you with guilt. "I thought we were."

You weren't sure if you would label Bucky as a friend, but you cared for the man. He had been good to you over the years, staying up with you and watching movies when you couldn't sleep or listening to you ramble on about your papers, internship, resume, while Beth pampered herself. He gave advice when you asked and listened when you only wanted to talk.

You didn't need to be rude to him.

"We are," you wanted to assure him and you felt a bit better when his shoulders relaxed. "How did you even know where to find me?"

"You rushed off before dinner started and you mentioned that you liked this place," he replied, like it was obvious. "We were supposed to be celebrating. We didn't get all dressed up for nothing," he teased, gesturing to himself and drawing your attention to his large body as you smiled a little.

Over the last few years, you got used to seeing different looks from him. Jeans and shirts tight enough to see the muscles underneath, sweatpants that hung low enough to let the imagination wander, swim trunks when you went on vacation, and even the occasional suit. He opted for a dark blue suit tonight that matched his eyes, but skipped the tie. It wasn't a look many could pull off and he did it with ease.

You blinked and shook your head, trying not to pay attention to how good he looked. Just because you were upset didn't mean you had a right to check him out. It was wrong to be attracted to him and you refused to acknowledge it. Mainly because he was one of your dad's best friends and one of your best friend's dads.

No, she's not my best friend. Not anymore.

“We even kind of match,” he smiled to himself.

You glanced down at your short, sleeveless dress. It wasn’t revealing or flashy, but you felt beautiful in it. The shade of blue was close to his suit. Part of you felt silly for dressing up for a simple dinner.

"I guess we do," you said softly, looking at your glass again.

“Surprised the boys aren’t lining up for a chance with you,” he said.

You snorted, thankful you didn’t take a sip of your wine. You would’ve spit it out. “The boys have never lined up for me, but it’s okay. I’m used to it.”

Boys usually talked to you to get closer to Beth.

“Their loss,” Bucky said sincerely as he held up a couple of fingers for the bartender.

“And we have nothing to celebrate,” you said, not wanting to dwell on your sad dating history.

"Bullshit," he said, ordering two shots of whiskey and setting some money on the counter once the bartender came over. "You got a job at Stark Industries. I'm proud of you."

Your cheeks heated at the praise. "Thank you," you said, sparing him a glance when he passed you a glass. "I already have a drink.”

“And I said it isn’t strong enough,” he hesitated as he picked up his own. “Beth said you weren’t much of a drinker. Not even on your 21st birthday. You were a good girl, weren’t you?”

You were conflicted as you listened. Did Bucky mean for that to be an innuendo? You chose to focus on Beth instead, and how angry you felt. How many nights did you hold her hair back while she puked?

“You're right. We should celebrate."

Bucky gave you a worried look as you picked up your drink.

Your cheeks ached from your wide smile. "To my dad and your daughter fucking each other. Cheers!"

You might as well address the elephant in the room since he wouldn't.

He frowned when you downed the shot, the burn spreading from the back of your throat to your chest. You half expected him to see a clench in his jaw or an embarrassed blush in his cheeks, but he merely threw his drink back and slammed the glass down when he finished. "You sure you don't want to do another toast? I don't think the entire bar heard you."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to make a scene. I did that already, remember?"

You hadn't seen Beth in months since you graduated. Neither of you landed dream jobs right away, but you did find temporary work to help cover the rent for your new place. You wanted to be independent and your dad supported you. But your friend hadn’t even seen your place.

Any time you reached out to meet up, she made an excuse why she couldn't join you or bailed at the last minute if she agreed. At first, you didn't take any offense. You figured she met a guy. She got like that sometimes over boys, but she had never gone that long without hanging out with you.

Maybe she had outgrown you after college.

Your dad sensed that you missed Beth and assured you that you'd see her soon. He planned a special dinner to celebrate you getting a job at Stark Industries. Beth promised she wouldn't miss it. You thought it was strange how easily she accepted your dad's invitation, but you discovered quickly that she wasn't there for you in the first place.

"Sweetie," your dad began as he slipped an arm around Beth's waist. "We have something we want to talk to you about. Beth and I are, well, we're seeing each other. Now I know that may be difficult to hear, especially since I haven't seen anyone serious since your mother, but…"

Your dad used to describe you as amicable and well-behaved when someone asked him about his daughter. No matter what life threw your way, you did your best to be friendly and stay out of trouble. It could have been before your mother was always kind and you did your best to follow in her footsteps. It often meant putting the needs of others before your own, but it never bothered you.

Until tonight.

Until you saw the ring on Beth's finger.

Beth, the girl who flashed boys from her sorority house window and blew off studying. The same girl who cried with you on the anniversary of your mom's death. She was going to marry your dad.

A slow moving storm began to swirl in your mind. You managed to hear your dad say that they began seeing each other the night of graduation and promised it wasn't sooner. It explained why Beth had blown you off all that time. They were trying to figure out how to tell you, but all they did was lie.

Outrage was a foreign feeling to you and you didn't know how to channel it. Were you supposed to scream? Cry? All you knew was that it clawed at your insides until it broke free.

Whatever you yelled was enough to make your dad step back in shock and Beth grab your arm to drag you outside. The porch light illuminated her enough to see the anger etched on her face. You didn't even recognize her.

"What the fuck? You've been fucking my dad?!" you yelled, snatching your arm back from her.

"Yeah, I'm fucking your dad!" she yelled back.

"How did this even happen?!" you demanded to know, immediately regretting asking a second later.

"After your graduation dinner, we were drinking and I said I always thought he was hot and-"

"God, stop!" you shrieked, covering your ears until her mouth stopped moving. "So, you two have been sneaking around behind my back and lying to me for months?!"

"We had to because we knew you'd lose your shit! I knew you wouldn’t be mature about this!"

You trembled as you took a step back. You weren't used to yelling or being yelled at. There were times that you and Beth bickered, but it was nothing like this.

And, of course, you'd lose your shit. What did she honestly expect? Was she the real reason your dad began to take better care of himself over the years?

"Why?" You asked almost timidly, a contrast to how you shouted moments ago. "I don't want to sound cliché, but you can have anyone you want. Why him?"

"Because I want him," she said unapologetically.

Beth, in the time you knew her, was never afraid to go after what or who she wanted. She also went all in with guys. She didn't believe in doing it half-ass. But your dad was far from her type, the opposite of the fuckboys she typically dated.

"My dad isn't one of those stupid boys who does lines of coke off your ass. He's a good man."

"I know he's a good man. That's why I'm marrying him," she snapped, holding up her hand for you to see the ring again. It was beautiful. If you had to guess, it was also expensive. "We just want your support."

You wondered what it would be like at times to have a stepmom. Whenever you envisioned it, your best friend never came to mind. Your dad had to be going through a midlife crisis. God, what would your mom say if she was alive? What did Bucky have to say?

"You're half his age!" you argued, the anger starting to surface again as you stepped forward and smacked her hand away. "What do you two possibly have in common?"

"A lot, actually," she said, clutching her hand against her chest. "You never had a problem with your dad and I hanging out in all the years we've been friends. And you wouldn't give a shit about his age if this was any other guy."

"But this isn't just any guy! This is my dad!" you argued, pleading with her to understand as your vision blurred. Didn’t she realize how awkward it was? What if they ended things? "And you're my best friend."

Beth bit her lip at the sight of your tears. "Your dad and I care about each other, okay? We deserve to be happy. And I care about you, too, but I'm not letting him go. I refuse to be like you."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" you demanded when you watched the sympathy leave her eyes.

When backed into a corner, Beth lashed out like an animal. Anyone who got too close got hurt. Unlucky for you, you knew you were about to be on the receiving end of her wrath.

"You spent all four years of college studying and being nice instead of living. You only had fun when I made it happen. You hardly dated. You're lucky you even got laid at all," she said, digging into your insecurities. It was tough for guys to look at you when Beth stood beside you. It made you wonder how long she felt this way about you. "Deep down, you’re just a fucking coward. Unlike you, I have the balls to go after what I want, so that's what I did. You should find a pair and do the same."

Your hand connected with Beth's cheek before you could stop yourself. Like a scene out of a movie, your dad opened the door in time for him to witness the slap. But it wasn't his hand that gripped your shoulder to pull you away.

It was Bucky’s.

Your hand stung as Beth dissolved into tears in your dad's arms. He looked disappointed in you and said as much as you tried to say something. You waited for Bucky to snap at you for hitting his daughter, but he stayed eerily silent as he looked at your hand.

Did he hate you now?

"I'm sorry," you whispered, pulling away before he could say a word.

You ducked inside long enough to grab your purse and take off before any of them could stop you. It was a coward's way out. Maybe Beth was right about you, after all.

"You didn't cause a scene," Bucky said, ordering you both another drink. "That being said, I didn't hear most of the argument, but I did see you hit Beth."

You winced a little and rubbed your palm against your thigh. It was the first time you ever hit someone. "I'm sorry for slapping her."

"Don't be. She deserved it," he said under his breath.

You didn't expect him to say that.

"Your dad is worried, you know," he said, surprising you again. "Said you aren't answering his calls."

"No, I'm not. I don't know what to say to him," you admitted, finally taking out your phone to glance at it. You had missed calls and texts from your dad and Beth, but you refused to listen to the voicemails or look at the messages. "I don't get it."

"What do you not get?" He asked curiously when you finally took your drink.

"Them," you said, allowing the alcohol to burn your throat again. "I don't get them together. Beth isn't. Well, she's not…"

"Your mother?" he guessed.

You looked in your lap with a sigh.

"No, she isn't, but maybe that isn't a bad thing. She won't try to be your mom. Just a partner to your dad," he said. Was your dad someone who could ground her? Was she someone who could make him feel younger? "They're consenting adults. And your dad is lonely. Has been for years."

It sounded like he was trying to placate you, but something in his voice kept you from calling him out. You knew your dad was lonely. Beth said something similar about Bucky.

"I think Beth is bringing him out of his shell," Bucky gently added.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve hardly seen them in months,” you mumbled.

“They should’ve made time for you,” he said, putting his hand over yours. You didn’t dwell on how nice his touch felt since he pulled away just as quickly. “I should have, too. I’ve missed seeing you around the place.”

It wasn’t his job to make time for you.

“You’ve missed me?” you questioned, warmth spreading in your face as he smiled. It was nice to hear that. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“Though I have a feeling you won't want to stop by as much now to see me.”

"If I don't, it has nothing to do with you," you said.

"Sure," he smiled a little.

You examined him with a critical eye, trying to decipher what was going on in his head. Wouldn't it be awkward for him, too? Where was his anger at the situation? Was he hiding it?

"Why are you not upset? She's your daughter."

He gave you a wistful smile and had his drink. A drop of liquid stayed on his lip and you were tempted to wipe it away. Or lick it away. You couldn't act on those urges, especially after the way you went off on Beth. It would be hypocritical.

"Just because I’m not letting it show doesn’t mean I’m not upset. Truth is, I can’t control what Beth does. She stopped listening to me a long time ago. And if I tried to force her to let Dave go, it would make her want him more," he explained, his jaw twitching. "I had a few choice words for him since he kept it from you."

"Wait," you swung in your chair and almost landed in his lap. His hands gripped your arms to steady you, but he didn't let go. "Because he kept it from me? Not you?"

Bucky gave you a single nod, making your heart crack.

"So you knew?" you asked, sadness bubbling up this time instead of anger.

"I did. I’m sorry."

Why would they tell Bucky and not you? Did they expect him to be more mature? Was he the lesser of the two evils or worse?

“How long have you known?” you asked, moving off the stool with his help. “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

“I’ve only known about their relationship for a couple of weeks,” he answered, trying to stop you when you put your phone in your bag. No wonder he wasn’t as upset. He had time to process the news. “Look, it wasn’t my place. You had enough on your mind with job interviews and I was-”

“You were what? Trying to protect me?”

“In a way, yeah,” he said, making you take a step back when he stood up. “I know how my daughter can be, but I didn’t expect them to pick your celebration dinner to tell you.”

“Tonight wasn’t about me,” you said with a bitter laugh. “It was never meant to be about me.”

Age gap and weirdness aside, you didn't want to say out loud that you felt pushed out. Your dad and Beth would be wrapped up in each other from now on. They already were. How would Beth be able to talk to you about romantic issues when those very issues involved your dad? Would your father make time for you? What if they decided to have a kid?

Were you wrong for thinking of yourself instead of being happy for them?

“Come here,” he whispered, embracing you in a comforting hug.

You were close to bursting into tears, shutting your eyes to keep them at bay. What were you supposed to do with the emotions you were feeling? And why did it feel so good to be in his arms?

“I don’t want to be mad at him,” you whispered.

“You won’t be mad at him forever. He’s your father,” he said, leaning in close so his lips brushed your ear. “But he isn’t your daddy, is he?”

Your eyes slowly opened at his words.

“You want me to be your daddy?”

You nearly stumbled back, your eyes wide as you looked at him. There was no playfulness in his gaze. Nothing to give away that it was a joke. You heard him wrong or imagined that because there was no way he would ask you that. Maybe those couple of shots got to you quicker than you thought.

“What did you say?” you asked.

“You heard what I said,” he said evenly.

You laughed as you backed away more. It had to be a joke and you weren’t in the mood for games. So why wasn’t he laughing with you?

“Whatever that was, I-I can’t process this right now. I need air. I need to go home.”

“You’ve been drinking,” Bucky pointed out as you began to walk to the side door. “I can take you. Let me take care of you.

“You’ve been drinking, too,” you said over your shoulder. “I’ll call a cab.”

“Wait!”

You pushed the door open and welcomed the cool air as you walked down the alley. It didn’t bother you since the alcohol warmed you a bit. It was dark, except for the glow of the neon lights. The perfect cover to hide your oncoming tears.

You turned around when you heard footsteps behind you, but didn’t speak when you saw Bucky a few feet away. What would you say to him? It was difficult to think with him watching you, the air thick with tension. The longer his gaze lingered on you, the harder it was to breathe. If he noticed your hand shaking when you wiped at your eyes, he didn't point it out.

Such a gentleman.

"You're not going home until you talk to me," he said, taking another step toward you.

"You can't keep me out here all night. There. I spoke to you."

"That isn't what I meant and you know it. You're pissed about everything, I get it, but don't act like I'm the bad guy here."

"You're not the good guy either," you snapped, pointing back at the bar. “What the hell was that in there? Asking to be my daddy?”

“You know how relieved Dave was that I didn’t beat the shit out of him over Beth? Or that I didn’t push him away as a friend? You know why I didn’t?” he asked, avoiding your question. “Because I’d be a fucking hypocrite.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’ve wanted you since I walked into your dorm room your freshman year.”

The air rushed out of your lungs. A man who is practically sex on legs wanted you. Someone off limits and you could never have.

“Beth never wanted a stepmom and the women I dated didn’t want a bratty daughter. I almost gave up on dating and then I saw you. You were right in front of me and I couldn’t have you because you were half my age and living with my daughter,” he explained.

You thought back over the years, searching for signs in the memories that he wanted you. The late, quiet nights together. His interests in your studies. How he used to joke with your dad that the reason you didn’t date much was because the boys weren’t good enough for you.

“Been almost five years and I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve tried to be good. What’s stopping us now?”

“I. That’s not. We.” Why couldn’t you form a coherent sentence? “You’re a good man and a good looking man, but you’re Beth’s dad.”

Bucky’s bitter laugh chilled you more than the cool air.

“So, you’re going to pretend that you don’t want me? That you haven’t wanted me all these years and I’ve just imagined the looks and want between us?” he demanded, every bit the confident man you grew used to seeing. “Say you don’t want me and we’ll forget this whole thing.”

You couldn’t say that.

“Say I do want you,” you said carefully. “We just can’t.”

You backed up when he strode forward and wrapped his hand around your wrist. The touch was gentler than you expected as he turned and backed you against the wall, your bag unceremoniously falling to the ground. You were forced to look at him when he gripped your chin, pressing his body closer to yours. His eyes flickered between your gaze and trembling mouth and you wondered if he heard how fast your heart pounded.

Were his eyes always such a dark shade of blue or did you ignore the lust hidden beneath the surface?

"Why can’t we, hmm?" he asked, firmly keeping your head in place when you tried to avert your gaze. "Is it because you’re scared? You don’t have to be.”

You were scared as hell. Bucky is a man. Experienced.

"Aren't you tired of being good? I know I am."

You thought back to Beth’s previous words. How she had the balls to go after what she wanted and you needed to do the same. What better time to start than now?

You pressed your lips against his and it didn’t take him long for his tongue to slip in, tasting the whiskey as he devoured you. He moaned when your hands moved down his torso, allowing you to divulge in the thing you both denied yourselves. Some twisted part of you mourned what you could’ve had for months had you simply stopped being a good girl.

Were you truly good to begin with?

The line of his hard cock pressed against you as he rocked his hips and kissed down your neck. “This isn’t how I pictured it, but I can’t fucking wait.”

“How did you picture it?” you whimpered, rolling your hips back against his.

“I’d rather show you later,” he whispered, lightly biting down. It wasn’t hard enough to break the skin, but enough that pain and pleasure lingered. “You have no idea what I’m going to do to you.”

He moved away enough to push your dress up around your hips, shocking you when he tore your panties off. Tucking the ruined fabric into his pants pocket, he slipped his hand back between your thighs. His fingers were cool against your slick folds and you shamelessly writhed, needing everything he was willing to give you.

“Did you touch yourself at night wishing I’d show up and fuck your pretty pussy until you cried for me? Hmm?” He said, kissing you again as you whined. The light scratch of his beard made you shiver as he nipped your bottom lip. “Tell me you want my cock.”

Your head spun at his demand. You weren’t a virgin, but the guys you had been with before weren’t big on dirty talk. Unless they talked about how amazing their cocks were.

They weren’t.

“I want your cock,” you whined against his lips, desperate for him.

You wanted him to fill you up until you were sore, aching, and forgot why you were so upset in the first place.

“I’ll give it to you,” he promised.

Your fingers twisted in his shirt when he slid his fingers into your wet slit. You couldn’t recall a time in your life you felt this hot and slick. And feeling one finger push inside, you were sure this was nothing more than an erotic, dirty dream.

“Fuck, you’re tight. And you’re gonna let me fuck you against this wall, aren’t you?” he asked as you nodded. “Dirty girl. My dirty girl now.”

His finger twisted as he added another and you nearly smacked your head against the wall, but his other hand came up to soften the blow. “Bucky,” you gasped.

“I don’t know if you really want my cock,” he teased, moving his long fingers deep. “Might need to hear it one more time.”

As if you weren’t practically riding the thick digits at this point and moaning in the dark alleyway, he really needed to hear you say it again? The squelching sound of your pussy wasn’t loud enough? But your body liked his teasing. Loved his demands.

“Please, I need your cock. Please, Bucky. Please.” you begged, almost sobbing when he took his fingers out.

“But you said we can't do this. Isn't that what you said?” he asked.

When you opened your mouth to answer, he pushed his wet fingers inside.

“Taste yourself and try to say you don't want me. I dare you,” he whispered, wiping some of the bittersweet juices on your tongue. His fingers slipped free as you gaped at him, watching as he licked the remainder with a groan. “Even sweeter than I imagined.”

The sound of him unbuckling his belt snapped you out of your stupor. “Bucky, I’m-”

“On the pill and clean. I know,” he cut you off as he took his cock out and stroked himself. “I need to fill you up, pretty girl. Need to make you mine, the way I should’ve a long time ago.”

You struggled to keep yourself upright as he guided himself between your legs, holding your hip steady when he pushed the head in. You weren’t nearly stretched enough to take him, but your greedy pussy didn’t care as he slipped in inch by inch. You moaned as he kept pushing until he was fully sheathed inside you. You had never felt so full and likely never would again.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pressing his forehead against yours as your walls pulsed around him.

In the dark place in the back of your mind you kept locked away, you wondered how he looked and sounded when he was pleased. If he gasped when he came or if his eyes rolled back. You were going to find out though, weren’t you?

You cried out when he thrust, one hand moving up to grip his hair. The quick, hard motions felt as desperate as you did inside. You didn’t care if it was fast or dirty. You were tired of being clean. This wasn’t tender or making love. It wasn’t soft touches and kisses to your breasts or slowly building you up.

It was Bucky Barnes fucking you against an alley wall.

“Fuck, are you always this wet or is it just for me?” he asked in awe, pulling one of your legs around his hip to shove his cock in deeper. “Do I have to chase anyone else off?”

You didn’t hear the words as you cried out. It felt so good to be taken like this. The rage, hurt, confusion, all of it molded into ecstasy. You never wanted it to end.

A light smack to your thigh pulled you back to the present.

“Tell. Me. You’re. Mine.” The gravel in his voice grew with each punctuated thrust.

“I’m yours,” you moaned, helpless to the onslaught and uncaring of the implication in the moment.

Your response encouraged him to move faster, kissing you deeply with a groan. His thrusts became almost punishing, like he had to feel you let go so he could come. It wouldn’t take much more with your orgasm building the way it was. You’d be surprised if his cock wasn’t coated in your wetness once you came.

“I-I’m gonna…” you trailed off.

“I know, pretty girl,” he grunted, gripping your chin again. “Be good and come for Daddy.”

Your body seized up before you exploded with pleasure. You struggled to hold yourself up as you trembled with bliss, your vision going white from the intensity. It was so much at once and you thought you might sob from how good it felt.

“Good girl. My good fucking girl,” he encouraged as he fucked you through it, the obscene sounds drowning out your whimpers. He tipped over the edge after a few more thrusts, coating your wet walls. “Fuck, take it.”

He managed to hold you up as he finished, panting as his head fell back. Your grip on his jacket loosened as the reality of the situation sank in, like a bucket of cold water being washed over you. Why did pleasure have to be short lived?

You fucked Bucky. You let Bucky fuck you. How could you cross that line? Just because Beth and your dad had done so, why did you think you could?

God, what were you going to tell them? That you were the biggest hypocrite alive? That you were no better than they were?

What goes around, comes around.

“Hey,” he whispered when he lifted his head, both of you still breathing heavily. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“It’s not okay,” you whispered as he pulled out of you, your mixed release dripping down your thighs. You covered your face as he fixed your dress and himself. “Oh, my god.”

You flinched and dropped your hands when he pulled you away from the wall. His expression was unreadable as he shrugged his jacket off and slipped it over your shoulders. “It’s okay,” he said again.

“W-We can’t do that again,” you whispered as he bent down to retrieve your bag.

"Why not?" he asked, picking up some of the contents that fell out before he stood up.

"Because we can't," you said with no strength behind your words.

“We’re doing this again. You can’t avoid me or this,” he said, pointing between the two of you.

“Your daughter is marrying my dad. This whole thing is fucked up and-”

“And I said I'm tired of being good. I’m fucking tired of denying myself the chance to be happy,” he said firmly as he got in your face. “So are you. I know it."

You pulled the jacket tighter around you, not backing away as he stared at you. Did you shake from the sudden cold, your orgasm, or from the thought that he wasn’t about to let you go?

His gaze softened before he kissed your forehead. “Let’s get a cab and I’ll take you home. We can talk about it once you’ve rested.”

You let him take your hand, your feet moving on their own accord to follow him to the end of the alley. “I can get home on my own.”

You needed to be alone so you could figure out what to do about everything.

“You said you’re mine, didn’t you?” he said, smiling when you stopped. “And what kind of Daddy would I be if I didn’t take care of you?”

Would love to explore more of this new pairing. 😏 Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #dbf!bucky barnes x reader #bfd!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #dbf!bucky barnes #bfd!bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you

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cioneo · 1 year

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staying in

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader fandom: modern warfare 2 (call of duty) word count: 0.7k warnings: none, just something short and sweet summary: ghost finally gets a peaceful sleep notes: this man has consumed my thots, so i gotta write fanfiction for him. this is also my first fic. any feedback is greatly appreciated. enjoy!

It was an unusual sight to wake up to. You felt like you were still stuck in a dream.

But no, it was real, and you welcomed it.

—

Simon Riley and sleep had never gotten along since forever.

Some nights he would stay wide awake, either staring mindlessly at the ceiling or looking over your sleeping form with warmth seeping through him. This was not the case during the first few weeks of sharing a bed, where he would occasionally go out for a walk. Now he never leaves your side.

On other nights, he would startle during his sleep from the nightmares that just never seem to go away, and you would get up to wake him if he did not already jolt up first. Whether he talks about the horrors he's seen or keeps them to himself, he will always pull your body closer, seeking comfort in it. Then you both would doze off again while holding onto each other more firmly.

There may be nights when he experiences both of them at the same time. But the one thing that remains unchanged is how Simon somehow always wakes up earlier than you, even after a restless slumber. Until now.

—

You were surprised to see that his eyes were still shut. His arms were still locked around your figure in the same way they had been the night before.

Traces of light shone through the blinds you swore you closed the day before. It didn’t matter that much anyway. In fact, you were thankful for the light which highlighted his already stunning features littered with tiny scars. The temptation to brush away the hair from his face is powerful, but you quickly shut the thought down, afraid of waking Simon up from a well-deserved rest.

Instead, you stare at his peaceful state with admiration for who knows how long.

—

Sometime later, he moves against the sheets beneath him and slowly opens his eyes. He blinks his eyes repeatedly to adjust to the lighting and the sight of you looking back at him.

"Were you watching me this whole time?" Simon mumbles, his morning voice apparent.

You let out a hum, too tired to nod your head.

"Would be creepy if it were someone else."

"Then it’s a good thing I’m not. Besides, is it so wrong for me to appreciate this?" you reply while gently caressing the side of his face.

Simon closes his eyes for a brief moment at the feeling of your hand’s movement. "I guess not."

You continue to trace his features while he looks at you with the softest gaze no other has ever had the pleasure of witnessing. He lets out a soft groan at the brushing of your fingers against his hair.

"We should get ready soon," he says, planting his hand over yours and stroking your knuckles with his coarse fingers. "But I got a feeling you don't like the sound of that."

"Your observational skills are getting better," you tease, knowing full well he is an elite operator.

"Alright, just a few more minutes and then we'll get up."

"Don't think I'm gonna leave this bed for a while. Better hope the boys don't mind us being late."

"I don't give a damn what they think."

Chuckling at his remark, you bring yourself impossibly closer to him and lay your cheeks against his chest. He tightens his grip on you and moves his chin to rest atop your head. You both listen to each other’s steady and slow breaths. A silence so comforting envelops the room, a contrast to the gunfire and explosions you were accustomed to hearing on the battlefield.

You look up and shoot him a quick smile. "We really needed this, y'know? Just a day where we don't have to constantly worry about preventing an all-out war or if we would even survive."

Your comments fall on deaf ears, as Simon didn’t reply, simply offering a quiet hum while he drifts away into your embrace. Content with his acceptance to go back into his rest, you peck the back of his hand and rub it softly so as to not wake him up.

The meeting you both were supposed to attend vanishes from your thoughts as you soon close your eyes and follow him to sleep.

#simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #mw2 #modern warfare 2 #cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #my writing

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bitchy-craft · 7 months

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What Kind Of Beauty You Possess | Pick A Pile

Hello and welcome to this Pick A Pile! In here you'll find out what kind of beauty you possess. I hope you guys enjoy and find this useful. Do make sure to leave comments down below on your experience! I do want to remind you all that this is a General Pick A Pile which means this is for a lot of people: therefore keep what resonates and leave what doesn't.

Masterlist > Questions > Paid Readings

Pick A Pile!

Pile 1:

You have the beauty of visuals. Your face is perfectly balanced and makes everyone want to take a look at you. If you sit down with confidence, you’ll be the most endearing of all. You have a hard time getting close to people and being able to trust people. This could give you a sense of insecurity and hide your natural beauty.

Because you are insecure or don’t have the need to stand out like that your beauty can be seen as a mysterious one, a one that is looked over. Which can be something you can enjoy as well, a mysterious form of beauty can be something one would want, if that’s the case; keep it like that, just leave that insecurity behind. You are beautiful and have a humble personality. Of course, becoming confident in your own self and finding yourself beautiful can be difficult, it’s a hard task and journey to go on, but you’re able to do it.

You have the mind and calmness to do it, the potential to grow and love yourself. Try it out, look in the mirror and find little things you find beautiful, what you like about your face and body, you’ll find more and more beautiful things the longer you are busy with this journey of self-love.

Pile 2:

You have beautiful legs and a classical form of beauty, a classical energy that is around you. All the little things about you are beautiful and attractive, they make people want to go to you and talk to you, even if they can’t fully place why. Your energy in itself is endearing and gets people to come to you and want to be with you.

Your personality may come over as feisty or direct which can get people to stay away a bit, but the awe they feel when they see you doesn’t leave. The energy around you is immaculate and there’s a possibility that you love this silent attention and the idea of people thinking good things on you, you love the silent praise and that confidence you gain from that makes you even more desirable.

You know how lovely you are, how pretty you are, but you’re still aware of the fact that you are able to grow as a person, learn new things, that you aren’t perfect and that there are still flaws when it comes to you. You’re aware that some people might not love your personality, but you’re completely okay with that. Not everyone can love everyone, and that’s completely fine.

Pile 3:

You possess the beauty of intelligence and creativity. You can think of so many ideas with such depth it’s art on it’s own. You could be an amazing and successful writer or inventor. You can be passionate about things to an amazing degree, something people look up to once they realise you have this characteristic trait.

You can make decisions with much thought yet find the answer quick. Your brain goes really fast, and that can be very chaotic, but also amazing when you get in situations where you need to think and act quickly. You are able to explain things to other people in great detail and understanding. You are good at comparing other ideas to your own and see which one is more defined, and are able to explain why you believe so.

You are open to sharing your knowledge, ideas and intelligence with other people, and love to see people you care about succeed around you. You see potential in people, you are able to be serious but there’s also a playful side to you that you’ll show when you’re comfortable enough, when you feel like you can. You are a beautiful person.

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thegoldencontracts · 15 days

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Is Azul Actually Kind?

I know how it sounds but pleaseee hear me out.

Azul isn't kind. That seems to be pretty obvious, right? His benevolence is clearly a facade, meant to hide the selfish, cunning nature lurking within.

I thought that too. But then I saw something that made me question it.

Namely, Azul's Platinum Suit Vignette, where he looks at the Sea Witch's actions regarding Ariel, and calls it 'tough love'.

He isn't talking about himself, he has no reason to fib. He even brings up his Grandma, making it pretty evident he's being sincere. He views the Sea Witch's actions - punishing deal breakers and setting people on them - tough love.

And the Sea Witch's actions are remarkably similar to his own. He makes deals, and he punishes people who can't fulfill them. But there are some very interesting things that, to be, combine with this to bring about the theory that deep down (or maybe not so deep down) he views it as an act of tough love.

1. Azul almost never harms his clients in a truly crippling manner. The one exception to this is the Prefect, but I feel that's easily explained by the fact that this was shortly before his overblot, and like other characters, Azul too was behaving in a manner worse than usual.

Other than that, though, his punishments are typically servitude, or giving up a talent. Keyword: a talent. Not the thing itself. Someone with a good voice who gives it up doesn't become voiceless, they just start sounding hoarse. This is proven during his backstory.

2. Azul comes from a place where 'survival of the fittest' reigns dominant. This is proven during book 6, where he mentions being hypervigilant and a risk of predators under the sea. This was also heavily implied by the twins.

To him, people who don't understand not to trust others likely seem misguided - especially considering his childhood.

3. Azul and Riddle have a lot of Parallels

This one is interesting. If you look closely, Azul and Riddle share many similarities: Sophomore Housewardens, Honors Students, completely broke down during their overblot rather than still concealing their emotions, tyrannical behavior over underlings, heavily implied eating disorders, incredibly hard-working despite their smug appearance, being short-tempered, the list goes on.

Riddle also truly believed that he was doing a service to the students of Heartslabyul by enforcing the rules the hard way. He likely viewed it as a form of tough love.

And so, Azul being kind in his own, odd way starts to make sense. It would give him another parallel to Riddle. And his 'survival of the fittest', bootstrap-pulling upbringing may be he doesn't actually find his actions that cruel, if anything, he genuinely may believe he's doing them a favor by teaching them early on not to trust others, to only make deals they know they can keep. And he's not exactly crippling them, so it's better him than someone who will.

So yeah, maybe Azul really does think he's being kind - at least, deep down.

Discourse, critique, and requests for proper citation are always welcome!

#azul ashengrotto #twisted wonderland #twst azul #twst analysis

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st4rtar0t · 7 months

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Tarot reading: What vibes do you give off to strangers?

Picture one

Cards : knight of wands, The emperor and two of swords

When strangers encounter you, they might feel your infectious zest for life. You give off this vibe of being adventurous and always ready for something new. People might see you as someone who's not afraid to take risks and explore uncharted territories, and that can be pretty exciting to be around! I see that they might sense a strong sense of confidence and self-assuredness. You give off a vibe of being in control and having a clear plan. People may perceive you as someone who's organized and can handle whatever comes your way. Your presence might make them feel like you've got your life together, which can be quite reassuring.They might also sense that you're someone who takes their time to weigh options and doesn't rush into things. You give off a vibe of being thoughtful and considerate. People might feel like you're a good listener, someone who's open to different perspectives and doesn't jump to conclusions. you give off a unique blend of vibes. On one hand, there's that adventurous, energetic side that makes you seem like a fun and dynamic person to be around. On the other hand, your confidence and sense of control can give off an aura of reliability and leadership. And then, there's that thoughtful, considerate side that suggests you're not one to make snap judgments. These vibes combined make you an intriguing and well-rounded individual in the eyes of strangers. You're likely someone who can make people feel both excited and at ease when they meet you.

Picture two

Cards : Page of cups, 9 of wands and 10 of swords

First up, that youthful, dreamy vibe - it's like you're this open book of emotions and experiences. People can sense your readiness to dive headfirst into new things, to embrace emotions as they come, and to explore the world with fresh eyes. You're like a cup waiting to be filled with all these exciting feelings and ideas. And that's probably why folks find you super approachable; they see you as someone who's up for some real, heart-to-heart conversations. It's like you've got this welcoming aura that says, "Hey, let's chat about life and all the good stuff. It's like you've got this invisible armor, a cloak of resilience. People can pick up on your determination and grit, like you've been through some real battles and come out even stronger. There's a protective aura around you, a vibe that suggests you've faced your fair share of obstacles and setbacks, but you didn't back down. Instead, you stood your ground, and that makes strangers see you as someone who's not to be messed with. You're cautious, in a smart way, and that's something they respect. It's like you've experienced some major closures and endings in your life. Strangers might sense that you've put certain things to rest, that you're not dwelling on the past. There's this air of closure around you, like you've accepted the finality of some situations. And it's not just about endings; it's about transformation too. People might feel that you've undergone significant changes and personal growth. It's like you've faced your own dragons and emerged as a stronger, more evolved version of yourself.

Picture three

Cards : 5 of wands, knight of pentacles and 4 of cups

When strangers first meet you, they might sense a bit of inner conflict or restlessness in your energy. It's like you're constantly juggling ideas or ambitions, which can sometimes create a sense of tension around you. But don't worry; this isn't necessarily a bad thing! This inner struggle often stems from your desire to make things better, to improve yourself and your situation. People might notice that you're not one to settle for the status quo. Now, let's talk about your approach to work and responsibilities. You give off vibes of someone who's incredibly diligent and dependable. People might pick up on the fact that you're the kind of person who takes their commitments seriously. You're like the knight of pentacles, always focused on the task at hand and willing to put in the effort required to get things done. Your dedication and reliability are qualities that strangers can appreciate and respect. On the other hand, there might be moments when strangers perceive a certain level of indifference or introspection in you. It's like you have your own world of thoughts and emotions, which can sometimes make you seem distant or disinterested in what's happening around you. The four of cups suggests that you might occasionally miss out on opportunities because you're so wrapped up in your inner contemplations. But this introspection is also a part of your charm, as it hints at depth and complexity in your personality.

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This is my very first post here. Please let me know if this resonated with you 🤗

#pick a card #tarot #divination #spirituality #tarot reading #tarot services #tarotcommunity #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick an image

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shes2real · 1 month

Text

Little Secret ♡

Featuring🌷: roman reigns + female!reader

Warning ☁️: public sex, slight choking, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, praise kink, 18+ Minors, please don't interact. Thanks! ୨୧

Word Count 🌷: 1.2k

Scenario ☁️: Being a journalist for WWE has its perks. Being involved in a private relationship with Roman Reigns is one of them.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

Working as a sports journalist covering wrestling entertainment isn't as easy as it may seem on TV. It’s especially harder when y/n finds herself drawn to the captivating charm of Roman Reigns. She found it hard to be professional at times, especially when she had to interview him. She wasn’t sure if he was eye-fucking her or he was maintaining eye contact, but it made her core throb. The way he curled his lip, the way he growled, the way his sleek hair was perfectly wrapped into a bun, and the way he always asserted dominance whenever he entered the ring. Everything about him turned her on. She was happy to call him hers, savoring the moments of intimacy they shared away from prying eyes.

As y/n walked through her script, she couldn’t help but find herself distracted as she thought about her man. Time passed and it was soon time for the interview. As the camera zooms in on Roman Reigns sitting in a luxurious chair with a smug expression on his face, y/n sits beside him holding a microphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to our exclusive interview with the one and only, Roman Reigns! Roman, it's great to have you here.” She recited, flashing a kind smile.

Roman began man-spreading and chuckled, “Let's get one thing straight sweetheart, you're not interviewing just anybody. You're talking to the Head of the Table, the Tribal Chief, your Tribal Chief.” As he added emphasis, his eyes scanned her body.

To ease the tension, she nervously laughed. “I do apologize for that mishap my Tribal Chief. Now, WrestleMania is just around the corner. Any thoughts on your plans to retain the undisputed WWE universal championship?”

Roman laughs condescendingly, “I’m not worried y/n. Cody's legacy doesn't hold a candle to mine. He's living in the shadow of his family name, trying to make a name for himself. Trying to finish a lazy ass story. So, if Cody wants to step up, my family and I will gladly put him back in his place.”

“Cody Rhodes has quite the fanbase and a legacy of his own, in fact-“

Roman stood up, improvising the script. He signals for Paul Heyman to wrap his title around his waist as he caresses it softly, eyeing the camera. A thousand words could be spoken by Roman's clenched jaw and the vein that bulged from his temples. The camera fades out as Roman Reigns and the Bloodline leave the room.

She smiled and talked to production until she parted ways, seeing Roman leaning against the wall. She smiled and ran up to him, jumping into his arms. The couple kissed as he twirled her around. Roman's public persona and private vulnerability heightened their connection. Late-night matches, constant travel, and the ever-present risk of injury defined their reality. Yet, the allure of Roman’s touch, both in and out of the ring, kept her anchored to the intoxicating world they shared.

“You did so good baby, I’m proud of you.” She smiled softly before giving him another kiss.

“Thank you baby girl, I see you’re clingy today. Missed me, huh?” Roman inquired, his arms tightening around her. Her voice was barely a whisper in his broad chest, “Missed you so much!” She felt herself melting into his touch and the intoxicating aroma of his cologne made her realize just how much she missed her man. Her pulse was audible, indicating that it wasn’t just him that she missed. She missed the intimacy and she craved his touch. He lifted her chin, “What’s wrong baby?”

“Need you..”

“You have me baby,” He reassured, his hands roaming her body and softly cuffed her ass. Her eyes rolled at the slightest bit of touch, he chuckled as he saw the hold that he had on her.

Roman guided her with his strong hands on the small of her back to a secluded spot backstage. In the dim glow of the backstage area, y/n sighed as he closed his eyes and leaned down to press his lips against her neck, causing her to squeeze her eyes shut. Slowly, his hand slid around her neck to make it easier for him to tilt her head. Roman began to kiss her neck until she whimpered, causing him to smirk as he realized he found her sweet spot. He started to suck and bite as she bit her lip harshly to keep from making any sounds. Roman dominance and hunger overcame him as he began to squeeze onto her neck.

“R-roman!” She yelped, reaching up to grab his wrist.

He unwrapped his hand from her neck and pulled away, admiring the purple bruise on her neck. He took in the sight of his flustered girlfriend. Her pouty lips made him chuckle. “Fix your face, I’m granting you your wish princess,” He growled, licking his lips. Y/n was a mess as she fought hard to gain some kind of control back. That heartbeat was becoming such a distraction between her legs. She would never be the one to have sex at work, but Roman was impossible to resist. But the fear of being caught made the soft hairs on her neck rise. “Wait– what if we get caught?”

“Then let them watch.” He snapped, kissing her lips. The mere thought of someone watching them fuck was causing him to stiffen in his sweatpants. He rechecked his surroundings before picking her up and raising her dress. He could feel how damp her lace panties were, he brushed his fingers against her core, earning a pleading whine.

“I know baby…let me take care of you” Roman comforted her while sliding her panties to the side and inserted his member inside of her.

The girth of his dick made her eyes water instantly, feeling like he was stretching her out. He backed up against the wall and started pounding into her mercilessly. Instantly, she began clawing at his back as her walls clenched around him tightly, causing him to curse under his breath.

"Please don't stop! Please!" She sobbed louder as he picked up the pace, feeling her stomach twist.

“Aw baby, look at you. Using your manners like a good girl, Roman smirked, intensifying his eye contact with her. “Open those pretty eyes baby.” He cooed, bouncing her on his dick. Y/n eyes fluttered as her mouth went agape, trembling in his arms. "There it is." Roman groaned, slowing down to push himself deeper every time he thrust. This caused Y/n to become a little loud, Roman brows furrowed as he covered her mouth.

"Doin’ so good baby, I’d hate to stop ‘cause you can’t be quiet," He teased as he continued to add pressure to that same spot.

"Cum for me." He whispered into her ear causing a wave of pleasure to wash over her. Roman quickly kissed her to suppress her moans as his strokes grew sloppy before he came inside of her. Slowly, he helped her balance her wobbly legs as he pulled out of her. She was still in a daze as he hugged her comfortingly, he kissed her forehead before his lips twisted into an evil grin,

“This is our little secret, right?”

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Thanks for reading babe ☁️🌷

#wwe smut #wwe imagines #roman reigns smut #roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #the bloodline x reader #the tribal chief #acknowledge him

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jaembun · 4 months

Text

this moment with you.

unstoppable force (opening shift) vs immovable object (sleepy boyfriend mark) ！⠀⸻⠀mark lee x gnr ⠀ fluff est. rs ⠀ wc 1.4k ⠀ now playing . . ☆

생각⠀blonde mark gmfu he’s literally the love of my life

the sound of your phone’s alarm had never been a particularly welcome thing, but that morning the harsh vibrations coming from where it lay face-down against the wood of the bedside table seemed to irritate you more than usual.

a flailing hand of yours reached clumsily up to grab the device, hoping you wouldn’t drop it and risk waking up the boy still currently sleeping behind you, with his arms wrapped snugly around your stomach and a leg lazily tossed over your hip. once it had been successfully stopped you flopped onto your back to stare up at the ceiling, contemplating whether you really wanted to get to your opening shift on time or if you could get away with staying in bed just a little while longer.

the sudden thought of your manager’s condescending questions about where you’d been when you finally turned up, however, was enough to put a sour look on your face and act as the incentive to make you peel back the duvet and gently extract yourself from mark’s arms.

which, as it turned out, was a decision that almost immediately was met with objections from your boyfriend. while you were busying yourself with finding clothes to wear for the day he had seemed to sense the distinct absence of you in his arms (despite the pillow you’d hastily replaced yourself with) and made a whiny noise of displeasure, catching your attention. you couldn’t help but crack a smile at how unaware he still looked of everything, hardly opening his eyes but pouting all the same, face red from the warmth you’d shared, and a mark on his cheek that looked suspiciously like the pattern on the collar of the sweater you’d worn to bed to sleep in (nights were cold in december, after all, and the heating in mark’s apartment could use some work to say the least).

“hey, sleepyhead.” you hummed, taking a few quick moments to debate with yourself over which shirt to wear. “i’m opening, so i gotta run. you’ve got your day off today, though, so why don’t you go back to sleep?”

he only groaned again in answer, and you snickered as you left him to complain into the sheets while you ducked into the en suite bathroom to wash up. when you returned you found that mark had not in fact gone back to sleep, and was instead trying to blink himself awake—the opposite of what you wanted.

“don’t want you t’go.” were his first words of the morning, voice still a touch gravelly from sleep. you tried to hold back your laughter when he only became more indignant as he continued. “i hate your job. for real.”

that made you laugh as you struggled mildly with the fiddly buttons of your shirt, seeing as your job in question was a relatively harmless convenience store gig. “coming from kpop idol mark lee himself? i don’t think i’m as bad as this whenever you’re on tour.”

a blatant lie, but you hoped it would sneak past him in his half-asleep state. you were just as bad whenever he had to leave early (or late—it seemed the idol life didn’t have much consideration for whatever their stars may be doing in the times they called on them) for schedules, and probably worse whenever he was away in different countries performing to millions.

thankfully mark didn’t notice the untruth, only huffing in annoyance before making a motion alike to grabby hands in your direction, beckoning you back over to the bed. “c’mere. please?”

“so clingy,” you teased, running a hand through his blonde hair as you complied to his wishes and sat down to tug some socks on. “what would your work husbands say about this?”

“screw my work husbands.” he mumbled, bleary eyes finally opening fully (albeit slowly) as he took the opportunity to ditch the pillow he’d been reluctantly hugging in place of you and snake his arms around your waist again. his tone melted into the whine it’d been when you’d first left the bed, fingertips curling into the fabric of your shirt and syllables dragging on when he spoke. “why d’you have to go? it’s cold without you, and my bed’s too big for just me.”

“woe is you,” you deadpanned, reaching down to gently pry his palms off of you. but before you let him go completely you pressed a quick kiss against the cold metal of the rings adorning his fingers that he’d forgotten to take off the night prior. a giddy-sounding noise bubbled out of mark at the sensation, and you bit your lip to stop a smile spreading across your face, one that would make you look so obviously in love it be would be embarrassing.

the bed creaked as you stood, and you found your eyes drifting from cabinet to cabinet, the open wardrobe to the (near overflowing) box you crammed all your jewelry into. if there was just one more thing you could add to your look, one more ring to slide onto your fingers or a last minute change change of your shirt, then maybe you could linger a little longer.

stay with mark a little longer.

you didn’t know who you were fooling with your nonchalant act, because it certainly wasn’t yourself. you wanted to crawl back into bed with him just as much as he did, wrap your arms around his waist and drink in the warm feeling of his skin and faint smell of his cologne.

a second glance at your phone told you that wouldn’t be allowed, though, so you turned to say goodbye to the boy currently led right where you’d rather be. it took less than a second to meet his gaze, finding his large brown eyes already staring up at you, cheek squished and held up by one of his palms.

it tugged at your resolve, a sudden feeling clutching at your heart so fiercely it was all you could do not to melt through the floor. what you did instead was let yourself indulge, leaning down to place a kiss on his lips instead. the curve of his grin pressed against your skin and the warmth of his hands skirting up to hold your arm as you cupped his face was a comfort, the tingling feeling it still gave you even after all the months you’d been together refusing to fade even after you pulled yourself away; far too aware of what you knew would happen if you let yourself get too caught up.

mark was still looking at you when you straightened up again, like you held the whole world in your eyes, and you poked his cheek in a weak attempt to get him to stop. your heart was going to beat itself out of its chest if he didn’t. when that didn’t work you turned to a verbal reprimanding, although your tone was anything but scolding—instead unbearably fond, mirth dripping through your every word.

“stop looking at me all gooey. i might start to think you like me, or something.”

his lips curved into a pout, the hand supporting his cheek falling back onto the mattress and words coming out muffled as he spoke half-buried in the soft pillow underneath his head.

“i do like you. i love you, actually. and you’re leaving me cold in bed.”

you rolled your eyes at his continued dramatics despite the smile on your face and your own obvious want to stay, avoiding looking back at him in place of shoving things you thought you’d need for the day in your bag because you knew one more pleading look from mark would make you give in. “and you know i love you too. i’ll be back later, baby. then we can laze around all you want, promise.”

“m’holding you to that.”

his words were interrupted by a yawn, and when you’d finally gotten all your things together and stole one last glance at your boyfriend you found him with eyes that were now struggling to stay open again, blinking slowly and remaining closed for longer each time. you huffed a laugh and opened the door with as little noise as possible so not to disturb him from slipping back into slumber, stopping before you stepped through to pull a stupid sappy smile at the sight of the thin streams of sunlight pouring in to paint mark’s sleeping body gold as his chest rose and fell with each breath.

“see you later, yeah?” were your last whispered words before you gently closed the door behind you and left your lover in peace.

you hoped he’d still be right there lazing around in the warmth of the duvet when you came back home, ready for you to collapse onto and fall right back asleep with. the only good thing about leaving at all was knowing you could come back to mark at the end of it.

#⠀⠀⏖ works ⊹ ᶻ ⁺⠀⠀#⠀⠀마크 ⠀ ♪⠀⠀#mark lee #mark lee x reader #mark x reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream fluff #mark i miss u and i love u #stream never lose me we love u flo milli!!!!

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writeonwhiskey · 4 months

Text

the skz house: ch 5 (18+)

a/n: happy tuesday. hope you all had a great christmas or whatever holiday you celebrate. here is my gift to you!

Summary: Welcome to Sigma Kappa Zeta, the most popular fraternity on campus. When you, down on your luck and looking for a place to live, see their ad for ‘IN-HOUSE STAY’. You're one of the four girls chosen and find that your duties for the rest of the school year will be cooking, cleaning, and pleasing your assigned house members: Hyunjin & Bang Chan.

[ read chapter four here ]

Chapter Five: Of Mirrors and Lessons

The entire ride back home, Chan keeps his hand on your thigh, sometimes resting, sometimes gently squeezing. You couldn’t possibly forget the fact that you’re sitting in a car with him, but his touch serves as a constant reminder that he’s there without feeling overbearing. It actually soothes you, which should be concerning. However, since it doesn’t seem like you’ll get any outright form of compassion from him, maybe you have to learn to appreciate these subtle gestures.

Back at the house you and Charlotte clean up the basement while the other girls work on dinner. You gather up the empty pizza boxes and paper cups into a large trash bag as she works on wiping down all the surfaces. You hadn’t gotten a chance to speak to her much prior to this, but you can tell she’s the quiet, introvert type.

When you ask, she tells you things with Han and Jeongin are going well. You hold in your surprise when she says Han hasn’t tried anything with her yet, but she and Jeongin had made out a few times—one of which you saw last night.

Her words make you curious what everyone else has been up to. You’ve only had one night with Hyunjin where all you did was kiss, but your two nights with Chan had been filled with far more intimate acts and barely any kissing. Were the others taking things just as slow?

You finish cleaning and hoist the trash bags up the stairs. Felix and Changbin spring up from their seats at the table when you two emerge from the basement. They take the bags from you and put them outside.

Hyunjin is the only one missing when it’s time to eat—he has an evening class tonight. Chan eats in the living room, watching a baseball game with Seungmin. You eat in the dining room next to Felix and even after you’ve cleared your plates, you continue talking to him. He shares information with you freely and it’s a bit of a relief. His minor is in Game Design and Development, his dad and Chan’s dad are extremely close, so they grew up together before venturing to the states. You’re invested in what he’s saying—you really are, but you keep catching yourself being distracted by the dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. They give him such a boyish charm, especially when he smiles, that’s directly contradicted by the amount of bass in his voice.

Your phone buzzes and you check it, seeing a text from Chan. A wave of nerves flow throw your body as you open it.

Chan

waiting for you

You put your phone face down on the table. You know what’s coming next. He told you this afternoon. You don’t know what to expect. You do at least know that you shouldn’t expect rose petals and candles for your first time with him. If there are candles, he would probably be using them to drip wax over you. You panic at the thought. You don’t know what he’s in to, but you’re learning. It’s not difficult to believe he may like some kinky stuff, though. For now, all you know for sure is that he likes to exercise his control over you.

You hate to keep thinking of your ex in uncertain moments like this, yet you can’t help it. You simply can’t imagine him speaking to you or treating you the way Chan does sexually and you just allowing it to happen. Chan has a specific presence or aura, if you will, that asserts dominance and you’re growing more and more attracted to it. No matter how much you want to resist.

You’re startled at the feel of a hand on your shoulder. You turn to look at Felix, his chestnut brown eyes pouring out concern.

“You alright?” He asks in his low voice.

“Yeah,” you reply with a light chuckle, not wanting to worry him. “I’m gonna head upstairs now.”

He squeezes your shoulder a few times and nods.

The walk upstairs feels like a death march. You’re moving slowly, trying to mentally prepare yourself for whatever is to come.

____________________

Chan is sitting on the edge of his bed, facing you. You’re leaned against his dresser, naked after he asked you to remove your clothing. He still has his clothes on, which you can’t even think is unfair because what’s the point? Fairness doesn’t exist with him. You can’t even bring your arms up to cover yourself. So you stand there, watching him watch you, neither of you speaking.

You wonder what’s going through his head right now, because all you can think of is how much you want him to touch you, to cover your bare body with his. You don’t know if it’s right to yearn for him after how he’s treated you—or is that the very reason you do?

After what feels like slow, painstaking hours, he stands from the bed and walks to you. He places his hands on either side of you on the dresser, caging you in.

“Do you want me, y/n?” He finally breaks the silence, lowering his head to look you in the eyes.

What kind of question is that? You do, don’t you? You know he doesn’t mean in the way he’s had you the last couple of days, he means actually fucking you this time. But will he be rough? Will it be painful? Will you like it? Your sexual experience is rather vanilla, so the thought is just as thrilling as it is frightening. What if it’s bad? What if it’s good?

You lick your lips and slowly nod your head.

He smiles down at you before moving forward to capture your lips with his. It’s a slow and passionate kiss. You tell yourself all his unspoken words are bottled up in it—that he doesn’t mean to make you feel awful, that he chose you for a reason.

“Take my shirt off,” he says when he pulls away from you.

Your grab the bottom of his shirt and lift it up and over his head. You drop it on top of your pile of clothes, never taking your eyes off him.

He takes each of your hands in his at the wrist and places your palms on his chest. He slowly guides them down his pectorals, his abs, all the way down the ‘V’ shape of his lower abdomen that leads into his loose fitting sweatpants. His skin is soft and the muscles beneath it feel solid against your fingertips.

He moves one hand lower than the other, to the waistband. You curl your fingers around it and he pulls your wrist back. He now pushes your other hand lower and you slip it into the sweats. All you feel is skin—he’s not wearing any boxers. He releases your wrists and puts his hands back on the dresser, swooping down to kiss you again as your fingers wrap around his already hard cock.

It feels good to have him back in your grasp. You stroke him as he deepens the kiss, his tongue snaking inside your mouth. You bring your other hand up to cup the back of his neck, pulling him harder against you. You can’t kid yourself—you want to give yourself to him. You want to know what it feels like to have him inside of you.

As if reading your thoughts, he breaks the kiss.

“Turn around,” he says.

You waste no time in doing as he bids.

You’re now facing the mirror attached to his dresser. His arms are still around either side of you, flexed and deliciously toned. He’s looking at you through the reflection. It’s the first time you’e seen yourself next to him. Your first instinct is to feel inferior, but with him this close, and you enclosed in his arms, you can convince yourself it feels and looks right.

He stands up straight and places his hands on your hips, squeezing them. His hands slide up and down your side in a way that tickles, causing you to move away from his touch. His lip quirks up at you through the mirror.

His hands cup your breasts and you watch your reflection. It almost feels as if you’re removed from the scene—watching for a separate type of pleasure. His gaze is fixed on your body as he plays with your nipples. You can’t help but move your hips back against him.

He pushes your breasts together with one hand as the other slips down to your pussy. You immediately move your feet a little further apart to which he chuckles.

“Chan,” you breathe as his hand finds its home between your thighs. “Be good to me tonight.”

Your words come out as a soft plea.

He responds by kissing you on the cheek as his fingers slowly slide back and forth across your pussy. You don’t know what to make of that response. He’s proven himself to be good at being a sour patch kid—sour then sweet. Or sweet then sour in his case, actually.

He pushes down his sweatpants and slowly lowers you down so your chest is pressed against the dresser. He takes a moment to admire his handy work from the night before, rubbing and squeezing your ass. You keep your eyes locked on his reflection, your breath fogging up the mirror now that you’re so close to it. His hand leaves your ass and moves to his cock, gripping it at the base as he slides it up and down your slit.

When he’s settled at your opening, his left hand grabs your hip, holding you in place. Your eyes are locked on each others as he slowly slides himself in. You want to squeeze your eyes shut, steal a moment for yourself to revel in the feel of him inside you. But you also want to remember how he looks right now. The way his lip is caught between his teeth, eyes filled with some kind of lust.

You watch his face intently. He averts his gaze and sucks in a breath as he watches his dick move in and out of you. One hand is still at your hip as the other uses your shoulder for leverage. You prop yourself up on your elbows and push your hips back to meet his thrusts. The side of his mouth quirks up at your movements.

You moan as he starts moving faster, dropping your head to the desk and squeezing your eyes shut.

He doesn’t like that.

You feel his hand move from your shoulder to the back of your head. He tangles his fingers in your hair and yanks your head up. Your eyes snap open just in time to see him leaning down towards you.

“Watch,” he whispers in your ear, “I want you to see how good you look when I fuck you.”

You moan again at his words, looking at yourself in the mirror, watching as your tits bounce up and down with each thrust. He lets go of your hair and uses both hands on your hips to bring you back and forth against him, harder, faster.

He keeps fucking you, panting and grunting while you watch. As his movement quickens and he grits his teeth, he abruptly pulls out of you, taking a step back. He takes a deep breath and slaps your ass. You don’t squeal, you don’t scream. You moan and look back at him with soft eyes. You want more.

“On the bed,” he says.

You step from around him and walk to the bed, turning around to face him when you’re near it. He steps out of his sweatpants and kicks them to the side.

“How do you want me?” You ask.

“Now you’re being a good girl.” He nods his head with a crooked grin. He places one hand on his cock as he walks towards you, stroking it. “On your back.”

You sit on the bed and scoot back on it before laying down. He puts his knees on the bed, still stroking himself as he looks down at you.

“Fuck, y/n,” he groans.

The way he says it, the way he’s looking at you makes you squirm. You want him back inside of you. He pushes your thighs apart one at a time with his knees and lowers himself on top of you.

“Hands above your head.”

You put your hands up so they’re resting on the pillows and he holds them together with one hand. With the other he guides himself back into you. Once inside, he moves his hips ever so slowly, in and out.

He presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing it in teasing circles. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together behind his back. You start to move your hips against him, wanting him to go faster.

He looks up to you and gives the tiniest head shake. You stop your movements with a soft whine.

He picks up the pace, watching your face contort with pleasure. Whenever you let out a moan and move your hips against his, he slows back down. He repeats the process, squeezing your wrists together as you try to free them. You want to at least touch him, but he’s too content playing with you.

He brings himself closer to you, first kissing you, then moving down to your breasts. He takes each nipple into his mouth, in turn, licking, nipping, pulling at it with his teeth while he looks up at you. All the while still rubbing your clit with his other hand each time he pulls his hips back and has access to you. The sight of him ravaging your body is one you hope to never forget.

The stop and go of all his combined stimulation starts to peak. You tighten your grip around his waist.

“Fuck me, please. I’m gonna—“ You let out a moan, as he bites down hard on your nipple.

“Ah-Ah,” he shakes his head again, looking up at you with your nipple still between his teeth. He sits up and releases your hands, resorting back to his torturous, slow hip movements, hands resting on your knees. “Remember lesson number two?”

You blink up at him, trying to focus on what he means. It’s hard to think of anything else when he has you this close to release. Lesson two? You think back to your second night and it dawns you.

“Chan,” you say his name slowly, moving your hands up to his chest. “May I? Will you please make me cum?”

He grips your thighs and readjusts them so your legs are on one side of his neck. He lifts you upwards at an angle and wraps his arm around your thighs as he starts pounding in to you with fervor. His other hand continues playing with your breasts. Groping them, slapping them.

“Fuck,” he says as you dig your nails into his arms now that your hands are finally free.

You watch, enraptured by the sight of him above you. His abs contracting with each movement. His hair disheveled, some of his bangs sticking to his forehead. His skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat. You’ve never seen him look better.

“You wanna cum?” He asks.

“Please,” you beg, nodding your head.

“Who do you belong to?” He growls, slapping a hand to your breast and squeezing it.

“You,” you reply without hesitation, flinching at the pain.

“What does that make you?”

“Yours,” you breathe, as you continue to hold yourself back from release.

“Say it again,” he pinches your nipple between his fingers.

“I’m yours,” you whimper, wrapping your hand around the opposite side of his neck from your legs. “I’m yours, Chan.”

“Good,” he says, eyes on yours as he smirks and fucks you. “Cum for me, y/n.”

Your back arches as your toes curl. You use all the strength in you to pull him down to you, stealing a kiss as your orgasm courses through you. He doesn’t resist. He doesn’t get upset. You’ve quite literally never been so bent as you are in this position, but you don’t care. Having him kiss you wildly as you cum around his cock is absolutely worth it.

As you’re still coming down from your wave of euphoria, he sits up and pulls your legs apart. He grips one thigh in each hand and continues thrusting into you. You’re moaning—it feels so goddamn good, you could cry.

He throws his head back, grunting and tightening his grip on your thighs as he finishes.

His movements start to slow, his breathing turning into soft pants. He lets go of your thighs and lowers himself to you again. He brushes your damp hair back from your face as he looks you deeply in the eyes.

“That was lesson three,” he winks.

An unexpected laugh falls from your lips and he chuckles, pressing his forehead against yours for a moment. You feel like your heart could soar right now. A genuine laugh shared.

“Grab on to me,” he says.

You wrap your arms around his neck and lock your legs around his waist again. He scoots you down on the bed then picks you up, carrying you into the bathroom. You bury your face in his neck, smiling—sex drunk. Happy. Delirious.

He holds on to your waist as he turns on the shower, keeping you in his arms while the water heats up. There’s no light on in the bathroom, but his shower head flickers from blue, to green, then settles on red. His hands tangle in your hair again, gently tugging on it to pull your head up from his neck. His eyes search yours for a moment and you have no idea what they’re trying to convey. He pushes your head towards him and kisses you slowly. The kiss is tame and unassuming—it’s not leading up to anything further. It’s just two people temporarily caught in the haze of their connection.

He takes you into the shower with him and leans you against the wall as he continues kissing you, letting the water drip between you. You don’t know how long this high will last, he could go right back to being an asshole in the next minute, so you want to enjoy this version of him as long as you can.

[ read chapter six here ]

a/n: share your thoughts <3

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