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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 2 months

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Who wears the pants. || husband!John Price

[MASTERLIST]

Rating: M Words: 3.4K without the extra!! (this one got away from me, I'm sorry.) Pairing: husband!John x wife!reader CW: quick smut!, yelling mentioned, slightly dubcon (if you squint), john got angry and jealous Tags: you/your pronouns, afab!reader, smut, fingering-ish, slight exhibitionism, love bites and marks, established relationship, jealous!john price, anger mentioned, ghost's stirring the pot. Summary: John is embarrassed of the fact you 'wear the pants' in your relationship... But only after the lads come to stay over and a snarky comment from Simon, does he decide to show you what's what. a/n: my first attempt at writing smut that I wanted to post... Also Ghost/Simon is a dick in this one...

John simultaneously is and is not ashamed to say how much he loves you.

Of course, he loves you to bits, finds you the most stunning woman he’s ever seen, and would kill and die for you in a heartbeat. His love was the epitome of “If I ever were to lose you, I'd surely lose myself.”

However, he would never risk introducing you to his teammates. Not if he can avoid it. And not just because he cares about you and wants to keep you away from prying eyes, safe and sound in your family home…

More like… they don’t need to know how John purrs when you scratch his beard right beneath his chin and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. They don’t need to see how his pupils almost morph into hearts equally if he sees you in one of his shirts, or in your work clothes, or in joggers and a sweaty t-shirt, or a sexy little number, or nude…

And they especially don’t need to know that their tough-as-nails Captain figuratively rolls over and bares his neck in submission when in the presence of his wife… Or that your voice is like a goddamn foghorn making him genuinely quake in a way he hasn’t since he was a boy at Sandhurst, getting yelled at by drill sergeants…

He hasn’t left the toilet seat up in 12 years. Hasn’t tracked mud into your shared home (whose floors you had just mopped!) in 10. Hasn’t eaten the last of your snacks or used the last of the tea bags without replacing it in 6.

There is no weaponized incompetence in your home because you know John is not incompetent and you will not allow him to feign being it to make you his maid. You take care of him and your home, and you refuse to let him disrespect you in any way… And he knows better than to try.

His teammates have no idea how hopelessly in love he is with you. With the way you seize control from him in a way he allows no one else to. Not his soldiers, not the rest of his family. He’s been the ‘man’ of the house in all aspects for as long as he can remember… But that stops the moment he crosses the threshold of the front door, hangs his coat and his gear in the hall closet, and pads through the home in search of you.

He always finds you busying yourself with something or other and you beckon him close like a puppy, with a pat on the chair next to yours as you work at the dining table, or a come hither motion of the fingers as you water the plants, or reach your arms out for a hug as you stand atop a ladder halfway through repainting the accent wall in the living room. He always hugs and burrows himself in you, inhaling your scent, basking in your warmth, leaving kisses and touches in every inch of exposed skin.

He’s not embarrassed of you, he’ll gladly shout out to the world about his love for you. But he’s embarrassed by how he acts around you. Soap and Gaz would tell him he’s “whipped” if they ever knew what you do to him. So he doesn’t want them to meet you.

But he doesn’t have a choice. December 23rd, at 11 P.M., he and the lads have just touched down from a mission. The weather forecast speaks of a rainstorm and severe weather warnings extending right over Christmas… And John knows what he must do.

So disgruntled, your husband walks off to his office and calls you. In a low tone of voice, almost hushed, because he woke you up, he grumbles about the storm, about how Soap won’t be able to drive up to Scotland for Christmas, that Gaz can probably risk driving to Birmingham, but it’s still pretty unsafe, and that Ghost, as usual, was going to lock himself in his quarters on base and drink himself until he passes out…

You don’t need to be told again. You spring into action immediately. You simply reply that you’re getting up and getting the guest rooms ready, asking if one of the lads would mind getting the pull-out sofa in John’s study, and telling John to drive safe, that the roads are dangerous with the rain…

It’s midnight when you hear the front door opening, and the hall light turns on, flooding the space with a bright warm-toned yellow-ish light. “Shoes off, you lot. The missus doesn’t want water or mud inside.” He demands in a gruff tone.

As they go about unzipping coats and undoing their muddy boots, you can hear John still chastising them. “I’ll stress again: I want you on your best behaviour. No work talk, no cursing, no disrespect. The missus is doin’ you a favour.” He adds as if the poor lads are children who cannot be trusted to be polite.

Unbeknownst to you, he had already spent the whole drive over from base warning them about picking up after themselves, about being respectful to you, about putting the toilet seat down, about making their beds… reaming them out as if they were wild animals who had never once been inside a house and would break and dirty up everything they touch.

You move to stand at the step that separates the lowered entryway from the sitting room, silently observing them, arms crossed as you lean your shoulder against the wall, wearing a robe and your house slippers as you look at them.

They’re all taller than you, moving surprisingly efficiently and quietly, trying not to disturb the peaceful home too much. They’re dripping wet, probably from rushing from the car in the driveway up to the front stoop. A set of four backpacks or duffle bags are on the floor by the door, their clothes for the days they’ll spend here inside.

“Give them a break, Jonathan, you can keep bossing them around in the morning, love.” You quip and you immediately feel all their backs stiffen, four pairs of eyes glued to you.

“Hi, lovie…” John says, already crossing the small entryway to wrap his arms around your waist, dropping a deep open-mouthed kiss to your awaiting lips. Your hand touches his face, caressing his cheek over his mutton chops.

“Steamin’ Jesus, the Captain’s got taste…” You hear a voice murmur, followed by a sharp ‘ow, what was that fo’?’ which causes both you and John to look at the other soldiers. The offending man, the shortest, with a mohawk, rubs at his arm, which seems to indicate the tallest one on his left side smacked him into shutting his mouth.

You don’t need to be told who’s who to realize that it was ‘Ghost’ who smacked ‘Soap’, while ‘Gaz’ stands on Soap’s other side and shoots John an apologetic look. He told you everything about them, without ever revealing names or pictures, for you to know more about them than you should. John himself as his lips pressed together, his mouth nearly disappearing behind his mustache, as he glares at the lads (aka Soap) for making comments about you.

You quickly approach the three men. “You must be the lads my husband talks so much about!” You say with a chuckle. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the men responsible for bringing my John home in one piece every time…” You tell them gratefully while shaking each of their hands with two of your own, your eyes shining a bit.

“Please, come in!” You gesture behind you into the home as you flick the sitting room lights on. “John, will you show them their rooms while I put the kettle on?” You ask your husband as you slink into the kitchen.

A few muffled footsteps, created by socked feet, are heard as they walk inside, with John directing the boys to the different bedrooms (and study), and you hear a gruff voice murmur something about taking the pull-out sofa. You assume it’s Ghost.

Your husband then comes to hug you around the waist as you wait for the water to boil, dropping kisses to your temple and cheek, doting on you while his big, calloused hands squeeze at every part of you, your thighs, especially, but your tummy as well, along with gentle words. “I missed you so much, lovie…” “Thank you for doing this…” “You know, I can never sleep right without you in my arms…” “Just missed you so much…”

Five minutes later, you hear their steps coming back as you’re finishing pouring the water into a few separate mugs. Your husband dislodges his arms from around you. He doesn’t need the others to see he’s so crazy about you.

“Your home is beautiful, Mrs. Price.” Gaz says as you set the tea mugs, the sugar, and the milk within their reach on the island counter. He takes one of the mugs and tops it off with some milk. The way the young boy calls you ‘Mrs. Price’ has nothing if not respect dripping from it.

It makes you tingle on the inside, even after so many years, the realization that you’re John’s wife, John’s choice, John’s priority. Your husband preens himself a bit when he catches the look in your eye. He loves that you’re his, of course, but loves it even more that you like being his.

“Thank you, Gaz. I’m glad you like it.” You remark with a smile as you sip your own tea. Herbal, different from theirs, so you can resume your sleep which John interrupted with his phone call.

“Aye, real cosy!” Soap quips from beside him as he slides up to a stool on the island. He doesn’t drink tea, so you didn’t prepare any, per John’s request.

“I hope the beds are to your liking… I kinda made them in a hurry.” You quip, which causes the boys, and your husband, to laugh, as they seat themselves across from you, in the bar stools. You barely even noticed Ghost taking the last cuppa and sliding up next to Johnny, his mask rolled up just enough to allow him to drink.

“We’re soldiers, ma’am, we’ll sleep anywhere,” Gaz told you, ever polite, with a sweet smile on his lips. John has told you all about Gaz, his protegé, of sorts, a respectful lad, the youngest, but one that has proved himself to be useful.

Your eyes flitter over to John for a moment, watching as he drinks his tea, two fingers laced through the handle of his navy blue mug, rather than around him, his behind leaning back on the counter beside you. While doing that, however, you miss the glances the lads exchange with each other, and then to you.

“As true as that might be…” You trail off after sipping your tea and look back at the soldiers again. “I still hope you have some good rest. And, I’m sorry about the pull-out sofa… it’s a bit old, came from John’s old apartment… Has gotta be a decade old now.” You quip as you look toward Ghost.

“It’s alright. I’ll sleep fine.” Ghost says. “Like Gaz said, we can sleep wherever.” He adds.

Soap nods along. “Anything’s better than sleeping on the ground with your rifle between your legs and your jacket folded up to serve as an eyemask.” He adds and laughs.

“Johnny.” Your husband calls out, chastising him. “No work talk.”

“Aw, c’mon, Captain, that hardly counts as work talk.” He retorts with a little boyish grin.

“Them’s the rules. No bloody talk about service.” John insists.

“John.” You scold him, and your husband stiffens next to you, his eyes flittering over to you, eyebrows scrunched and his eyes softened as he meets your eye… nothing short of a puppy.

It was stronger than John at this point, to respond to your tone of voice with nothing but a baring of his neck, not a baring of his teeth like he would with anyone else. The boys all noticed it, the way his shoulders sagged and his eyes looked at you with utter devotion.

“Let the boys talk about work. As long as it’s nothin’ too gory or confidential…” You trail off. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy ‘earing all the stories they have to tell about you at work... Right, lads?” You ask as you look at them again.

“Oh, we’ve got stories alright.” Soap says with a giggle and a wagging of his brows, which causes Gaz and Ghost to snicker under his breath.

“Well, then, regale me with them during Christmas dinner, ye?” You ask them, to which they nod along with smiles. You could swear even Ghost had one in the corner of his scarred lips.

After a bit more small talk, you kissed John goodnight, while he told you he’d stay downstairs and talk with the lads a little longer, so you waved at them while trekking your way upstairs, the boys once more thanking you for the hospitality.

The moment John’s trained ears honed into the fact the bedroom door has closed, he finishes his tea and glares at the lads.

“Don’t be bloody flirtin’ with my wife.” He tells Soap directly, though his comment extends to Gaz and Ghost as well, which is why he glances to both sides at the other two.

“Sir?” Gaz asks while blinking.

“You ‘eard me, Garrick.” He adds and points a finger at the young Sergeant.

“We’re not flirtin’, sir.” Soap tries to defend himself.

“Aw, that’s rich that there, MacTavish, yeah.” Your husband says bluntly.

“Weren’t flirting.” Ghost retorts as he looks at John. “I was more so interested in the way she has your balls in her little purse.” He adds.

Both Soap and Gaz turn to look at Ghost with eyes so wide you’d think he just tried to kill the Captain directly… and he might as well have, the way John choked on nothing and started coughing up a lung.

The other two are trying to muffle their chuckles and hide their smirks as Simon continues. “Don’t give me that look, boss. We all saw it. Pretty thing might as well be walking you around on a lead.”

“Nonsense.” John says defensively as he snatches the cups of tea from the island and turns to deposit them all in the kitchen sink. He starts washing them quickly, shoulders stiffened.

“Bunk down.” John demands. “We’ve got plenty to do tomorrow.” He adds. The light screeching of bar stools being pulled back and pushed back into place is heard, as the boys vacate the kitchen with curt ‘Goodnight, sir’ murmured before they headed upstairs as well.

“Balls in her bloody purse, my arse.” John grumbles under his voice as he finishes doing the dishes, drying his hands, and then setting them on the island across from him, head hung in shame.

He knows Simon’s right. Hell, he revels in the fact you’ve got metaphorical balls of steel to confront him, to steal control right from under him, to wear the pants in the relationship. Lord knows it took him years to meet a woman who could not only keep up with him but put him in his place…

So why does it embarrass him so to hear them snicker at that fact? Why does it annoy him to look weak for you in front of his men? Why does it anger him that he loves to be weak for you?

Those are the thoughts in his head as he turns off the sitting room and kitchen lights and marches upstairs... And as he approaches your bedside in the dark, pulling the covers out from atop of you, exposing your body to him.

Under that robe you came to welcome them in, you were only wearing one of his t-shirts and no pants whatsoever, which he had peeped by the way your bare legs had shown through the slit between the two sides of the fabric whenever you walked.

“John?” You ask him in surprise, his breath is a bit ragged, more so huffing like a bull through his nose, as he grabs you and pulls you up into his arms, only to drop you on the bed further in the middle of the bed.

The giggle that escaped you when he did so annoyed him even more. He’s angry, pissed that he had been humiliated in front of his men, that you had humiliated him by merely existing and going about your relationship with him the way you always did…

So why are you giggling? Is he really that weak for you that you’ve grown to not fear his anger?

He grabs the hem of his shirt and yanks it up and over your head, tossing it to the side before he attacks your neck with nothing but kisses and bites, his hands touching your naked body, rough skin dragging over every inch of the softness he has left on display.

“John!” You giggle some more as he keeps touching and kissing you, his body weighing down on yours, your legs parted to accommodate him. “We can’t… We have guests!” You try to negotiate as his fingers dig into the pudge of your thighs and slide around to grip a greedy handful of your ass.

You still haven’t spotted the anger in him… And, as such, your playful attempts at negotiating postponing sex only annoy him more. You’re still trying to call the shots…

His left hand wraps around your face, quieting you with a strong palm holding your lips, his fingers digging into your jaw on either side. “You’re mine.” That’s all he says as his fingers continue exploring your body.

“You think you can embarrass me like that in front of the blokes?” He asks you in a whisper as his teeth catch your earlobe and suck and bite at it. “Hm?” He beckons, his tone aggressive. “Make me look like a big girl’s blouse in front of my subordinates?” He continues.

A shiver runs down your spine as his free hand wraps around the waistband of your underwear and yanks it off, down your legs, tossing them to a random spot, barely giving you time to react before his fingers drag up your thigh.

“You think you’re oh-so-box-clever, innit?” He asks you as his fingers slowly drag across your slit, finding your clit effortlessly, years of practice aiding in his torturing of you. You find yourself moaning and sighing against his hand, hips stuttering a bit, your feet looking for a perch at the edge of the bed so you can rub yourself into his hand.

“Walking around in just my shirt and those knickers and stupid bloody robe, making my boys see how lucky I am to have you, make them jealous… Only to embarrass me, make me look weak…” He trails off and tuts loudly, his tongue clicking disdainfully.

The things he’s saying make no sense to you. You didn’t try to seduce his friends, and you sure as hell didn’t try to embarrass him! It’s just the way you always act around him, around the house. He’s never complained, in fact, he’s praised you plenty of times for being ‘perfect’ for him… So where did this change of his come from?

Frankly, you don’t know, but you don’t care… It has been weeks since you were last together, sure, but you know that’s not the main reason why you’re loving this. The unbridled rage in his voice, combined with the way his experienced fingers touch your body, is making you feel things John’s never made you feel before. Your mind is clear of nothing if not a pang of hunger for him, your hands gently pawing at his shoulders atop his charcoal grey t-shirt, soft whimpers muffled by the hard palm pressing you into silence, into submission.

“I’m afraid I’ve let you gone unchecked for too long, lovie...” He grunts in your ear as his fingers draw circles against your clit, the rough pads catching at the throbbing bud, making you whine and whimper, your whole body shuddering against him. “I’m going to fix that attitude of yours...” He clicks his tongue again, sounding all the more annoyed.

“Now you’re going to be good f’r me…” He says as he uncovers your mouth, his hand, wet with saliva, slipping from atop your mouth to grab your wrists and pin them above your head, flush to the mattress. “And make the lads know exactly who’s in charge in here. Clear their doubts...”

[MASTERLIST]

extra: 500 words-ish

The next morning, you wake up before John, as usually tends to happen when he comes back from a mission. The silence and lack of stress, the warmth of you in his arms, the cosy atmosphere of the house… It’s all the perfect sedative to keep him as good as dead for many, many hours. You slip out of his embrace and check the clock… it was just past 9 A.M. You pad quietly to the hall bathroom after fishing out a change of clothes from the wardrobe, and rinse off the sweat from the night before, as well as the dried slick and cum between your thighs. You’re still unstable on your feet, your thighs and the space between them deliciously sore, your body covered in marks of the night you spent in your husband’s arms… You feel like you’re floating as you drift downstairs and into the kitchen… “Fuckin’ hell!” You jump, startled. In your kitchen, pouring himself a cup of tea is Ghost… You think. The height seems about right, though you didn’t expect a broad-shoulder, bare-chested blond in your kitchen. “Good morning.” You say softly as you shuffle inside, hearing him return that same greeting in a way-too-deep of a voice, standard of man who’s just woken up. “Go put a shirt on, this isn’t the beach.” You scold him, as you open the fridge, looking for the eggs. Your voice is as fierce as it usually tends to be with John. When he doesn’t reply, you look over at him, noticing his mask is missing. You assume John scolded him about it, how you’d likely be startled by seeing a masked man in the night. The look in Ghost’s eyes is unreadable, stern, unwavering, and eerily calm, as if he’s seeing through you. They flit over you, up and down, with a certain glint you can’t quite decipher. You straighten your back in the face of his look, portraying nothing if not confidence. Ghost leans against the counter, one hand holding his tea cup and sipping from it, the other resting on the counter to support his weight, before one of his eyebrows shoots up. “Nice night, huh?” He asks you and, immediately, you feel your entire confidence bleed out of you, your eyes widening like saucers. Of course he heard it… You’re sure all the lads heard you, especially considering John and you started right as they had gotten to their respective rooms to sleep, all of which were located in the same hallway as the master bedroom… It’d surprise you if they hadn’t… Hell, it’d surprise you if the neighbors across the way didn’t! The way John had you last night, crying out his name at the top of his lungs and making you apologise repeatedly for something you didn’t even do (on purpose) definitely leaked through the walls… Just like the shame you currently feel leaks through your pores. You turn away to fix your eyes on the fridge, too embarrassed to face him again after realizing he knows. Your brain rushes to find something to distract you, to hide what you feel… “Are you hungry?” You end up asking softly.

#ikea writes 💚#captain john price #john price x reader #price x you #husband john price #cod fic #cod modern warfare #captain price #task force 141 #masterlist #cod smut

940 notes · View notes

hoshifighting · 3 months

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Okay... But what if Y/n tells his best friend, Wonwoo, since highschool that she wants to join as a stripper as a joke. But then Wonwoo asks her to do a sexy dance in front of him, and Y/n played along, dancing, stripping naked in front of him and rode his lap with him still wearing shorts, until Wonwoo couldn’t hold back and fucked her hard.

Warnings: Smut, lap dance, reader jokes ab being a stripper (all respect to the profession), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, best friends, stripping.

Word Count: 2k

It was a typical Friday evening, and you found yourself lounging on the couch with your best friend, Wonwoo. The two of you had been inseparable since high school, forming an unlikely but unbreakable bond. Wonwoo, with his quiet demeanor, was the yin to your yang. While he navigated life with a calm and collected approach, you were the unabashed extrovert, always seeking excitement.

As the evening progressed, you couldn't resist the urge to stir the pot a bit. With a mischievous glint in your eye, you turned to Wonwoo and blurted out, "Hey, Wonwoo, you know what I've been thinking lately?"

"What's on your mind, Y/n?" Wonwoo replied, his eyes reflecting curiosity.

"I was thinking of becoming a stripper."

Wonwoo's face immediately furrowed in confusion, his eyebrows knitting together. He blinked a few times, processing the unexpected revelation. You could practically see the gears turning in his head as he struggled to comprehend your words.

"Wait, what? A stripper?" Wonwoo finally managed to articulate, his voice laced with bewilderment.

You chuckled at his reaction, fully aware of the stark contrast between your outgoing nature and Wonwoo's reserved personality. "Nah, Wonwoo, it's just a joke! Can you imagine me on a stage, dancing in front of strangers?"

His furrowed brow deepened as he tried to process the information. "You...want to be a stripper as a joke?"

"Yeah!"

Wonwoo let out a sigh of relief, his furrowed brow relaxing. "You scared me there for a moment. I couldn't picture you doing something like that."

The truth is, Wonwoo was a fucking liar.

However, deep down, Wonwoo couldn't deny the vivid image that flashed in his mind at your mention of becoming a stripper. The mental image of you dancing around a pole in skimpy clothing lingered, creating an unexpected tension in the room. He quickly brushed aside the intrusive thoughts, trying to focus on the conversation.

You noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor and couldn't help but tease him. "Oh, come on, Wonwoo. Are you sure you can't picture it? I bet I'd be the star of the show!"

Wonwoo's cheeks flushed slightly as he awkwardly coughed, attempting to dispel the lingering mental image. "No, Y/n. Let's not even entertain that idea. It's just not you."

With a sly grin, you turned to him and asked, "Wait, are you saying I'm not hot enough for that kind of job, Wonwoo?"

Wonwoo's eyes widened as he frantically shook his head. "No, no! That's not what I meant at all!"

But his reddening cheeks and ears told a different story. You couldn't help but revel in the mischief, adopting a mischievous expression. "Oh, I see. So, you do think I'm hot?"

Wonwoo stammered, trying to backtrack, "I-I didn't say that. I just meant, um, it's not something I could imagine you doing. Not because of how you look!" His eyes darted away, and he mumbled, "Well, I mean, you're... You're pretty, very pretty."

He couldn't help but attribute his discomfort to more than just the thought of you pole dancing—it was the unspoken crush he harbored on you. Each playful comment seemed to amplify his self-consciousness, making him acutely aware of the feelings he kept under wraps.

Attempting to steer the conversation away from the provocative topic, you chimed in, "You know, it's not like I genuinely want to be a stripper. But I've always thought it would be fun to dance for someone, you know? Just to let loose and have a good time."

Wonwoo's eyebrows shot up, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of surprise at your revelation. The notion of you wanting to dance for someone, while not necessarily in a provocative way, fueled his imagination, igniting a subtle curiosity.

"Oh, really?" he responded, his voice betraying a hint of intrigue. "Dance for someone, like, just casually?"

You nodded, a playful glint in your eyes. "Yeah! I mean, not in a professional setting, but just dancing for someone special. It sounds like it could be a lot of fun, don't you think?"

Wonwoo's mind raced, grappling with the newfound information. His gaze focused on you, and with a hesitant smile. "Hey, Y/n," he began, his voice softer than usual, "you mentioned wanting to dance for someone. Would you... uh, would you mind dancing for me?"

He fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve, his cheeks tinged with a subtle blush.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, and a playful grin formed on your lips. "Oh, really? Wonwoo, are you asking me for a dance?"

"Well, you know, you mentioned it, and I thought it might be... nice. I mean, if you're comfortable with it."

You couldn't help but find his shy request endearing. "Sure, Wonwoo. But you have to promise not to laugh at my moves. I can't promise they'll be any good."

Wonwoo chuckled nervously, "I'm sure you'll be great."

Your hands found the hem of your shirt, and with a playful grin, you tossed your clothing aside, letting it land somewhere in the living room. Wonwoo's eyes widened behind his glasses, focusing on your exposed tits, his usually composed demeanor giving way to a hint of surprise and curiosity.

His voice came out as a soft whisper, "Does this... does this make part of the dance too?"

You simply nodded, your own confidence shining through. "Of course!"

The room was filled with the sultry beat of the music as you continued to move, your hands gracefully making contact with your body. Wonwoo couldn't tear his eyes away, the subtle allure of the moment captivating his senses. The dancing became a mesmerizing display, the connection between you and Wonwoo growing hotter with each passing moment.

As the music's tempo intensified, you decided to take it a step further. With a bold move, you gracefully moved to sit on Wonwoo's lap, your dance becoming more provocative. His breath caught in his throat as your movements became a sensuous exploration, his heart pounding in his chest.

Your hips moved up and down, back and forth, and of course the bulge inside of his pants grew harder. Wonwoo, attempting to maintain a semblance of composure, let his hands find your hips. He tried to disguise the effect your movements were having on him, not wanting to make it obvious how affected he was. Your hips moved in a tantalizing rhythm against his, and Wonwoo felt a surge of lust that he struggled to conceal.

Unexpectedly, a low, sensual moan escaped your lips, hanging in the air like a shared secret. Wonwoo's ears caught the sound, and a jolt of awareness ran through him. Did he hear that right?

His hands instinctively pushed your hips down, a silent plea for you to continue. The dance resumed, and your hips moved deliciously against his. Wonwoo bit his lip, desperately trying to contain the desire that surged through him.

"Hm… Wonwoo…"

Wonwoo swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper, "Y/n."

In the blink of an eye, the delicate balance of composure that Wonwoo had been struggling to maintain shattered. His hand found its way to the nape of your neck, pulling you into a hungry, passionate kiss. The air crackled as your lips met, the tension between you finally finding release.

Wonwoo's free hand moved with a sense of urgency, grabbing your ass through the material of your shorts that still clung to your body. The touch was both possessive and hungry, his tongue fought yours, and your hips continued to grind on his dick.

Your hardened nipples were pressed on his chest, and he felt that, also, he felt your wetness soaking his pants through your shorts. His mouth found its way to your neck, leaving a trail of eager kisses. The soft touch of his lips sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a soft gasp as his kisses ventured down towards your bust. His hands, now firmly gripping your tits.

He slowly guided you to lie on the couch. The air was thick with anticipation as his hands skillfully worked on the buttons of your shorts, his touch sending a cascade of sensations through your body.

With a deliberate slowness, he slid the clothing down your legs along with your panties. In the charged atmosphere of the room, as Wonwoo lowered his head closer to your thighs, you felt a sudden surge of impatience and need. Your hands gently pressed against his shoulders, halting his descent, and you looked into his eyes with a sense of urgency.

"Please, Wonwoo," you pleaded, your voice a breathy whisper. "Hurry, I need you."

His dark eyes met yours, the intensity of the moment reflected in the depths of his gaze. Understanding the urgency in your plea, Wonwoo's movements became more purposeful. With a swift motion, he aligned himself with your pussy, his pants and underwear also thrown around.

The hot head of his cock rubbed against your entrance. He entered slowly so he didn't hurt you, since you didn't even want to wait for him to prepare you. "How did you get so wet?" he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of wonder and desire.

Rolling your eyes in response, you could only manage a breathless murmur, "You," the single word encapsulating the effect he had on you.

His cock stretched your walls perfectly, loving the fullness of Wonwoo, the initial discomfort giving way to a wave of pleasure. As Wonwoo's breath danced across your skin, his nose taking in the scent of your skin, a shiver ran down your spine.

The throbbing length of his cock being squeezed by your wet walls, until his pelvis hits yours, a relief moan leaves your lips, as Wonwoo kisses your cheeks, his hips slowly starting to thrust into you.

Your skin slapped together as he thrusted into you harder, making your body squirm under him. Meanwhile, Wonwoo admired the scene. How can a simple dance take him to paradise? He felt like he was seeing a work of art that some divine being had forbidden him from for so long.

Your breasts bounced with each thrust, your pussy making him wetter by the second, and your moans were driving him to the brink of an orgasm. "F-fuck Wonwoo yes! Right here!"

The explicit encouragement fueled a surge of energy within him, and Wonwoo, driven crazy by you, found the strength to respond. His movements became more purposeful, with a renewed vigor, he shifted your legs, pushing your knees toward your chest, deepening his cock inside of your pussy abusing the g'spot.

As you drooled from the corners of your mouth, the sheer pleasure and desire took over. In a breathless symphony, you cried out his name, as the climax overtook you, you felt yourself clenching uncontrollably around his cock, making him moan the loudest.

Leaving an indelible mark on the couch beneath you, his cock throbbed inside of your pussy, the white hot spurts, being spilled inside of you, while you could only mumble his name softly enough to make him melt over you.

The air hung with a sense of ease and contentment as you found yourself still catching your breath, your voice reduced to a soft murmur of his name. Wonwoo, lying atop you, he couldn't help but savor the tender sound.

"Mmm, Wonwoo," you whispered, the quiet intimacy in your voice reflecting the connection between you two.

He stayed nestled on top of you, his weight providing a comforting support as you both recovered. Wonwoo looked into your eyes, a gentleness in his expression that hadn't surfaced before. "You know," he started, a playful glint in his eyes, "I think I want you to dance for me more often."

A genuine laugh escaped your lips, pleasantly surprised by his unexpected comment. "Oh, really? You enjoyed the show that much, Wonwoo?"

He nodded, his cheeks sporting a subtle blush. "Yeah, it was...unexpected, but I liked it. A lot."

Unable to resist a bit of teasing, you reveled in the sight of a more playful and confident Wonwoo. "So, you're saying you want a private dance performance on demand?"

Wonwoo's shy demeanor returned, but this time, accompanied by a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Maybe...just a little. It was...nice."

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somanyratsinthewalls · 2 months

Text

Self-Doubt (+18)

Pairing: Sanji x Fem!Reader

WC: 2600

MINORS DNI

Summary: Sanji isn't himself after being rescued. You help him work through his big feelings

CW: HURT AND COMFORT. trauma? sex, oral sex, MOMMY KINK, boob suckin, unprotected sex (don't) creampies (also don't) and pet names.

(Not proof read my edible kicked in)

— —

After successfully rescuing your cook from Big Mom’s clutches, there was something off about him. Sanji wasn’t the same flirty, playful man that had left you at Dressrosa. He seemed distracted all of the time, like he was lost inside of his own head as he absentmindedly stirred pots and pans on the stove. His constant fawning over you, Nami, and Robin had slowed dramatically and hell, he barely even argued with Zoro anymore… that was the biggest red flag. You cared for your crew mate and friend deeply, so you were determined to help him out of this slump.

Your attempts at getting him to open up to you had repeatedly failed. Each time you asked him if something was bothering him or even just asking how he was doing, he would fake a smile and tell you not to worry about him. You couldn’t give up, you had to try harder.

One afternoon, you catch Sanji in the kitchen preparing for dinner.

“Smells good in here!” You say in a sing song voice you enter the galley and see your favorite cook at the counter chopping carrots.

“Y/n, darling, thank you. Anything you need?” Sanji briefly looks up at you to flash you a tired smile.

“Hmmm maybe…” You stroll into the large pantry and root around.

“Y/n if there’s something you desire, I’d be happy to fetch it for you, no need to dig around in there…” Sanji puts his knife down on the cutting board with a huff.

Before Sanji could step towards the pantry, you emerge with two wine glasses and a bottle of white wine in your hands.

“What do you say you shuck a couple of those oysters in the ice box and we can enjoy them with this,” You wiggle the wine bottle in Sanji’s direction. “Like we used to back the day? I know they’re your favorite. Remember when we’d have to put a chair under the door handle so Luffy wouldn’t come in and slurp them all down?”

Sanji chuckles lowly and shakes his head.

“Yes how could I forget? We would get so drunk, too…” He cracks a genuine smily briefly before it fades from his lips. “I’m not hungry. But if you’d like some, I can prepare some for you.”

You sigh.

“I don’t want them by myself. Will you at least have a glass of wine with me?” You smile and step closer to him.

“I can do that.” Sanji reaches into his pocket and retrieved his wine key. He takes the bottle and glasses from you. He opens the bottle and pours two large glasses full.

“Ice in yours?” Sanji asks.

“You always remember how I like things.” You nod and smile.

Sanji plops a few ice cubes into your glass. You raise yours.

“Cheers to having you back.” You say as you tip your glass in his direction.

Sanji hesitates, but eventually grabs his glass and clinked it with yours wordlessly. You both sip your drinks.

“If you don’t mind, darling, I have to finish preparing for dinner. You can stay if you’d like, but I can’t say I’m much of a conversationalist as of late…” Sanji throws a dish towel over his shoulder and continues his work on the vegetables.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to talk. I just like being around you.”

Sanji nods and you watch him cook in silence for the next hour. As you observed him, you notice the heavy grey bags under his eyes, it was now clear that he wasn’t sleeping. Every now and then he would reach up and rub at his neck, obviously sore and aching. You hated seeing him in such a state, but he made it clear he wasn’t ready to talk and you weren’t going to force it.

Once Sanji finishes the meal, you head out and gather the rest of the crew for dinner.

The meal was wonderful as always and your rowdy crew filled the room with raucous laughter and conversation. Once everyone had their fill of food and drink, they thanked Sanji and filed out of the dining room to entertain their own evening activities. Most of your crew mates had gone to bed, but since the night was clear and warm you decided to lay out on the deck and look for shooting stars with Chopper.

“You see those 5 big stars over there?” You say as you point into the distance.

“Yeah, I think so!” Chopper wiggles his ears.

“That constellation is called Pablo the Reindeer Warrior! He was a famous big strong reindeer who saved a city from destruction and became a hero!”

“Wow! Really?!” Chopper looks over at you.

“No, haha. I had you there!” You throw your head back and laugh.

“Aww, y/n no fair.” The little reindeer pouts.

“Sorry little buddy, it was too easy.”

After a few minutes go by you see a shooting star.

“Chopper did you see that!?” You turn to the side and see the tiny doctor fast asleep beside you. You smile and scoop him up in your arms and rise to your feet. You carry Chopper to his bed in the medical bay and tuck him in tightly. You yawn. It was late, but you wanted to see if Sanji was still doing dishes before you headed off to sleep.

Sure enough, as you enter the galley, Sanji’s slender figure was slumped over the sink finishing up the dishes.

“Hey San-“ You stop once you hear a sniffle.

You go silent and don’t move any further. Was he… crying?

“*sniff* y/n, it’s late.” Sanji chokes back something like a wet sob. “You should head to bed. *sniff*” Sanji says without turning around, right hand covering his face over the sink.

“Sanji… you’re… not okay…” You say softly as you approach him slowly. “And that’s okay… you just have to let someone help you… we’re a family and you don’t have to do anything alone…” You reach his trembling form and reach up to gingerly touch his shoulder.

Sanji jerks against your touch. You recoil your hand.

“No! Don’t you get it! I fucked up! I am fucked up!” Sanji removes his hand from his face, revealing red, wet eyes. “I put everyone in danger and it was all my fault…” Heavy tears spill over and cascade down his porcelain cheeks.

You immediately pull him into you and put your hand on the back of his head to push him into the crook of your neck. You wrap your other around around his shoulder to keep him close to your body. He cries harder.

“I can’t sleep, y/n… I keep having nightmares… It’s just too much…” Sanji breathes out into your skin, now wet from his tears. You stroke his hair.

“Sanji I understand why you might feel like that, but I promise you no one resents you for anything. You were doing what you thought would save us. We’re all just so happy to have you back.” You coo soothingly into his ear.

“You shouldn’t have come for me, I’m not worth it. I’m a disgusting monster…” Sanji sobs

You rub circles into his back.

“Hey, out of all the disgusting monsters we’ve fought over these years, I’m pretty sure you’re very low on the list.” You joke.

Sanji cries harder.

“Oh come on, you know I’m kidding. You’re not disgusting and you’re not a monster. Imagine Luffy hearing you say this? You know he wouldn’t stand for it.” You state firmly.

Sanji’s sobbing slows.

“Hey… why don’t you stay with me tonight?” You ask.

Sanji pulls back and looks in your eyes.

“What?” He questions.

“If you stay with me, you won’t be alone if you have a nightmare. You’ll feel better if you get a decent night’s sleep.” You wipe tears and snot from his princely face. “Please?” You persist.

“I… Ok…” Sanji resigns.

“Good, when you finish cleaning up, come to my room.” You push his hair back and retreat to your bedroom deep inside the ship.

You wash up and slip on a large clean shirt and boy short panties before you slide into bed. You sigh and stretch against your comfortable sheets.

*knock knock*

“Come in!” You holler from your bed. Sanji meekly peeks his head into your room and you smile and wave him in. He had cleaned up his face and combed his hair, his normal three piece suit swapped for grey sweats and a white tee.

“Hi!” You sit up in bed and pat the spot next to you in bed.

“A-are you sure you don’t want me to sleep on the loveseat?” Sanji asked as he pointed at the couch in the corner of your bedroom.

“Sleeping on a sofa isn’t going to make your quality of sleep any better. Shut up and get in here, cook.” You roll your eyes. Sanji delicately slides underneath your fluffy purple comforter and takes his place beside you.

“Good. Now get some sleep.” You reach up and turn out your bedside lamp. You settle yourself in, facing inwards curled on your side, how you always slept. You listen to Sanji’s nervous, heavy breathing for a few moments before he spoke.

“Y/n?”

“Yes?” You open your eyes and look up at him.

“Could I… hold you?” He asks with a shaky breath.

“Of course. Come here.” You pull Sanji’s head down to lay between your breasts and he wraps him arm around your waist. You throw your leg over his hip and begin stroking his hair. Sanji couldn’t help but nuzzle his nose deeper into the crease of your breasts through your shirt. You smirk. After a few minutes of innocent cuddling, you feel Sanji’s hand on your side slip up your shirt and caress your naked back. The next thing you notice is the very slight grinding up his hips up into you. He was so cute like this, you couldn’t help but want to let him play… Maybe this is what he needed?

“Here baby…” you quickly pull back and remove your shirt, breasts falling into Sanji’s face in the process. You lay back down and pull his head back to your tits. “Go ahead and suck, sweetheart…” You guide his lips to your erect nipple.

“Y/n yes…mmmpphh…” Sanji moans around your pert bud, continued to rut his hips into you. You arch your back and sigh at the sensation of his plush lips on your breast.

Sanji sucks hungrily at your tit as he brings his hand to knead and squeeze at your other one.

“Mmmmph.. thank you.. so perfect…” Sanji mutters as he pulls off your breast to give the other one the same attention, a sloppy string of saliva now connecting them. Minutes went by with Sanji just desperately suckling your chest, little whimpers leaving his lips every now and then…

“Feels so good, sweet boy, so good for me…” You coo as you tug at his hair.

“Hmmppph… fuck… thank you mommy….” Sanji groans into your chest.

You eyes snap open.

*Oooooh, so that’s what he’s into… you know what? That makes sense…”

It might not be something you were used to, but you were happy with providing Sanji with whatever he needed in this very moment. You pull him gently by his hair out of your breasts and look into his glassy eyes.

“Wanna be a good boy and fuck me, Sanji?”

“Gods, more than anything.” Sanji bolts upright and sheds himself of his shirt and sweats, long cock standing at attention. You snap out of your daze staring at Sanji’s large member and shimmy off your panties. You spread your legs wide to entice him to enter you already. Sanji hovers over you.

“Fuck me, Sanji.” You buck your hips up at him.

“I can’t… not yet…”

“What?” You sit up on your elbows.

“Gotta taste you first… smells so nice…” Sanji drops to his stomach between your legs and spreads your glistening lips with his fingers. “Fucking pretty…” Sanji sighs before diving into your cunt and attaching his lips to your clit. You yelp out in surprise and pleasure. Sanji makes out with your clit as his saliva and your slick dris down the rest of your sex, soaking your skin and the bed under you. You writhe and moan under his tongue as your feel him start to play with both of your holes with his wet thumb and forefinger. His finger teases your soaked pussy as his thumb applied pressure in circles around your tight ass, all as he slurped on your clit. You found yourself hurtling towards an explosive ending very quickly.

“Shit, Sanji!” You cry out and grip his hair as you cum violently all over Sanji’s face. The moan he let out as you released on him might have been as loud as your own, it was filthy and pornographic.

Sanji takes one last lick of your sex before coming back up to hover over you.

“You’re really fucking good at that.” You laugh and wrap your arms around his neck.

Sanji chuckles and leans down to give you a passionate kiss. The flavor of your orgasm on his lips was making your head spin.

“Wanna fuck you now…” Sanji whispers as he pulls back from you.

“You can fuck me baby, I wanna feel you…”

Sanji straddles one of your legs and pulls the other to wrap around his hip, turning you slightly on your side. He wastes no time in pushing his swollen cock into your seeping hole. Sanji stutters and gasps as he bottoms out inside of you, overwhelmed at the feeling of your warm walls sucking him in so tightly.

“Y/n… fuck…” Sanji pants and pulls out of you just slightly, admiring your slick coating his shaft already.

“So good baby, you stretch me out so good…” You purr as you run your hand up and down his chest.

“Shit…” Sanji pushes back in, all the way to his pelvis and grinds into you, making sure to press into your clit. He continues grinding his hips in circles against yours.

“Yes! Just like that, so fucking good baby!” You cry out and throw your head back, this particular position had Sanji able to stimulate all of your senses.

“A-ah- Fuck! You’re squeezing me so tight! A-are you gonna cum?” Sanji stutters as he tries to keep his pace while fucking into you.

“Yes honey, I’m gonna cum. Keep going, make mommy cum, baby- Ah!” You cry out and your dam bursts all over Sanji’s legs and pelvis.

“Mommy! Fuck, ah! Can’t hold it, gotta.. gotta fill you! Please!” Sanji shouts as his hips move more erratically.

In your post orgasm daze you whisper out a short “cum in me, please” and Sanji does just so with a loud groan, surely heard by everyone on the ship. You whimper as you feel him shooting rope after rope of thick white into your womb. Once his body stopped shaking on top of you, Sanji pushed himself off and flopped down next to you in bed.

“Y/n…” Sanji turns to you and grabs your cheek. “Thank you…”

You shake your head.

“Don’t thank me. I’d be doing this with your no matter what had happened. You mean so much to me…” You look up into Sanji’s blue eyes.

“I… I don’t deserve you…” Sanji looks away.

“Hey.” You tilt his chin up to you. “No more of that. I thought I made that very clear.” You giggle and place a quick kiss on his lips. Sanji smiles.

“I’ll never leave you again. I promise.”

#one piece #one piece anime #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanart #one piece live action #one piece netflix #one piece fandom #one piece smut #sanji #black leg sanji #sanji x reader #one piece sanji #vinsmoke sanji

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luveline · 10 months

Note

I would love to see shy/easily embarrassed!reader x steve where he makes a dirty joke in front of their friends and r is just super flustered, blushing very obviously and smacking his arm (silent way of telling him to stop embarrassing her!)

thank you for your request lovely!! fem!reader

Robin drops a can of soda in your lap and winces when it misses your leg and hits the asphalt. "Shit. Don't open that for a while."

"Thank you," you say.

"Don't say thanks, she made your life harder," Steve chides, his arm over your shoulder. He gives you a loving shake. "You gonna say thanks when it explodes, too?"

He loves giving you and Robin a hard time for fun, but it's never serious. You send him a fake glare and take the cold soda can into your hand, tentative, worried it might explode.

"She says thanks all the time because she's nice," Jonathan says, peeling open a bag of hard pretzels.

Steve perks up like a bloodhound, his love for pretzels almost outranking his 'stir every pot' prerogative. "She's super nice," he agrees, "aren't you, sweetheart?"

"I feel like I'm being targeted unfairly," you murmur, pretending your cheeks aren't aflame to the best of your ability.

If he notices your flustered heat, you can blame the summer sun that's only just dropped down behind the treeline, throwing the road outside of the convenience store into shadow. It's a blessed reprieve from sweating, and all you need now is an ice cold drink.

You offer it to Steve. "Will you do it, please? I'm scared if I touch it anymore it'll explode."

"I know how it feels," Steve says.

Jonathan laughs in disgust, and Nancy laughs at his quick wit (and maybe also disgust). You slap Steve's arm where it rests over your shoulder, his hand shy of your chest suddenly in an unacceptable position, what with his implication. He laughs and pulls his hand to your shoulder to stop you from hitting him, kissing your temple.

"Sorry! I totally meant my heart," he says, giving you a little pat.

"Yeah, sure," Robin says. "I thought you were a feminist?"

"I love women," Steve says, giving you another kiss before leaping onto his feet and taking a couple of steps away, "that's why I'm going to open my babe's soda, even though it's one hundred percent a bomb."

You can't meet Robin's eyes when she smiles at you as if to say, He deserves this.

Steve digs his fingertip under the tab and pulls. Like everyone expected, fizz and foam explodes, hitting his chest and his neck before spattering down his fingers and dripping onto the ground. He blinks dazedly.

Your friends clap. You join in after a moment, in love with him even when he makes jokes that have you wishing the ground would swallow you whole, trying not to stare at the shining bead of soda as it slides down over his Adam's apple.

He sits down heavily beside you on the curb and hands you your soda, dried off with the end of his shirt. "Was that too far?" he asks, quieter, genuinely concerned.

You laugh softly, placing the soda by your shoes. "No, it was funny. Funnier if it wasn't, you know, in front of all our friends."

Steve drops his arm on top of yours to clasp your hand.

"My comedian," you mutter.

"Ah, so you are mad."

You drop your head against his shoulder, your furnace of a cheek flat to the stitching on his sleeve. You're not mad, and you prove it with a gentle thumb rubbing the back of his hand.

"You know, exploding isn't the only thing me and that soda have in common–"

"Steve, no," you say, closing your eyes.

Your friends chuckle. Steve rests his head atop yours. "I'll tell you after," he promises.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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xuchiya · 2 months

Text

freak [j.wooyoung]

₊˚.༄ || filth valentines m.list || hongjoong || seonghwa || yunho || yeosang || san || mingi || wooyoung || jongho || ₊˚.༄

₊˚.༄ Skirt off, fuck in the backseat Take that shirt off, baby, put it on me ₊˚.༄

Wooyoung knew that you were one of those goody-two shoe students yet he befriended you throughout primary and secondary school and even going through the same university to pursue different courses though he always finds his way to spend lunch with you (even with the conflict schedule).

Many students or even professors assumed you both were high school sweethearts yet you both denied that you were childhood friends; to Wooyoung’s dismay, he wishes every night on the starry mobile in his room that someday, he would have the courage to ask you out.

On the very next day, his wish was granted that he find himself confident and overall ready to face you though with a little nervous shaking down his form but he had already made up his mind. Wooyoung slammed his tray onto the table, startling you with the sudden noise. You winced, then teased, "Someone didn't have the best morning lecture, huh?"

He slumped into the chair across from you, letting out a dramatic sigh. "Professor Lee is a tyrant in disguise. Don't get me started on the never-ending case studies."

You chuckled, pushing your own tray closer. "Want a bite of my sandwich? Professor Kim's class wasn't much better." Wooyoung’s smile slowly returned as he stole a bite, one of the many reasons he admires. "Your cooking skills are the only consolation in my day."

The familiar comfort of your shared lunch, a routine that stretched back years, settled around you. Despite your claims of being "just friends," your interactions spoke volumes to bystanders. Stolen glances, comfortable silences, and a genuine interest in each other's lives.

"Why do we always say we're 'just childhood friends,'" Wooyoung blurted out, his voice suddenly serious. You were taken back. Wooyoung was never the person to question something that doesn’t need to be questioned unless he finds suspicion on it but questioning your friendship is something out of the list you were NOT expecting at all.

You froze, the half-eaten sandwich forgotten in your hand. "Well, it's... true, isn't it?"

Wooyoung studied your face, his gaze intense; his heart were everywhere as his eyes gaze at your almost shaking and teary eyes,"Is it, though? We've been through everything together, from scraped knees in kindergarten to late-night study sessions pulling our hair out."

His words echoed in your heart, stirring a pot of unspoken emotions. You felt the warmth creep up your cheeks, and you mumbled looking down on your try playing with your food as you settled the sandwich down, "I don't know, Wooyoung."

He leaned closer, his voice almost a whisper, "Maybe it's time we found out."

Your breath hitched, head raising as your eyes returned back to his warmth tone, his eyes were something you have always found solace. The air crackled with unspoken feelings. It was then you realised Wooyoung wasn't just frustrated about Professor Lee's class anymore.

He was nervous, making his move.

A small smile played on your lips, "Alright," you finally said, "What do you have in mind?"

Wooyoung grinned, his eyes sparkling. "How about dinner? a real date. My treat."

Your heart soared. "I'd like that, Wooyoung."

And after years of university, graduating with flying colours you both were still on the hard ground of your relationship; people found out about your new level and everyone pointed at you all with ‘see!’ and even your professors (Mr. Lee and Mr. Kim) seemed to be pleased to hear you both together. But amidst the chaos, the foundation you'd built throughout your childhood and university days held strong. You celebrated small victories, commiserate over setbacks, and found solace in each other's unwavering support.

Then, came the turning point. Your new job brought you face-to-face with San and Mingi, two vibrant colleagues who quickly became your friends and confidantes though San worked as a paediatrician under the same company.

Your company consists of engineering, information technology and doctors. Two big buildings under the same company. That's why you and San were able to meet up since the cafeteria is big enough for all the employees of the company.

Work transformed from a daily grind to a place of shared laughter and late-night brainstorming sessions fueled by take-out and caffeine.

Wooyoung, with his ever-supportive nature, was thrilled to see you blossoming in your new environment. He, too, found his groove at his own workplace, forging bonds with his coworkers. Yunho and Jongho, coincidentally one of them happens to be your half-brother who has been working in the engineering department.

As the night draws closer, you clock out with two of your friends and San decides to drag you both to a booth to drink. At first you decline the idea but San insists that a couple of drinks will help ease the tension and pressure from the three of you since our boss gave a bloody project to your department; at the end Mingi also agrees and gives you his usual begging eyes.

“Fine but I’ll call my Wooyoung …” They cheered, looking for a table while you stayed outside to call your boyfriend. You told him about San and Mingi wanting a drink since the next days will be hell for the three of you and wanted to rewind a little bit.

Wooyoung nodded and wanted you to have fun which made you sigh in relief. You returned back inside to see the table already filled with food and drinks, “Took you so long we started without you!” You shake your head at Wooyoung’s patience.

After a few drinks, San received a call from his girlfriend saying where he is and asking for a weird combination of pickles and chocolates. Upon seeing your confused look, Mingi chuckles, “Cravings … it’s quite odd but it satisfies them.”

Your eyebrows rose, “you seem to know what she was asking.” Mingi shrugs, taking a shot before taking a small bite of the fried shrimp, “Being a father of 2 kids.” San chuckles before dropping the call, “Her cravings get weirder and weirder everyday yet it feels amazing to see her growing well.”

“Is this how your wife normally craves or does she have other cravings you find odd, Mingi?” San took a shot before taking a huge bite of his food. Mingi hummed, thinking about his wife’s top cravings, “well when we had our daughter, she asked me to buy potato chips and peanut butter.”

San laughs, shaking his head, “How long did it take?” Mingi shrugs, not really keeping up with his wife’s cravings, “I haven’t taken note about it.” You hummed thinking about your aunt who gave birth to his fourth baby, and you being the only one having long patience with her when it comes to her mood swings would not ask about her weird combinations of her cravings. “they said it usually ends around the third trimester.”

San and Mingi looked at you, you stared back confused, “What?”

Mingi observes you before asking you the question, “Were you also …?” You gasp, smacking his arm playfully which sent them laughing, Mingi throwing his hands up in defence, “I just thought okay? I’m sorry”

“No, I mean not yet and besides Wooyoung and I had talked about it and maybe soon we will after marriage.”

San nodded in agreement, “But you guys have spice things up?” Mingi choked on his food, causing him to cough and turn around. Your cheeks flared in so many colours that it had you grabbing another bottle and pressing it to your heated up face, “Sa-San do not say those.”

San scoff, unable to believe to see your ‘unusual side’, he may be your friend in just a few years (unlike Woo) but he has seen the other side of you, your freaky side. So does Mingi; that’s why you three got along well. You three somehow spilled such filthy thoughts one time when you were over at San and how he got his girlfriend to be his or how Mingi had praised so much that you guys teased him for being a sub and soft for his wife.

Wooyoung may be someone you know for the longest time but sharing the ‘freak side’ as to what the boys call it, is something beyond your comfort.

But who knows what Wooyoung prefers, right? Both you and Wooyoung had done it a lot of times. Vanilla sex or the first time he fucks on your twentieth-third birthday just right after everyone left , rough when he has been pent up from work and needed release or even going to the extent of him having you on his lap, facing the open field and fuck you on the viranda of your home and having him spreading your legs open as you squirt out on the open.

So tell yourself now how come you haven’t opened up to Wooyoung about it?

After a few more shots, the boys called it a night and went on their separate ways while you waited for Wooyoung to pick you up whilst having your mind drifted not only to your nasty but the thought of having a baby with you.

“Baby? You okay?” You yelp in surprise when a hand is placed on your shoulders scaring you out of your thoughts. Your eyes landed on Wooyung who had a worried face, “Wooyoungie –sorry my love, I’m a little .. preoccupied with work.” You sigh, miniscule yet noticeable from your boyfriend’s eyes. Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, the perks of knowing you and your body language; he knows what is up and he knows what to do.

“Come on, maybe you had too much to drink.” Maybe it is or maybe it’s the way Wooyoung led you to the car, hand hovering close to your ass that you knew he knows whats up.

“Ah-h f-fuck Wooyoung— UGH!” He had one hand on the steering wheel whilst the other buried knuckles deep inside your pussy. The seat was inclined, giving him the chance to move his hand freely which sends you rolling your eyes back.

Wooyoung chuckles, looking at the side before poking his tongue on his cheeks, “Will you tell me now why you were so “deep” on your thoughts, baby?” His hands move in a ‘come here’ slow motion, nudging that spongy spot immediately’ squirming and moaning breathlessly on your seat had you gripping his wrist as you grind shamelessly.

Woooyoung laughs looking to the side again to catch sight of a biker glancing at your side of the seat. He had notice the eyes prying but he loves the attention most especially showing off that HE can only do that to you, fuck you so good on the seat of his car and had you moaning mess underneath his fingers.

“N-nothing .. much love— Fuck fuck love I’m gonna cum!” Your breath hitches as Wooyoung let you cum on his fingers, the relief of releasing your high and riding it off had you breathing heavily on your seat, muscles relaxed and the car moving in go.

“That’s a good girl.” His hand grip your panty, guiding you to remove it before getting a small whiff of your essence before accelerating to home.

The car squeak, windows so foggy from the hot temperature of your heated body to body and legs spread open, thrown over each of the seat as Wooyoung who no longer had the patiences as his fingers glide on his tongue, tasting your essence and groaning from how sweet and salty it combines in his taste buds that sent him in feral state, parked on a motel and wasn’t able to book in and took you there on the back seat.

Skirt off and dick deep in.

Your eyes rolled back as you bit your lip, a playful smirk on your as your body rocks along with Wooyoung. Your hands were resting on your boobs, feeling them jiggle as Wooyoung continued drilling his cock, hitting each of your walls, reaching far down what his tip could go. His hands were gripping on the head seat as his hips snapped, burying you his cock deeper and deeper and even nudging his tip on your spongy spot that had you vocalising as your coil snaps and long ‘oh’s of your juice leaks out of your pussy.

“Fuck me harder Wooyoung, just like that~” His hand grip the back of your knees, pushing it close to your chest, ��Make me squirt baby~ let me get that dick wet.” Your dirty tongue rolled off and made Wooyoung grip your legs tighter before slapping your clit causing you to whimper “Again baby please please!”

Wooyoung repeatedly slap your clip then rubs them, “Is this what you like, you freaky little girl? Is this what is in your mind, huh?” You chuckle your tongue gliding across your teeth, “More than this, I want you to ram me harder, make me wet and milk you dry. Have my pussy dripping with your cum as I finger myself in the open.”

“Fuck fuck keep clenching me baby, I like how you hold me so tight when I’m inside your pretty pussy of yours!” His hips move deliberately; his cock wets around your velvet walls. Your hands run up to his arms to his shoulders before cupping his cheeks, “I love you.”

Wooyoung’s pace never faltered but had his head dipping to meet your lips, pulling away to look you in the eye. “I love you more and ever.” His pace soon picks up, shaking the whole car once again before lowering himself further; hand now pressing on the fogged window, printing his hand as he pulls you closer to him as he spurted his seeds inside you. His hips halted, a long groan met your ears as you felt him twitch inside you as he emptied himself inside your womb. He pulled out seeing your pussy clenching as dose after dose of his cum pumps out of your hole.

He moves to open the car door, a smirk on his lips, “Then do what you wanted, you freaky girl. Show them my cum on your pussy, make yourself a mess."

You entered the cafeteria with a radiating smile and good news in hand, you saw your two friends on the table. You flop down beside Mingi, smile still radiant, “So …”

The two glance at one another before looking at you, “So?”

“I’m pregnant!” You whispered yell. Your friends eyes widen, their utensils made a loud clunk noise as they ushered you to continue, you smile, “I told him about what was on my mind that time and he voice it out too that he had seen some of his co-workers having a family even way being married so .. yeah you guys gonna be uncle soon.”

San and Mingi cooed congratulating you before moving on to where to celebrate your pregnancy to which San leaned into your ear, “So was the car sex amazing that it got you pregnant?”

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez hard thoughts #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez hard hours #ateez x reader #ateez wooyoung smut #wooyoung ateez #ateez wooyoung #jung wooyoung #wooyoung smut #jung wooyoung x reader

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d10nyx · 5 months

Text

are you lonely?

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, incest, dad leon, 18+ reader(obviously), p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, dubcon??(just to be safe), a lot of self-loathing and guilt on leon's part

a/n: i apologise wholeheartedly if i tagged anything incorrectly, this is my first time ever posting something i've written(and one of my first times finishing an idea), but i will try my hardest. THIS IS DARK CONTENT, so please be careful reading and scroll if you don't like it!! also genuinely please tell me if i missed any tags! hope you like it :)

word count: 2.4k words

It never gets easier. Every single mission manages to drain Leon more than the last. He almost just gave up on it all a long time ago - he would have if it wasn't for one thing.

You.

As he opens the door from another exhausting mission, he's hit with the smell of home cooked food that has his mouth watering. The house is spotless, as always. Floors completely polished, the sound of music coming from the kitchen has him dragging his feet there on autopilot, eyes settling on you.

His sweet daughter is at the stove, stirring something in a pot. You haven't even noticed he's home yet, humming along to the music coming from your phone softly as you cook. He leans against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest, just gazing at you for a few moments.

God, he missed you.

“Hey, honey.” He hums, the corner of his mouth twitching in a close approximation of a smile, about all he can manage after the shit he's seen this past week. Your movements pause, and then you're tilting your head over your shoulder to look at him.

“Dad! You're home!” You exclaim, shooting him a smile that lights up your whole face. He barely has time to react before your arms are wrapped around his torso, giving him a tight hug. He never feels like he deserves your affection. He's barely even around, but you're always clinging to him like a needy puppy when he is.

“Mhm. Managed to finish up a little early.” He mumbles, a hand coming to your head to press it against his chest, giving your waist a little squeeze with his other one. Doesn't bother telling you about what he was doing. Doesn't want you worrying. “You miss me?”

“Course I did.” You reply without hesitation, giving him a squeeze in return before pulling away from him. “Gotta keep cooking before it burns, though. You hungry?” You ask softly, returning to the stove.

He hums softly, eyes lingering on you as he walks away. He finds himself looking at you for a little too long, blinking his eyes to snap himself out of it. “Yeah, I could eat.”

His gaze finds you again before long. His eyes flick over your form, hovering on your curves for a moment before he frowns. Jesus. Since when did he look at his daughter like that? Since when did his daughter look like that? Must of been a while, but he's only really noticing it now

He's only been gone for a week, but it feels like a lifetime. You're always so happy to see him, always acting so domestic. You cook for him, clean for him and cuddle up to him after he's had a particularly tough day.

You'd make a good wife for someone one day.

His frown deepens as his brain supplies that thought to him. Is this what's happening to him now? He's so sick that he's attracted to his own damn daughter? Is that really how fucked up his life has got?

He gets a little weird after that, eating dinner with you in silence when it's done before rushing off to the bedroom. You ask him about 100 times what's wrong, but he always gives you the same ‘it's nothing, honey, just tired.’ You don't believe a word of it, naturally. You know your dad better than that, know when something’s bothering him

And you're a sweet girl. Too sweet for him, if he's being honest. So he shouldn't be surprised when you go to check on him after you clean up the dishes before you go to bed. But he wasn't thinking right, and you walk in on him right as he's pumping his dick to the thought of you.

“Shit…” He breathes out as he sees you in the doorway. He thinks he's going to be sick when the sight of your surprised face is what tips him over the edge, your pretty lips parted in shock as he cums harder than he has in years.

Post-nut clarity hits him like a train, guilt clawing its way up his chest, nausea setting in. “Fuck, baby. I'm so sorry.” He says quickly, too stunned to move. His hand is still gripping his cock, still hard and leaking, his hand coated in his release.

And you're just staring, unable to take your eyes away. Makes your stomach flip and your heart beat faster. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He quickly seems to snap out of his daze and yanks the cover over himself, his jaw tightening as he refuses to meet your eyes.

You find yourself disappointed that you can't see him like that anymore, a frown tugging at your face. “It's okay, dad.” You manage to say, voice a little strained. Heat pools in your stomach, and you fidget a little as you stand in the doorway, your common sense warring with what you wanted.

“I just wanted to check on you.” You say after a moment of silence, Leon still not looking at you. “You seemed… weird at dinner. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You continue to stand awkwardly in the doorway before you shift further into the room. Against your better judgement, you sit on the edge of his bed, trying to catch his eye.

“It's okay, dad. Really.” You tell him, reaching a hand out to touch his cheek. He lets out a stifled groan, his eyes squeezing shut. You're too good for him. “My fault for not knocking.”

His eyes crack open to meet yours, and he slowly realises he's found you beautiful for a long time - more than what's considered acceptable as a father. Ever since you came back from college during one of your breaks, filling out your clothes in a way you never had before, looking up at him with those pretty eyes…

Fuck. He's sick. He deserves to rot in hell. He'd noticed long ago, pushed the thoughts away so he could be the father you deserved. And you're perfect. So goddamn beautiful, like you were made for him. Your hand is so warm and soft where it cups his cheek, your touch so gentle.

He's been so, so lonely. And you're the prettiest thing he's ever seen, brows furrowed in concern as he refuses to answer you. Knows if he opens his mouth, he's gonna say some shit he regrets.

He ends up doing something he's gonna regret, anyway. Can't help himself when you're giving him those eyes. He's grabbing you by the cheeks, pulling you into a kiss without even thinking about it.

You pull away, and he whimpers. He tugs you back in again, kissing you with more fervour this time. Your body freezes up, then you find yourself kissing back, and he's not sure if that's worse or not. Guilt is eating him alive, but he can't help himself.

“I'm so sorry, baby.” He murmurs between kisses, desperately tugging you closer to him. His tongue slips into your mouth, and he moans softly as your own prods against his. “Can't help it. You're so pretty.”

This time, you're the one deepening the kiss. His hands find your waist, his grip tightening. He didn't realise how badly he needed this. Needed you. He can feel how badly you want him, the way you're pressing up against him as he kisses you.

It's so wrong. He wants to do so many things to you. You want him in a way no one has ever wanted him before, even more than your mom ever did. It's intoxicating, makes him dizzy. He feels so pathetic. What kind of sicko wants to fuck his own daughter? He's your dad. He should be protecting you from creeps like this, not making a move on you.

“Baby…” He breathes out, pulling away from your mouth, his heart hammering in his chest at the disappointed look that spreads across your face. “We can't do this. Y'know that, yeah?”

But his hands move to settle on your hips, tugging you into his lap, the duvet the only thing separating you from sitting on his bare cock that he never had a chance to shiver back into his pants after you caught him. He's not strong enough, needs you to be the one to bring him to his senses. You just needed to say no, and he'd be able to stop. But you don't, and he's too weak to do it himself. Far too weak.

“Daddy…” You breathe out, frown tugging at your lips. “Please? Just this once?”

How is he meant to say no to that? He buries the guilt, buries the self-loathing. He's good at that - pushing away his feelings and pretending that everything's okay. He can't deny his pretty girl of anything, especially not when she asks so sweetly.

So he kisses you again. It's a messy, sloppy kiss, one that has him groaning and rocking his hips up to get some kind of friction on his aching cock. It twitches, already leaking pre-cum. He can't even remember the last time he fucked someone. Can't believe he's about to fuck you. He's tempted to cut his dick off after this. Doesn't deserve it.

It's not long before his hands are pawing desperately at your pants, tugging them off along with your panties. He keeps your shirt on, pretends that makes him better, even if he wants to see how your tits bounce. Hey, he thinks, at least I had some self-control.

You moan so prettily when his thumb brushes your clit, rubbing slow circles into it. You're already so wet, his cock jumping with interest. Even Hell is too good for him.

Your hands slip down to tug at the fabric separating the two of you, your hips only hovering long enough to pull the duvet down and expose him, a low whine spilling from your lips.

“Want it, daddy. Please?” You murmur, dipping your head down to kiss his neck, making him suppress a groan.

“Yeah, baby. Anything you want.” He breathes out, his free hand reaching for the base to make his cock stand tall, offering it up like some kind of treat while his other hand still rubs lazy circles onto your clit.

You both moan in sync as you lower yourself onto his length. His hand slips to your hip, gripping it to guide your movements. His hips buck up into you, his tip brushing your cervix whenever you sink down fully onto him.

You're so wet, and you squeeze him just right. He's going to go insane. There's no way he can help himself now. He's never gonna stop thinking about how good you feel wrapped around him.

“Fuck, honey. Pussy's made just for me,” he groans, cringing as he says the words. He's never been a fan of dirty talk, feels awkward. Worse when he thinks about who he's fucking. But you feel so good, he really can't stop himself. His brain isn't working anymore.

“You're so big.” You whine, grinding your hips down against him more than actually riding him, like you don't want his dick to leave you for even a moment. Cute. He almost cums just at the way your face twists as he fucks up into you.

“S’all yours, baby. C'mon,” he coos, thumb slipping away from your clit and making you whimper, just so he can grab your waist with both hands. “Ride daddy.”

He lifts you up and down, helping you ride him. You rock your hips desperately, moaning as he presses up against your sweet spot with every thrust, picking up the pace as he fucks into you. He's able to manhandle you so easily, which only has you moaning louder, your eyes fluttering shut.

With his hands occupied with gripping your waist as he helps you fuck yourself on his dick, you bring your own hand down to rub at your clit, making the heat in your stomach build rapidly.

The bed creaks as he picks up the pace again, rutting deeper into you than before, your pussy making the most obscene squelching noises. It's downright sinful, Leon has to use all of his focus to stop himself from cumming right then and there. Fuck, if it wasn't for him jerking off right before you came in, he'd have cum as soon as he saw your pretty pussy.

You're close, biting your lip to sniffle your moans as they grow louder, fingers moving faster against your clit. Your dad notices, shifting his hips until he's pounding relentlessly into your sweet spot, making you see stars.

He feels his chest swell with pride when he feels you tense up, pussy clenching around his cock deliciously as your orgasm hits, juices gushing past his cock and coating his balls. He didn't even know he still had it in him, thought his dick game died in his 20s. This was a pleasant surprise.

His balls tighten, and he knows he's about to cum. He grunts and goes to pull you off of him, but you whine and shake your head, pushing yourself down. “S'okay, daddy. I'm on birth control. Wanna feel it, please.”

He frowns a little at that. He doesn't like thinking about other guys fucking you. You're his princess, a sweet girl. Your daddy will take care of you, not these other losers. God, he's fucked up.

“Yeah, baby? Want daddy to fill you up?” He grunts, flipping you over with ease so your back's pressed to the bed, him hovering over you. He pounds into you with renewed vigor, head hanging and bangs covering his eyes.

“Fuck.” He hisses as he buries himself balls deep in you, cock kicking inside your pussy as he cums. He pants a little as he fills you, he's not quite as young as he used to be. Takes it out of him sometimes.

He pulls out and slumps next to you. You cuddle up to him instantly, and that guilt and shame comes to the surface again. He pulls you close to him, pets your hair and kisses your forehead like he always does.

“Love you, baby girl.” He murmurs, his free hand pulling the covers up and over your body, his fingertips scratching your scalp lightly.

“I love you more, dad.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #dark content

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ks-dreams-fantasies · 7 months

Text

CLOSER | TRAVIS KELCE

a/n: Two stories in the same day ? Why not. Here's a little fluff about meeting Donna for the first time. Hope you like it 🥰

Warning: None

Words: 822

Pairing: Travis Kelce x Reader

Anon: I have a Travis request where reader meet his parents/family.

CLOSER | TRAVIS KELCE

As the autumn leaves painted the town in shades of gold and crimson, you prepared for a significant moment in your relationship with Travis.

Tonight, you would meet his mother, Donna, a woman he held in the highest regard. The anticipation tingled in the air, mixing with the aroma of roasted vegetables and simmering sauce. You were at Travis’s place, preparing dinner for his mom.

With each slice of the knife and stir of the pot, your thoughts wandered to Travis's stories of his mother. She was his everything - the rock that steadied him through life's turbulent moments, and the guiding light that inspired him to reach for the stars. You wanted to make a good impression, not just for the sake of a dinner, but to show her that you understood and valued the woman who had shaped the incredible man you loved.

You felt hands snaked around your waist and a fresh but musky scent filled your nose, leaning in, Travis’s warmth enveloped you.

‘’Smells amazing baby’’ he said resting his head on top of yours.

You got interrupted as the doorbell chimed, your heart skipping a beat. Travis released his grip and got to the door, inviting his mom inside. There she stood, a warm smile on her face, exuding a kindness that seemed to radiate from her very being.

"Hello, dear. You must be the lovely Y/N" she said, extending her hand.

"Yes, it's so wonderful to finally meet you," You replied, feeling instantly at ease.

The evening unfolded seamlessly. You guys chatted about family, hobbies, and life in general. Her eyes sparkled with laughter as she shared stories of Travis and Jason's childhood antics.

"Oh, you should've seen him trying to ride that old bicycle!" she chuckled. "He was determined, but it took him a few tumbles to get the hang of it. And don’t even get me started about him wanting to play football and follow in his brother’s footsteps.’’

You couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for the glimpse into his past, a past that had paved the way for your future together.

As you gathered around the table, the spread before you was a feast fit for a queen. The clinking of cutlery and glasses was accompanied by an easy camaraderie.

"Oh, the time he tried to make pancakes by himself! I came home to find flour all over the kitchen." Laughter filled the room as Travis sheepishly admitted to the pancake disaster.

"This meal is exquisite, dear. You're quite the chef."

"Thank you. I wanted to make a special dinner for our first meeting."

"That is very sweet of you. This lasagna is absolutely delicious," Donna exclaimed. "You must share the recipe with me!"

With a smile, you replied, "Of course! I'd be happy to." You looked over to your boyfriend seeing the genuine smile placed on his lips.

As dessert arrived, Travis's eyes met yours with a silent thank you. He had been nervous about this meeting, anxious for his mother's approval. Seeing her laugh and converse with you, he knew that she was just as pleased with you as he was.

After dessert, you retired to the living room, where the crackling fire cast a cozy glow.

"Would you like some coffee or tea?" You asked Donna "A cup of tea sounds lovely, thank you."

Wrapped in the warmth of conversation, you felt a sense of belonging that went beyond mere introductions.

"So Y/N, tell me more about your work," she inquired, her eyes filled with genuine interest. She reminded you of your own mother.

You eagerly shared your passions, and she listened with an attentiveness that made you feel truly valued.

As the evening drew to a close, Travis walked his mother to the door, leaving you a moment of quiet reflection.

"Thank you for tonight," she said, her voice warm and genuine. "You make my son so happy, and that's all a mother could ever ask for."

Touched by her words, you smiled. "Thank you for raising such an incredible man. He means the world to me."

With a final hug, she left, leaving behind a newfound sense of connection and acceptance. You watched Travis as he returned, his smile radiant.

"Thank you for being amazing," he murmured, pulling you close. You wrapped your arms around his rib cage, hugging him tight. "Your mom is awesome, Trav. I can see where you get your warmth and kindness."

"She really liked you, and that means the world to me. I'm so lucky to have you in my life." He said kissing the top of your head before leading you to the backyard.

That night, under a canopy of stars, you sat on the porch swing, wrapped in blankets, hands entwined. As the cool breeze danced around you, you couldn't help but feel immense gratitude for the evening that had brought you and Travis a little closer.

Taglist : @kkrenae @spencerreidisbootiful @nabiiturner @ilove-tswizzle @legit9thlunaticwarrior @evernova @kelcemenow @bellstwd @my-regrets @green-lxght

#travis kelce #travis kelce fic #travis kelce imagine #travis kelce nfl #travis kelce x reader #kelce x reader #nfl fic #nfl imagine #travis x reader

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goldustwomun · 29 days

Text

pacifier (s.b.)

pairing: sirius black x younger potter! reader

summary: something about your relationship with sirius black had never sit quite right with you, and now that he's back after two years of travelling the world, you're beginning to think that you'll soon find out what'll happens if the two of you finally fall over the edge of whatever precipice you've been teetering close to all these years. plus, you've got to work with him all summer, so what's the worst that could happen?

warnings: allusions to sex (minors dni!!!), swearing, cocky sirius and like kind of an annoying younger sister reader (but also that's literally me lol), bad transitions between light hearted banter and angst but i'm trying my best RIP, i imagine sirius to be mid-20s and reader only 3/4 years younger (but everyone is OF AGE), mommy issues if you squint

wc: 5.4k+

note: soooo i'm back :D again :D i'm almost done with second year and actually somewhat ahead with all my papers (with very minimal finals; def recommend being a history major x) and i've just been missing the community so enjoy this! i had this first chapter posted a while back (like maybe a year) but it was actually ass so i've redone it a little :)))) as always, reblogs and comments are MUCH appreciated and i can't wait to interact w/ y'all over this because i have been DAYDREAMING about brother's bf sirius :')

“What do you mean he’s working at the shop as well?!” you screeched, chasing your Mother around the kitchen, feeling a lot like the pesky youngest child you were.

“He needs some help so we offered to give him a job. Honestly sweetheart, aren’t you too old for this childish feud?”

“Too old? Shouldn’t you be saying that to him? He’s like– thirty or something, and still continues to be the bane of my existence. Fucking Bla–”

Your Mother whirled on you abruptly, brandishing the wooden spoon she was about to stir the boiling pot with right in your face. “Language, missy! I would tell him the same thing, but unluckily for you, you’re my daughter and currently living under my roof, so you get to hear it first.” She gave you a saccharine sweet smile, the kind that had you biting back the urge to stomp your feet and pout at her until she gave in. Unfortunately for you, that hadn’t worked since you were about six years old.

“--now, he’s been gone for such a long time, and we’re all very excited to see him, so don’t ruin this reunion with any more of your tantrums.”

You opened your mouth, intent on not letting the argument die there, but your Father bounded into the kitchen at the same moment, ruffling up your hair with a “Hey there, kiddo,” before promptly moving on to snake his hands around your Mother’s waist. “Looking as beautiful as always, my dear,” he cooed into her ear. She let out an uncharacteristic giggle that had you bolting from the kitchen before you were scarred any further.

Your parents’ tooth-aching affections for each other were just that: sweet, but sickly all the same. Deep down, you knew you yearned for a romance like theirs, something genuine but passionate, able to withstand the test of time (and your ever-dwindling patience). James, your older brother, had found it with Lily, their son Harry being a product of their young but no less intense love.

And you loved that kid like he was your own. Would beg James to let you come over, play with the babbling toddler for a few hours, would even offer up your weekends, encouraging the young couple to “go out, live a little!”. But they were about as infatuated with their own child as you were, and had a never-ending supply of friends who were equally as eager to help out.

Speaking of, one of those eager friends was currently pounding his stupid fist against your stupid front door, and you were already riled up from the news that you couldn’t take seeing his face physically in front of you, as well.

You shoved past James, knocking him back a step as his hand reached for the door to let his best mate in. You caught a glimpse of him on the doorstep, the first in almost two years– hair unruly like he’d just rolled out of bed, long, black strands; newly tanned skin blushing under the heat of the sun; those thick, brooding eyebrows that raised up in your direction – eughh.

“What’s got your knickers in a bunch?” James called at your retreating figure, shouting loud enough to be heard over your heavy footsteps despite the carpeted floor.

“Ask your best mate over there!” you answered back with a bite, slamming your room door shut.

“Fuck,” he sighed, defeated, yanking his confused friend in and a chucking a thumb towards the stairs. “How’ve you managed to piss her off before you even got here?” he asked incredulously. “Peace– we had peace in this house for the past two years since you’ve been off travelling, and now look–! It’s a bloody riot!”

“Oi– I’ve done nothing,” he moaned indignantly, hanging his coat and scarf on the gold-crested hooks by the door. “--I think,” he added for good measure after a beat.

He never understood why the two of you struggled to get along. You’d grown up together, spent every waking moment in each other’s presence when he was at the Potter residence (which happened to be just about always given his own family situation). In theory, he should be like some sort of older brother figure– someone to loan out advice and shoulders to cry on and all that jazz.

But no. Something about you and your irritatingly know-it-all personality, or shrill voice when indignant (which was rather often around him), or your need to always be right – something about you made it so he just had to tease you endlessly until you were yelling, voice all pitchy, nostrils flared, breath heavy and face blotchy. When things would begin to die down, he’d find something else to point out, argue back, hit the nail on your specific head– something to really push you that little bit over the edge.

It was a little too fun to not try to get a rise out of you every time you were together. And as much as Sirius was aware that the jabs each of you threw had gotten a little more out of hand and a little less appropriate for your relationship– he just couldn’t stop.

The rest of the Potter family didn’t share your sentiments about Sirius, and rather adored him immeasurably. Had since he’d taken to hiding out in their house after a particularly brutal fight at home when he was only eleven. Heck, he’d even attended every Potter-family gathering, dinner, birthday, you name it, since then. It was why he came over every Sunday for a roast, pudding and some chat – he could never put into words what your family had done for him, the safety, security, home, even, they'd given him when he’d been lost and entirely clueless of what a real family looked like.

So he made the thirty-minute drive, every Sunday, much to your irritation. He plastered on the biggest smile for your Mum, complimenting every minute detail of the meal she cooked for the family, drank a glass of whiskey and smoked a cigar with your Dad; he was even Harry’s favourite, always humming quiet melodies into the youngest Potter’s ear.

With him travelling the world for the past almost-two-years, he’d missed out on the family time he usually looked forward to every weekend. Mondays seemed a lot less dreadful after having a belly-full of Mrs Potter’s food. Still, he’d sent postcards and printed pictures of everywhere he went, the sights he’d seen, people he’d met. It wasn’t the same, not without the lot of you to pester him (maybe you especially) but he’d needed some time to find himself.

He still wasn’t sure if he’d found what he was looking for, but the money had to have run out eventually so he was back home, ready to work and settle down in his life for once after graduating Hogwarts.

Sirius followed James into the living room where he found Lily, sipping on a glass of red, sitting by the empty fireplace. Instead, a window had been cracked in to let the temperate wind in.

She perked up as they entered, waving with that soul-wrenching smile of hers that could persuade even the most strong-willed of men into submission.

“Pads, you’re back!” she called from her seat. "And you've grown a moustache-- interesting choice of facial hair." Sirius, however, raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, ignoring her greeting-slash-judgement as he peered into the empty crib by her side, even going as far as to search under it as if the toddler might have escaped.

“Harry’s gone to bed in the guest room. There was a bit of a shouting match before you arrived,” James explained, sinking into the space beside his wife and pulling her into his side. “Actually, now that I think about it, there was a lot of shouting after you arrived as well!”

Lily snorted, snuggling into her husband without hesitation, and Sirius couldn’t help but avert his eyes, feeling entirely like he was imposing on an intimate moment as the two of them whispered in the other’s ear.

“Well, don’t mind me. Sitting here, all by my lonesome, no company or polite chatter to partake in, not even my dashing god son to entertain me” he sighed, dramatically, to no one in particular. James rolled his eyes at his best friend’s antics, chucking a frilly throw-pillow at his face (that’s what they’re for, right?) which he just as easily caught.

“Har-Har! Ever the clown, Paddy,” James mocked, flipping him off just in time for his Mum to walk in and see.

“James! Don’t aim such crude displays at my son,” she scolded, wrapping her wrinkled arms around Sirius’ shoulders from behind his chair. She leaned down, kissing the top of his head affectionately. Sirius only whimpered in agreement, leaning into her motherly touch and whining on and on about how James was being a right bully.

“My sweet child, I’ve missed you!” She beamed down at him, and that longing Sirius sometimes felt for his own Mother’s approval, her devotion or fondness, it lessened.

“But you didn’t– He was just!-- You missed– arghh!” James groaned defeatedly, head flailed back to rest against the sofa, receiving no sympathies from his giggling wife and glaring Mother. “I’m starting to understand why she hates you.”

Sirius’ eyes flashed at that– did you really hate him? Had it gotten to that point?

At the mention of your name but current absence, Mrs Potter ordered, “Go call your sister for dinner, I’ve set the table.”

He began to protest, failing to come up with a half-decent reason why he can’t walk up the two flights of stairs and pull your petulant frame from your bed– but Sirius interrupted in time, before James could make any more of a fool himself in front of his own Mother. “I’ll go get her. Got to figure out what I did this time,” he offered coolly.

Euphemia, that is, Mrs Potter, had a strict no-apparting rule in her house, had lost too many expensive vases from James and Sirius’ apparition-sprees the second they’d turned seventeen. You already had your licence, having been of legal age for some time, and had, since graduating (top of the class, as you tended to point out, much to your Ravenclaw friends’ dismay) from Hogwarts, found a job at a school in the muggle world, teaching children English Literature in preparation of some exam. O Levels, you’d called them.

Sirius thought it to be some sort of torture device - these O Levels – but you’d smacked him across the head in admonishment with the book in your hand – you were always carrying one, though he designated them to be a weapon, at least when in your possession – before he could say much else. Having a family-run bookshop made it so that the books, or the weapons, really, were in endless supply for you, much to Sirius’ chagrin.

Your love for reading had come from him, your Father, from when he’d stay up till the late hours of the night, hushed whispers under your bed sheet so your Mother wouldn’t hear, as he read you the Classics in animated voices that had you completely enchanted. He made sparks fly from the tip of his wand, bright colours that your little eyes couldn’t quite get enough of.

You loved being a wizard, were eternally grateful for the world you lived in and the undeniable awe of it all. But words, books, literature – they were enough magic for you, took you to places you could only ever dream to visit, and had you feeling such all-consuming emotions that sometimes, you wondered if you’d ever make it to the end of the page, or chapter, or book.

“Oi– your Mum’s put out dinner, she’s calling you downstairs,” he called through the thick wood of your door.

Sirius didn’t know why he was nervous. It was you, the little girl he’d watched grow up and had grown up with. But if the short glance he’d gotten of your stomping person as you huffed up the stairs was any indicated, you were by no means little anymore.

Funny what a few years can do to a person, huh.

He nudged it open when you didn’t respond, only to find you slumped across your bed, glaring, silently, at the ceiling and the pale-orange light emanating from the lamp on your bedside table.

You certainly looked different– older, possibly? He couldn’t quite place what had changed, only that he knew something had. In the way you dressed, styled your hair, held yourself. Even the look of your room– no longer plastered in butterflies and pink roses, but instead painted a burnt umber and with tapestries and muggle band posters hanging across every wall. A stack of vinyls were shoved into one side of your room, along with piles and piles of books, some old and missing a few pages, while others were untouched.

You heard the door click open, sitting up on your elbows to see a smirking Sirius, oozing an annoying amount of confidence, and leaning against your doorframe.

Something in your chest stumbled almost immediately. He looked the same, behaved the same as well. Still the Sirius that had left to see the world, leaving the rest of you behind. Though, he might’ve managed to actually tan, now that you really looked at him, imagining the broad planes of his shoulders, hidden by a thin linen button up, were more sun-kissed than milky-pale now.

Except you refused to even entertain the thought. You were not thinking of him or his skin or his bare chest or--

“What’s with the face?” you asked, already knowing you’ll regret the answer.

“Was that meant to be a greeting?” His eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Hi Sirius-- what’s with the face?” you answered, again, between clenched teeth.

“Nice pair of panties you got on there, bright pink, are they?” he nodded at your thighs, only just clocking that maybe having your legs spread so far apart when you’re wearing a skirt wasn’t the best idea.

Your thighs snapped shut just as Sirius was snickering behind his fist. “So, dinner?” he asked again, stepping into your room and letting the door shut behind him.

“Go to hell.”

“See, that sounds a little inconvenient, and a lot hot– humidity isn’t great for the hair, or skin. Anyway, I’ve just been around the world and found no place called Hell so not sure what to say, little Potter.” You hadn’t missed his sarcastic rambles, even though you were already struggling to hide the smile taking over your face as you looked anywhere but at him. “I tried, I really did, just for you.”

Your stomach dipped at that, a wave pulling you under-- for you.

“Buuuut– you know what I absolutely adore? Your mother’s cooking, and I haven’t had it in a while, so up ya’ get,” he insisted, tugging you up by your forearms until you were pressed against his front, not a sliver of space between the two of you.

Your breath caught in your throat. You could feel him everywhere. Hot skin against your bare arms, the itchy wool of his jumper, if you concentrated a little more, the hard expanse of his chest against yours. He must have felt it too because he released you like you were fire and he a mere mortal, brows pinching in confusion and something else, looking at you like you were a question he couldn’t quite find the answer to.

It was entirely foreign, the heat gathering in the pit of your stomach– it surely hadn’t been there before he’d left. You looked, or gawked, more like, at the very man you detested with every ounce of your being, but also the very man you were about to spend almost every hour of every day, for the rest of the Summer, with.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, as if realising the same thing as you now that you were stood in front of him. Suddenly, he understood what the whole shouting match must have been about, and up until a few moments ago, he might have disagreed with you entirely.

Now, though? He wasn’t sure what he felt.

“Ditto,” you breathed back. You pushed past him after staring for a second too long, hurrying on socked feet to the dining room downstairs, and not bothering to check if he was following.

The quiet jingle of the bell tickled your ears as you opened the door to the bookshop, dust immediately invading your senses as you fought back a harsh cough. Your Dad pushed in front of you, forcing the door to stay open by propping a stack of intimidatingly large books in front of it. You laughed silently to yourself, noting how they were all Dickens (he hated Dickens, said his novels were disturbingly boring and unnecessarily detailed).

You could only agree, never having had the courage to pick up any of those enormous beasts yourself.

“So, you can dust a little, and sweep the floor, before we open. Count the money in the till, as well, that’s very important,” he noted off, and you suddenly wish you had a pen and a pad of paper to write it all down. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been helping out at the shop since when you were younger, but this was the first time you’d been granted the responsibility of having it all to yourself (minus the inconvenience that was Sirius Black).

You were an adult now (barely, but that was a technicality)– loved to point it out any chance you got, and it meant that your Dad trusted you enough to not hover over your shoulder every time you took a shift. He was working fewer hours, though now, none, as he wanted to finish the novel he’d been writing for the past decade after melodramatically announcing at the dinner table that “It’s time!”

You weren’t sure what that exactly meant, but you weren’t about to argue with the man paying you an overly generous ten pounds an hour.

You didn’t need the money for yourself, what with still living at your parent’s house, but you wanted to contribute to the house and expenses and what no, even if it was a minuscule sum.

“Another thing,” he added, stopping, rather abruptly, in front of you, voice worryingly grave as he placed his large palms over either of your shoulders. “Please,” he begged, brows dipping, “don’t fight with Sirius in front of the customers.”

“I haven’t even done anything and you’re already after me,” you objected, pulling back from his usually comforting hold and pulling the broom out from behind the counter. His hands fell defeatedly against his sides as he sighed, standing in your way before you could mope yourself into a tizzy before the work day had even started.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he ensured, pulling you in for a tight embrace. “You know you’re my number one, sweetheart. Just don’t like seeing you so upset.”

James always teased you for being your Father’s favourite, and you’d never argue, relishing in his pointed fingers and sneering words, because it was true– there was something between you and your Father, an understanding that no one else had clued in on. He eased your worries like no one else could, smoothed irked creases across your face, replacing them with belly-hurting laughter lines and a grin so wide, you were worried it would fall off your face.

Anyway, James was the same with your Mum. You found her difficult to communicate with, what with her being as hot-heated as you were, so as much as you and your Dad got along, you butted heads with your Mum just as much. “It’s ‘cause you two are so similar, like twins, I tell you!” But it did little to calm your nerves around her, or stoke the flames of anger you so often felt.

You were about to respond, ready to tell your Dad just how much you loved him, when someone crashed through the door, slamming into the counter you were standing behind. You turned, eyes connecting with your (late) colleague. He looked utterly windswept, as if he’d run – or been chased – the whole way there.

“You okay, son?” your Dad asked, worry shifting from you to the panting, bent-over Sirius.

“Me? Oh– peachy, just– peachy,” he answered between heavy breaths, waving off his doting hands. “Sorry I’m late, got a little carried away with something and lost track of time.”

You were conscious of how your Dad didn’t offer Sirius the same advice, to not pick a fight or argue or whatever it was the two of you did, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at how he had everyone charmed. So you busied yourself behind the till, doing as you were instructed and counting the money, writing down the number of each of the bills on a notepad you pulled from the drawer at your waist.

Your Dad left soon after, turning the closed sign out front to open as he wished you, and Sirius, good luck.

“Guess it’s just the two of us, little Potter,” Sirius pointed out, already sounding bored as he fell into a stool at your side. He leaned his head against his arm, stretching it from side to side as he groaned at his tense muscles.

You didn’t mean to stare, swore it wasn’t something you’d let become a habit, but your gaze immediately travelled to the exposed skin of his neck, zeroing in on the trail of newly-formed purple bruises down the side. You snorted, shaking your head at him, slamming the money compartment shut a little too aggressively so that it caught Sirius’ attention. He recognised your expression to be something close to amusement, jabbing you in your side until you were scowling and slapping his fingers away.

“What’s wrong with you– you’re acting like a fucking child,” you admonished, moving out of reach and resting a hand on your hip.

“Why’d you make that face?” he asked instead of answering your question, nodding at you like it was you who had started it.

“It’s nothing,” you went with, hearing your Father’s words echoing in your mind from just moments ago. You needed to diffuse the situation before you really got mad, because past that point, you weren’t responsible for what you said– or did.

So you ventured into the aisles of books, a curious Sirius on your heels, following you like a lost, yapping puppy. “If it’s nothing then why are you running away?” he pushed back.

You ignored him pointedly, stopping to stack a few books and dust along the shelves. No one had come in yet, still too early in the morning for any tourists to stumble upon your admittedly quaint but bursting shop.

The sunlight barely filtered past the dense collection of books and mahogany shelves that lined the walls, but the windows stretched to the tall ceilings, and if you went up the spiralling staircase at the centre of the store, you’d find yourself in a cosy loft space, bathed in gold and stuffed with arm chairs and sofas for people to sit and read in.

It was your favourite part of the store, and you were seriously debating hiding up there on your first day, just to get away from the walking-plague that followed you.

“Come on– tell me,” he whined, standing too close for your liking. You side-stepped away, brushing a cloth against the worn covers of the Mystery section. He followed suit, returning to his previous position, and this time, you had no way out with the wall of books you’d met.

You turned, facing him and finally acknowledged his presence. “You lied,” you stated matter-of-factly, loving that you actually had the upper-hand with him. As much as you prided yourself with being quick-witted, Sirius always seemed to find a way to stay on-top.

“Gonna have to give me something more than that, darling. Lied about what?” he countered, raising an eyebrow at you.

It took everything in you to ignore the pet name, something more endearing hidden under it that you had never noticed before, and those pesky butterflies returned to bug about in your gut.

Fucking moths, you groaned internally.

“You said you were busy and lost track of time. But those bites across your neck say otherwise,” you stared pointedly at the affected area now, though it was covered by his hair in this position. His hand flew to his neck, as if only just realising they were on display.

“That’s none of your business Potter,” he countered, now irritated and still trying to hide the hickies on his neck with only his palm.

“It actually is my business when you’re both late to your job and lying to my Father,” you threw back, shoving forward and relishing in his slight stumble back– as if he hadn’t yet noticed the two of you were so so close.

“You can’t–” his eyes were wide, worried, as he grabbed your elbow, forcing you to meet his gaze, “You can’t tell him. He’ll be so disappointed and I can’t–”

Now it was your turn to frown over the devastation so wrought over his face. And if you two were anyone else, you might’ve let it go. Might’ve–

“Well tough shit, Black. You’re an adult, now. This is the real world we’re talking about. Not whatever fantasy you’ve been away in for the past two years. And here, in the real world–” you gestured around yourself, “--actions have consequences. You slutting it up on the night before your first day at your new job isn’t much of an excuse, now is it?”

And really, you deserved it, now that you thought back. His anger was reasonable and your need to poke straight through his ribcage, wrap your fist around his heart and squeeze tight, was not.

“Oh, fuck you, Potter!” he bit out. “You’re accusing me of not acting like an adult when you literally still live at home! Not to mention you can’t have a decent conversation with anyone without throwing the most childish temper tantrum known to man. I might be slutting it up, as you’ve put it, but at least I’m getting some,” he was breathing hard now, and the more he spoke the more the anger burned away, but his words wouldn’t stop. In fact, you think you could see him cringe, in pain or guilt or some nervous tick, as he delivered the final blow.

“Maybe if you weren’t so miserable to be around all the time, someone might actually give it to you too.”

It didn’t take long for you to react. Nor did it take long for your hand to fly up and connect with his cheek, hard and final. He wasn’t even surprised, had seen it coming a mile way, maybe even from his first “fuck you”. Because he knew he deserved it and he remembered now why he had left two years ago. Sure, it wasn’t all you. There’d been others who had irked him to the point of wanting a fresh start. And even then, it wasn’t that you were one of those people– you just would get him so riled up, to the point where he could no longer trust the words coming out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered then, fighting the urge to look away from your glassy stare. “I’m sorry, Potter. You know I don’t mean it.”

And deep down inside, you did know. You knew you both brought out the worst in each other. Only, you could never figure out why that was. Why you wanted to hurl insults and slap him silly for every comment or look or stupid way he’d string together the most perfect sentence and his irritating eyes and mouth and–

“Excuse me? Is anyone here?”

You inhaled, all sudden, as if only just realising what you had done (or what you had thought). You brushed past him without a word, needing, more than ever, to put some space between the two of you. If not for your anger then for whatever pesky emotion was seeping through your cracks.

You were (reluctantly) pulled from wherever your thoughts had been racing to as you called into the store, “Just one moment!”

You didn’t see it, not then – too focused on keeping one foot in front of the other as you made your way back, escaping to the front of the shop, faking a polite smile as you greeted the awaiting customer– but Sirius collapsed, defeated, into the wall the moment you walked away.

Something was telling him that if he hadn’t just torn your heart to shreds with a string of insults then he might have done it some other way– some other way that might have left him in trouble with James, Lily and your parents for an entirely different set of reasons.

‘Cause Jesus Christ– he wanted to be the one to give you what you needed. Or rather, he needed to, desperately. And two years away hadn’t altered the line between the two of you from enemies to something more.

And Sirius truly debated if this was the moment for him to get back onto a train to anywhere you were not. It didn’t matter if he had no money or nowhere to be, but if it meant he could avoid killing you with words or kissing your face off– he couldn’t quite see a way out of his predicament.

James would kill him. As would your parents. And Lily– God, you prayed Lily never found out. She’d serve his head up on a platter and laugh while she did it. She was awfully protective of you, always on your side when you bickered with him. If anything, you loved her even more for it, having always noticed how you frowned a little deeper, detached a little more from yourself, whenever your parents favoured him in an argument.

“Sirius!” you shouted again, no longer faking your emotions but rather genuinely just exasperated by him once more.

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” He managed to not get lost in the labyrinth of books, and found you by the travel section, chatting good-naturedly with a blonde in a tight dress.

“How can I help, doll?” he asked the blonde in question. His one tactic for almost every conundrum he’d ended up in was avoidance. And bloody hell was he good at it.

He smiled at her, the customer, doing little to hide his admiration for the legs she had on display. She flushed a pretty pink, averting her gaze, lip between her teeth. Bingo!

“Christ, you’re disgusting,” you muttered, mouth pouting and quiet enough that only he could hear.

“Only for you, sweetheart, only for you,” he bit back, not wanting the currently oblivious customer clue in on their conversation. “So, how can I help?”

“She needs that book–” you pointed to the top shelf, well out of reach. “--the green spine that says Amsterdam, but I can’t reach it and the step ladder is too heavy.”

“Alas! Only ever needed for my body, it seems,” he moaned with an irritating amount of flourish.

“Whatever it takes to get the book down– do what you must, Black.” You patted his chest reassuringly, taking your spot, once again, behind the cash register.

“So– planning a trip are you?” Sirius asked in between excessive displays of strength as he hauled the bulky ladder with a single hand. You glared at the girl as she swooned at him, wanting, rather unreasonably, for her to combust right where she stood.

But that was a ridiculous thought to begin with. You could barely stand to be even within a metre’s distance of the guy, let alone on the receiving end of his affections. You were tired, emotional and dehydrated. Must be. Though a glance at the clock had you realising it had barely been an hour since your day had started.

So, maybe just emotional and dehydrated.

“I’m going to get a coffee from across the street,” you announced, slugging your tote bag onto your shoulder as you walked past the preoccupied pair. Not waiting for a response, you stepped out into the early morning sun, frowning, for once, at the glare in your eyes and not the irritant you’d left behind.

It was easier to refer to him as something pesky, infectious, fungus-like even, rather than the only person who knew how to break your heart (and despite your somewhat impenetrable facade, you let him do just that every time).

please please PLEASE reblog & leave some feedback <3 i'll boop you if you do x

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x f!reader #sirius black fanfiction #marauders #the marauders #marauders fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #sirius black angst #sirius black smut #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n

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starshapedb0x · 8 months

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐌 ✧˚ · .

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: You’re studying to be an engineer and cars have always been your passion, making it big on social media with your achievements.. and catching the eye of a certain Monegasque.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: None really! Just a cute social media au. The reader gets hate from a lot of fans, that’s worth mentioning.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Charles Leclerc x engineerstudent!reader

𝐀/𝐍: I’m so sorry I took a big break hehe! I went on vacation and couldn’t update or even upload this! Hope you enjoy it xo 💋

yourusername

liked by charlesleclerc and 108 others.

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view all 45 comments

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charles_leclerc

liked by scuderiaferrari and 1 711 796 others.

charles_leclerc homerace 🔜

view all 7 356 comments.

yourusername can’t wait!!

liked by charlesleclerc

username AND HE LIKES HER COMMENTS

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yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc and 3 472 others.

yourusername working on a new carr

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charles_leclerc never wished I was a car so bad

liked by yourusername

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charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername and 8 965 247 others.

charles_leclerc Not our best race, but the best company.

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charles_leclerc ❤️

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username they totally are!!! She’s fixing those engines while he hands her the silly little tools.

yourusername

liked by scuderiaferrari and 6 550 021 others

yourusername thank you, Ferrari for the opportunity to watch your engineers while working. It’s insane how much I’ve learned and how much these people work themselves all day, yet are terribly underrated when it comes to the press and media.

username u dropped this babe 👑

username more of Y/N in the races pls!!!!! She explains everything so well, her blog is 😻😻

charles_leclerc hope you return

carlossainz55 great having you there this weekend, y/n

maxverstappen1 perhaps next time to the bull garage..

yourusername Although I am a red girl… your cars are too good I need to learn please 🙏

yourusername

liked by redbullracing and 7 274 827 others.

yourusername They did have me there guys.. but Max threatened he’d stop talking to me if I revealed their car’s secrets.

maxverstappen1 Never said that ! (Keep those complicated engineering sketches to yourself.)

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charles_leclerc chérie.. your color is totally red.

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charles_leclerc, yourusername

liked by scuderiaferrari and 7 958 133

charles_leclerc My pr manager said it was okay now, so to my favorite future engineer who works herself off everyday.

username called it u little bitches

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maxverstappen1 she will be blue. 💙

charles_leclerc 😂

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f1goss1p

liked by 193 283

f1goss1p new wag alert! Y/N and Charles Leclerc have come out with their relationship.. but his fans don’t seem to be taking well. As for me, I say grow up. She’s a talented engineer, a straight A student and a hardworking person.. stop hating on someone because they’ve achieved your dream, work for it yourself. Stop making this beautiful girl cry.

view all 2948 comments

username ok gossip account ate

username the haters real quiet now

Should I make a part 2 guys 🤭🤭

(Also part two to This summer coming soon 🔜)

#f1 fanfic #f1 one shot #f1 x you #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc #charles lechair #social media #social media au #fanfic #visuals #engineering #student #reader insert #x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #female reader

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incognit0slut · 10 months

Text

Right Kind of Wrong (9)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: A shocking call has Spencer questioning her involvement in the case. wc: 3.7k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

MASTERLIST

SPENCER COULDN'T REMEMBER THE LAST TIME HE FELT AT PEACE. Although protecting people and making them safe gave him a certain comfort, the pressure of being involved in harrowing cases took a toll on him more than he expected. But amid the ongoing investigation, he felt rather...calm.

He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly the reason why, between his responsibilities and obligations, he found himself embraced by this unexpected peace. It certainly had to do with the woman still nestled in his bed as he now stood in his kitchen, contemplating whether she preferred drinking coffee or perhaps something sweeter to start her day.

He couldn't believe it. He never imagined himself debating on another person's choice of beverage. Yet here he was, making a new pot of fresh coffee and setting out another mug to prepare a nice, warm cup of hot chocolate because its rich sweetness reminded him of her. If he didn't know which one she preferred between the two, he was going to make both.

He let out a sigh. He was a fool, wasn't he? Spencer was never one to indulge himself in romance. It wasn't easy for him to get swept away by any potential relationships. Falling in love again seemed like an illusion for him, something so far out of his reach. It seemed impossible to find someone he genuinely liked after losing the only person he ever considered spending the rest of his life with.

But look at him now, falling for somebody he met less than two weeks ago. For a smart person with an IQ of 187, he certainly was a fool.

Although having to know her for a mere fraction of time, Spencer had never fathomed that he could harbor such feelings. Having her soft body pressed against his side let him understand how much her presence stirred his heart.

And it wasn't just the physical aspect. The night wasn't simply spent with the warm feeling of her bare skin, but it was also filled with her laughter. Their late-night conversations delved into the realms of dreams and vulnerabilities, effortlessly bridging the gap between two strangers. With each passing conversation, he discovered the captivating intricacies of her mind which he wanted to understand better.

He liked her. He really did.

Maybe after all this ordeal, after he could disclose this current case, he could ask her out on a proper date. When there was no more boundary between them, when he wasn't an authority and she wasn't someone linked to a case, he would finally enjoy her company without feeling guilty.

He was pouring the fresh pot of coffee into a mug when his phone suddenly rang. He let out a groan, knowing what was waiting for him as he noticed Garcia's name plastered on the screen.

"Hey, Garcia," he greeted, slipping his phone between his face and his shoulder. "New update?"

"Reid."

He froze, noticing the strain in her voice. He quickly stopped what he was doing and straightened himself, pressing his phone against his ear. "What's wrong?"

"Are you sitting down?"

"Uh—no." He frowned at her question. "Why?"

"You might want to sit down."

He didn't, of course. But his mind was already buzzing with curiosity. "What is it?"

"Reid," she whispered, her voice dropping low as if trying to keep quiet. "You're the first person I called which means nobody else knows about this...yet."

"Garcia," he probed, suddenly feeling anxious. "What is it?"

There was a shuffling at the end of the line before her voice filled his ear again.

"Okay, so I crossed references that could help me find any articles Jamison Lynch wrote that might involve Kevin Marshall, and it turns out, there are none. Nothing. Nada." There was an unsettling pause before she continued, "Although there is one article mentioning Mr. Marshall by a journalist, who as of now, is an active employee at the publishing firm Jamison worked at. Guess who it is?"

He clutched the phone tighter as a tumultuous mix of emotions churned in his gut. In that moment, time seemed to stretch, waiting for his response. He paused, his mind spiraling into a web of confusion and disbelief as he pieced together the verity of this call.

"I'm guessing by your silence you already know why I wanted to call you first."

He did. He knew why it was important for Garcia to be informing him before anyone else. His eyes then glanced towards his bedroom door. Gone was the peaceful bliss he had felt, replaced by a gnawing sense of unease. Confusion suddenly swirled within him, clouding his thoughts and casting shadows upon the woman who still lay peacefully on the other side of the wall.

The warmth he relished this morning was now replaced by a chill of uncertainty that seeped into his veins.

"What—" He suddenly cleared his throat, hating how his voice sounded so foreign to him. He took a deep breath. "What else did you find?"

"I did more sleuthing and found Y/n's name as one of the people who filed a complaint against Jamison—which meant nothing, really, since he was known as a complete douchebag." Garcia then stopped. "May he rest in peace."

"Is there anything else?"

"Well, as it turns out, Jamison Lynch wasn't the first person Y/n filed a complaint for. There was also a complaint against Mr. Marshall."

"I thought Kevin Marshall was clean?"

"He was until I hacked into his company's database system and found this single complaint sent by her, which by the looks of it, seemed to be buried under a lot of firewalls." The clicking sound of a keyboard played in the background. "It was as if the company he worked for, or even Mr. Marshall himself, tried to hide it."

His burrows furrowed. "What was the complaint for?"

"Sexual Harassment."

His heart pounded in his chest, a fiery rage suddenly coursing through his body. The revelation he had just uncovered struck him like a thunderbolt, leaving him torn between seething anger and a torrent of conflicting emotions. The person he came to like had once suffered the unimaginable—a vile act of assault perpetrated by the man who now lay lifeless, a victim of murder.

Yet beneath the simmering rage, doubt festered like a poisonous seed. He was suddenly questioning the nature of her involvement. Not only did she know one of the victims, but she was also acquainted with both of them. His thoughts churned, torn between the desire to dismiss this uncertainty and the nagging voice of suspicion that echoed in the depths of his mind.

"Reid," Garcia called out when she was met with silence. "I don't what this means. I don't understand how or why she's linked between these two victims but please, please, don't do anything stupid."

His eyes drew back to his bedroom. Even when he was stuck between the depths of his emotions, the rational part of his brain managed to turn its gear. "Garcia, I need you to find out whether she knew the third victim."

"You mean the suicidal case that doesn't seem like suicide?"

"Harvey Webb," he confirmed, the name printed in his brain.

"Alright, I will. Oh—and Reid?" He hummed a reply. "Don't act on impulse. Please don't go concluding stuff on your own when you're obviously involved with her."

"I..." He took a deep breath. "I'm not involved with her."

"You're telling me you asked for her address and you didn't do anything about it?" When he didn't respond, she clicked her tongue. "Exactly. Now listen, I need to go and tell the others this, so come by the office and we'll deal with it together, okay?"

He glanced towards the cup of coffee now sitting cold by the counter. "Thanks, Garcia."

"You're welcome, boy genius."

As the phone call ended, Spencer found himself adrift in a sea of swirling emotions. This information was a step further into the investigation now that he found a link between the victims. But as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, a cloud of doubt descended upon his thoughts.

The deeper he delved into the complexities of the situation, the more elusive the truth became. Was it really possible she had anything to do with the murder? Could the trauma she had endured have pushed her to take matters into her own hands?

The questions lingered like a toxic fog, polluting his mind.

"Good morning."

Spencer looked up to see Y/n padding across the room wearing nothing but his shirt. The way the material draped over her form accentuated her curves, holding an allure that was impossible to ignore. His eyes traced the lines of her body, from the tousled strands of her hair to the subtle curve of her hip. It was an intimate sight that would have once mesmerized him completely.

But his mind was too clouded with his doubt.

"I hope you don't mind me borrowing your shirt—" She stopped when her eyes fell on him. "What's wrong? Is it the shirt?" She looked down at herself. "Should I change out of it?"

As quickly as the enchantment had taken hold, the weight of his doubts resurfaced. At that moment, the air crackled with unspoken words, an invisible barrier separating them. Spencer's heart ached with the weight of uncertainty.

How could the woman he had fallen for potentially be connected to a heinous crime? It seemed inconceivable, yet the voice at the back of his head urged him to question his doubt.

"Why didn't you tell me you knew Kevin Marshall?"

The unexpected question startled her, her feet instinctively taking a step back. "What?"

"When I questioned you that day, why didn't you mention that you knew him?"

She studied him, wondering where this was suddenly coming from. "I didn't think it was important," she finally responded. "And technically, I didn't know him personally. I interviewed him once for work."

"What happened that day?"

"What do you mean?"

"When you interviewed him, what happened?"

She felt his gaze upon her, intense and penetrating, and a shiver ran down her spine. It was as though he had glimpsed into the depths of her soul, unraveling something not many people were aware of.

"You know." It was more of a statement rather than a question. She took another step back. "Nobody else knows except a few of my closest friends but—" She shook her head. "That doesn't matter. What matters is how you know. I don't even think that company kept the files, they practically ignored my complaint."

"They kept it," he mused.

"And how do you know this?"

"The technical analyst in our team managed to find your files hidden."

"Technical analyst—why were you even searching for it?" She crossed her arms across her chest, focusing her attention on him. "Answer me. Why was your technical analyst searching for my complaint?"

Her heart was pounding against her chest as she waited for his answer.

"Because you're currently the only person linked between the two cases we're working on."

She frowned. "You mean the cases you think are done by the same killer? The death between my late boss and Kevin Marshall?"

"Yes. But this is only procedure, we do an investigation on any leads that we find."

"Investigation?" Then it dawned on her. It fucking dawned on her. Offense suddenly surged through her while his words, accusing and laced with suspicion, struck her with a sense of betrayal. "You think I have to do something with the murders."

The atmosphere, once a sanctuary of shared affection, now felt suffocating, closing in around her as the weight of his accusations settled heavily on her shoulders. His silence spoke louder than words.

"Unbelievable." Her eyes blazed with anger, her voice sharp and defensive. She turned away and stalked back to his room. "Unbelievable."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving," she hissed, noticing him trailing behind her. "Did you expect me to stay here and let you interrogate me like I'm some kind of criminal?"

His face twisted in frustration. "I just want to know what happened the day you interviewed Kevin Marshall."

"Why? So you can accuse me even further?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“You’re questioning me. You want to know whether I have some kind of vendetta against him."

"I'm not trying to accuse you of anything."

"But you are." Without any warning, she gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over her head. "You're practically cornering me with all the questioning, especially with that look on your face."

He quickly looked away and she stopped herself from scoffing at the absurdity of it. She was about to divulge how his sudden modesty was unnecessary when he spoke, "I wouldn't have to constantly ask you if you had answered me sooner."

This time she did scoff, grabbing onto her own pair of clothes. "You caught me off guard. What was I supposed to do?"

"Answer the question and not avoid it like what you're doing now."

"You think I'm avoiding the question on purpose?"

He drew his eyes back to her. "A study shows that body language plays a crucial role in interpersonal communication, and based on its verbal indicator, an attempt to avoid answering the question is notable by your vague response."

"And you're analyzing me based on that?"

"It's my job to analyze anyone involved in the case.”

"Anyone involved?" She screeched, dumbfounded by his judgment of her. "I trusted you last night, I opened up to you, and now you're throwing these baseless accusations at me?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm trying to make some sense of where you're connected in all of this."

"You don't even know how I'm involved!"

"That's what I'm trying to find out!"

The air crackled with tension, heavy with the echoes of their heated words. The silence that followed was almost deafening, a palpable strain that hung in the air like a fragile thread. The once intimate space now felt hollow, as if drained of its energy by the intensity of their emotions.

Breathless and emotionally drained, they stared at each other, their eyes mirroring a mix of regret, hurt, and lingering anger. But as the echoes of their heated argument faded, she felt a sudden wave of exhaustion wash over her. The adrenaline that had fueled her anger now deserted her, leaving her drained.

"You know what was on my mind this morning?" She suddenly spoke. "I woke up thinking I was happy to run into you again. It didn't take long for me to understand that, albeit the circumstances, I actually came to like you."

As the words spilled from her trembling lips, her voice quivered with vulnerability. But then a shadow of doubt danced in her eyes. A new wave of anger surfaced, overpowering the fragility of her confession.

"But the person I like is not this version of you. Who I like is Spencer Reid, not Doctor Reid."

He frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, right now, you're not the same guy I spent the night with. You're scrutinizing me, you're—what is it that you do again? Ah, yes, a profiler." She pointed a finger at him. "You're trying to profile me, you're trying to read my mind in my most vulnerable state because if you haven't noticed, Spencer, I'm standing here half naked while you're pestering me with your questions."

He quickly glanced away, noticing the truth in her words. He had let his anger and suspicion cloud his judgment of her, something Garcia had warned him not to do. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I'll go wait outside."

"Don't bother, I'm almost done."

But he was already out of her vision, and when she heard the soft click of the door closing behind her, she let out a shaking breath.

She stood there, her heart aching with a mix of disappointment and betrayal. His accusations had cut deep, searing through the bliss they had nurtured the past night. The warmth that once enveloped them had been replaced by a cold emptiness, leaving her feeling adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

Her eyes drifted to the unmade bed before her. The memory of the night lingered in her mind like a bittersweet melody, playing on the strings of her heart. The tender moments they had shared, the warmth that had enveloped them seemed so distant now, overshadowed by the disappointment and anger that colored her mind.

She had hoped for a peaceful morning, a continuation of the intimacy they had shared under the cover of darkness. Instead, she found herself faced with the harsh truth of their current reality, the dissonance of their unspoken tensions. His doubt had tarnished the tender memories, leaving a bitter taste on her lips.

With a heavy sigh, she let the memories of last night linger for a moment longer before gathering her strength. She walked out of the room once she was fully clothed to find him standing by his couch, his body turning at the sound of her footsteps.

"Y/n."

“Thanks for listening to me last night."

"Y/n."

"Thank you for letting me stay too."

"Y/n."

"Stop."

Her hands clenched into fists, a physical manifestation of the conflicting emotions raging within her. He watched her, and as the silence stretched between them, she saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, a recognition of the hurt he had inflicted. Perhaps he had acted out of fear, allowing the shadows of the investigation to cast doubt on her. But the betrayal still lingered too deeply.

"You know what frustrates me?" She wondered. His silence was a sign for her to continue. "You're questioning me not because you genuinely want to know, you're doing it out of your obligation because you think it's your job to do so."

She held out a hand when he took a step closer.

"And it's fine," she went on. "It is your job. You're the federal agent here and I'm merely someone whose name is linked to the case."

"Y/n, I didn't mean to—"

"With that being said, we should keep our relationship strictly that way."

Her words hung heavy in the air, each syllable an arrow piercing his heart. He stood there, frozen, his eyes fixed on her as if searching for a flicker of hesitation, a glimmer of doubt. But her resolve was unwavering. With a deep breath, she mustered the courage to speak once more, her voice steady and resolute.

“If you really want to know what happened, call me into your office, I'll answer your questions then.”

Her expression dulled as she held his gaze, and with one last jaded look etched in her somber eyes, she finally turned around without sparing another glance, excusing herself from his apartment.

He watched as the door closed behind her.

Spencer stood there, surrounded by an oppressive silence that echoed the void she had left behind. Time seemed to stand still as he grappled with the overwhelming flood of emotions. The truth of the situation settled upon his shoulders, the reality that their paths had diverged and the bliss they had once shared had transformed into something unrecognizable.

Just as the weight of his emotions threatened to overwhelm him entirely, his phone suddenly pinged with a new alert. Startled, he reached for it, his fingers trembling as he unlocked the screen. The digital glow illuminated his face, casting a pale light upon his features as he read the message.

PENELOPE: THEY'RE CALLING HER IN. SHE KNEW THE THIRD VICTIM.

Spencer stood frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stared at the words. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat reverberating through his entire being. He dialed Garcia’s number only to be rejected as soon as the first ring echoed in his ear.

PENELOPE: CAN'T TALK. HOTCH IS BESIDE ME.

His heart raced, his breath quickened, and a mixture of anger, confusion, and fear surged through his veins. Spencer quickly walked over towards his window and saw a glimpse of Y/n climbing into a cab, her phone pressed against her ear. He ran a hand through his curls in frustration as his phone alerted a new message.

PENELOPE: GET YOUR ASS HERE, REID.

SPENCER: I'm on my way.

Confusion clouded him, the lines between truth and lies blurring in his head. And beneath it all, fear lurked, whispering doubts about his judgment.

A heaviness settled upon his chest, constricting his breath and swarming his thoughts. The calm that had graced his waking moments seemed like a distant memory now—his peace only lasted briefly.

>> NEXT PART

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builtbybrokenbells · 4 months

Text

CAPITAL VICES | SLOTH

Sloth: an excessive laziness or the failure to act and utilize one’s talents

Masterlist

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 16k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, fingering (f!receiving), oral (f!receiving), oral (m!receiving), face fucking, masturbation (f!receiving), mentions of female masturbation, mentions of sex toys, light bondage play, orgasm denial, impact play, sir kink, praise, degradation, name calling, dom/sub, bratty sub, choking, spanking, lots of dirty talk, mentions of blood, (this is just filthy for the most part tbh), crying, mentions of addiction, drinking, swearing, fluff, sorry if i miss any!!

Merry Christmas from me to you (if ya celebrate)! I sincerely hope you like this as much as I liked writing it. As always, be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes! (Very lightly edited) also, if you haven’t yet, check out the playlist i made linked on the Masterlist! Much love 🫶🏻

You cut the power to the element of your stove, giving the contents of the frying pan one last stir before moving it to the side. The sun outside was shining in through the windows, the golden rays powerful as a last ditch attempt to lighten the land before setting for the night. You took a sip from your wine glass as you grabbed the pot of pasta noodles and brought them to the sink to strain. Music was drifting through the air, and the candle burning on the countertop offset the strong smell of the pasta sauce you had just finished cooking. Your hair was still damp from your shower, and light makeup was dusted on your face. You were dressed comfortably, but still took the time to pick out a nice outfit for the occasion. All of the classic telltale signs of romance was lingering in the atmosphere, yet you still had yet to come to terms with the fact.

You were preparing for a date, even if you refused to admit to it.

You brought the pot back to the stove, adding the pasta to your sauce and combining the two. Just as you finished washing your hands to rid yourself from the mess you made, your doorbell rang. With a small sigh of approval, you looked over your work before running to answer the door. You nervously combed through your hair with your fingers, trying to contain your excitement as you flipped the lock and twisted the knob to reveal the body waiting on the other side. Jake stood with a smile on his lips, a bag slung over his shoulder, and a seemingly expensive bottle of wine held in his hand.

“Hi,” You breathed, stepping aside to allow him entry. It had been a few days since seeing him, and you hated to admit to the fact that you had genuinely missed him. The calls and texts were still plentiful, yet his presence in your home was more appreciated than you realized.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He chuckled at your expression, feeling the same way you were feeling. Being apart from you was similar to a withdrawal from substance, yet a million times more powerful. His bed felt so empty that sometimes, he thought that sleeping on the couch would be a better way to spend the night. “I brought wine. I thought if I brought flowers, you might punch me.”

“Good call.” You agreed, taking it from his hand so he could balance the rest of his belongings with ease. “You didn’t have to bring anything, you know.”

“I wanted to.” He said, following you as you walked back to the kitchen. “It’s our first dinner together. It’s a momentous occasion.” You rolled your eyes, placing the bottle next to the one you had already opened in the fridge.

“I told you not to make a big deal out of it. I was cooking already; you’re not special.” You closed the door to the refrigerator and straightened up. As soon as you did, you felt a pair of hands snake around your waist. You hated that your heart sped in reaction to the touch, and you what you hated even more was that you melted into the feeling, leaning back into him and closing your eyes to enjoy the moment.

“Not special?” He hummed, his fingers inching under your shirt and settling on the soft skin just below the fabric. “Don’t hurt my feelings, angel.”

“You’ll survive.” You assured him, turning around to face him. He caught your eye, giving you a smile. “Thanks for coming.” You felt guilty about your harshness, and upon catching sight of his face, your tough exterior seemed to melt away. He was used to your brashness, and it never seemed to phase him. When you turned to face him, his face held so much adoration that it almost seemed like you never insulted him at all.

“Thanks for inviting me.” He leaned down, capturing you in a small kiss. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer in hopes of making up for the days of missing him. You were too stubborn to hug him, feeling that the innocent intimacy was too much, so you only allowed it when his lips were locked with your own. It was a cheat, your way of breaking your own rules, but he abided without argument. When he pulled away, he held you there for a moment, taking a long look over your face in hopes of familiarizing himself with your features again. Although, he did not have to try very hard; the picture of your face was the only thing his mind had been able to formulate since the last time he saw you.

Casual was becoming harder and harder with every day that passed, but neither of you felt the need to address it. You thought that by ignoring the growing feelings, they would die in the same place they blossomed. Your laziness in regards to discussing your relationship had not yet caused an issue, yet the longer you let it go, the more dangerous it became.

“You look nice.” You said, straightening out the collar of his shirt. “Didn’t need to dress up for me.”

“Maybe I wanted to,” he offered, raising a gentle hand to your cheek. His thumb drifted across the smooth skin, sending goosebumps across your whole body. Now that your past was out in the air and he knew more about you than you ever wanted him to, your comfortability had grown immeasurably stronger. Every time he touched you, he seemed to exude even more caution. It was his inconspicuous way of saying he would never touch you in any way other than loving, and you would have chastised him for it if you didn’t like it so much. His gentle hand was the reason you trusted him as much as you did, and it had been so long since you felt a touch so calming that you could not seem to turn him away. “Ever think of that?”

“I did, but I was hoping I wasn’t right.” You teased, feeling your walls of fear slowly crumbling to the ground the longer he looked into your eyes.

“Too bad.” He shrugged, his sympathy barely existing.

“You hungry?” You asked, changing topics so you did not have to focus on his need to impress you.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his eyes flickering to the stove. “Food looks fantastic, but what would you say if I told you that I have something even better in mind?” He raised an eyebrow.

“You’re gonna discredit all of my hard work just for sex?” You teased, but you weren’t completely disinterested in his idea.

“You’re right, how rude of me.” He chuckled. “Let’s eat, sweetheart.” He leaned down, giving you another quick kiss before parting from you. You took to the stove, grabbing the plates you had set out before he arrived. “Anything I can help with?” He watched as you prepared the food for both of you.

“You can sit at the table so you’re not in my way?” You offered, giving him a small smile as you looked back over your shoulder.

“My apologies; didn’t realize how strict your kitchen rules were.” He laughed, but adhered to your request and took a seat at the table. Within a few moments, you brought both plates over and sat them down in front of your respective seats. Then, you filled up a second wine glass and returned back to the table. You placed one in front of him before taking a seat yourself. “Would it be too much to say that I missed you?” He asked, now especially careful to tread lightly when it came to your boundaries. After your confessional in his car the night you met his brothers, he was even more terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing and in turn, driving you away. Although denial was your most favourite pastime, you failed to see that being so fearful of losing each other was the furthest thing from casual that you could get.

“I’ll allow it, but only because I missed you too.” You chuckled, sipping at your wine.

“This is delicious, by the way.” He noted.

“Thanks. You’ve been too busy to come and see me, so I figured I had to impress you to make sure you’re not forgetting about me.” You teased.

“Like I said before, angel, forgetting you has never been my intent. In truth, it’s never really been an option.” He assured you, catching your eye so you could see the sincerity in his gaze.

“Would it be selfish of me to say that I’m glad for that?” You phrased your question similar to how he asked you his own just minutes before.

“No,” he shook his head “I’d feel the same if it were the other way around.” You smiled at his words, burying your face in your wine glass to hide the rosiness of your cheeks. “And I wasn’t too busy for you; life just gets crazy sometimes.”

“I know, I’m only teasing.” You promised. “How’s work going?”

“Good, we just finished up writing the last touches on the album. Think next week we’re going to start recording.”

“Exciting.” You hummed. “I think maybe it’s time I listened to some of your music, since we’re friends and all.” You laughed nervously, embarrassed that you’d known him for weeks and had yet to hear him play. It was your way of keeping the barrier between you, ensuring that your lives didn’t intertwine too delicately, but it was long overdue. You were putting off the inevitable, and listening to a song he wrote did not equate to marriage, even if you previously thought so.

“Whenever you want.” He smiled. He didn’t want to push it on you, and he was more than willing to wait until you were ready. As much as he’d like to play all day for you, he would only enjoy it if you were enjoying it, too. “How’s work for you?”

“Oh, the same.” You shrugged. “Did another wedding, a maternity, and a first birthday party.” You listed. “I wasn’t going to do the birthday party, but babies are just too cute to refuse, especially when they get their hands on their little birthday cake.” You laughed. He cocked his head to the side ever so slightly, watching you with curiosity. He didn't peg you for someone to go crazy over babies, yet he found it oddly fitting. “What?” You asked, noticing his change in expression. “I like kids, but it doesn’t mean I want any.”

“Never said there was anything wrong with it,” he defended “just took me by surprise is all.” You shifted in your seat, nervous that he was reading too much into the simple statement. “I’d like to see some of your work, if you’re ever willing.”

“Maybe.” You offered, both of you knowing that it was unlikely that you ever would. The rest of the meal was shared in silence, but it was not uncomfortable for either of you. You didn’t know how to carry on the conversation, and he was just happy to be with you. When you were both finished eating, you cleared the table and placed the dirty dishes in the sink. Before you could turn around, you felt the same familiar pair of hands on your hips, jumping at the suddenness of his actions. He leaned down, pressing his lips into the skin just below your ear with great caution. A shiver ran down your spine at the feeling, and your eyes fluttered closed at the bliss that came along with it.

“Thank you.” He whispered, his lips ghosting over any available inch of you.

“You’re welcome.” You responded, resting your hands over his which he had slid to your stomach. He pulled you in to him a little further, another subtle way of hugging you without making it into a grand show of affection.

“Interested in dessert, by any chance?” He purred, his teeth sinking into your earlobe. You couldn’t help but smile at him, knowing that dinner was nothing short of torture to him after going so long without you.

“Can’t wait to get me in bed?” You teased, but your body was betraying you. As his fingers danced over your skin, you let out a shaky breath. You missed him just as much as he missed you, and you were eager to get his clothes off, too.

“I’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?” His fingers dipped below the waistband of your leggings, settling on the elastic of your underwear but advancing no further until you gave him permission.

“I think you can wait a little longer,” you did not believe that either of you could, yet you couldn’t help but try your best to piss him off. “I have to do the dishes, Jacob.” There was something so compelling about the fire in his eye when you misbehaved, and you were searching for it like a lost child looking for a place to call home.

“I don’t think I can, angel.” His fingers slipped even further down, now resting contently underneath all layers of clothing. “I’ve been thinking about bending you over this countertop all fucking week.” He said, leaning forward slightly to lock you in place. You tried your best to cover it, but your breath hitched in your throat at the thought of the vulgarity. You couldn’t see him, but you knew there was a smirk on his lips from the reaction. “From the sound of it, you have been, too.” Your eyes fluttered closed, your mind focusing on the feeling of his fingers so close to your heat. You were aching for relief, and he’d barely even touched you. Your body needed him so desperately that not even you could comprehend it. “Right?” He pressed further, hoping for a verbal response.

“Yes, sir.” You whispered, hoping he would continue on instead of teasing you. In truth, what he guessed did not even come close to the truth of how much you’d been thinking of him. It was more than just a passing thought of sex in the kitchen, or a night spent tangled up in each other. Every time you let your mind wander, it ended up in a grotesque picture of him taking you as he pleased, and it was not limited to the kitchen. Every time your eyes fell upon a surface in your house, you could picture the two of you together, cementing memories of sin until the end of time. He hadn’t left your mind once since the last time you were in his company, and dinner was a boring formality to bridge the gap between reuiniting and having him in every way you dreamed of in the passing days.

Your need for him was filthy, concupiscent and lacking any moral will. The devil had completely overtaken you, and you were so blind to his evil that you tricked yourself into believing you were happy to be chosen by him.

“Tell me how much you missed me, angel.” He ordered, finally moving his middle finger to your cunt. The touch was gentle, barely noticeable, yet it had enough strength to bring you to your knees. He ran the digit through your pooling arousal, trailing it up to your clit where he began tracing small, featherlight circles. His order was partially because he wanted to make you suffer, knowing that after so many days, it would be difficult for you to form any thoughts while he was touching you. A bigger part of him needed to hear it, because the desire to know he was needed by you was suffocating him.

“So much, Jake.” You whimpered, praying to a god that you were not even sure existed. If there was anything holy in the world, you were sure it would have stricken down any amount of evil, especially one as large as Jake possessed. Then again, you feared that he had too much power for any entity to control, feeding your fear of his devilish nature even further. “I thought about this every night.”

“You poor little thing,” he crooned, sympathy barely existing within him. “All alone with nobody here to take care of you.” His touch grew stronger, making your legs quiver underneath the weight of your body. “What did you do without me here?” His question, although seemingly simple, was opening the door to a lifetime of humiliation. He wanted to hear every dirty thing you got up to with only a picture of him in your mind. “I want to hear all about it, angel.” You could feel his erection pressing into your ass, noticing him growing more needy by the second.

As much as he loved to pretend he was in charge, he could never seem to harness enough strength to control his need for you.

Even if you didn’t know it, you were the sole holder of the power; you held the reins, and he was willing to go to the ends of the earth to please you.

“I bet you would.” You huffed, trying your best not to succumb to the pleasure his curious fingers were granting you. You lowered your shaking hands into the scalding water, feeling defeat fill you as you realized that not even the burn of the heat could overpower the godless man who was so keen on making you suffer. “I’m a little busy at the moment, though.”

“I would, and I will.” He corrected, unwilling to take any argument from you. “You can do your dishes, but I’m going to have my fun, sweetheart. You should know better by now.”

“I should,” you muttered, trying not to give in to the temptation of him. It was so much more fun to tease him, and you had committed yourself to the task since the very beginning. “Are you trying to show off? Upset that I’d rather do the dishes than have sex with you?” He’d grown so used to your antics that the insult did not even phase him. Instead, he let out a low chuckle as he pulled down the waistband of your pants with his free hand, settling it just below your ass.

“I don’t think you’re telling the truth, baby.” He called your bluff, his middle finger still focused intently on your clit. “She’s telling me everything I need to know.” A rush of emotion settled in the pit of your stomach, still finding his obscenity shocking, even if it was incredibly hot. “Now, answer the fucking question.” His tone was sharp, but not malicious. Yet, anyway. You knew if you played his game, you would reap the rewards. If you did what you so badly wanted to and mocked his authority, the consequences would be dire. You bit down on your lip, holding back a whimper begging to escape as you placed a clean plate on the rack to dry. The lack of clothing allowed for more freedom, and he was using it to his advantage. “Not talking tonight?” He questioned. “That’s new for you.”

“I was always told that if I didn’t have anything nice to say, I shouldn’t say anything at all.” You said through gritted teeth, your persistence prying another laugh from him.

“You’re such a brat, sometimes.” He let out a disapproving tsk, leaning in closer so his lips were resting on your ear. “Am I going to have to do all of the talking for you?” Instead of responding, you continued to wash the silverware as if you were completely alone in the home and the touch of his hand was not driving you to the brink of insanity. “Are you embarrassed, angel? Ashamed of all of the dirty things you did while wishing I was here with you?” You let out a scoff, but did not feed into his tyrant any further. “What was it, sweetheart? What did you use when you couldn’t get me out of your head? Your fingers?” He asked, his breath warm on your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Did you lay in bed, nestled between all of those pillows?” His tone grew stronger with every word he spoke, his own desperation clear despite his commitment to the facade. “You probably put some music on, just something to listen to while you closed your eyes and pretended it was my hands touching you, instead.” His voice was low, laced with desire at the thought of your fingers dancing through your arousal caused by the memory of him. “Classic, gets the job done, but I don't think that’s what you got up to.” He debated his own words, smiling ever so slightly against you.

His intent was to drive you mad, and if there was one thing you knew about Jake, it was that he would die before he would ever surrender.

“Or maybe you went digging around in that box underneath your bed,” he theorized “you know, the one you only let me bring out when you’re really feeling adventurous.” He reminded you as if you did not know exactly which box he was speaking of. “Is it because you’d rather use it when you’re alone? Is it just there to do all of the work when I can’t be here to do it myself?” Your breath caught in your throat as his lips landed on the sensitive skin just under your ear. “That sounds more like it…” he trailed off, losing himself in the picture of a vibrator clutched in your hand and his name woven so delicately on your lips. “I bet you start slow, wanting to draw it out as long as possible to pass the time until I can come over, but you get so needy so quickly. I know that vibrator spends most of its time on the highest setting, but you’re such a little whore that you just can’t get enough and it still doesn’t do it for you.”

You could not hide the moan that fought its way to the surface, breaking through the air and effectively proving his point. You wanted him more than even he knew, but you were just too damn stubborn to admit it.

“Or do you spend your time in the shower, the hot water keeping you warm and the detachable shower head doing more than that little toy could ever handle?” He slowly sunk to his knees, his mouth watering at the thought of tasting you again. “I notice, sweetheart, and I know you put that there for a reason.” Just before he was eye-level with your cunt, with a bit of force, he pushed your top half down towards the counter. “So what is it? How have you been taking care of yourself without me here to help?” You were so lost in the moment that you barely registered his question, already thinking of the euphoria he would give you with help from the unholy spirit that graced his tongue. “Or was it all three?” He asked, his tone telling you that the revelation brought him to a moment of enlightenment. “You tried it all, but you just couldn’t seem to find anything that could replace me. Does that sound right to you?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, finally giving in to his power. It was too strong to resist, and you were surprised you’d made it so far.

“Yes, what?” He growled, happy to hear you speak, yet displeased with the time it took for you to answer.

“Yes, sir.” You let out a shaky breath. “I tried it all, but it didn’t even come close to how good you make me feel.”

“Now you want to be good for me, hmm?” He taunted, knowing how badly you wanted him. “I know you can listen, angel. I don’t know why you try so hard to be so disrespectful.”

“M’sorry, Jake.” You pleaded, almost regretful for your standoffish remarks. You were willing to give him anything he wanted in hopes he would be kind to you.

“You’re not sorry, sweetheart.” He said, shaking his head. “If you want to do the dishes so bad, do them, but you better not stop or I will, too. And you better not cum until I say you can.” You gave a huff of annoyance, knowing that between your position and the things he was waiting to do to you, focusing on anything other than him would be nearly impossible. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” You muttered, mildly irritated yet understanding that the consequences were solely because of your own actions.

“Good,” he said, nearly vibrating with excitement. From the minute he walked in the door, he’d been waiting to see you like this, and now that he had you just how he wanted you, he could not wait any longer. “Better get started, baby. Clocks ticking.” He reminded, pulling your leggings down just a little further. You bit your tongue, holding back any snide remarks as you continued on with your task. As soon as he noticed your hands moving, he sprung to action.

As soon as his tongue connected with your core, the bland household chore was the very last thing on your mind. The heat of his mouth and the precision of his movements made it nearly impossible to thing of anything else. He started slow, running his tongue through you to savour every bit of arousal that he’d been causing you. You let out a low groan, trying your best to keep your hands steady in the water as he tried his best to completely overtake your mind with pleasure. The two of you had been caught in a nasty battle of obstinacy since the very first moment you met, and it bled into every single interaction the two of you had together. He was desperate to prove a point, and you were eager to shoot him down.

“Fuck,” you hissed, your fingers tightening around the wine glass clutched in your hand as a sharp wave of pleasure took over. You used your other hand to support your weight on the counter, your legs already weak and the rest of your body beginning to feel just the same.

His tongue circled your clit, slowly but steadily tightening the knot in your belly. The pit of your stomach was ablaze with a fire that burned just for him, and you knew that he did not have to work very hard to send you over the edge. The days spent apart from him were equal to torture, and you had no idea how you survived before he showed up in your life and graced you with his touch.

Grace was a kind word, and nothing about his actions were graceful, nor were they anything close to kind. He was pure evil that took form in a human being, and every day that passed you were more convinced that you had fallen in lust with the devil reincarnate. He put up a great facade, always making you feel like his intent was coated with love and care, but he was a selfish being who just to happened to unintentionally form a soft spot for you. The devil knows no mercy, but somehow in the time the two of you spent together, it was a trait he had learned to accept.

Now, the devil still knows no mercy, except when it comes to you.

He loved to please himself, but over time, he had to face the harrowing reality that his survival was now dependent on your need for him above anything else. Although neither of you seemed able to shake the fear of connection, the situation you found yourselves in was not as simple or transparent as it once was. Casual sex was long gone, replaced with constant companionship disguised as a careless relationship with no strings attached. Your lives were intricately tied together, and you searched for each other even when you did not realize you were doing so. All you had feared seemed to come true, but you enjoyed Jake’s presence so much that you were yet to confront the truth.

Love surrounded you with every step you took. It was in the second dirty coffee cup that so often took post in your kitchen sink. It was in your dresser drawers, where Jake’s t-shirts lived on occasion when he forgot them, and especially when he neglected to bring them back to his own apartment upon realizing they were still at your house. It was in the longing glances at your phone screen, wondering when he would reply or if you would have to double text, and it was in the phone calls that lasted hours too long when the conversation started with a simple question that could be answered in seconds. It was right there in the room with you now, lingering at the dinner table after your shared meal and blatant in his desperation, his need for you so intense that he could not even wait until you finished cleaning. Although he loved to frame it as another way to torture you, the truth was that he knew he could not wait another second to have you. The position you found yourselves in was not because of his need to tease you, but because he thought he might succumb to death without you.

Love was everywhere, but two people who were so selfishly concerned with their own needs could not possibly fall without failing. Despite the emotion being spoken into every action, the two of you did not know how to love anymore, nor were you willing to try.

As said best by Dio: between the velvet lies, there’s a truth that’s hard as steel.

The lies the two of you were telling yourselves were so smooth and sweet that it made it so easy to ignore the obvious. When the comfort of your avoidance was no longer there to protect you, the blow from the truth would be so strong that it would take your life in an instant.

And just like that, the fourth capital vice took over, leaving your life bleeding with nothing but sinful energy and godless morals. Sloth had become you, only growing stronger as you showcased laziness in regards to your growing feelings. You thought that the longer you avoided the topic, the easier it would be to navigate it, yet as time passed, it only pushed you further into the devils hold. But, the slothful nature of your neglect was not even the worst infraction of your sin; the more pressing act had nothing to do with your lack of discussion of the obvious, but everything to do with your failure to utilize your own talent.

You were fantastic at loving Jake, and he was fantastic at loving you, yet neither of you harnessed the strength and instead pretended like love was your biggest weakness. The two of you loved each other so well that it was astounding, and everyone looking in on your relationship would never question the strength in which you felt or cared for each other. The two of you loved each other better than anyone ever had, but it was easier to pretend you didn’t. So, that’s what you did: you floated through life delicately intertwined with each other, yet refused to acknowledge that your feelings went any further than sexual. It was a dangerous little game, but the thrill was so good that it didn’t matter to you.

You were brough back to reality when a rush of pleasure took over, so strong that the glass in your hand slipped and plummeted back into the sink full of water. You could feel him smiling against you, happy his affect on you was so powerful. Instead of tantalizing you for it, he made it a point to work harder, his tongue moving so precisely that you did not even have the luxury of a single second to recover.

“Jake,” you gasped, your hands shaking as you tried to bargain with him. “I can’t do this.” You knew he was unlikely to give in, but you thought it was worth a try. Instead of a heeding your warning, he hummed against you and if it were even possible, seemed to put even more effort into pleasing you. Your eyes squeezed shut as you let out a shaky breath, now completely ignoring the dirty dishes still sitting in the sink.

He let you enjoy it for a moment, but when he did not hear any progress being made on the unimportant chore, he pulled back from you, slipping his thumb to your clit. “What? You don’t care about the dishes, now?” You could hear the smirk in his voice, but you had no energy to chastise him for his actions. The only thing you were focused on was the burning in your belly that was growing more rapidly than you could possibly imagine.

“I-please, Jake.” You pleaded, insanity knocking on the door and begging to invade your mind.

“Please, what? What do you want, angel?” His thumb grew heavier, his intent to punish you for your disobedience. Your legs quivered and your knees bucked in response to the change. You didn’t know what you wanted from him; stopping was worse than certain death, but you knew you could not continue on with what he was asking of you. “Answer me.” His tone was heavy, authority dripping from his words.

“I can’t do this anymore. I need to cum. I need you.” You gasped, another wave of pleasure shooting through you. There were tears in your eyes, and you were desperate for a release. You were terrified of disobeying him because you knew he would not be likely to give you what you wanted if you did, but you could not continue on with daily tasks as if he was not bestowing you with the utmost of evil with his tongue.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to be a brat.” His was less than sympathetic, even if he did wish to fuck your over the counter without any further delays. The only thing he loved more than fucking you was watching you quiver under his touch. “So stubborn that you couldn’t even tell me what you got up to while I was gone. I don’t think it’s fair that I have to answer my own questions, sweetheart. Do you?”

“N-no,” you whimpered, barely keeping yourself upright any more. Your body had been infiltrated with every single bit of evil he held in his own, and you no longer belonged to yourself. You were fully at his disposal, willing to tell him whatever he wanted and to do whatever he asked with hopes for a shred of kindness.

“Right,” he crooned, happy that you had both reached the same conclusion. “So you’re going to do as I fucking say, and I don’t want to hear another word from you.” His voice was strong and his words were harsh, yet all it did was turn you on further. You knew that Jake could speak nothing but insults in your direction and you would fall at his feet in response. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” You choked out the words amidst a moan, knowing that if he continued on at the same pace, you would never be able to stop yourself from reaching an orgasm. With that, he returned his mouth to you, driving you even closer to the edge.

Your vision was blurred with amount pleasure he was bestowing upon you, and your limbs were separate from your mind, yet somehow you managed to continue on washing the last few dishes left in the sink. Despite your growing desperation, you knew Jake well enough to know that it was the only way to get what you wanted. Your fingers barely clasped around the cutlery, but slowly you managed to dwindle the pile down to only a single plate. With relief in sight but just out of reach, you clasped the dish tightly in your hand as you wiped it clean. As you set it in the dish rack, a cry of triumph left your lips. Your orgasm was threatening you further with every second that passed, and in a lapse of judgement, you figured you would not inform him of your intentions to climax until it was too late.

You gripped at the edge of the counter so tightly that your knuckles turned white. Your eyes were crossed with stars and not even a hint of a moan was stuck in your throat. You were too stunned by the pleasure to do anything other than enjoy it, and you feared if your tried to say something, he would catch on to your game with little mercy for you. You weren’t sure if you could handle him pulling away, but you failed to realize that Jake was the last person in the world you could lie to.

A particularly sharp intake of breath told him all he needed to know, and a flood of anger filled him. Instead of letting you know that he caught on to your game, he decided to push you until the very last second. He suctioned his lips around your clit, focusing solely on getting you to the absolute brink of a climax. An involuntary moan filled the air, and you felt the pressure in your belly reach the point of no return. As you braced yourself for the storm waiting to come, suddenly, it stopped.

“No, Jake, please!” The words tore through your chest like a bullet, and the shame that normally came from begging him no longer existed.

“Did you think you’d get away with that?” He chuckled, making a move to stand. Once he was steady on his feet, you turned your head to look up at him, your eyes showing utter devastation at the loss of contact. “I told you not to cum unless I said so, angel. Seems like you still haven’t learned how to listen to me.”

“Jake, please, I’m sorry.” You said, pushing yourself up off the counter. His eyes drifted towards the sink, pleased that you’d managed to do at least one thing he’d asked of you.

“You’re not sorry, sweetheart.” He shook his head, helping you stand upright to join him. Your eyes studied his face, your heart yearning for him to move closer. He looked so angelic in the lowlight of the kitchen, but you knew it was untrue. He was not an angel, nor was he anything holy. The devil was in the details, and the details were something you’d grown incredibly aware of in the time you’d known him. Your arousal was glistening on his lips, which were so soft and inviting. There was a malicious glint in his eye, showcasing his displeasure with your actions, and the curl of his lips portrayed his anger as clear as day.

He was beautiful, and that much was true, but it was not beauty that would be splayed across a portrait hung on a church wall or carefully burned into stained glass; it was the kind of devastating beauty that the bible warns you about, once that’s so inviting and alluring but deadly once it’s within reach.

His hellish nature had become incredibly apparent, and although it was enough to scare the world away, it only seemed to pull you in further.

Perhaps it was not his charm that was drawing you in, but rather your likeness. You were not impressed by his otherworldly charm, but because you had a streak of evil coursing through your veins, too.

“If you’ve forgotten how to listen, maybe I’ve forgotten how to be nice.” He spoke slow, making sure every word hit you with an impact.

“As if you were ever nice in the first place.” You rolled your eyes, irritated and angry at him for denying you the pleasure. He cocked his head to the side, bringing his hand to your face and clasping his fingers around your chin in a tight hold. He guided your head upwards so you could not avoid looking him in the eyes.

“I think you know all about how nice I can be.” He corrected, his tone so dangerously soft that it made your skin crawl. “And you know that I’m only nice when it’s deserved. Do you think you deserve it, angel?” You watched him with a soft gaze, hoping that the lust shining so bright in your eyes would convince him to double back on his word. When he showed no sign of backing down, you shook your head against his hold.

“No, sir.”

“Why not?” He challenged, hoping to hear some sort of repentance in your answer.

Oh, how odd it is for the devil to expect repentance from someone when he has not even done it himself.

In your own devilish way, a spark of mischief flashed in your eyes as you responded with fake apologies.

“I’ve been so bad, sir.” You put on a dramatic display, mocking him as he stood before you with all the power in the world. “I’ve been such a bad girl for you, and bad girls don’t get what they want.” You gave an innocent smile, putting on your best show in hopes of making another clear display of disobedience. He gave you a pointed stare, showing his displeasure with your actions. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll do whatever you want to make up for it.” As you finished your sentence, his hand dropped from your chin and moved downwards to rest on your neck. You held his stare, neither of you willing to back down. “Isn’t that what you wanted to hear, sir?” His fingers tightened around your neck, gradually growing more comfortable as the seconds passed.

“My god you talk a lot, sweetheart.” His calm voice sent a shiver down your spine, knowing that the buttons you were pressing could have an explosive reaction. “You really know how to piss me off.” He said it almost as if it was a compliment, and you took it as one, too. To know that you had so much power over him in any way was exhilarating. “Let me tell you how this is going to work, okay?” He watched your face, waiting for another hint of argument in your eye. When it never came, he continued on. “You’re going to do as I say, and if you decide to listen this time, I might let you cum. If want to keep being be a brat, you can get yourself off after I go home. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.” You choked out, finding it hard to fill your lungs with enough air to speak. You wanted to blame it on his fingers locked around your throat, but you knew it was because his aura was so powerful that it stole the air directly from your lungs. You were fearful that he would not find enough kindness to grant you an orgasm, but you were even more fearful that he would go home without you after the night’s excitement came to an end. You would never admit it to him, but your bed was too empty without him in it, sleeping soundly beside you.

“Good,” he said, tightening his hold just a little more. Your head was beginning to swim with the familiar airy feeling and your chest was burning for a hint of oxygen. “Now get in your fucking room and take your clothes off.” He let go with a little more force than intended, causing you to stumble backwards slightly. His first reaction was to reach out and steady you, and to apologize for the intensity of his actions, but he was trying to prove a point. It was much too easy for him to dote on you, and he had to use all of his willpower to hold back.

You could not ignore the incessant ache between your legs as you made your way to the bedroom, partially from the denial of your orgasm, but mostly because of his authoritative tone and actions. You were a fool for Jake, undeniably in lust with him and willing to do whatever he wanted as long as there was a promise for him to keep touching you. As much as you liked to piss him off, you knew that at the end of the day, you would bend to his will until your bones snapped and you were stuck there permanently. He could get you to do whatever he pleased with a snap of his fingers and only minuscule argument. He was the first man to ever walk the earth that held enough power to bend your own will, and you were not even upset at him for the fact.

Once the door was closed and the two of you were locked in seclusion together, he leaned against the door, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you undress. You caught his eye, the submissive nature fleeing you for a moment once again. He did so good at getting you there, and you did fantastically at pulling yourself out of it.

A match made in heaven was not even close to what the two of you had. In fact, it was better described as a match made in the deepest depths of hell.

You slowly brought your hands to the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly to give him a small flash of skin. Carefully and with great ease, you pulled the shirt from your body and lifted it over your head, discarding it on the floor. You moved on to your pants, bending down and sliding them off completely. His jaw was hard set as his eyes stayed glued to your figure, wondering what he ever did to deserve the company of such an angel.

But, you were not an angel, and the evil that ran through you was the only match to his own devilish attitude.

You reached behind you, unclasping the hooks of your bra. When you let it fall from your shoulders, you could see his eyes darken even further. You pulled it away from your skin, tossing it on the floor but this time, in the direction of where he was standing. His stare broke from you only for a moment to watch the fabric flutter to the ground.

“Is this your way of saying sorry?” He raised an eyebrow, needing to comment on your half-assed strip-tease.

“Is it working?” You cocked your head to the side, a small smile on your lips. He chuckled at your expression, taking a step towards you. Within seconds, he was in front of you and his hands were on you again, much gentler than they were moments before. He was showing you remorse for his harsh treatment, but he wasn’t willing to give you a verbal apology.

“I think you’re going to have to work a little harder than that.” He said, looking down at your face. You figured as much, but you could help but notice the disappointment weighing on your shoulders. “Any ideas?” He asked.

“I think I have one.” You offered, giving him a real smile. Although his form of punishment was delaying your orgasm, he did not realize just how much pleasing him pleased you. Slowly, you sunk to your knees, not needing to wait for a response. His head fell backwards, a cocky smile stuck on his lips as he looked towards the ceiling. He was thrilled about your idea, and he could not have thought of a better resolution if he tried.

You unbuckled his belt, sliding it through the loops and throwing it down on the floor. He was painfully hard, his zipper begging to bust at the seam from the strain. As if to taunt him, you made the process as slow as possible. He was patient, knowing your game better than you played it. When you freed him from his pants, he helped you pull them off of him. He kicked them to the side, uncaring for any grace, and fixed his gaze on your face.

“Would this show you how sorry I am, sir?” You looked up at him, catching him off guard with an innocent eye. He took in a shark breath, nearly feral from the sight of you on your knees for him.

“That depends on how good of a job you do, angel.” He had no fear about your performance, nor had he ever. He was well aware of the effect you had on him, and he was certain that you could punch him in the face and he would thank you with tears in his eyes. Without another word, you pulled down his boxers, your mouth watering at the thought of making him feel as good as he made you feel.

You moved forward, parting your lips slightly to take him into your mouth. As you did, you let your tongue glide across the tip of his cock, the small movement sending a wave of euphoria through him. His hand reach down, tangling in your hair as he balled it into his fist. You could feel him throbbing in your mouth, knowing immediately how pent up he was from the days spent away from you. Slowly, you took him further, focusing intently until you could feel him hit the back of your throat. He let out a hiss of pleasure, holding himself back from thrusting his hips in response to the feeling. He cared little about pushing you to any limit, and was more concerned with you working to make up for the attitude you had been giving him.

You bobbed your head down on him a few times, not giving him nearly enough relief from your slow pace. He fought the urge to take control, knowing that he could enjoy the moment without pushing you any further just yet. He wanted to see what you were capable of, and from there, he would decide if he could find enough kindness to get you off. He watched you carefully, noticing your eyes flicking towards his face every so often. You were making sure he was watching you, and he was making sure you were watching him. The two of you were intent on being the centre of attention, and there was nobody else in the world you wanted to be watched by.

You pulled back, already finding your face a mess with spit despite barely getting started. You withdrew a long breath, looking up at him with a hopeful expression. “Just like that?” You said, watching his eye twitch ever so slightly at the filthy question.

“Just like that, angel.” He agreed, pushing your head back towards his cock so it was resting on your lips. “Doing such a good job.” The praise sent anothe rush of arousal to your core; you were aching to be touched by him again, but touching him was doing just the same for you. You took him back into your mouth, speeding your movements just enough for him to notice the change. You would never tell him, but you were hoping for him to take control of the situation. Being used by Jake was one of the greatest pleasures you’d ever experienced.

Slowly, his hand applied more pressure on your head, guiding it down further with every move you made. You let out a moan against him, the vibration sending a whole new wave of pleasure through him. “You look so good with my cock in your mouth, angel.” He crooned, looking down at you as his chest heaved with his heavy breathing. “Do you like being my little whore?” The question struck you with the same intensity as a punch to the stomach. You thought you might fall over if not for his hand holding you in place. You locked eyes with him, unable to confirm the answer verbally, but hoping your expression would tell him enough. He took in a long breath, trying to keep his composure at the idea of you being so infatuated with him. He could tell he was right, and it was driving him to insanity.

With that, he gave an aggressive thrust of his hips, keeping your head in place so he didn’t stun you too much with the movement. The quick motion caused a gag to rise in your throat, constricting around him as he held himself there for a moment. Once you recovered from the shock, he began at a steady pace that was much faster than the one you had set. You tried to focus your breathing until he had pleased himself enough to pull away, but it was proving difficult. Once you thought you had caught up to his speed, he began moving your head down on him in time with his hips. Tears were threatening to spill onto your cheeks, and your desire for a breath of air was growing more dire by the second, but you persevered.

“You take it so fucking good.” He hissed, now completely lost in the pleasure he was feeling. The words were nearly too much for you, and you were desperate for relief. You figured that he would not notice if your hand slipped between your legs, or if he did, he would not care. As he fucked your face, you reached your hand between your legs and let your finger trace around your clit. The stimulation was not nearly as much as you needed, nor anything comparable to what he could do for you, but it was something. The small waves of pleasure that you were feeling allowed you to continue on with his brutal pace, distracting you from the roughness and satiating your need for him just a little longer.

You were a fool for thinking you could sneak anything past the devil.

His eyes drifted downwards towards you, taking a moment to fully understand the reality as the haze of sexual energy surrounded him. As his eyes came into focus, they first landed on your face, revelling in your beauty and moved by your likeness to an Angel. Then, his gaze caught your arm that was tucked neatly out of view. He moved his head to the side, a wicked smirk stuck on his lips as he noticed your fingers trying to relieve yourself of the ache that was bothering you so badly. You hadn’t noticed his stare lingering on you, and you did not know he had noticed and taken note of your disobedience yet again. Instead of punishing you, he decided to see how long it would take for you to realize.

Now crazed for a whole new reason, his movements remained steady as he watched you please yourself. He could see it in your face, even as you tried to keep up with his movements. The furrow of your eyebrow was familiar to him, as was the moans you were letting out when the situation permitted it. The expression and the sounds had nothing to do with his cock down your throat, and it had everything to do with the orgasm that was building steadily. He let you go until he knew you were just about to reach the peak, angry at you for not knowing how to listen, but also enthralled in the beauty of your euphoria. Knowing you were so willing to make him feel good, and knowing that it turned you into a mess in turn did the exact same to him.

You took a particularly sharp intake of breath, and he knew his tirade had to come to an end. With great reluctance, he pulled your head off of him, but not even that could distract you from the pleasure threatening to take hold. You were lost in your own world, but he couldn’t seem to find the generosity to allow it.

In a flash, his hand struck your cheek with enough force to shock you back to reality. It wasn’t nearly enough to harm you, nor cause any lasting pain, but it did exactly what he intended for it to do. You looked up at him, eyes wide in terror that you’d been caught in the act. “You were so close, sweetheart.” He gave a small shake of his head, his chest still heaving for a full breath of air. “You almost had me convinced that you could be good for me.”

“I’m sorry, Jake.” You apologized, the words falling from your lips in a mess. This time, the apology was genuine, and you felt terrible about disobeying him. Although it was genuine, it was wholeheartedly for the sake of selfishness.

“I’m the one that should be sorry, angel.” He sighed, motioning with his hand for you stand. “I should know better. You’ll always be a brat,” he continued, making sure you were steady on your feet before he pushed you towards the bed. “But it doesn’t really mattter, because I know exactly how to handle you.”

“Jake please, I promise I’ll be so good for you.” You pleaded, feeling your legs hit the mattress as you tried to back away from him. The fire in his eye was dangerous, but it was enticing. As much as you tried to plead with him to change his mind, you knew you would enjoy whatever he had in store for punishment.

“For some strange reason, I don’t believe you sweetheart.” He chuckled, finding your empty promises comical. He leaned down, grabbing his belt from the floor and taking a long look at it as he straightened up again. “Since you don’t know how to behave, I’ll have to make sure your hands don’t go wandering again. We wouldn’t want you to cum without permission, right?”

“Right,” you muttered, knowing you were fighting a losing battle. Without any further argument, you extended your hands towards him.

“I’ll strike you a deal, just because you’re so damn pretty.” He sighed, unable to resist the urge to coddle you. “If you can be good for me, I’ll consider taking these off.” He looped the leather around your wrists, pulling it until it was tight enough to keep them in place. He didn’t push it any further, too nervous about making it too tight. “Does that sound alright?”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded.

“You better be on your best behaviour angel, because this is your last chance. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” You repeated. He let out a hum of appreciation at your obedient tone, happy to hear your change of heart.

“Now we can finish what we started with no interruptions.” He smiled down at you. “On the bed, on your hands and knees.” He ordered, watching as you scrambled to get into position. You knew you’d pushed him a little too far, and he was no longer willing to play nice. “Isn’t it so much easier when you do as your told? No punishments, no arguments… unless that’s what you’re hoping for?” He took a step towards you, watching as you looked up at him as you anticipated his next move. “Is that what you want, angel? You want me to treat you like a whore?” You averted your gaze from his face, instead looking down at his cock that was eye-level with you. It was painfully hard, the tip red and glistening with pre-cum from the excitement that came before your rude interruption. “Do you like it when I punish you, sweetheart?”

“Yes, sir.” You whispered, eager to have him in your mouth again. He let out a low chuckle, amazed at the sight before him. When he first met you that night at the bar, he knew he had a slim chance at ending up in your bed at all. He never expected to have you on your knees for him, willing to do whatever was asked of you just to please him.

“Maybe that’s what’s wrong. I’m not hard enough on you. I let you get away with too much, and now you think you can do whatever you want.” He brought his hand to your cheek, brushing his thumb across the soft, blushed skin. “Do I have to remind you who’s in charge? Will that fix your little attitude problem?”

“No, sir.” You whispered, but it was weak and he knew that you wanted exactly what he said.

“You have to be a little more convincing than that, baby.” He said, the tip of his cock now practically resting on your lips. You were barely able to contain your excitement, thrilled at the idea of pleasing him again. “Maybe that’s what I’ll have to do then, since you don’t seem to have a better solution.”

“Whatever you want, sir.” You breathed, your eyes flickering up towards his face. The crazed look in his eye was paired dangerously with the tensed muscle in his jaw. He was feral for you, and he wasn’t afraid to show it anymore. You did something to him nobody else ever could, and he knew that when your clothes were back on and you were nestled under the covers for the night, that feeling would still be burning in his chest.

He had fallen for you beyond anything he ever believed he could feel, and with every minute that passed, he descended even further into the depths of loving you.

Without any further guidance, you opened your mouth and ran your tongue gently across the sensitive skin. He let out a sharp sigh, shuddering at the feeling. Slowly, you took the head of his cock in your mouth and suctioned your cheeks slightly, moving your head down on him. Worked up from the last time, the sensation was now even more intense and he could not hold back the moan that was stuck in his throat. The sound settled in the pit of your stomach, your arousal nearly too much to handle, now. With the loss of your hands, you feared you might die from your need for him if it was not taken care of soon enough.

“That’s my girl.” He said, his eyes fixated on your face. “I knew you could be good for me.” You hummed against him, showing your appreciation for the praise. Although part of your obedience came from your desire to orgasm, a bigger part was just because he was so hard to deny. Fighting and arguing was in your nature, but when it came down to it, you knew that you would always give him what he wanted. His sweet words and soft touch was better than any drug, and knowing he felt the same about you was exhilarating.

You had fallen just as hard, and you were both playing the devil’s advocate by denouncing love while feeling it so strongly. By reminding each other romance was out of the question, you were hoping that it would open a bigger discussion on the topic. Although actively trying to ignore the obvious, a deeper part of you was desperate to bring it up. You knew that there was no way you were the only one feeling that way, and you were aching to hear him say all of the words you had been too scared to speak.

Jakes hand tangled in your hair again, holding your head steady as he took control once again. His hips moved forward, his pace starting slow so he could work himself back up to the one you were engaging in previously. The ache between your legs was unbearable, but you had no other choice but to persevere. Tears were brimming your eyes again, and every time he moved a gag was begging to be had. He was much closer than he was the last time, and his movements were much sloppier. The moans falling from his lips were the most heavenly thing you’d ever heard, and that was the only thing keeping you going.

“It’s so much more peaceful when you can’t fucking talk.” He growled, the pleasure creeping up on him growing more intense by the second. “Now I know how to shut you up.” If he was not using your mouth for his own sexual pleasure, you would have laughed at his comment. He knew just as well as you did that it was in fact the only reason you weren’t slinging insults at him. You moaned against him, playing into his little power trip in hopes of speeding up the process. Every time his cock hit the back of your throat, you knew he was growing closer to a climax. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it angel?” You let out another noise, your enthusiasm driving him even closer to the edge. “Should just cum in your mouth and leave you here like this. That would teach you a lesson, wouldn’t it angel?” You let out another groan, but this one filled with discontent at his words. You both knew he would never even dream of doing such a thing, but you feared if you didn’t disagree, he might actually follow through with it.

You felt him twitch in your mouth as a slur of curses fell from his lips, but he pulled away with enough time to avoid an orgasm. You looked up at him, your face red and your eyes watering, but he still thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever had the pleasure of looking at. The room was a mess of heavy breathing and sexual tension, and neither of you could withstand the pressure any longer. After one last look over your face, he took a step to the side and out of your line of vision. Now, the only thing you could see was your reflection in the mirror placed meticulously by the wall in front of your bed.

His hand drifted over your bare back with a delicate touch after he undressed himself completely. He climbed into bed behind you, looking at your face in the mirror. His fingers gripped your hips as a smile began blossoming on his lips. He’d been waiting for this all night, and now that the moment had arrived, he was nearly vibrating with excitement. “Do you want me to fuck you, angel?” He whispered, his voice barely breaking through the silence.

“Yes, please.” You pleaded, knowing that you were still completely at his mercy. You could not move from your position, nor could you change his mind if he decided to continue torturing you.

“How bad do you want it?” His hand drifted between your legs, his finger finding your clit with ease. You took in a sharp breath at the feeling, already overwhelmed and he had barely even touched you.

“So bad, Jake.” You whimpered, out of your mind with lust for him. You needed him so badly you were delirious at the thought. “Please, baby. I need you.” You watched him through the reflection, seeing his eyes close in bliss at your words.

“How can I say no to you when you say it like that?” He asked, his tone airy and completely clouded with desire for you. He no longer had the willpower to tease you, and it was becoming more apparent by the second. For a moment longer, he let his finger trace over the sensitive bundle of nerves. He moved forward, letting himself rest against your entrance. He listened to the sounds falling from your lips, your relief sending him into a whole new state of mind. He moved his hand away from you, but you didn’t have enough time to mourn the loss before he was pushing into you.

“Fuck,” you cried, the feeling immediately overwhelming you.

“Does that feel good, angel?”

“So good, baby.” You whined, biting down on your lip to hold back the obscenities begging to be heard. “I missed you so much.” You breathed, barely noticing the tone of voice it was spoken in. It made his hips stutter and his mind stop for a second. His heart swelled with affection at the statement, and all he could do was smile.

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” He crooned, delivering a sharp slam of his hips to follow the words. A gasp fell from your lips, and you arched your back upwards towards him, desperate for more. You let your top half lower to the mattress, closing your eyes so you could live in the pleasure momentarily. “Look at me.” He ordered, reaching down at knotting your hair in his fist once again. He pulled your head upwards with a rough motion of his hand, ensuring your eyes were locked on the reflection in the mirror. “Want to see that pretty face while I fuck you.” You let out a whimper, the power of his voice making you weak.

Convincing yourself that you weren’t in love with him was a foolish endeavour, but you were still trying your best despite your stomach tying in knots at the sight of his beauty in the mirror.

“Is this what you thought about while I was gone?” He asked, his tone strong and his hips moving with just the same strength. “Did you touch yourself right here in this bed, waiting for me to come and fuck you like this?”

“God yes, Jake.” You gasped, feeling the pressure rising in your belly. You couldn’t deny him the pleasure of hearing it anymore, even if you wanted to. He’d been waiting to hear the truth from the minute he walked inside, and now you were too far gone to fight the urge to submit to him. “I thought about you every night.”

“That’s it, sweetheart.” He hummed, thrilled at the sound. “You don’t have to worry any more, angel. I’ll take care of you, just like you deserve.” He brought his hand down on your ass, watching your face in the reflection as the sting of pain took over. “Let me hear all of those filthy fucking noises I missed out on.” His order was useless, because you were already doing just that. You couldn’t contain any of the moans, nor any curses. You were singing his name like a hymn, but it was the most sacrilegious song ever sung. There was nothing holy to worship, and you were praising the devil with pride.

“Jake,” you cried, his name burrowing into the walls and making home in the foundation of your house. His presence would live there forever, and you would never be able to run away from it. He was everything, and you were just the lucky soul who could be the recipient of his love. You no longer had fear of Jake taking over your life, because you knew it would be empty and lackluster without his presence.

“My name sounds so pretty when you say it like that.” He groaned, his fingers branding your hips with bruises for you to see in days to come. His fist was tight in your hair, ensuring your eyes would remain on the picture of sin you’d found yourselves in.

“It feels so fucking good,” you whimpered, the pain bordering pleasure so divine that you could no longer think straight.

“Don’t cum yet, baby.” He warned, the look in his eye dangerous.

“Please Jake, I need it so bad.” You pleaded, desperate for a shred of sympathy.

“You’re being so good for me, sweetheart. Just hold on a little longer.” He promised pleasure as long as you listened, and the deal was the same every time. If you were good for him, he was phenomenal to you. You usually had no problem with the agreement, but it had been so long since you felt his hands on you that you weren’t sure you could hold back any longer. He’d pushed you to the edge already, and you thought it was impossible to deny yourself of the pleasure any longer.

“I can’t, Jake.” You cried, shaking your head against his tight hold on you.

“You can, angel. I know you can.” He encouraged you, knowing for certain that you could hold on a little while longer. You bit down on your lip hard enough to draw blood in hopes that it would distract you from the incessant burn that was growing stronger in the pit of your stomach. The tip of his cock was slamming into your cervix, the intensity of the feeling making your legs shake below you and your mind cross with thoughts of nothing but filth. Tears stung your eyes and you felt like you were being pushed closer to insanity with every thrust of his hips.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your eyes squeezing shut in anticipation. You were so close that there was no way you could slow it down. As you teetered on the edge, you felt yourself slowly descending into the euphoria. Just when you were about to fall, the feeling stopped completely. Your eyes snapped open, now realizing that his withdrawal was a million times worse than any punishment he could possibly give you for cumming without permission.

Now, the tears were real, and they were all due to your frustration with him for denying you any kind of help. Before you could even form a thought of protest against his withdrawal, he got off the bed and moved in front of you once again.

“Hey,” he whispered, crouching down so you were face to face. He brushed the tears away from your cheeks with his thumb, fearful he’d pushed you too far. “No need for tears, angel.” He leaned forward, capturing you in a small kiss. As he did so, his hands found your wrists, loosening the belt that was holding them together. The anxiety in your chest subsided, realizing quickly that he was no longer trying to punish you, but rather fulfill his promise that he’d given you earlier. “I told you that I’d take it off if you were good for me, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, nodding in bliss at the realization he was going to follow through with his promise. He let the belt fall to the floor before standing on his feet, letting his thumb brush across your cheek again.

“Come here, baby.” He prompted you to join him, giving you a soft smile to show you he was being serious. His dominance was gone, and he was ready to coddle you for the rest of the night. He’d pushed you far enough, and now he wanted you to enjoy whatever came next. Once you were on your feet, he led you back towards the head of the bed. He laid down, holding his arm out for you to join him. With a small smile stuck on your lips, you watched him settle himself amongst the pillows. He propped himself up slightly against the headboard as you got in the bed, too. You climbed atop of him, settling your legs on either side of him as you felt the excitement begin to take over again. “Is this better?”

“Yeah,” you laughed, unable to put it into words. You lined yourself up with him, melting into his hold. His hands were holding your hips, his touch soft and inviting, and his eyes no longer held the flame they did moments before. He’d completely softened at the sight of your face so close to his, and he was fighting every urge he had to love you.

You lowered yourself on him, both of you letting out a simultaneous sigh of relief. “God I missed this, sweetheart.”

“Me too, baby.” You breathed, anchoring your hand on his shoulder as you began a slow motion with your hips.

“You feel so fucking good.” He sighed, using his own hands to help keep your movements steady. You leaned down, placing your lips on his in a heated kiss. You wanted him in every way you could have him, and even while he was intertwined with you in the most intimate ways possible, it still didn’t feel like enough.

He was the most beautiful thing this world had ever created, and you wanted to stay like that with him for the rest of your life. When he left, your home seemed too empty. When you couldn’t talk, you missed him more than you ever cared to admit. He had become the most important person in your life without even trying, and the line between casualness had been long crossed. As you worked yourself back up to an orgasm, love was surrounding you both completely. It was certain death, and you were a dead woman walking, but you didn’t care. The longer you avoided speaking the truth, the longer you could have him in the same way. You were terrified of disturbing the peace, but you feared that the longer you held it back, the more disastrous the situation would become.

“You want to cum, angel?” He mumbled against your lips, feeling your hips speed against him as he spoke.

“Yes, please.” You whined, already feeling the steady build of pleasure rising. Every touch was euphoric, and every glance was angelic. No matter what he was doing, you were a fool for thinking you could escape it. His web was spun too intricately to even strike a curiosity about a way out.

“You want it so bad, work for it.” His voice was low, husky and soft. It was filled with desire for you, and he was eager to watch you descend into bliss. As much as he loved the control, his favorite part of sex with you was watching you have a good time. The closeness was intoxicating, and he was completely immersed in you as you desperately tried to get yourself off.

“Can you help me? Please?” You begged, needing to feel the grace of his hands on you.

“You want me to touch you, angel?” He hummed, clenching his jaw as he held back his own orgasm. The thought of needing him was too much to bear.

“Please, sir.” You whimpered, looking down at him with a longing stare. His heavily hooded eyes were clouded with lust, and he no longer had enough willpower to deny you of anything. At the end of the day, he knew he would always give you exactly what you wanted.

“Since you asked so nicely, baby.” He agreed, moving his hand from your hip and slipping it between your legs. You leaned backwards slightly, allowing him easier access to you. The pad of his finger danced over your sensitive clit, the feeling immediately bringing you closer to the edge. You moved your hands and anchored them behind you, firmly on his thighs to keep yourself upright. You gyrated your hips faster, keeping in time with the circles his finger was tracing. “Just like that?”

“Fuck, yes.” You moaned, closing your eyes as you felt the knot begin to tighten in your belly.

“That’s it, angel.” He said, encouraging you to keep going. “Cum for me, baby.” The permissive statement was all you needed to keep going, and within seconds you descended into the most intense pleasure you’d ever felt in your entire life. You sang his name, the song sweet and beautiful, and he thought it was the most moving thing he’d ever heard.

He watched you closely, studying every detail of your face as it twisted into an expression of pleasure. The way your eyebrows furrowed, and the curl of your lip as you tried to silence yourself. He was in love with the way your skin tinged red and the glisten of sweat that formed on your face. He adored you and everything about you, and he was in no place to deny it any longer. His eyes drifted downwards, admiring the tensed muscles in your shoulders and the way your breasts moved in time with your hips. His gaze trailed down your stomach, tense with pleasure, and all the way down to his hand working at you as you rode out the high.

“That’s my girl,” his voice was weak, completely constrained by his own struggle to hold himself back. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” The waver in his words sent you into another wave of euphoria; knowing how intense his emotions were was sending you to a whole new level of pleasure.

“Fuck, Jake.” You croaked, completely exhausted and fucked out. You were so tired that you could barely hold yourself up, but he caught on to the fact and braced you with his own hand. As you came down, your head was spinning and your legs were trembling. He moved his fingers from your clit, grabbing your hips as he continued to move them for you. Within seconds, he reached his own orgasm with just as much force as your own. He managed your name through the mess of curses that fell from his lips. His head fell back on the pillow as he spilled his release into you, continuing moving your hips for you to draw out the pleasure for as long as possible.

When you both calmed from the excitement, you let out a long sigh of satisfaction. You practically collapsed on top of him, craving the warmth of his skin on your own. He wrapped a strong arm around you, holding you close in hopes that you knew how welcomed the moment was. He let his fingers trace small shapes into your skin as your heartbeats turned into one. You let your fingers run over his bicep, the touch light and tickling his skin. He placed a small kiss to the top of your head, not enough for you to chastise him for, but enough to let you know he cared.

“I don’t think we should spend that much time away from each other anymore.” He chuckled, breathing in the comforting scent of your shampoo. He’d missed so dearly that he was unsure if he could live without it again.

“I agree.” You smiled, placing a small kiss to his chest. “When we have sex this good, I think it’s a crime to go without it.” He hummed a sound of agreement, but he couldn’t deny the stab he felt at the thought of you only wanting him around for sex. Although that was the clear agreement, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be around for more than just a hookup. He daydreamed about innocent dinners and days spent browsing shops in the city, hand in hand with nothing but smiles on your faces. He wondered what it would feel like to be wrapped up on the couch every night, pretending to be interested in whatever movie was playing on the television while knowing the most important thing in the world was the girl laying in his arms.

Instead of speaking his mind, he let a lock of your hair twist around his finger. It was easier to ignore it than face the consequences of rejection.

“We should get cleaned up.” You mumbled, but you regretted speaking at all. You wanted to stay in that bed with him until the end of time. The fear of age and death meant nothing when you were experiencing such intimacy at the hands of someone so fantastic.

“Sure, angel.” He agreed, but he prayed you would change your mind. After a moment, you made a move to sit up. He ignored the sinking disappointment and did the same. The two of you went to the bathroom in silence, washing away the sinful reminders of your night of reuinion. As you cleaned up your messy makeup in the mirror, you felt his hands drift over the marks beginning to form on your hips. He would never say it, but you knew he felt regret for being so rough with you. An animalistic nature took over the both of you in the bedroom, and you couldn’t help the volatile attraction the two of you felt. When the moment passed and you realized how you treated each other, guilt began to plague you both.

He placed a kiss on your shoulder, waiting until you were finished to return to the bedroom with you. When you felt as though you looked presentable, the two of you made the journey back. You threw his shirt on, wasting no time before climbing under the covers. When you didn’t notice him immediately behind you, you peeked around the room to see what he’d busied himself with.

He stood at your desk, only in his boxers as he looked over the items littering the surface. “What are you doing?” You asked, but you didn’t really care. You knew that whatever he was up to was harmless, and you had nothing to hide from him anymore. It was genuine curiosity over what had caught his attention.

“You have some expensive cameras.” He said, amazed at the quality of your things.

“Well, I take pictures for a living, so I kind of have to.” You chuckled, nestling your head into the pillows.

“You have a Polaroid camera?” He asked, looking back over his shoulder at you.

“Yeah,” you nodded, peeking at him through one eye. “Some people like that style, especially younger clients. I bring it with me and I use it sometimes for a picture or two. I don’t love it because I can’t edit the pictures, and what you get is what you get, but it’s a cool part of photo shoots. A little personal memory to bring home right away.” You shrugged, smiling at his curiosity. He picked it up, looking it over for a moment. Normally, you would be unwilling to let someone else touch your equipment, but you had no fear when your camera was in his hands. If he handled them with even half as much care as he held you with, you knew that it was the safest place for them to be.

“Is there film in this?” He asked, looking back at you again.

“Should be, why?” You asked, watching him take a few steps towards you.

“Smile.” He said, a smile stuck on his own lips as he asked you to do so.

“No, Jake.” You covered your face. “I look like shit.” You laughed. Your hair was a mess and your cheeks were still rosy from the rushing blood moments before. Your eyes were tired, and you were only clad in his t-shirt. You were nowhere near picture-worthy, but he couldn’t disagree more. He thought that in that moment, the epitome of beauty was sat directly in front of him.

“Impossible,” he shook his head, crouching down at the end of the bed “because you’re the most beautiful person in the whole world.”

“Oh, shut up.” You rolled your eyes.

“Please?” He asked again. “I promise I won’t show anyone else.” You let out a sigh of defeat, but you lowered your hand.

“Fine. Just one, though.” You surrendered. “But I get to take one of you, too.”

“Of course.” He agreed. You sat up against the headboard slightly, fixing your hair as you did so. You put on a smile, one that was clearly fake and only for the pose. “Come on. Give me a real smile, angel.” He said.

“That is real!”

“Uh-huh,” he rolled his eyes. “A photographer can’t tell a real smile from a fake one?”

“I can, but clearly you can’t. Must be why I’m the photographer and you stick to writing songs.”

“Ouch,” he laughed, “you say that as if writing songs is a bad thing.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” You defended. “But, I don’t know if your songs are any good.” You corrected him.

“Maybe if someone would get over herself and listen to them, she’d know that they’re pretty great, actually.” His pitch got higher as he spoke, clearly telling you it was a joke. He looked at you over the camera, smiling at your stunned expression. “What? Got nothing to argue about, now? That’s a first.”

“You’re an asshole.” You laughed, finding his confidence charming. Just as you did, he snapped a picture of you amidst a real laugh, finding the moment of joy too precious to pass up. He waited as the photo printed from the bottom, grabbing it as he walked towards your desk to let it develop. “Give it to me.” You extended your hand, moving towards him to grab it. He handed it to you, posing no argument as he did so.

He collapsed on the bed next to you, settling himself in the same position as you were in. You moved to the end of the bed, kneeling as you studied his position. Before you took the picture, you leaned forward and fixed the blanket draped over his waist. You reached up, brushing the hair away from his eyes and giving him a small smile as you did so.

“How do I look?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Beautiful.” You confirmed, but no hint of a joke was present. You leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on his lips before you returned to your earlier position. He didn’t have to fake his smile, because every one he’d ever had around you was the most genuine he’d ever felt. You took the picture, placing the Polaroid on the comforter before moving towards him. You settled beside him, turning the camera to face you both.

“You like me enough to take a picture with me?” He teased, surprised at your initiation of the moment.

“Don’t let it get to your head.” You brushed him off, ignoring his intent to get under your skin. He chuckled, leaning in just in time to press a kiss to your cheek as you clicked the button. You watched as it printed, grabbing it and moving to collect the other one as well.

You sat the camera beside you, watching intently as the photograph developed. The one of him on his lonesome finished first, and it nearly stole the air from your lungs. You had no idea a person could be so ethereal, but there he was, and you were so lucky to be in his company. Sometimes it felt like you did not deserve the care and attention that Jake gave you, and you did not feel nearly special enough to be receiving it from someone so phenomenal. When the second one finished developing, you couldn’t help but feel an unfamiliar feeling rise in your chest. It wasn’t lust, or desire, which was something you so often felt around him. Instead, it was adoration, and further underneath that was the emotion you’d been working so hard to cover up. When you looked over at him, you could see in his eyes that he felt the same way.

Love was dancing on the tip of your tongue, begging to be spoken and furious with you for ignoring it. You bit back the word, instead leaning forward to place a kiss on his lips. You swore he could taste the sweetness of your feelings for him from the small action alone, and he feared all the same things. As you moved to place the camera on your desk, you stopped and stuck the two pictures in the corner of your mirror, ensuring that you could see them every time you passed by. It was a second of sweetness that would brighten even the darkest of days. When you returned to his side, your body was heavy with the weight of your heart that now solely belonged to him. You were terrified, and you refused to speak it aloud, but there was a small part of you that knew it was safe with him. As fearful as you were, you knew that he would not do the same as others who came before him.

You nestled yourself into his arms, content in his hold and knowing that you had never missed anything more than you missed his comfort. You closed your eyes as the newest deadly sin filled the air around you, pushing out the love and replacing it with evil. Your laziness in regards to confessing your feelings would eat away at you, and your failure to utilize your talent would kill you. The two of you were better at loving each other than you were at anything else, but you were too busy denying it to realize that it was exactly what you’d been doing all along. You were descending further into the depths of hell with every day that passed, but the evil had become so comfortable that the flames no longer burned. Now, it was a soft tickle that reminded you of home, and you knew that you were here to stay.

In the moment, sloth seemed like the most innocent crime you had committed in your time spent knowing him so intimately, but in the long run, it simply wasn’t true. Sloth was the most deadly sin to date, because it would eventually cause the most disastrous consequences. By avoiding the truth, you were setting yourself up for catastrophic failure, and when the time came, there would be no chance for recovery. It was opening the door for a whole new world of possibilities, but none of them good; your comfortability with your own sinful actions was dangerous, and ignoring the love that was growing for him would hurt you more than the both of you confessing the truth. Now, you had chosen to suffer in silence, and any grounds of doubt or defense no longer existed. Remaining in a casual relationship while loving each other so deeply only allowed for you to hurt each other in the most brutal ways possible; causing harm without even realizing the damage you left behind.

Sloth left you vulnerable, and you were too blind to realize the dangers. After all, how can you hurt someone who has never admitted to the fact that they are able to be hurt by you at all?

TAGLIST: @sacredjake @profitofthedune @thewritingbeforesunrise @sacredthethreadgvf @klarxtr @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @freefallthoughts @jaketlove @clairesjointshurt @ageofbajabule @dannys-dream @earthgrlsreasy @starshine-gvf @brujamagik @gvfmarge @ignite-my-fire @twistedmelodies @gretavangroupie @alwaysonthemend @edgingthedarkness @gvfpal @sinarainbows @writingcold @starcatcher-jake @literal-dead-leaf @takenbythemadness @gretasfallingsky @hsfallingsky @freyjalw @itsafullmoon @lyndz2names @blacksoul-27 @i-love-gvf @vikingsisthenewsexy @mp0801 @mindastreamofcolours @indigogvf @sparrowofthedawnsworld @jordie-gvf @cassy-face @highway-tuna @creadliz98 @dancingcarbon @do-it-jakey-baby

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thegreenthepeacetheorange · 5 months

Text

The Masterlist of Katniss's kisses with Peeta and Gale

(I'll put Gale kisses in red to differentiate and my thoughts/general analysis right at the very end)

Book 1:

“I’m sure they didn’t notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often,” he says. “They suit you.” And then he gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me. A warning bell goes off in my head. Don’t be so stupid. Peeta is planning how to kill you, I remind myself. He is luring you in to make you easy prey. The more likable he is, the more deadly he is. But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.

Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his words. This is probably overdue anyway since he’s right, we are supposed to be madly in love. It’s the first time I’ve ever kissed a boy, which should make some sort of impression I guess, but all I can register is how unnaturally hot his lips are from the fever. I break away and pull the edge of the sleeping bag up around him. “You’re not going to die. I forbid it. All right?”

“Peeta!” I say, trying for the special tone that my mother used only with my father. He’s dozed off again, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he’d be happy to lie there gazing at me forever. He’s great at this stuff.

Getting the broth into Peeta takes an hour of coaxing, begging, threatening, and yes, kissing, but finally, sip by sip, he empties the pot.

I’m about to leave when I remember the importance of sustaining the star-crossed lover routine and I lean over and give Peeta a long, lingering kiss.

“You will. I promise,” he says, and bends over to give me a kiss.

“Then I’ll just have to fill in the blanks myself,” he says, and moves in to me. This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another. But I don’t get it. Well, I do get a second kiss, but it’s just a light one on the tip of my nose because Peeta’s been distracted. “I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it’s bedtime anyway,” he says.

Discomfort causes me to move. I scoot over and shake Peeta’s shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on me, he pulls me down for a long kiss.

“Come on,” I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss.

Haymitch has probably just about had it with me. And as for the audience . . . I reach up and give him a kiss. “Sure. Let’s go back to the cave.”

I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I’m so grateful that he’s still here, not dead by the stream as I’d thought.

Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. “The count of three,” he says. We stand, our backs pressed together, our empty hands locked tight.

Then there’s Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms. He staggers back, almost losing his balance, and that’s when I realize the slim, metal contraption in his hand is some kind of cane. He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He’s kissing me and all the time I’m thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we’re in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flicker-man taps on his shoulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him.

I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, “So now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?” I turn in to him. “Put you somewhere you can’t get hurt.” And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh.

Book 2:

So between the ceremonies and events and the reporters documenting my every move as I presided and thanked and kissed Peeta for the audience, I had no privacy at all.

Then suddenly, as I was suggesting I take over the daily snare run, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. I was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours I'd spent with Gale—watching him talk and laugh and frown — that I would know all there was to know about his lips. But I hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against my own. Or how those hands, which could set the most intricate of snares, could as easily entrap me. I think I made some sort of noise in the back of my throat, and I vaguely remember my fingers, curled tightly closed, resting on his chest. Then he let go and said, “I had to do that. At least once.” And he was gone.

I tried to decide how I felt about the kiss, if I had liked it or resented it, but all I really remembered was the pressure of Gale's lips and the scent of the oranges that still lingered on his skin. It was pointless comparing it with the many kisses I'd exchanged with Peeta. I still hadn't figured out if any of those counted.

In my head I hear President Snow's directive, “Convince me.” And I know I must. My face breaks into a huge smile and I start walking in Peeta's direction. Then, as if I can't stand it another second, I start running. He catches me and spins me around and then he slips — he still isn't entirely in command of his artificial leg—and we fall into the snow, me on top of him, and that's where we have our first kiss in months. It's full of fur and snowflakes and lipstick, but underneath all that, I can feel the steadiness that Peeta brings to everything. And I know I'm not alone.

I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch's voice. “You could do a lot worse.” At this moment, it's impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift ... it is perfect. So when I rise up on tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn't seem forced at all.

During ceremonies, we are solemn and respectful but always linked together, by our hands, our arms. At dinners, we are borderline delirious in our love for each other. We kiss, we dance, we get caught trying to sneak away to be alone. On the train, we are quietly miserable as we try to assess what effect we might be having.

“I'm so sorry,” I whisper. I lean forward and kiss him. His eyelashes flutter and he looks at me through a haze of opiates. “Hey, Catnip.”

What do I mean when I say I love Gale? I don't know. I did kiss him last night, in a moment when my emotions were running so high. But I'm sure he doesn't remember it. Does he? I hope not. If he does, everything will just get more complicated and I really can't think about kissing when I've got a rebellion to incite. I give my head a little shake to clear it. “Where's Peeta?” I say.

“What, because we're right?” Peeta wraps his arms around me. I give a small yelp of pain as my tailbone objects. I try to turn it into a sound of indignation, but I can see in his eyes that he knows I'm hurt. “Okay, Prim said west. I distinctly heard west. And we're all idiots. How's that?” “Better,” I say, and accept his kiss.

I pause, not knowing what to say. Where would I be with my pretend cousin who wouldn't be my cousin if it weren't for Peeta? Would he have still kissed me and would I have kissed him back had I been free to do so? Would I have let myself open up to him, lulled by the security of money and food and the illusion of safety being a victor could bring under different circumstances?

I don't know what I expected from my first meeting with Peeta after the announcement. A few hugs and kisses. A little comfort maybe. Not this.

Cinna and Portia arrive with the dawn, and I know Peeta will have to go. Tributes enter the arena alone. He gives me a light kiss. “See you soon,” he says.

“Hello, again,” he says, and gives me a kiss. “We've got allies.”

“I do,” I say. “I need you.” He looks upset, takes a deep breath as if to begin a long argument, and that's no good, no good at all, because he'll start going on about Prim and my mother and everything and I'll just get confused. So before he can talk, I stop his lips with a kiss. I feel that thing again. The thing I only felt once before. In the cave last year, when I was trying to get Haymitch to send us food. I kissed Peeta about a thousand times during those Games and after. But there was only one kiss that made me feel something stir deep inside. Only one that made me want more. But my head wound started bleeding and he made me lie down. This time, there is nothing but us to interrupt us. And after a few attempts, Peeta gives up on talking. The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind.

He puts the chain with the locket around my neck, then rests his hand over the spot where our baby would be. “You're going to make a great mother, you know,” he says. He kisses me one last time and goes back to Finnick.

I take Peeta's face in my hands. “Don't worry. I'll see you at midnight.” I give him a kiss and, before he can object any further, I let go and turn to Johanna. “Ready?”

Book 3:

I feel around for the parachute and slide my fingers inside until they close around the pearl. I sit back on my bed cross-legged and find myself rubbing the smooth iridescent surface of the pearl back and forth against my lips. For some reason, it's soothing. A cool kiss from the giver himself.

"Have to be dead to forget. Maybe even not then," he tells me. "Maybe I'll be like that man in 'The Hanging Tree.' Still waiting for an answer." Gale, who I have never seen cry, has tears in his eyes. To keep them from spilling over, I reach forward and press my lips against his. We taste of heat, ashes, and misery. It's a surprising flavor for such a gentle kiss. He pulls away first and gives me a wry smile. "I knew you'd kiss me." "How?" I say. Because I didn't know myself. "Because I'm in pain," he says. "That's the only way I get your attention." He picks up the box. "Don't worry, Katniss. It'll pass." He leaves before I can answer.

I'm light-headed with giddiness. What will I say? Oh, who cares what I say? Peeta will be ecstatic no matter what I do. He'll probably be kissing me anyway. I wonder if it will feel like those last kisses on the beach in the arena, the ones I haven't dared let myself consider until this moment.

Gale's not supposed to visit me, as he's confined to bed with some kind of shoulder wound. But on the third night, after I've been medicated and the lights turned down low for bedtime, he slips silently into my room. He doesn't speak, just runs his fingers over the bruises on my neck with a touch as light as moth wings, plants a kiss between my eyes, and disappears.

I find myself wrapped in his arms. His lips brushing the faded bruises on my neck, working their way to my mouth. Despite what I feel for Peeta, this is when I accept deep down that he'll never come back to me. Or I'll never go back to him. I'll stay in 2 until it falls, go to the Capitol and kill Snow, and then die for my trouble. And he'll die insane and hating me. So in the fading light I shut my eyes and kiss Gale to make up for all the kisses I've withheld, and because it doesn't matter anymore, and because I'm so desperately lonely I can't stand it. Gale's touch and taste and heat remind me that at least my body's still alive, and for the moment it's a welcome feeling. I empty my mind and let the sensations run through my flesh, happy to lose myself. When Gale pulls away slightly, I move forward to close the gap, but I feel his hand under my chin. "Katniss," he says. The instant I open my eyes, the world seems disjointed. This is not our woods or our mountains or our way. My hand automatically goes to the scar on my left temple, which I associate with confusion. "Now kiss me." Bewildered,unblinking, I stand there while he leans in and presses his lips to mine briefly. He examines my face closely. "What's going on in your head?" "I don't know," I whisper back.

"Later, there's a lot of kissing. Didn't seem very genuine on your part. Did you like kissing me?" he asks. "Sometimes," I admit. "You know people are watching us now?" "I know. What about Gale?" he continues. My anger's returning. I don't care about his recovery--this isn't the business of the people behind the glass. "He's not a bad kisser either," I say shortly.

Gale catches my arm before I can disappear. "So that's what you're thinking now?" I shrug. "Katniss, as your oldest friend, believe me when I say he's not seeing you as you really are." He kisses my cheek and goes.

It's a long shot, it's suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. "Don't let him take you from me."

"She loves you, you know," says Peeta. "She as good as told me after they whipped you." "Don't believe it," Gale answers. "The way she kissed you in the Quarter Quell...well, she never kissed me like that." "It was just part of the show," Peeta tells him, although there's an edge of doubt in his voice.

Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?" I tell him, "Real."

My thoughts putting this together:

i tried to add some more contextual bits to kinda frame the kisses because they need it frankly

funnily katniss is the one who starts the whole kissing thing with peeta. first the (seemingly petty) cheek kiss and then she's the one who initiates the first few kisses in the cave. so of course then peeta follows her cue. and she's all "oh he gets in another kiss etc" later on but like.. you started it girl!

katniss and peeta's kisses, and the offhandish way in which katniss mentions them, make them seem like they were just natural and a part of their harmonious routine. they kissed like it was nothing most of the time. like it's just their thing. i think @thesmileykate mentioned how in her last kiss with gale she mentions that kissing is "not their way" and it's so true because it's not her and gale's way - but it is hers and peeta's

there's actually such a stark difference in the kisses she shares with peeta and with gale. there's really not much romantic about her kisses with gale at all. if at all actually. i think the only time there might be a slight hint of genuine romantic feeling is in her first kiss with gale but every kiss after that she either wishes it didn't happen or notes how miserable/not right it is.

real or not real is so valid because her kisses with peeta really completely blur the lines between real and act. it's so hard to tell. and she seems to enjoy kissing him which makes it even more confusing. like when she kisses him for the first time in catching fire. she starts it with the disclaimer that she needs to act up for the cameras but then she just falls into kissing him and says how under all the flashy lights and makeup etc, the heart and steadiness of him is still there. which completely complicates her kissing him

for petty reasons, i had to include the bit where after she kisses gale and thinks about in what way she loves him and then she's like nope, not doing that, but uh how about peeta though?

she only ever feels 'that thing' in her kisses with peeta and it's established in every book: in the cave in the first, on the beach in the second and at the end of the third book when they grow back together.

when hijacked peeta asks katniss if she liked kissing him, she says sometimes. when he asks her if she liked kissing gale, she actually doesn't really answer when she says "he wasn't a bad kisser either" and we know it's because she's being stubborn because she's angry that this conversation is happening with people watching and she doesn't want to be open and vulnerable about her feelings with that going on.

her kisses with gale are actually kinda pitiful...

a lot of the times when katniss kisses gale or he kisses her, it's like she's just reacting, not an active participant. but she's very much a participant in most of her kisses with peeta

her and peeta's kiss right before they go into the second arena is actually their first 'private' kiss because i don't think cinna or portia are in the room when it happens.

and while most of their kisses happen in front of cameras/other people, you can tell the ones that are genuine despite that. especially from the second book.

as i was making this, i also came across the bit in CF where she realises about the rebelling in 8, and she realises that all her acting up for snow didn't matter because the fire of rebellion was still raging - that's a turning point because i really do think she starts thinking of her kisses with him completely differently. they're not for the capitol or snow because that doesn't really matter anymore. which is why when she's confused about why he's not comforting and kissing her after the QQ announcement, that's purely her and her wishes shining through. because why would he be kissing her if there's no cameras around and she's 'chosen' gale at this point? but that's their thing. and that's what she expects. like from that moment on, her realising her acting is not gonna change a damn thing happening politically, she fully embraces kissing him and never again mentions doing it for the cameras or any other reason. it's for her

#everlark #thg #the hunger games #katniss x peeta #katniss and peeta #peeta x katniss #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark

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