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mypoisonedvine · 1 month

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𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 | angus tully x reader (series finale)

read 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 and 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 first!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | angus has been waiting to see you again, but the more feelings get involved, the more complicated your affair becomes.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 7k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ only!!), mega angst but also fluff too, infidelity, boring old people parties, reader is still emotionally constipated and angus still has a breeding kink, but that's honestly it it's just a bunch of emotions so strap in folks!

Angus was pretty sure he broke some kind of record, with how quickly he ran back to his room after talking to you on the payphone.

He was sure that was exactly what you were picturing him doing— he’d made it pretty clear what he’d do once you hung up, and you’d made it pretty difficult to do anything else with the way you were talking. You’d been winding him up on purpose, of course; so yes, you could easily imagine him making a mad dash to his room and slamming the door— if you really ever thought about him outside of those phone calls.

That was the thing Angus couldn’t figure out about you. Well, there were probably a lot of other things than that, but it was the quandary he spent the most time pondering: does she think about me?

Whenever he mustered the courage to ask you something to that effect, you would either change the subject or give a half-answer. Something about how you had a dream about him the other night or how your parents asked about him— never what he was really asking.

But, frankly, at that moment as he shut his dorm room door and jumped into bed, whether or not you thought about him much was not as pertinent an issue. Right then, all he could think about was getting his hand around his raging boner; his mind was just playing everything you’d said to him over the phone on repeat.

I’m touching myself right now, you’d whispered in a sultry voice, I’m so wet, Angus— fuck, I’m so wet…

He’d never had to work so hard to keep a straight face on the phone before… he figured if anyone was really looking, they’d notice how red he was turning or how he kept shifting uncomfortably. And he told you just as much, which of course only encouraged you. Don’t want them to know, huh? you’d taunted. Don’t want the other boys to find out you’re listening to me get off?

And no, he didn’t— you were such a precious thing, the boys here didn’t even deserve to imagine you— but when you offered to stop if it was too distracting, he only found himself shakily begging for more.

As he quickly opened his khaki pants and gripping his cock, he hissed through his teeth; his ego could barely take all you’d said about that cock, about how thick and ‘perfect’ (you used that exact word, perfect, and he thought he might float) it was, about how you wished you could come around it right then instead of your fingers.

“It’s all yours,” he mumbled to himself, under his breath, not even really noticing he was saying it aloud. “You want it, baby? It’s all fucking yours.”

He groaned as he stroked himself, the precum that had been leaking from his tip for a while making everything even easier. Shutting his eyes tight, he pictured you, like he always did: all of you, everything, anything he could remember.

You ever think about me? you’d asked him over the phone— and he’d blurted out his always before he even realized you meant while he was getting off. It was still true, but more specific than necessary. He craved to hear you say it: I think about you too. But he didn’t ask, and you just went back to moaning while you rubbed your clit— which, apparently, was already swollen and throbbing— and, well, he wasn’t strong enough to interrupt that.

“Fuck,” he grunted, deep in the back of his throat, finally letting his pace pick up until his hand was a blur: after all that anticipation and all that waiting, there was no use trying to hold back now. It wasn’t like you were here to worry about him coming too fast, even though you’d still maintained you found it endearing when it happened.

He repeated your voice in his head, the moment that had made him worry he would blow his load in his trousers before he could even get off the phone and back to his room: I’m gonna come for you, you’d warned him in the most beautiful moaning voice, Angus— I want you so bad, oh god— I’m gonna come for you, fuck…

His lip caught between his teeth, his hips rocked up into his own palm. “Yes, fuck, baby,” he panted, “I— fuck!”

He tried to conjure in his mind how it had felt to come inside you, but he knew even his vivid imagination could never really capture the feeling; nothing could even come close. Still, remembering it and letting himself indulge in his strangest fantasies for just a moment sent him over the edge. His face flushed suddenly as he came in long, heavy pulses, the back of his free hand falling over his open mouth yet doing little to suppress his moans.

It was intense— it was certainly better than his orgasms usually were when brought on by himself— but it only satisfied him for a moment. The moment he was finished, with a deep breath in and his hips relaxing back down onto the mattress, he wanted more— he wanted you.

His heavy eyes glanced to the side, trying to remember what it felt like to lie next to you. He’d never felt lonely after jerking off before he met you; now getting off seemed to bring a new wave of heartbreak each time.

When he shook off the thought and looked down at himself, he frowned as he realized he’d ruined his own shirt doing that— not that he could fully bring himself to regret it.

No, his regrets only really began a few weeks later, when the nagging loneliness in the back of his mind finally got the better of him.

It was the middle of the night when he wrote it, after he woke up from a dream of you that he just couldn’t shake from his mind. After checking that his roommate was fast asleep, Angus carefully slipped out of bed and tip-toed to the desk, and pulling out a box of cards and envelopes from one of the drawers. (He thought he’d never use them when his mom sent them with him at the beginning of the year, but a lot had changed since then.)

Something about the ungodly hour made him more honest— or maybe just more shameless. He wrote a frantic ramble, everything he’d wanted to say to you that he’d never had the courage to blurt out over the phone; all the feelings he’d felt since that incredible night in the backseat of your car, which he’d assumed would fade… which he’d tried to convince himself would fade.

Unfortunately, even the adrenaline of writing down the thoughts of you he’d been poring over for over a month wasn’t enough to overpower exhaustion: he awoke the next morning slumped over the desk, the pen still uncapped and fallen a few inches from his hand, the letter left folded open.

He awoke to the sound of someone’s door shutting down the hall, specifically; jumping and blinking quickly, he looked at the window— it was morning, though still quite early— and then at his roommate who was, thank god, still asleep.

Angus looked back at the letter in front of him, only making out a few words in his brief glance, before his cheeks began to heat up and he quickly folded it shut. As more footsteps moved through the hall, the boy in the bed nearby stirred and grumbled to himself, and Angus quickly snatched up the letter and shoved it in his book bag before he was caught red-handed.

Ironically, that little commotion was what actually got the other boy’s attention. “What are you doing at the desk?” he asked groggily, rubbing one of his eyes with the back of his palm.

“Oh, I, uh— I had to do some late night cramming,” Angus explained nervously, “that big Geography test coming up and all…”

The half-awake boy seemed to notice for a moment that the story didn’t really make sense, on account of the empty desk, but he simply shrugged and tossed his blanket aside to get up as well.

For the rest of the day, Angus couldn’t think straight— and not just because of his mediocre rest and achy back from the absolutely terrible sleep posture he’d had. He couldn’t stop thinking about the letter, even if he honestly couldn’t remember for certain everything he’d said… he couldn’t stop wondering if he should send it to you. He almost didn’t want to read it again first— he wanted you to read it in its most authentic state, he wanted to mail it before he chickened out just like he had when you said you two could just stay casual. Even if it made his heart race and his palms especially clammy, Angus decided in the middle of that goddamned Geography test that he was going to mail that letter tonight after dinner: he was finally just going to man up and tell you.

Of course, something went horribly wrong along the way: he made a fatal mistake. Looking back on it, he couldn’t tell for certain if his mistake was falling for you in the first place, or writing the infamous letter, or shoulder-checking Kountze without holding on tight enough to his bag.

The argument that happened beforehand was petty and forgettable, even if it gathered a small crowd of Kountze’s friends, but it ended with Angus trying to walk away a tad… aggressively, and with Kountze grabbing him by the strap of his bag which not only knocked Angus off-balance but spilled the contents onto the floor of the dorm’s shared room.

Everyone saw the books and papers hit the ground; everyone saw the off-white cardstock land right on top. Angus reached for the letter quickly, but Kountze beat him there, and held it back with a snicker.

“Well, well,” Kountze tutted proudly, “what’s this?”

“H-hey, don’t read that,” Angus warned, hoping the seriousness of his tone would somehow affect the other boy— but, obviously, it did not. Kountze started to open it and Angus instantly made a dive for it, only to be stopped by three other students who apparently were curious as well about the letter. “Don’t fucking read that!” Angus demanded.

“Oh god, it’s to a girl!” he realized. “Do you have a girlfriend, Tully?”

“I swear to god, Kountze, if you fucking read that—”

“I miss you,” Kountze began to read aloud as Angus thrashed around to try to stop him, “I miss you so much I don’t even know what to say.”

The boys holding Angus back were enraptured as Kountze read the letter; “Do you guys pay this much attention in class?” he mocked them, though they were ignoring him completely as they waited for the other boy to keep reading.

“I feel like I can’t breathe without you— aw, Tully, you’re a poet,” Kountze mocked with a smile. Angus’ heart raced as he remembered what part of the letter came next. “Not a day goes by where I don’t think about you and your smile— Jesus, this is some really sappy shit— or what it’s like talking with you for hours, or how it feels—”

He stopped, and Angus froze, and after a moment the group of boys started demanding the conclusion. “What— what does it say?!” “Read it, Kountze!”

“How it feels to be inside you,” Kountze continued with wide eyes, staring at Angus’ bright red face as the other boys began to react loudly.

Angus renewed his struggle against the kids holding him back, but even though he was taller than them, he was severely outnumbered. “Stop— that’s personal!” Angus demanded to no avail.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to my hand after having you,” Kountze continued with a laugh. “From what I hear from your roommate, Tully, your hand is treating you just fine.”

“Shut up,” Angus hissed, but his words had lost their bite as his humiliation grew.

“I should’ve told you before I left—” he started, but finally Angus found some new strength within himself to shake off the boys holding him back: he dove at Kountze and took him down, scrambling to snatch the card away. He was going to be satisfied with just that, but of course Kountze still had to open his mouth, even when Angus had him pinned. “Jesus, Tully,” he scoffed, “how ugly is this chick that you got her to sleep with you?”

Angus brought a fist swiftly down to Kountze’s nose, who groaned in pain and held his face as Angus got up and ran away. The other boys let him pass, thankfully, and Angus wasted no time getting to his room and slamming the door behind him.

Defiantly wiping a tear from his cheek, Angus took a quick look at the letter— wrinkled, stained and scuffed from the fight with Kountze— and crumpled it up, tossing it into his wastebasket before throwing himself onto his bed and hiding his head under the pillow.

He was stupid to even write it, let alone consider sending it; it was no use, you obviously didn’t feel the same way about him that he did about you. You were the one who said it should just be what it was— a fling. But Angus felt like he’d been flung directly into hell, the way it tore into his chest to imagine you didn’t really want him.

Even if he never read the letter again that day, he remembered how it ended— and it was the part he couldn’t get out of his mind even when he wanted more than anything to forget it all.

Is this what love feels like?

It reminded you a lot of that dinner over Christmas break, except somehow, it seemed like he was staring at you even more. Shouldn’t he have gotten that out of his system a bit by now?

But then again, maybe you should’ve been more used to it, since it had been over an hour of picking away at this quail dinner, and he’d barely taken his eyes off of you. Something about him looked different; it was basically impossible that he could’ve visibly aged in just a couple months, and yet he seemed like he was carrying just a bit more age on those thin shoulders. Maybe it was just the slight five-o-clock shadow over his jaw— but, no, there was a different look in his eyes, too—

Realizing you were, in fact, staring back at him, you quickly snapped your gaze back down to your plate.

You’d been wanting a chance to talk to him before this dinner, to hopefully prevent exactly this issue, but once the dinner ended you found yourself avoiding him. Of course you weren’t ready to talk to him— of course you had a million thoughts in your head and half of them didn’t even make sense.

For once, you actually tried to talk to all of your parents’ snooty friends, repeating the same answers over and over about how you were going to graduate school in the fall and how you were looking forward to your family’s Paris trip in the summer and all that jazz. It was worth it to keep Angus off your back for a moment, even if you could still feel his eyes boring into said back from time to time.

Midway through a mind-numbingly boring conversation (if something so one-sided could be called a conversation) with the Gordons about renovations they’d done on their summer house, you glanced around the room over your shoulder and noticed that Angus was apparently absent. His parents were still there, sitting on a couch— that is, his mom and stepdad— so he couldn’t be far, but out of view he was far enough. Figuring he’d gone to the kitchen or the restroom, you figured it was the perfect time to disappear into the downstairs bedroom and, hopefully, hide out for the rest of the party. Excusing yourself quickly, you made a polite dash for the other end of the room.

And yet, somehow, he appeared out of thin air; as you turned down the hallway, only a dim lamp on an antique credenza lighting your way, you heard Angus’ hushed voice behind you. He laid his hand on your shoulder, and the moment you turned to face him, he was on you— his weight pressed you into the wall and you felt trapped in a way that was annoyingly pleasant.

“God, I missed you,” he breathed, kissing you hard and sudden; you whimpered a little, nearly melting into it, before you pushed him back at his shoulders.

“A-Angus, wait,” you sighed. “You, um… you didn’t call for a while.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, “um, I’m sorry— I just got busy with midterms and stuff— but I really wanted to!”

He moved like he was about to kiss you again, but you kept your hand on his chest to keep him away. “I wanted to tell you…” you trailed off.

“Tell me what?”

“You remember Brian Stevenson?”

“Oh— um, yeah, I guess so,” Angus frowned a little, clearly confused by what seemed like a non sequitur. “I used to go over to his house when I was little, although it was just to play with his little brother, but… yeah, I remember him.”

“I’ve been sorta, y’know… going with him,” you explained, hesitantly meeting Angus’ gaze just in time to see the most terrible sadness cover his face.

“O-oh,” he choked out, quickly stepping back from you and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah…” you mumbled, twisting your loafer-clad foot on the carpet nervously. “It’s just, you know, he asked me out a couple weeks ago, and ever since then—”

“So is he, like, your boyfriend?” Angus pressed. You nodded. He looked away. “Right— that’s… cool. That’s cool.”

You bit your lip slightly, hating that he wouldn’t look at you all of a sudden. “Angus, it’s just that, you know, we said—”

“Right,” he interrupted sharply. “Right, I remember what we said— what you said, that we weren’t— you know. That it wasn’t anything.”

“I didn’t say that—” you tried to correct him.

“You said you were mine,” he added suddenly, making your eyes widen. “Did you even mean that?”

“I— Angus, come on,” you laughed nervously. “That’s… that’s just something people say…”

He scoffed, and looked to the side as he pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek; contempt looked sort of good on him, you thought, except that it was directed at you. He was trying to hide it, but his eyes were watering.

“I’m sorry,” you began but he cut you off right away.

“No, don’t do that,” he shook his head quickly, crossing his arms and staring down at the floor. “Don’t lie to me anymore.”

“No— I really am,” you tried to assure.

“Hey, it’s fine,” he insisted sharply. “It’s— you know, it is what it is. It was just one of those things.”

“If it’s fine, then look at me,” you pleaded. He didn’t. And for a long moment, the two of you stood there, still and silent.

“It’s fine,” he repeated softly, turning on his heel.

“Angus, wait,” you hissed, not wanting to raise your voice with all the guests not too far away— of course, it was fruitless, and he briskly blended back in with the crowd.

Sighing, you dropped your head into your hands. That wasn’t how you ever wanted this to go, you never wanted to hurt him; honestly, you’d assumed he’d be irritated, but not… sad. Not devastated. Of course he would prefer to be getting laid, but you figured he wouldn’t have too much trouble finding some other girl to screw around with— sometimes, you’d wondered if he already had.

It was supposed to be easy, it was supposed to be casual, it was supposed to be fun. You couldn’t think of anything you’d ever done, or anything you’d ever felt, that was less fun than this.

It made a strange sort of sense that the next time you saw him was at another party. Of course, this party was entirely different from the last one: for one, it was hosted by your boyfriend, and there sure as hell wasn’t any quail. There was a lot more alcohol, though.

You were hanging off to the side, not feeling quite up for mixing in with the crowd as they danced to the record Brian had put on. Even if they spared you from the same boring questions that your parents’ friends bombarded you with, they were uninteresting in their own way as every conversation seemed to come back to politics or pot.

Brian startled you a bit by coming up beside you, resting his hand on the small of your back. “Hey,” he greeted, and you smiled up at him. Your eyes lingered on his face— he looked… grown up. It was probably just because he had a beard; he certainly didn’t always act grown up, but overall, Brian was perfectly acceptable. He’d asked you out, he’d actually had the bravery for that, so that was a great head start.

You tried to shake the thought out of your mind, looking away from him; it wasn’t a head start because this wasn’t a race. Who, after all, would he be racing against?

For some reason, your eyes turned to the front door— and you bit your lip as you saw Angus coming inside, slipping off his coat and looking around the room (for you, presumably). He looked even more haggard than before: a little pale, eyes sunken and dark, and he definitely hadn’t shaved since you saw him.

Brian looked to find where you were staring, and frowned slightly. “Who’s that?” he asked.

“Oh, um— Angus Tully, his parents are friends with mine, I used to babysit him when he was a kid.”

You knew that wasn’t really what he was asking, so you weren’t surprised when he got to the point more directly: “What’s he doing here?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, hoping Brian wouldn’t somehow figure out that your heart was racing.

Brian’s hand moved up to your shoulder and gave it a squeeze, just as Angus noticed you and hurriedly shoved his way through the crowd to come face-to-face with you.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?” he asked, his voice raspy and hurried as he took a quick glance at Brian in his peripheral.

“Um— sure,” you agreed awkwardly, not sure which answer would be less suspicious. Of course, when you glanced at Brian, he just looked mildly annoyed— bored, even. You realized in that moment that you didn’t need to worry about him suspecting you and Angus of anything, because he barely registered Angus’ existence: he certainly wouldn’t acknowledge him as some kind of sexual threat.

“Privately,” Angus added— and that actually got Brian’s attention, though he seemed more aware of your discomfort than anything.

“Anything you wanna say to her, you can say in front of me,” Brian assured firmly, and Angus swallowed anxiously— it was obvious from the bob of his Adam’s apple.

“Actually, uh, somebody was looking for you out front,” Angus told him. “Something about a keg getting delivered to the wrong house?”

“Shit,” Brian hissed, dropping his hand from your shoulder and looking towards the door again. “Fucking idiots…”

Having made quick work of Brian, Angus put his attention back on you. “Let’s go outside,” he suggested.

“W-we can just talk here,” you tried to say, but he was already grabbing your wrist and guiding you out; why did your heart still skip when he touched you?

Once he’d taken you through the kitchen and out to the back porch— where you could still hear the music and chatter, but it was much quieter— you spoke.

“Angus, I really am sorry about— you know— but you can’t just—” you started.

“It’s not over yet,” he insisted, surprising you with his intensity; you leaned back against the wooden railing, and he stood just a little too close with those dark brown eyes piercing through you.

“If you tell me you’re happy with Brian, I’ll leave you alone,” Angus decided, puffing up his chest a bit.

“I’m happy with Brian,” you said sternly.

A brief moment passed. “Okay, I lied,” Angus admitted.

“Jesus,” you hissed.

“But only because I don’t believe you!” he explained. “We were so good together.”

“Yeah, we were,” you admitted, “but… it’s over now.”

“No— it’s not. It can’t be!” he insisted with a whine, and you scoffed as you shook your head.

“Angus, you’re being childish,” you scolded.

“Oh, don’t say that,” he grimaced. “Don’t hold that against me— I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Of course you’re not— but you’re not thinking clearly.”

“Damn right I’m not!” he spat. “You’re all I could think about, for months! Months, I couldn’t fucking get you out of my head! And not just the, you know, the dirty stuff— everything. Every moment I spent with you, every dumb thing we talked about for hours, every time you laughed at one of my shitty jokes—”

“Angus, please,” you breathed, glancing down; you could only take so much of this, and you worried he was figuring that out.

“Does he make you laugh?” Angus pressed, stepping a bit closer to you. “Does he make you feel special? Does he make you come?”

“Yes,” you said sharply, “he’s great, okay? I’m happy— so please just stop fucking this up for me.”

“Okay, fine,” he conceded, “you’re happy, I believe you. But… but what about me, y’know? He doesn’t need you like I do.”

Your face warmed up and you crossed your arms tighter, staring down at the ground.

“Of course he likes you— who wouldn’t? But he couldn’t even imagine how I feel about you— how long I’ve been thinking about you. I mean, I’ve wanted you since I was a kid! You’re my dream girl!”

“That’s— that has nothing to do with me,” you tried to explain. “That’s a fantasy!”

“But it’s real, baby,” he sighed, bringing his hands up to gently hold your arms at either side. “It’s so real, you know it is.”

You didn’t even have the heart to deny it— or to tell him not to call you that. You knew if you looked up at him, you wouldn’t be able to fight him anymore; he must’ve known that, too, because he delicately lifted your chin until you met his gaze.

And then he kissed you: tender, sweet, and shameless. He didn’t care if anyone saw, if anyone knew— even Brian. You, on the other hand, still cared enough to try to stop him; but even you couldn’t resist a kiss like this, and you found your hands pulling him closer as quickly as they’d tried to push him away.

He took you home, without another word about what this meant or where you stood with each other. You snuck him into your room and he climbed into bed with you and he touched you like he’d been waiting a lot longer than just a few months for this moment. Frankly, you were beginning to realize that you’d been waiting a lot longer for this, too.

Before, Angus had always been talkative during sex— sometimes annoyingly so. But this time, he didn’t say a damn thing; neither of you did. And yet, somehow, just by the way he looked at you, just by the way he held you, just by the way he moved inside you... you felt like you heard more than you ever had.

You sat next to each other on the bench, staring forward into the dark treeline ahead— there was still a layer of frost around their roots, and a new snow had begun to fall even if it wasn’t cold enough for it to stick on the pavement. You tried not to look at him too long, in case it made this any harder, but you did appreciate that he seemed a bit more put together than he had the last time you went a few days without seeing him. He was clean-shaven, too… is it wrong that you kinda missed the stubble?

“Thanks for, you know… giving me a couple days to think about it,” you mumbled, and he nodded.

“I thought you might have somewhere better to be on a Friday night,” he said— trying to lighten the mood a bit, you could tell; trying to make you comfortable.

“Well, even if I did, I think this needs to be done,” you explained, and he pressed his lips together a bit.

He waited patiently, though, for you to break the silence and explain yourself, even if he didn’t seem too surprised when you did it.

“It was a mistake,” you decided. “It was great, but it was a mistake— and I’d really appreciate if we could just… let it go. And if you didn’t tell Brian.”

“Okay,” he nodded slowly. “I wasn’t gonna tell him. But I still think you should dump him.”

“Well, that’s my decision,” you reminded him, crossing your arms.

“I know,” he breathed.

You could already tell, just by the way the next silence began, that he was going to interrupt it with something stupid… you just never expected how stupid.

“The thing is— I love you,” he blurted out suddenly, turning to look at you again as your eyes widened. “I fucking love you.”

“Angus, I— you can’t—!” you choked out, but he continued before you could try to think of a response.

“I know I do— don’t say I don’t know what that is, or that I’m too young or something stupid like that,” he pleaded. “I know how I feel, okay? When you miss somebody this much, when you think about somebody this much— what else could love be, but that?”

You sighed, looking away, and he moved closer to you on the bench. Even if you knew it was preposterous that someone else would be in the park at the end of the street at this time of night, you still fought the urge to look over your shoulder.

“Don’t tell me I’m crazy,” he breathed. “You love me too, don’t you? I mean— I thought you basically forgot I existed, but last night… that sort of thing doesn’t just happen, does it? It’s not… it’s not usually like that.”

“No, it’s not,” you admitted, “that was different.”

He perked up, smiling wide when you looked at him again. “Just say it,” he begged, “say you love me too— ‘cause I know you do.”

“I— Angus, it’s more complicated than that,” you explained. “We’re still— there’s Brian, for one thing… we can’t really go on like this, you know that.”

“I know— I don’t want to keep doing this. I want to really be together,” he replied. You tried to turn your body away from his slightly, but he grabbed your hands and held them tight until you looked at him again. “I’m almost done with high school— I’ll go to college where you’re going for grad school!”

You shook your head. “No, you can’t do that.”

“Just think about it: us, together— we could actually go on real dates, and go to college parties together, and, like, study out at the library— or, you know, whatever you college kids do,” he fantasized. You smiled, but shook your head again.

“We… we can’t do that,” you denied.

He frowned, and turned away from you, staring darkly at the ground. “I knew it,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “You’re embarrassed— you’re ashamed of me.”

“What?!” you blurted out. “Angus, no—”

“It’s okay,” he said in a terribly unconvincing way, crossing his arms. “I don’t blame you: I’m just some dumb kid from your hometown. You want a guy your age— not some random freshman… you want something better.”

“That’s bullshit,” you replied instantly, “you can do so much better.”

“C’mon, I’ll never do better than you,” he insisted.

Even though he’d misunderstood you, your heart still swelled a bit at the compliment. “I meant for college, Angus,” you explained, and he deflated a little. “You can do a lot better than a state school.”

“Well, I, um… I don’t know if I can,” he admitted nervously. “My grades are kinda… inconsistent. And I went to so many different high schools—”

“Who gives a shit?” you scoffed. “You’re fucking smart— way smarter than anybody else here. You act like an idiot sometimes, but you’re eighteen, it kinda comes with the territory.”

He frowned, but couldn’t exactly deny it.

“You deserve to go somewhere amazing,” you told him. “You need to go somewhere amazing— and do something amazing.”

For a long moment, he just stared out into the dark; until, suddenly, he whipped his head back around at you with a quizzical look on his face. “Wait— is that what this is all about?”

“What?”

“Do you not want to be with me because you think you’d, like, hold me back or something?” he accused.

You blinked quickly; something about the way he said be with me caught you off-guard— like it was a term much more mature than you had expected from him. Instead of answering directly, you just stammered. “Well, y-you’re young, and—”

He cut you off quickly with a laugh. “Oh my god! You think I give a shit about that?”

“No,” you shot back, “but you should. You realize how fucking dumb it would be to change your whole life for the first person you ever slept with?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds dumb,” he admitted, looking down at his feet swinging over the edge. “But what if it’s somebody that, you know, you think you really have a shot with? What if it’s somebody that you feel like you can’t live without? Somebody that makes you finally get all those songs you hear on the radio—”

“It only feels like this to you because you’ve never felt anything else,” you explained gently. “It’s your first love. It fades.”

“But I don’t want it to,” he said instantly, looking at you with the most heartbreaking eyes you’d ever seen. “God, I don’t want it to.”

You looked up at him as his hand brushed over your face, and felt tears welling before you could fight them off; he kissed you, in a way that you thought he might have never really kissed you before. In a way nobody had kissed you before, in fact. It wasn’t very long, but it felt like it might as well have gone on forever.

When he broke away, he kept his eyes shut, and he pressed his forehead to yours as his thumb stroked your cheek. “Tell me it doesn’t have to end,” he breathed, “please. Tell me it’s not going to end.”

“It has to,” you whispered back, watching his shoulders sink and bringing your hand up to clutch at his chest. “It has to end, someday.”

You took a shaky breath, watching a tear fall from his jaw onto your arm, feeling everything you’d held back finally breaking through as your grip on shirt tightened and your lip began to quiver.

“But it doesn’t have to be tonight,” you sighed.

Gasping with relief and joy simultaneously, he kissed you again, and pulled you closer at your waist, and wrapped you up in his arms tightly.

There was, of course, this nagging voice at the back of your mind— that maybe it didn’t have to end. And god, you wanted to silence that thought permanently if you could, because it had never done you any good. That hope had only ever led to pain before. But, without it, nothing would ever really have a chance: if you weren’t willing to risk the heartache, you’d never let yourself love Angus the way that he deserved and the way that you knew, deep down, you already did.

So, as he kissed you that way you thought people only kissed in movies, and whispered to you those words you thought people only said because they were poets and dreamers, you realized that maybe it didn’t have to end someday. Maybe he would spend the next several years of your lives convincing you that you didn’t need to protect yourself from your own feelings. Maybe he would actually have the patience to break down walls he never built, to fix wounds he didn’t leave. Maybe he was ready to give you something to believe in, something worth taking risks for while you were still young and reckless. Maybe he, like the oncoming equinox, would melt your ice so new life could grow.

Or, maybe, this feeling he had really would fade once he gained a little more life experience; maybe you would make too many mistakes for him to forgive. Maybe you would always be friends, or maybe you would have too much history to be able to see each other again. Maybe you would grow apart— maybe you would have to brace yourself for that, to sit next to him on a cold dorm room mattress as you both realized it just wasn’t working anymore.

The most important thing that you realized in that moment— that eternal moment in his arms, in the dark, in the last snow of Spring— was that it didn’t matter. It didn’t have to be forever to be perfect; it didn’t have to be the ending to be beautiful. He loved you. Even if you were still trying to figure out why, he loved you; and that was true, and real, and special. His love couldn’t fix you, but it made you feel fixable, and you hadn’t seen yourself that way in a long time— you could only dream that you might see yourself the way he saw you.

When you pulled back from the kiss for a moment, you smiled wide— you laughed, actually— and sniffled as he wiped your tears away. “I love you,” you told him, and even though he kissed you again, you didn’t stop saying it. You wanted to keep it on your lips until it didn’t scare you anymore; you wanted to keep your heart open, even if it made you vulnerable, maybe because it made you vulnerable. After all, you couldn’t ever be sure it wouldn’t come back to bite you… if you could, it wouldn’t mean anything.

Even though all you said to him was I love you, each one meant something a bit different. I trust you. I’m not sure I’m ready, but I’m going to try. I’m sorry. I’m so glad I met you. I’ll never forget you. Please don’t let me go.

Somehow, you felt like he heard each one. Each time he told you that he loved you, though, you heard the same thing: I won’t let you go, ever.

Easter Mass was relatively pleasant, if a little too long. You did notice Angus sitting with his family, across the aisle and a few rows back, but you only gave him a quick wave before the service started and managed to resist glancing back at him after that.

The best part of Easter was always afterwards, though: you stood at the furthest end of the lawn, in front of the ivy-covered exterior wall of the chapel, as children ran around snatching up colorful eggs to collect for their baskets. Even if it was totally stupid, and irrelevant to the actual message of the holiday that the priest had just spent the whole service hammering in, you got a kick out of the fancy clothes and tiny dress shoes, the squeals of delight, the candy and toys in bright pastels. You were just thankful the weather had warmed up in the nick of time for all the festivities— indoor egg hunts never have quite the same effect.

Angus sauntered up beside you, sipping on a styrofoam cup of complimentary coffee, and you didn’t even look at each other, but you both smiled.

“They’re cute,” he stated after a little while.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“Do you wanna have a kid?” he asked, and you gave him a hesitant glance only to find him looking right back at you— his expression was friendly, but neutral enough that you couldn’t read if he meant having a kid with him or just, you know, in general.

Deciding it must be the second one, you let out a soft, nervous laugh. “Uh, I dunno… maybe someday,” you offered, as non-committal as possible.

“How about right now?” he challenged, lowering his voice slightly, but not enough to stop you from glancing around to make sure nobody heard.

“Angus, fucking Christ,” you coughed. “Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not,” he shrugged. “I mean, maybe I’m not being literal, but that doesn’t mean I’m not being serious.”

“Well… we can’t,” you mumbled, looking out at the lawn again, hoping not to stand out too much. “Not here.”

“I know, I know,” he agreed, and the two of you fell back into a silence— an oddly comfortable one, even. You crossed your arms as you watched the kids run around and he kept sipping on his coffee. After a few moments, though, you spoke again.

“Meet you in the Sunday school room in the West wing in five minutes?”

“Yup,” he said, already turning to leave. You smiled slightly to yourself, glancing down at your white shoes planted in the grass. Even on such a delicately-manicured lawn, wildflowers were already springing up— little periwinkle diamonds scattered here and there.

When what felt like a reasonable amount of time passed, you made your careful and casual exit from the egg hunt to slip back inside. Once you were away from the crowds and on your way to meet Angus, you couldn’t stop yourself from running… and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling, either.

#angus tully x reader #angus tully smut

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seospicybin · 10 months

Text

FOLDER 103.

Bangchan x reader. (s)

Synopsis: Everyone knows that the one item Chan always brings with him everywhere is his laptop but what they don't know is the contents of a secret folder named 103. (7k words)

Author's note: A quick one shot you can enjoy or uh... I hope so :)

Everyone knows Chan treasures his laptop the most.

It's something that he keeps dearly close to him because it contains all of his works and upcoming projects. He's using it all the time. Everyone knows how he likes to take it anywhere with him, it's a widely known fact.

But what everyone doesn't know is he keeps something personal in it too. Very personal that he doesn't want to risk it being found by accident by someone. He puts it in a folder, named it something ordinary, and protected it with a password.

Tonight is one of those nights. It's raining outside, he's alone in his room, the light is low and his playlist is playing in the background. Checking his phone, he sees that you haven't read his texts and he misses you, misses you so bad that he can't stop himself anymore.

He sits on the chair pushes it close to the desk, carefully opens his laptop, and searches for the folder that only he knows exactly where it is.

Entering his password and clicking enter, the folder unlocked, showing various types of files of photos and videos.

Yes, he's not collecting porn but porn that he made himself. It's of you and him, doing kinky, naughty things with and to each other.

Chan starts his collection by keeping the nudes you sent him on his phone, but he knows that it's risky to keep them there so he transferred them to his laptop.

Then with time, his collection grew from photos to videos. They're all consensual of course, he wouldn't take them in the first place without your permission.

To be honest, he was afraid that you wouldn't agree to it. Him recording the sexual activities he did together with you with his phone. Sure, he completely understands if you are against it, it's your body, it's privacy but what he's afraid of the most was that you would think of him differently.

To his surprise, not only you permitted him, you enjoyed doing it with him and Chan thinks, that is the moment he fell deeper into you.

The first one he recorded is a video of him going down on you, his mouth deep in your drenched cunt and a sheen of your essence is all over his mouth and chin. Your soft moans can be heard in it, breathlessly calling his name with your hand tangled in his curls.

Watching it, making him crave the taste of you on his tongue.

Chan clicks open the next video, it's a goofy one he recorded of him playfully biting on your ass cheek and you were laughing as he takes another big bite. He gently landed a slap on the ample flesh after but that only sent you laughing harder. Listening to your crisp laughs, he can't help but laugh along.

This one makes his heart long for you.

He pushes a button to display the next file, showing him a picture of you sucking his thumb. Another picture pops as he continues, of you laying naked on the bed with his cum all over you. The next is another picture of Chan biting your lower lip while you smile against his lips.

Oh, those lips, he yearns to kiss, taste it, lick it, bite it.

Another video plays as he hits next, he remembers it was you who recorded it because he was busy sucking on your breast. He watches as his tongue circles your nipple before taking it whole into his mouth, hungrily sucking on it while his hand kneads the other one.

Your hand is softly scratching his head, "you like that, baby?" You softly murmured to him in the video.

Chan didn't answer but opened his mouth bigger to take more of the supple flesh. He pushed both of your breasts to the middle so he could take them all at once with his hungry mouth.

"My greedy baby," you murmured once again with a fistful of his hair in your hand.

Chan likes when you call him endearing things, he likes it best when you put your sense of ownership over him in it because he likes being yours as much as he likes having you as his.

"My baby," he sighs at the photo of the two of you inside an empty elevator where Chan kissed your neck with his hands going under, cupping your breasts under your t-shirt.

The fact of doing it in a confined, semi-public space is very kinky to him yet you were the one who encouraged him to do it.

There are so many photos of the two of you together, cuddling, kissing or just lying close next to each other on the bed, naked. More pictures of you naked, every part of you that he likes, oh... how he wishes you were here right now!

He scrolls down from hundreds of files to the one video he likes so much.

It starts with you, kneeling between his legs and you're looking up at him, wide eyes with wild glints in them. You slowly wrap your hand around his length before taking it into your mouth.

The sight of it reminds him of how your mouth feels around him, so warm, so soft, so fucking good...

"Yeah, just like that baby," Chan hisses in pleasure at how you syncing your hand movement with your mouth going up and down his length, giving him the utmost pleasure.

His hand gripped the side of your head, putting your hair to the side and holding it there.

"I'm close, baby, close..." he breathlessly told you how he couldn't hold it in anymore.

You pulled away and replaced it with your hand, adding speed to the hand that is pumping his cock to his high. You close your eyes knowing that he'll cum at any second yet bringing your face close to him, presenting your face for him to cum on.

Chan's ragged breath was the sign that he was almost there and as a profanity falls out of his mouth, his load shot out of the tip of his cock, making streaks on your face.

Your cheek, chin, lips, and eye. He knew you would complain about his cum getting all over your face but you break into laughter instead.

"Baby?" he asked in confusion.

"I can't even—" you paused to laugh some more.

Once you collected yourself, you told him while still lowly laughing, "Can't open my eyes."

At that moment, he realizes why he loves you so much. You're of so many things, cute and sexy, funny and a little crazy, making him turned on and in love at once. Chan believes he's lucky to find all of that in a person.

Another one of his favorites is the two of you making out during sex, you were on top with him sitting under you and his hand on the arch of your back while the other kneading on your ass cheek.

What makes it so special to him is not the sex act, it's the way you look at him with so much affection in your eyes and how you gently held him with your arms around his shoulders, he was inside you yet none of you were moving.

But he felt deeply connected to you, body and soul.

You softly smiled when he whispered those three words to you and he remember how you clenched around him at that very second, his cock twitching in his sweatpants just now from reminiscing it.

"I love you too, baby," you said back to him against his lips.

Maybe he likes the video so much because it wasn't just sex that's mainly physical. It was making love, making sweet, sweet love to you.

Chan has been dating you for six months but what a time!

He's grateful to have found you, grateful that you understand him, and are always open to exploring new things with him. What he is truly grateful for is your trust.

Which also what Chan thinks is the sexiest part of this relationship, how you trust each other. He knows it's a hard thing to earn from someone yet you're giving it to him so easily and for that, he promised to never take it for granted.

Seeing all these photos and videos only amplify his longing for you, as much as he likes them, they're not as good as feeling you with his fingertips.

That soft skin, those pretty lips, that mouth that can do more than just moan his name, your warmth, your laughter, your body, you, you, and you.

As if his thought calling out to you, his phone ringing on his desk and he grins at the sight of your name on the screen.

"Hi, lovesick boy," you call him that to tease him.

He catches himself foolishly smiling in the mirror, "hey the girl in my wet dreams," he teases back.

You lowly chuckle and oh, how he misses hearing that close to his ear.

"What are you doing?" You ask.

Chan leans back on his chair until it reclines and considers for a moment if he should tell you the truth or not. He sucks air through his teeth and chooses a witty answer, "Thinking of you sitting on my face."

A wave of laughter breaks from the other end of the line and he can imagine what your face looks like when he said that. Chan knows you like it when he's being straightforward like this, you find it sexy.

"I'm not sure you'd make a good seat," you poke fun at him.

Chan pokes his cheek with his tongue and thinks of something cheeky to say back to you, "I wasn't born with a big nose for nothing."

That amuses you so much, another wave of laughter filling his ear and making the ache of his heart lessened.

"I'll see that myself," you say.

He closes his eyes so he can picture you talking to him without all this distance, "I miss you."

"What do you miss from me?" You playfully ask.

"The whole you, of course!" Chan shortly replies, feeling proud of giving you the best answer there is.

"My hole?" You pretend to mishear him.

Now it's Chan's turn to laugh so hard he almost falls off his chair, "well, yeah, that too," he jokingly adds.

"Three more days, baby, just three more days," you assure him with a smile that he can hear through the phone.

"What should I do by then?"

"Do not touch yourself," you answer without thinking.

Chan hisses as he glances down at his hard cock, bulging inside the confine of his sweatpants.

"No?" You ask since he takes a long time to answer.

Chan pinches the bridge of his nose, wanting to say yes but he knows it wouldn't be an easy task to do so.

"I'm not—" he sighs instead of finishing his sentence.

"I don't want you to cum anywhere else but inside me," you mewl at him, using that sultry voice you always use when you're being needy.

"Okay, baby?"

It's pretty obvious that he's weak for you, he would drop to his knees easily for you, worship you like a goddess you are so if you assigned him a task, he'd better do his best to succeed at it.

"For you, yes," he finally answers.

He can hear you smiling on the phone, "good boy," you coo at him.

"And what does a good boy get?" He teases you.

"A lot of fun things," you reply with a low, sultry voice, "and more."

His ears perk up at the sound of that, a lot of fun things with you, and more. He exhales air out of his mouth to calm himself down.

As soon as he hangs up the phone, Chan is getting up from his chair, groaning at how will he endure three days of not being able to get a release.

"Time for a cold shower, Chan!" He tells himself as he looks down at the bulge in his sweatpants, having no other option but to tame his desire.

It's only been hours and you're already making it hard for him

Chan wakes up to new text messages from you and when he opens them, they're pictures of you, freshly showered with beads of water dotting your skin.

The bathrobe you're wearing barely covered your breasts, he scrolls down not expecting to see that you sent him one of those beautiful mounds to him.

"These babies are missing you too," you wrote in the text.

Chan rolls on the bed and stares at the ceiling for a good minute to gather his thoughts and reorganize them, focused on things he needs to do.

But well, he's just a man who can't help it at times, he looks at it again and...

"Fuck!" He curses out loud, feeling so conflicted. He loves it but hates it at the same time.

The torture doesn't stop there. You sent him nudes at the most random of times, catching him off guard and making it harder for him to not touch himself.

You sent a video of you trying on some lingerie and intentionally exposing enough bits that get him craving, salivating for you, growing an insatiable hunger inside him.

Chan takes it that you enjoy torturing him so much but somehow, he finds pleasure in the pain too. So he hangs on for dear life and managed to survive the day.

However, at the end of the second day, with you keep teasing him with nudes and constantly tempting him to break the rules, sending Chan to the brink of giving up.

There's something about being told not to do something that only makes him want to do it more.

When that urge happens, he reminds himself that giving himself a few rubs will not be worth it, not when you promised him "a lot of fun things and more".

So Chan busies himself with work to distract himself and not thinking of you, only texting you to know how you're doing and when will you come home and put an end to his misery.

"One more day, baby," you console him through the phone.

It's not about physical needs anymore, he misses you so much that it feels like he has a hole in his chest, and no matter how much air he breathes in, he's barely living.

"I know," he says with a defeated sigh.

He can't speed up time nor shorten the distance, there's nothing he can do about it anyway. He's powerless, all he can do is patiently wait for you.

"Why don't you try to get some sleep and I'll be right there when you wake up," you make a compromise like you would to a two-year-old child.

However, that amuses him and makes him feel good. He chuckles and pulls his duvet to cover his body, up to his chest.

"I'll be dreaming of you," he mutters with a dreamy smile and eyes closed for he can see you in his sleep too.

"With my clothes on or off?" You jokingly ask.

"With clothes on, of course!" He aggressively replies.

"But I'll be the one without my clothes on," he adds and proceeds to burst into laughter.

The giggles you let out make his heart rattles, missing you even more than before.

"That means I'll be the one doing things to you?"

It seems like Chan got caught in his own game. He shouldn't have started what he can't finish. He licks his lips before speaking, "Haven't I always let you do things to me?"

You hum as you think of an answer, "Uhm... I think not often enough."

That's news to him or maybe he's so used to always being put in charge makes him unaware that he's controlling you.

"Just know that just thinking of you doing things to me got me all..." he hisses instead of finishing his sentence.

Bet you know without him having to say it. You just know how to get him all hot and bothered, know which button to push, and send him into overdrive.

You lowly laugh and probably bit your nails when you did it just like you always do this cute habit of yours.

"I have to go, baby," you sadly inform.

He can hear the noise and bustle in the background, you must be in the middle of something.

"Okay," he sighs.

"Sleep tight, baby," you sweetly speak.

"Stay safe, okay? Be careful."

"Yes, sir!" You respond

See? You know how he likes when you call him that with your sultry voice of yours yet it still has that goofiness to it.

"I love you," he endearingly says that his heart quakes.

Your smile is audible, low yet loud enough he can hear it through the phone, "I love you."

When he thinks you're about to hang up, you say another thing to him.

"Can't wait to do things to you!"

It may be a joke or words you say to get him excited but it sounds more than just that to him, one that he anticipates and impatiently waits to become true.

The last thing you said to him lingering in his head to the point that he's dreaming about it.

In his dream, you're sitting on top of him and kissing him, placing sweet little kisses all over his face, neck, and chest. It's so vivid that he can feel your weight on top of him and the softness of your lips as you place each kiss on him.

"Baby?"

Even the way you call him, he can hear it right in his ear and feel your breath fanning his ear shell.

"Wake up..." you softly whisper.

This time, he's sure he's not dreaming. Slowly, he opens his eyes to find you staring at him with a wide grin on your face.

You softly kiss his lips and let out an exaggerated smooching sound to convince him that you're real, "Surprise!" You lowly exclaim.

He knows it's true, that you're here, but can't believe it still. Using his hand, he holds your face and then moves his hand down to trail your beautiful frame.

"Is it really you, baby?" He sleepily asks.

As far as he touches you, he doesn't feel any layer of clothing on you, just miles and miles of soft, warm skin. Damn, you're naked and sitting on top of him.

Taking his hand, you place a kiss on the inside of his hand, "it's me, baby," you assure him.

Chan glides his hand down to your chest and does not hesitate to cup your breast, kneading it. He nods in approval, then mutters, "Oh, yeah, it's really you."

You laugh as you lean closer, "You know your babies so well."

Chan now uses both hands to knead on your breasts while quietly breathing out air through his mouth, nodding at you with a proud grin on his face.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

You place kisses on and around his lips, "it's a surprise, baby," you answer.

With your fingers, you touch his full, plump lips with just your fingertips and can't help but land another kiss.

Then you bring your mouth close to his ear and seductively whisper, "And I come to test my seat for tonight."

Chan silently grins that the dimples sunken deep on his cheeks, "oh, you're going to love it," he confidently says with eyes half shut and intensely staring up at you.

"Once you are seated, you don't want to get off."

It's the sly smirk dancing on his face that provokes you the most, it's mischievous, naughty and you hate that it looks good on him, making him ten times hotter than he already is.

You refuse to just fall into his words. You lean in and hold his face by his jaw, "as I said, I have to see it myself," you tell him.

The hands resting on your waist move down to your thighs, rubbing them up and down with his knuckles. He's looking deep into your eyes with eyes wide and dark with lust.

"Come and have a seat, baby," he dares you.

Chan keeps licking his lips to wet them as you take your position, kneeling with his head between your legs. Holding the headboard of the bed as support, you slowly lower yourself on him.

He welcomes you with an open mouth, grunting in delight as he put his hands on your waist. You lowly moaning feeling his soft lips wrapping around the delicate thing between your legs, tongue lapping over your wetness and sucking on it.

He glides his hands down to your thighs and puts your thighs together, wrapped around his head. There's no better way to suffocate himself but to be pressed in between your legs.

You look down at his closed eyes with his dark lashes fanning out so beautifully, brushing his curls to the back with your finger, you coo, "My baby is hungry, mmh?"

He opens his eyes to look at you for a second and hums his answer, opening his mouth bigger to take more of you. Moving his hands to your rear, cupping your ass cheeks in his hands and squeezing on the flesh.

Slowly, he motions you to start moving your hips, grinding on his face. You grip the headboard tighter and set a steady pace while looking down at his face, making sure that what you're doing is not uncomfortable for him.

But it seems like he's not lying when he dreamed of wanting you to sit on his face, you can see that he wanted it so much from how eager, how hungry, how passionate he is on drowning himself in you.

He's tirelessly eating you, enjoying every second of it with his eyes closed and humming in pleasure with his tongue deep inside you.

Seeing him enjoying it, makes you enjoy it as well to the point that you didn't realize his nose is buried under you, nudging your clit and pressing on it, giving you the utmost of pleasure.

Afraid that you suffocate him for real, you slowly get up to let him catch his breath.

"Enjoy it too much, huh?" You playfully ask as his face coated in your essence comes into sight.

Despite gasping for air, he licks his lips, then says, "More, baby."

He looks at you with pleading eyes, "give me a little bit more," he demands.

It's hard not to say no when he gives you those eyes and you like what he's doing to you, you want a little more of it too.

"Only for you, baby," you mutter.

Chan doesn't waste time but pulls you, has you in his mouth again, and dives right in, deeper and deeper, never to come out of the surface.

As much as you hate to stop, it eventually has to come you getting off of him or else he'll be running out of air. You lay next to him on the bed, then kissing him all over, tasting yourself on his face.

"Are you that thirsty, baby?" You ask before continue kissing him.

He laughs against your lips with a hand behind your neck, "How's the seat?"

You pull away just enough and smile, "fucking excellent!"

"Specially reserved for you," he says.

You place a long peck on his lips, "Only for me?"

"Only for you," he assures.

He brings your face close and captures you on a long kiss that gradually turns into a full-on make-out, sparing not even an inch of space left between your bodies.

Three days of being away from each other is certainly not easy for both of you and not to mention, the rule you applied to him.

"You've been a good boy, right?"

He lets out a heavy sigh, "Yeah."

That tells a lot about how he's been handling it, "Has it been hard for you?"

"I'm always hard for you," he answers in no time.

The shared laughs echo in the room, you gently slap his chest and press a kiss on his lips. You move your hand down his body, lazily tracing the outline of his sculpted abs.

"Having fun teasing me, eh?"

You answer with low giggles and an apologetic kiss on his lips. Lowering your hand down south, you coo at him, "You poor thing!"

He bites his lower lip as he feels your hand wrapped around his length with your thumb circling the tip. Locked his eyes in a gaze with you, you hover on top of him and tell him, "Just lay back..."

You throw all of your hair to one side and lower your mouth on his, "I'll take care of you tonight," you add.

Complying to you, Chan comfortably lays on his back, folds his hands, and puts them under his head, he watches as you kiss him down with your hair tickling his skin.

Chan looks down to see that his cock is fully erect in your hand, he doesn't even remember going to bed naked. He doesn't want to think further as you slowly put his throbbing cock in your mouth.

As eager as you always do, you take all of him only to pull away not long after, gasping for air.

"You're so big, baby," you exclaim with a devil smile on, stroking his ego well.

You continue to take him into your mouth again, hollowing your cheeks to suck him well with your hand pumping the rest you can't take. That combination of stimulations is enough to make Chan squirm on the bed. The fact that he hasn't touched himself for days only doubles the pleasure, your hands are doing a better job than his.

"Like that, baby," he breathlessly says with his hand fisting your hair.

Following the noises he lets out as a guide, you continue to do so, sucking him harder and putting a little more intensity to the grip around his cock.

"I'm so close, baby," he says between his low groans.

You do it for another minute before pulling away and using only your hand to keep the stimulation going, "close?"

His body turns red and tensed, the veins on his neck are evident as he lets out a raw groan.

"Close, mmh?"

"Yes, yes," he breathlessly answers.

Instead of keeping going, you slow down your movement and grip the base of his cock tighter to prevent him from cumming.

You expected a frustrated groan coming out of him but he only lowly grunts as you position yourself on top of him, "Not going to let you cum anywhere but inside me," you remind him.

You look at him as he lays back on the bed, watching what you're going to do next.

"Better look at it closely, baby," you warn him.

While still holding his cock, you align it with your entrance, "I'm going to take you so... well..." you hum, then carefully lower yourself on him.

Oh, the feeling of having him inside you! You get overwhelmed that you need to take a moment to compose yourself.

Chan is enjoying it as well, whimpering as you adjust yourself to his cock. Suddenly, a wicked laugh comes out of you as you roll your hips around him, laughing some more as if you're under the influence.

"You feel so good inside me, baby," you say with your eyes closed and your hands touching yourself all over.

This is what Chan likes about you, you have the right amount of everything, good and bad, a little crazy too. What are the chances that he finds someone as perfect as you? Perfect in a way that you fit everything he's looking for in a person.

That's when sex is more than just physical, sure, you have an enticing body that can easily turn him on but the chemistry you and him have is what makes it more than just physical fulfillment.

You pause for a while to plant one foot on the bed to provide more depth, taking him deeper inside you which also presents him a sight of his cock going in and out of you.

"Are you going to cum inside me, baby?" You ask with a sly smirk.

And fuck that smirk, it's sending him closer to the edge.

You lean to the back with your hand propped on his thighs, fucking him good that he no longer can hold himself back from cumming.

He grips your waist in a fruitless effort to slow you down, his nails digging deeper into the flesh as waves of pleasure wash over him.

You stop moving and settle yourself on him, taking all of him. You're softly whimpering, feeling his cock twitching as he released his seed inside you.

With a smile on your face, you lean down and kiss him, containing his low grunts in your mouth, "good, yeah?"

Chan answers with even passionate kisses, all tongues and teeth, unstoppable. Wrapping his hands around you, he draws you closer, closer, and all at once, turns you over on the bed, have you pinned under him.

He slowly lets go of the kiss to sit between your legs and carefully pulls out of you, watching as the pearly white of his cum leaks out of you. Doing it always gives him an inexplicable satisfaction and arouses him so much that his cock hardens.

With your elbows propped against the mattress, you look at him and ask, "You still have more for me, right baby?"

He lowly chuckles and leans in close, kissing you deep, got you squeezing the sides of the pillow as he takes your breath away with the kisses.

"You have no idea, baby," he answers with another kiss on your lips.

He's going down to your neck and going lower from there. From the way, he's excessively kissing your chest and taking your breasts into his mouth, wetting them with kisses and licks.

"Want to play with your babies next?" You guess with your hand in his tousled hair.

He slyly grins and hastily kisses your lips, "Didn't you say they missed me?"

You hold your breasts together for him, "yes, they are, terribly missing you," you whine.

Using his fingers, he plays with your nipple and you watch as it's getting impossibly hard just from the slightest of his touch, "I think this one is excited to see me," he playfully says.

Not waiting for another second, he takes the left nipple and tugs it between his teeth, sucking it hard, then leaving it soaking wet with his saliva.

Chan is looking down at you while he's kneeling on the bed, legs on each side of your body. Without putting his weight on you, he lowers himself just enough to rub your nipple with the tip of his cock.

You put your hands above your head, allowing him to do anything as he pleases and comfortably watching him do things to you.

It seems like he's forgetting something though.

"Are you not going to record this, baby?"

"You want me to?" He asks back.

"Are you sure you're not going to regret not recording this?" You ask back with an even more daring question and a devilish grin dancing on your face.

A hand reached for your jaw and lands a tender caress on your cheek, "You're bad!"

You burst out laughing, "Isn't that why you like me?"

The truth is Chan doesn't necessarily like bad girls but you are one, therefore he likes it.

After giving you a long kiss on the lips, he grabs his phone and starts recording, endearingly touching your face only for you to grab his hand by the wrist, then suck on his thumb.

"Yum..." you seductively hu once you let go of his finger.

The first few minutes are going well but Chan begins to lose his focus as you keep pressing your breasts tight while he's pumping his cock in between. The glints in your eyes are luring him to keep looking, locked in a gaze with yours that he forgets he's recording on his phone.

"Almost there, baby?" You sweetly ask.

He pumps his cock faster between your breasts, glistening wet with his saliva and jiggling along with the movements.

"Almost..." he replies with his voice breaking at the end.

You keep staring at him even when he's not looking, stirring the chaos inside him that he can't stop himself from exploding.

A low gasp escapes your mouth as strings of cum shoot out of the tip of his cock and lands on your chest. You're squirming under him while he's pumping his length as more cum drips out of him and onto your body.

Using your hand, you smear it all over your chest while breathlessly moaning in pleasure. Chan is quick enough to put his focus back on recording you, watching you through the camera, and how you enjoy having his cum all over you.

After a moment, Chan decides to turn it off so he can shift all of his focus back on you and get ready for his favorite part of it all, cuddling you.

Before he gets to his favorite part though, he helps you clean up. Even though he knows you can do it yourself, he can't help himself seeing your body and not washing it for you.

The second both of you return to bed, he wraps his arms around you and places kisses on you, each kiss makes up for the second he spent missing you and more kisses to mark you all over.

He takes his lips back to kiss you and slowly lets go, "hi..." he softly speaks with a gentle squeeze on your waist.

"We did all that and you've just said hi to me now, huh?" You've just come to the realization as well as you give him a quick peck on the lips.

He's grinning with his dimples appearing on both cheeks, undeniably cute and adorable. You can't help but kiss him again.

"I miss you so much," his heart shrank as he said it.

You warmly smile and cup his face in one hand, "I miss you too."

With his feeling reciprocated, Chan feels his heart expanded and full of warm feelings to the brim.

Maybe this is why he finds pleasure in waiting because he knows what he'll get at the end of his suffering, you. Which is the greatest, priceless prize he'll ever get.

However, the dread tomorrow brings looming over him.

"You didn't tell me you're coming. I have lots to do tomorrow," he mumbles, disappointed that he has to go early tomorrow.

"Lots to do to me tomorrow, you mean?" You joke.

He buries his head in your neck, "oh, I wish," he sighs.

You gently pat his head and brush his curls with your fingers, "that's okay. I'll patiently wait for you."

"Like a good girl?" He teases.

You take a moment to answer, "That, I can't promise you."

One thing comes to his mind as he places a long kiss on your lips, "didn't you say you wanted to do things to me?"

You part open your mouth then faintly bite your lower lip, he can see that your eyes are keeping secrets from him.

He tips his head to the side, intrigued.

"You still have a lot of fun things for me or...?"

You subtly shrug and slyly smile, "Maybe."

As much as he likes just laying close to you and talking all night, he notices that you can't keep your eyes open anymore. He puts all of your hair away from your face and put them to the side, "tired?"

You nod with your sleepy eyes.

He places a sweet kiss on your forehead and pours his love into it, "Goodnight, angel!"

You lean in and kiss him on the lips, "Night, baby."

Now that he has you sleeping next to him, the only thing he has left to do is protect you from the bad dreams that might reside in your sleep.

This is what he likes to see first thing in the morning.

Your beautiful face as you are peacefully lost in your dream, your head resting on the soft pillow, and your body that is only for his eyes to look at.

He can't resist the urge to touch you, not when this body is all he can think about and puts him in agony for days. Not when your body is lying so close to him, only covered by the duvet that he can just...

He puts it away to expose your body and watches as his hand touches every inch of it with admiration and lust at once.

This is the body that can put him in both pain and pleasure.

He lowly whimpers as his fingers slide down your smooth skin and at the same time, discover places that make you stir in your sleep.

Chan puts a gentle kiss on that skin behind your ear that he knows is your sensitive spot and pulls away with a satisfied smile drawn on his face.

You hum in your sleep but your eyes remain closed.

Exploring your body more, he freely roams his hand around and touches you in places that he wishes will make you squirm in your sleep.

Touching your body like this without you knowing is giving him pleasure like no other and on top of that, it's just kinky. Chan likes doing kinky things with and to you only.

He traces the curve of your ass and touches your inner thighs, close enough to that thing he wanted to touch the most.

He touches you there with just his fingertips, lightly, fluttering little touches that make you...

Chan gets a bit panicked to see you're looking at him with your barely open eyes.

"Are you just going to touch me and not do anything about it?"

It never ceased to amaze him how you always seem to easily read his mind but he likes to believe that you and him are simply compatible, mentally and physically.

In other words, you're just right for each other.

Also, how can Chan say no to making love to you first thing in the morning?

Two naked bodies, slithering over each other like two snakes making a mess on the bed. The pillow he puts under you provides more depth as he entered you from behind, other than that, it gives you both more pleasure.

As he thrusts into you, he whispered praises into your ears while you were moaning into the pillow.

"Taking me well like a good girl."

"Always tight for me, yeah?"

"So good around me."

"Want to cum inside this pretty pussy."

"Fill you full with my love for you, mmh?"

Before cumming inside you, he puts his hand around your neck and tilted your head to make you look at him.

"I love you," He confessed along with a hard kiss on your lips.

You looped your hand around his neck and pulled him closer, saying back to him with all of your heart, "I love you."

And that's all he can think about.

Chan forgets where he is, and what he is doing, completely losing track of everything. He is in the middle of a schedule right now but all he can think about is how he can't wait to go home, to you and that thing caged inside your chest.

There's something that he can do to cure this lovesick, but first, he's searching for a place that can provide him a little privacy and found it inside the small space of the changing room.

Putting his headphones on, he plays the video he took last night and watches it by himself. Instead of finding healing in it, he's only worsening the situation by doing it.

Chan has his cock stiffening inside his jeans to prove it. Knowing that he made the wrong choice, he stops before he caused some damage and gets out of the changing room.

He tries to avert these thoughts elsewhere and when he finally gets a grip of his senses, his phone dinged with a new notification.

It's from you and he's afraid to open it as you attached a file in it.

Chan knows that he is one tap away from making another bad decision but he's just human, he's flawed and weak for you. He opens the message and he reads the first text message.

"To add to your collection," it says.

His heart palpitations yet his finger scrolls down to reveal a video, he clicks on it right away and it's of you, taking your clothes off in front of him whilst he was still sleeping. Then you climbed onto the bed and started touching him as he was deep in his slumber.

It hits him just now. This is probably why he dreamed of you touching him last night, except that he wasn't dreaming at all, he was feeling you touching him all over.

You did not just touch, you took his semi-hard cock out of his boxer and stroked it. You seemed to be enjoying touching him from the smile that didn't wear off even for a second.

Then you bent down on the bed and took him into your mouth.

"Oh, fuc—" Chan quickly stops himself from cursing as he realized that there are people around him.

He presses his lips together as he continues watching the video, this part shows that you were rubbing his cock to your cunt.

This is not what he pictured when you said you wanted to do things to him. Well, he pictured it alright except that he didn't know you will do it when he's asleep and record it. This is even beyond his imagination.

But you know what? He likes it. He likes it so much that he knows for certain he got himself the worst case of lovesick.

He's so deep in it, he loses a little of his sanity whenever he's with you that it's not normal anymore.

Chan is so crazy over you and he can't wait to add this to his secret folder.

Folder 103.

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taglist: @svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @septicrebel @cursed-mars-bars @ppiri-bahng @drhsthl @tangylemonade @bluenights1899 @thisisnotstraight88 @elizalabs3 @avyskai @is2cb97 @simeonswhore @marvelous-llama @linovely @jisungsleftcheek @hanjisbeloved @luvsskz @knowleeknow @army-stay-noel @djeniryuu @bigsobs4skz @toplinehyunjin @channies-luv @foxinnie8 @biribarabiribbaem @dalamjisung @moasworld @sherryblossom @fawnpeaks @lukeys-giggle @obeythemasters @primoppang @lessthanpast @devilsmatches @skz-streamer @freckleboilix

#stray kids smut #skz smut #bangchan smut #skz x reader #bangchan x reader #stray kids scnarios #skz scenarios #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids fanfics #skz fanfics #kpop smut #kpop fics #kpop fanfics #seospicy smut

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hiveswap · 3 months

Text

Summary of The Cat of The Year poll atrocities of 2023/2024

I'm sure that most people on this side of tumblr have seen the Jellie vs. Nefarious Anglerfish poll going around with like 60k votes at this point, and I'd really like clear up some of what happened since I was around for the whole thing.

Url blocked out for op's privacy. They have already left but don't look for it if you haven't seen it/don't harrass them if you already have.

1. The previous round (preparation)

I discovered the poll in its previous round, needless to say she beat Jort's ass severely. This was around the 3rd of january, meaning that this round finished before jellie's passing with only about 7k votes. Op did add their own piece of propaganda from their main:

...which was FINE. (except for stuff we'll see later) Of course running a poll while biased isn't ideal but I for one didn't even know they were the op until much later. I also added my own piece in a separate thread, and they didn't interact with it at all. There was no drama.

2. The Finale

Jellie unfortunately passed away right before the starting of this poll, which was the catalyst for what happened next. Op did exactly as last time and added a slightly more mean spirited encouragement to vote for the other contestant. This is the point where I believe that i fucked up personally.

I added this thinkpiece accusing op of associating all mcyters with Dream (who we all hate for the record) despite them not alluding to him at all. This is because tumblr has a history of disimissing all mcyters as... everything that dream was been accused of. Op did allude to not caring for mcyt. but they didn't say what i accused them of. This is important to point out because this reblog of mine is still being spread. Jellie was in the lead at the time, but not by the time i woke up next morning.

I won't be including anyone else's additions because I don't want to put blame on any specific person. Just felt like clearing up mine.

3. The Fuckening

Some time later op made this post to their personal blog:

which is insanely shitty because, as other people have pointed out, the "lame ass youtube cat" didn't die to inconvinience op or ruin their fun, and people would have probably voted for her anyway because jelly is universally beloved in the mcyt community. This isn't anti democratic. This post was added to the poll with a caption saying op should not be running this poll, and it took off. Op later went on to say that this was a joke:

This apology was not taken well by people, (including me) because "you were not meant to see it" isn't an apology and they still very much made fun of someone's pet dying. Safe to say this did not make the drama stop and only added fuel to the flame. I believe this was the point where the conversation of mcyt fans being unjustly sent hate to was reignited.

We should discuss that! it's a real thing that happens often and is equal to childish bullying. However, in this case, OP was the only one getting sent hate to my knowledge. The notes were mostly saturated by mcyt fans, and even now i can only find one or two hateful stance towards us under the whole 20k notes post.

4. Conclusions

Op posted a second apology to the catoftheyear blog to try and calm people down (i believe this is comprehensive and a lot better than the previous one) The blog was deactivated shortly after, so i only have my phone screenshots of it that i also added to the poll itself at some point:

(Edit) Here's proof that op did not write the justification they got criticised for, from the notes of the original poll:

This apology didn't get seen, or get accepted by enough people, so op made this statement on their personal:

Needless to say I am deeply dissapointed (and guilty) that it's come to this. Yes, op said tasteless things that made us all angry, but telling a human being to commit suicide is worse than being insensitive about a stranger's pet dying. Even after I posted about the blog being decatived i had someone come into my notes to wish that "they never find happiness" i mean wtf. This isn't like shipping where we can do whatever without the content creator's input. this is fucking harrowing and i can't imagine how i'd feel if this was done in my/my pet's name especially after losing them as recently as a week ago.

I hope no one from hermitcraft who is on here (let alone scar holy shit) learns about this like they did with previous lighthearted tournaments. If you truly respect the creators you claim to be a fan of as people, you do not tell people to kill themselves over them. And finally, let Jellie fucking rest, guys. she had a long, good life. I hope op can come back and also avoids behaving like this if they ever wish to do so. I'm angrier at mcytblr, though.

#catoftheyear #jellie #tw animal death #tw suicide bait #hermitcraft #goodtimeswithscar #adding to main tags so people see this instead of the poll itself with no context on how it ended #If this breaches containment and gets used as a reason to hurt mcyt fans i am going zo eat whoever is doing that #catoftheyeartournament #jellie the cat

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salaciousdoll · 5 months

Text

✩˚｡⋆ ⋆ ⋆ Shawty Want The Whole Team ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡✩

･˳ . ⋆ Team Starring Reiner Braun, Eren Yeager, Armin Arlert, Jean Kirstein, Porco Galliard, Colt Grice, Connie Springer, And Floch Forster x Fem!reader ･˳ . ⋆

Synopsis: you and Reiner make your desires merge into one on this special night

୨୧ ⁺⁎˚ ⋆━━ Be advised to the warnings of smut, Gangbang/group sex, 8some, bodily fluids( squirting, cum, spit, etc.), dark content!!!, dubcon!!!, Somnophilia( just a little bit, it’s consensual), marking body with marker , knife play but minor, cam recording, picture taking, reader is an gothic Bimbo who loves leopard( I heard that’s one characteristics goth bimbos have, may be incorrect though), pet names( nymph, pretty angel, strawberry whore, strawberry, bunny, doll, Bambi, etc.), dirty talking, deep throating, face fuck, getting used and you love it, all them wear ski mask which mask kink, voice kink, lipstick/lipliner meshed with lipgloss kink, triple penetration, double penetration( one or both holes), anal play( butt plugs, anal, etc.), creampies, breeding kink implied, messy face fuck( I mean it), nipple play, eren is obsessed with your boobs( small or big, doesn’t matter), let me know if I missed something!!! Wc: 7k

Minors do not interact, 18+

ෆ ‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿ ෆ ̟ ̇ ┈•ﾟNote from Salaciousdoll: Happy No Nut November everyone. I hope you all been lasting so far because I’m hoping to break it with this fic, I hope you all have a great time reading this long waited fic and I want to apologize to the people who were really looking forward to the aot Veterans fic like this one, but I plan on doing something else for them. Anyways I’m talking too much, so thank you all for tuning in and reading my kinktober/nnn fics, much love and this is the end <33

ﾟ•┈୨ Salaciousber Masterlist ୧┈•ﾟ｡

Staying to yourself has always been your memo. It keeps people away from you, or so you thought. You always walked throughout the hallways of your apartment with your head held high, black/brown lip liner or black lipstick on your lips with a salacious shadow attached to you. Salacious to Armin that is. Armin thought you were fucking perfect as he stared at you walking past him to get to your apartment door opposite side of his.

He stood right there with his door open for a minute as he eyed you up and down. You had your headphones on your head, listening to your music. Despite your appearance, you listened to all kinds of music. Normally people expected you to listen to only rock, metal, or alternative music. Armin smiled to himself when he heard your keys drop. He hurried to pick them up and hand them to you.

You smiled and took off your headphones, greeting him, “ Hi Armin, didn’t know you were right there, I thought you were with the others at Eren’s house for game night.”

He watched your plump lips move and nothing you said registered in his mind. He tried so hard not to lower his eyes to your pushed up boobs in your choice of clothing with black as the main color of the outfit. You had a splash of a leopard print pattern with your outfit as well. His eyes stayed on the little knife necklace in between your boobs— he noticed the knife had a vial of red liquid in the middle of it and was fascinated by it, more like making himself fascinated just so he could stare a little longer. He gave up on trying and decided to trail his eyes further down to your pudgy stomach showing through your outfit.

You were still talking and not even noticing his big blue eyes tracing your body curves/ lumps in your leopard and black outfit with a bullet belt over your lower tummy and across your hips—slanted. Your legs were covered in fishnets with stars covered over them and you had on black platform boots. You looked gorgeous in his eyes, if only Reiner hadn't gotten to you first.

You cleared your throat once you noticed him looking and giggled in your hand, “ Oh Armin, you’re gonna get in trouble with Eren for missing his game night ~” the way you stretched the word night should be considered a sinful purr. Your voice went straight to his dick and at the point in time he needed you especially as he watched you walk inside your apartment— outfit hugging your voluptuous frame. Your hips or love handles were on his mind as he imagined squeezing them into his slender fingers . He didn’t like to think of women like this, but the temptation was taking over him. He shook his head and walked ahead with nothing but you on his mind. His thoughts lasted a long time even while he was at the game night with his boys.

A few hours later, Reiner was sitting on the couch sipping his beer between his pretty ring-filled hands. He was watching Jean, Floch, and Eren argue with one another over who lost in MK1. Reiner soon felt a vibration in his pants pocket due to his phone. He took it out and looked at it— instantly turning it over on his lap and looking around to see if anyone noticed his actions and someone did: Colt.

“ What’s wrong Reiner?”, Colt said on the stool at the bar where the snacks and drinks were. Reiner looked at him and debated inside of his head if he wanted to tell him what’s actually up or make an excuse.

Reiner sighs and rubs his big, veiny hand down his face, “ Just my girl, she’s been fussing at me more than usual”.

Colt took that excuse but Porco didn’t, “ He’s lying to you, see how his ears are twitching, he’s lying. Can’t believe I know this excuse of a human better than you, Colt.” Porco had a love and hate relationship with Reiner. He thinks Reiner is tolerable sometimes and that’s enough for him to still be friends with the man.

“ Can we just drop it.”, Reiner says, unknowingly picking up his phone again to unlock and see the picture. He kept his eyes trained on the way your body sat on the bed in a doll-like position with your knees placed on the bed, legs folded behind you, and your feet connected to the fat of your ass. The lingerie you had on was totally different from what you always wear. You just had on satin black bikini underwear with a leopard-print bow on the front, your pussy outline was visible and he was thirsty for it. Gosh, he loved how fat your pussy was.

You then had on a leopard print see-through robe with black fur on the outline and as he lifted his eyes on the phone, he placed a hand over his growing bulge. Your boobs were out and your nipples were pierced as usual but this time the nipple ring was different, it was his favorite color.

Reiner was too busy admiring the picture that he didn’t hear or feel any of the men behind him. They were looking at the photo as well, instantly getting hard, each for different reasons.

Eren because of your pierced nipples and how beautiful your boobs look. Jean for how full and lucious your lips looked. The other wanted to know what they were looking at, so Armin spoke up, “ What are you guys staring at?”

Reiner suddenly snapped his head up and shut off his phone to look behind him, gasping at Eren and Jean standing behind him with Connie trying to see from behind the two.

Eren was the first to speak between the three, “ So when are you gonna share? I’ve been wanting a piece of her since lik—”

“ She’s not meat, Eren. Have some decency for once.”, Jean says, rolling his eyes with a shake of his head following.

“ Let me see dammit.”, Connie declares with a flow of desperation seeping through his voice. He wanted to see you so badly since he had a crush on you way before Reiner even got with you. Connie looked at Eren and Jean, “ one word… Selfish”.

Jean turned back to him and they started arguing with Eren joining in to say that he knows you’re not meat and how he didn’t mean it that way.

Reiner didn’t pay their bickering no mind as he thought about the conversation you had last night courtesy of Eren asking that question.

Reiner was rubbing the middle of your back as you two laid naked against each other, “ Darkest desire I have, hmm… seeing you get pounded by my friends. Every last one of us uses you, of course still pleasuring you”.

You took in a sharp inhale before looking up at him since your head was on his meaty chest, “ same desire I have but with a few kinks involved, you’re down to hear them?” Reiner looked down at you and smirked with a nod of his head in sequence.

Reiner stood up and looked around at his boys, “ Anyone know where to get a ski mask from?” The men either tilted their heads in confusion or had a glow in their eyes signifying curiosity dancing her way in the pools of color each of their eyes held.

This only led to you sleeping as you get split open in your dream. Your dream was so beautiful and hot that you wanted to sleep longer, courtesy of Reiner bullying his cock into your wet pussy in missionary style as you whisper sweet words to each other inside of your dream. You two were making love in your dream and you never wanted it to end.

Yet it ended as soon as you felt a sharp thrust inside of your already hot cunt making you scream into the cloth covering your mouth. Your eyes snapped open and you saw gold irises swimming with the intensity of salacious intent as he bullied his cock past your tight slit, “ Mmmf, ahhhn.” Your moans were muffled and Reiner loved it, but he loved the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his thick cock even more.

He bit his lips as the ski mask was starting to soak into his skin because of the sweat clouding up as he fucked you and been fucking you for 15 minutes already, more like edging himself for 15 minutes, “ oh fuck! Such a good little pussy you have. Always need you whenever I come home.”

Your eyes widened once you recognized that voice, it was your man. Reiner. Big and buff with a ski masked on his face. This was your biggest desire, too bad you couldn’t get your other desire, or so you thought.

You felt the bed dip beside you and looked around to find two other masked men, one with deep green-blue eyes and another one with big blue eyes. You started to squirm around when Reiner thrusts became more powerful, “ Mmmph. I cwnttt. Pleishhh.” Every word you tried to say came out muffled and they all loved the feeling they got. The feeling of PDI: Power, Dominance, and Imbalance.

The man with the green-blue eyes grabbed your hand and placed your long acrylic nails on his dick wrapping his hand around to guide your hand up and down his cock. Eren couldn’t believe he was finally getting a taste or feeling of you, “ Her fuckhole is taking you so well, can’t say I’m impressed though since this is what all whores do right?” Eren lips formed into a pretty smile as you looked at him with squinted eyes. “ Take cocks like this.” Eren snapped his fingers to appoint the end of his statement.

You recognized that voice and you got wetter and tightened around Reiner to which you got a slap on your pussy, “ She’s indeed a slut… tightin’ around me at the sound of - ghahh Fuck!- your v-voice”. Your clit was shaking because of that action and you were pretty sure if his big hand slapped your pussy again you were gonna squirt on this man.

Armin trailed his hands down your arm to your hand to lace his fingers with them and lifted your hand to his cock, so now there were two hands on his pulsing cock with a girth that seemed even wider than Reiner’s. He had length, but his girth was a monster.

Your panties wasn’t even torn off so that’s how you knew Reiner stood on business because he usually slides your panties off, hell he usually wakes you up as well. Hated that feeling but you loved this one. Waking up to his cock already inside of you was a dream and reality now.

Armin threw his head back as he let out a low moan, “ Fuck pretty girl, y-your hands feels so good around my cock.” You were about to cum because Armin’s words cut through you like you were a tomato. Calling you a pretty girl was your weakness.

Your pussy quivered and another guy came beside Armin with light brown eyes with gold specks in them, at least that’s what it seemed when you peered at him as you kept stroking Armin and Eren dicks with different paces for each. Eren’s cock stroked in a fast pace; straight and up and down as in comparison to Armin’s cock being stroked in a slow-twist combo.

The guy put his thumb on your clit as Reiner kissed your cervix with his cock deep inside of you. The guy rubbed in slow circles causing you to try to squeeze your legs around Reiner’s hips but two other pairs of hands snatched each leg back and out of Reiner’s reach. Your moans were louder now as you try to move up and off Reiner’s dick so your pussy can catch a break. Your pussy was so fucking wet and you heard the pussy squelching noises along with his balls slapping against your other hole. The hole you now noticed has something attached to it. It was a butt plug, specifically a bunny tail butt plug inside of you, warming you up to take their cocks in your ass. You fucking loved this feeling so damn much. The feeling of being filled in both holes.

“ Cum f’me, Baby. Let Reiner feel your first orgasm for this night. Let us hear the sweet muffled moans spilling from you like a good little slut. Tonight you’re our performer so keep us entertained baby.”, The guy with specks of gold in his light brown eyes says as he leaned over to look you directly in the eye while still thumbing your clit.

“ Fuck that! Take the blindfold off her mouth so we can really hear her. Need to hear our pretty girl moan like a brain fucked bitch in heat”., Another man holding your thighs says in a matter of fact tone. You noticed that voice as well, Porco Galliard. A man you didn’t get along with but you secretly wanted to destroy or he destroyed you. Either way, you get something out of him.

A fifth man came to plant his knees on both sides of your head, slowly taking the blind fold off. He watched your eyes closed in bliss and your mouth open in a small o. Beautiful Melodies flew out of your mouth as he stared at you with his brown eyes and face covered with a ski mask just like the rest, “ She’s a true beauty, how the fuck did Reiner score with her?”

Porco's voice was heard next as you moaned at Reiner now drilling into your pussy, “ We all ask the same question, ginger. It’s confusing but from the way he’s fucking her, you could see why.”

Colt laughed as he peered over Reiner’s shoulder to watch you just like Porco was doing, “ I never thought there will be a day you compliment Reiner, Poc.”

Reiner couldn’t listen to them when his eyes were zoomed in on the way your whimpers were growing more rapidly and the way your body shook as he was still plunging into your sobbing pussy. “ Shit, I could feel myself cumming but I need you to cum before I do baby, so cum for me. Cum for us.”

“ Ahhn, I think I’m gonn- I think I’m gonna cum. Fuck!”, Your moans were beautiful to all of their ears and as some of them watch you lift your upper body up while Reiner fucked you through your orgasm, they realize that you were perfect for Reiner, one of his types.

Connie was holding off on jerking his cock because of how in awe he was at your body and how your hands, after dropping them from stroking Eren and Armin off, were trying to push reiner away because of the overstimulation you were getting.

Reiner wanted to stop fucking you so badly so he could hold off his orgasm but he couldn’t, not when your pussy is milking his cock as she sucked him in a vice grip. You were hungry for his dick. Reiner looked down at where the two of you were connected and saw your pussy was squirting a bit on his cock whilst also creaming on his dick, still having his ski mask on with sweat overlapping on his hair and face.

“ Reiner pl-please, s’ too much for me. Ahhnnn.”, Your moans were almost pornograhic and that pushed Reiner over the edge as he snapped his hips one more time with his balls landing on the fur ball attached to your butt plug.

His dick pumped inside of you as you felt your cervix get filled with his cum. “ Shit baby! So fucking good. S’ fucking good. She’s, ughhh!” They couldn’t even make fun of him as he tried to cradle all of your body inside of his big arms with his body sweat rolling onto your body because of him holding you— pumping you full. It’s like the others were watching a porn video from the way you two were fucking each other.

Reiner was seeing stars even as he laid his head on your chest. Your hand made its way into his hair calming him down from his orgasm. You knew he was probably at his limit since average men could only cum once, but you needed more.

So, you lifted your hips up with his cock still inside of you— fucking him back to full on hard since he was beginning to get semi soft inside of your pussy. “ Need more, Rei. Need you.” You looked around at the men staring in shock and mewled out, “ need all of you.”

Reiner lifted his head up and kissed you on your lips, “ Whatever my strawberry wants, she gets. Use her how she wants guys.” He slowly pulled out of you with a full hard on now and moved out of the way for the other men to surround you now.

“ what a pretty pair of tits you have, can’t wait to suck on em’, doll.”, Eren says as he twisted your right nipple making you whimper. Most would know that Eren is a tits man. He loved boobs of all sizes and colors—yours were no different from those he loved. In fact, he would have to say they’re more beautiful to stare at instead of fucking or sucking, so he brought his phone out of his pocket and you panicked, well your eyes showed slight panic. Eren looked at Reiner, “ you wouldn’t mind if I captured her essence for later right?”

Reiner looked at you before looking back at Eren, “ Ask her, it’s her body.” It was the bare minimum but Reiner always gave you butterflies when he said anything like that. Eren clicked, “ You are so right, how could I forget that you can speak for yourself right. So I ask you, may I capture these pretty tits for later, doll?”

You gulped and slowly nodded your head. Eren smiled and whispered a sweet to himself before taking a photo of your tits but as he was doing that your eyes connected with bright hazel eyes that belonged to Connie Springer. Connie leaned down to smash his lips onto yours, tasting your spit so lovingly. His tongue inserted inside of your mouth and you moaned from that feeling alone. You reached to pump his red flushed cock causing him to hiss into your kiss, “ fuck, pretty Angel.”

You heard other belt buckles and pants unzip and knew you were about to be fucked into oblivion. Some of them kept their cargo pants on and some didn’t. Eren, Porco, and Jean kept their cargo pants or jeans on and the rest took their style of pants off, leaving them in nothing but their tattoos or piercings.

You soon felt Connie’s lips detach from yours and another pair was placed on your lips, these ones were more rougher and somehow you loved how rough they kissed you. Floch needed to see how your lips tasted and felt but it didn’t last long because Jean snatched him back to lift you up and your legs and arms wrapped around his waist and neck so tightly in fear of him dropping up.

No matter how much you weighed Jean was gonna fuck you in the air or on the wall, he didn’t care he needed to bounce you on his dick, “ You’re such a bunny. A pretty bunny. A fuck bunny so I need you to bounce on me like one, okay.” You would’ve thought it was corny if you weren’t so horny. Jean’s eyes were on you as he pushed his cock inside of your warm pussy.

You couldn’t take how long his cock was so you squeezed your eyes shut. It’s like you could feel every vein on his cock sliding inside your pussy and it felt too good, so good that tears were beginning to develop in your eyes. Jean's eyes widened and he instantly stopped himself from going in further, “ What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Do you wanna st-”

“ No.” you interrupt as he bombard you with questions of concern. “ It’s just so good, please fuck me, Jeanyy. I promise I can take it. Please.” You felt another pair of hands from behind you as they helped you take all of Jean’s cock into your wet cunt by placing hands on your shoulders to guide you down.

“ Come on, strawberry, is that all you can take, I feel like your hole is wet enough to take Jean boy. I would’ve thought a slut like you would do better than this, I’m disappointed in you, princess?”, Porco says as he wiggles the bunny tail around making you moan with your head thrown back against his body.

“ Fuck off, Porco. You’re gonna help or what?, if not get the hell out of our space.”, Jean says as he grabs your ass in between his fingers, some of the fat spilling over his fingers. Jean hated when people called him his mother’s nickname, it’s annoying when she says it even as he’s a grown adult so it was double annoying when his friends say it, especially in front of his crush he’s about to pound in a moment.

Porco knew Jean was irritated, so he smirked at him and put his head in between your shoulders to stare at Jean, “ Let me show you how to properly fuck a slut like her. You too Reiner.” Reiner scoffed and rolled his eyes at his friend.

Porco slowly took out the butt plug as he watched how your body wiggled against Jean’s dick causing him to still himself inside of your pussy in fear of cumming before you. Once the plug was out of you, Porco stroked his cock a solid two times before lining his tip against the opening of your ass. Your ass puckered in desperation of emptiness and you needed something to fill it up after being plugged up for you don’t know how long.

Porco pushed himself inside of your hole causing you to cry with more tears pouring down your eyes, your mascara falling down your eyes. You knew you should’ve taken off the remaining of your makeup but you fell asleep right after masturbating to Reiner because of his reaction to the picture you sent.

Once Porco got himself past the tight ring of muscle, he slowly felt you relax as he gave you time to adjust to him and Jean being inside of you at the same time.

You whined as your hands were placed on Jean’s chest, “ Wan’ more. Please treat me like a slut, fuck me like a whore.” Jean smashed his lips onto yours as both him and Porco began to move in sync. Both hissing at the feeling of your pussy and ass welcoming them in like it’s a home for them.

“ Fuck princess, you’re sucking my dick into this precious little hole of yours, wish we can- fuck!- take as long as we want but we can’t when you have other wolves to feed as well.”, Porco says as he slides more of himself inside of you as he was still fucking into you, getting you to take all of his thick dick inside of your ass.

When Jean moved in, Porco moved out and you were in heaven because the feeling of being stuffed in both ends was a beautiful feeling to you, so beautiful that you couldn’t help but to babble, “ mmph, mmm, keep fucking me like this.” They both sped up with Louis pants and groans following. The sound of balls slapping against your skin and their each other balls were heard as they quickened their pace.

“ Shit bunny, you’re bouncing on my cock so well, fuck! Such a good little bunny for me.”, Jean moans into your neck prior to sucking on it as he rolls his hips into your pelvis. The loud smacks from their bodies were addictive to the rest of the men who stroked themselves to the scene in front of them.

Crazily enough, Porco liked the feeling of being inside of your ass, especially when his cock rubbed against Jean’s adding more pleasure to his fuck. Jean felt the same, only a wall stopping them from being in the same hole.

“ M’gonna, Uhhnnn, Je-annnn. Por-coooo.” The moans that came out of your mouth set them ablaze and so they fucked your even harder chasing their own orgasms not knowing that you already came onto their dicks with no hesitation, “ Yesssss, fuck me. Fuck me. You're fuc-ckingg me sooo goodd.” Your legs were tightly gripping onto jeans waist causing him to stiffen himself and cum deep into your pussy with a loud moan of your name. Reiner watched the whole thing with envy and lust. Specifically envy when Jean came inside of you and Porco followed after with a loud groan of your name.

When your body went limp inside of their arms, they both pant before sliding out of you with their cum dripping out of you and onto the floor. The others watched and whispered different things.

Porco slapped your ass and kissed your ear, “ Thank you for the ride, slut. Gotta use that mouth next time since that’s what you’re best at running.”

Your legs were still shaking and you couldn’t even register his words, but you felt the slap on your ass and you moaned. Jean had to take the ski mask off because he was sweating nonstop, he threw it behind him and took your mouth against his in hunger. In between the kisses he muttered a thank you prior to walking you to the bed with his arms around your body. Jean turned you around to place you on a body laying on the bed already, “ You took them like a champ, doll. And you looked so pretty while they took you, so will you be able to handle me, Armin, and Connie as well?”

Your pussy visibly clenched in Armin’s view as he stood behind you and when you did it, a little cum dripped down your pussy to land on Eren’s pants. Armin let out a shaken breath and placed his hands on your ass to spread you apart. You were about to look back to see who it was, but Connie took your hair and yanked back on whatever hairstyle you had making you wince, “ Ah ah Ah, nope, nuh uh, focus only on me, pretty Angel. Need all of your attention on me as I fuck your pretty face. Couldn’t wait to have you like this so I’m not gonna waste any more.” Connie slammed his cock inside of your mouth making you take all of his cock in his mouth, “ Shit! time.” He finished off his sentence at the same time your choking was heard.

Your black lip liner meshed into your lipgloss or black lipstick was starting to have marks on Connie’s dick and he loved the little black rings forming on his cock as he drove his dick back and forth in your mouth. Eren sucked on one of your boobs swinging in his face at the same time he felt Armin grab his dick to help him inside of your tight and warm pussy. Eren let out a moan with your nipple in his mouth and the vibrations went straight to your core allowing him to push himself more inside because of you opening up to him just a little bit.

Once Armin slid inside of your pussy, he let out a loud whimper shocking himself and everyone around him. Colt patted his back as he stood on the side of him wanting to feel you wrapped around his dick as well.

Feeling both of their cocks inside of the same hole was too much for you but it felt good, a weird good. “ mmmpfff, mmmm!” Your moans were vibrating on Connie’s cock which now just sat inside of your mouth, he was giving you time to adjust to both Armin and Eren inside of you at once.

Tears were escaping your eyes even more due to the pain of the stretch happening by Armin’s cock slowly moving in and out of your pussy. He finally had the chance to move more when you started to get wetter and a bit loose for him and Eren. Doesn’t mean your pussy didn’t still take the shape of his and his best friend's cocks. “ You’re doing so well, Pretty Bambi. So well for me and Eren. Now will you allow one more?”

You squirmed in anticipation at the feeling of being filled by four cocks whether they were in the same hole or not. You felt feet positioned themselves on the side of your body as you desperately heard Eren slurping sounds on your tits just as much as you felt his warm saliva covering your nipples like icing on a cake. It was like he was trying to suck some milk out of them from how hard the sucking sounds were heard.

“ Not being nice with her like you three are, so take this you pretty nymph.”, Floch says with his dick moving inside of your asshole, making you take all of his dick which was surprisingly big enough to fill your greedy hole. Once they saw your head snap back after popping Connie’s dick out of your mouth with a moan following they knew they were gonna have so much fun.

Connie looked down at you as he tried to balance himself on the moving bed that was moving back and forth. He looked at your face and his eyes brightened up at the image of you taking dicks after dicks inside of you, so bad he needed to capture this moment forever, “ Reiner, give me your camera. Need everyone to know this pretty succubus name.”

Reiner stood up with the camera that always sat on the book shelf and handed it to Connie before kissing your cheek, “ Having fun, strawberry?” You couldn’t form words at the moment because you were too fucked out. Nothing but small cries and they’re groaning and moans synced into one were heard. Some grunts were heard around the room.

Reiner chuckled as Connie angled the camera at your face with his ski mask still on, in fact all of them except Jean had theirs still on. Connie pressed record and recorded your moans as you looked down into Eren’s eyes, “ Fuck she’s taking all three of them so fucking well, a true Nymph.”

Jean chimed in, “ Slut.”

Porco next, “ Whore.”

And finally Colt was next, “ She’s incredible, insatiable.”

“ Dude can’t you be mean for once in your life, you’re fucking up the video.”, Connie says as he looks at Colt off the video. You could hear Reiner chuckling at the comment.

“ Leave Colt alone, Connie. He’s a sweetheart. A lover boy.”, Reiner says as he tweaked your nipples while he had one knee on the bed studying you as you took three cocks inside of you at the same time.

“ nnghhh, I don’t think.. hahh. I don’t think I’m gonna hold awnnn.”, You moaned as Armin’s and Eren’s cocks synced into you with rhythm, as Eren moved in, Armin swirled his hips to move out and this repeated. You had no idea Armin could fuck like this but he’s fucking you with much more rhythm than you expect.

Meanwhile Floch was on top of you and Eren drilling into your ass until he had to cum and he pulled out before that to get down, “ Fuck, she’s so fucking… ughhh I was about to cum but that’s not where I want to cum.”

Once Floch moved out the way Armin could move how he wanted. He held your hips and started to speed his thrusting up, fluently and rapidly. His thrust was matching Eren’s. “ Shit, Bambi, I can’t hold on either. Wanna cum deep inside of you. Hahhh!” Armin’s nickname and moans were getting to you and you needed to put something in your mouth before you suddenly start babbling out things you don’t mean.

Eren told Armin to stop for a second and positioned both of you down a bit off the bed and after that, he signaled Armin to go. They both started to thrust inside of your now stretched out hole and you latched your lips around Connie’s tip making him shudder and stagger a bit, he was caught off guard and anyone who watched the video back would see how he was caught off guard due to the shaking of the camera.

Eren’s balls were slapping against Armins and it added onto him pounding into your soft spot over and over “Fuck, doll. Fuck! Fuck! I swear to God I’m gonna cum inside of her Reiner, I don’t care about anything but cumming inside of this amazing pussy. How does she feels Armin? I know you’re close as well, I can feel you pumping against me.”

Armin couldn’t even think or talk, your pussy was too good to even form sentences so he let out a low moan followed by a yeah. Eren knew his friend was pussy drunk, hell he was too if he’s talking about practically putting a baby in her.

The squelching sounds became louder and soon they both felt liquid squirting on their cocks as you tried so desperately to get away from everyone because the pleasure was becoming too much but at the same time you didn’t want it to end.

“ She’s fucking squirting on us, fuck it. M’cummin.”, Eren says as he pushes more of himself into you to cum inside of your pussy. Your eyes were rolled to the back of your head as Connie recorded your mouth swallowing his dick all the way down your throat with loud gags following.

Armin was next and he came a bit inside of you by accident before pulling out and finishing on your ass with sweat covering his body just as much as sweat was covering Eren’s. “ Shit. I can- I can’t Bambi, you are taking us so well and allowing me to finish on this perfect ass of yours like a good girl.”

Connie's head snapped up since his head was thrown back because of the head you were giving him. He suddenly snatched your head down to the base of his dick with your nose pressed into his semi-shaved grey hair. He tried to ignore the sounds of you choking and sucking on his dick so good and pointed the camera to Armin, “ Woah, little Armi…” Connie got sidetracked, “ hahhh~ fuck pretty Angel, your throat is amazing. Can’t believe you kept this all to yourself Reiner. Anyways, back to you Armin, you grew up.” Your hands came up to Connie’s thighs to tap him so you could breathe since you have been swallowing his dick so long, “ Oh sorry, pretty Angel, let me let you breathe.” He snatched your hair back to let you breathe again and you let out a loud sigh, coughs were in sequence.

Spit dripped down his cock, your chin, and tits. Eren thankfully moved his head to the right when he saw spit was dripping down your body and was about to move to his ski mask. You felt so messy and full as Eren slid out of you with his cum dripping down your pussy. “ Mmmgh, I feel so full.”

“ Good, you’re about to be even fuller and messier.”, Floch says as he grabs you off Eren to drag you by the arm to the couch in the room. He pushed you down and ripped the remaining of your clothes off and you swore you were never turned on by Floch before, but you are now. He snatched half of your body off the small couch and turned to Connie and then turned to Colt, “ You two are gonna fuck her or should I?”

Reiner wanted to say that you had enough but the way you were staring at Connie’s dick told him to shut the hell up. It’s your desire and his desire coming together as one in this night so of course both of you are gonna enjoy it even more.

Connie stalked over to you like a predator, he needed to feel your pussy around his cock, so he positioned himself in between your legs and tapped his now moist dick on your cream filled pussy, “ Fuck, you’re such a pretty slut man, it’s scary to know that I won’t find someone like you. A dedicated slut. Let me give you a reward for swallowing my dick. That’s cool with you right?”

You whimpered as you sat up on your elbows, “ fuck me, con’. Want you to make me a mess, messier than I already am. All three of you.” As you end that last sentence, you stare at the other two men standing around you. You then stared at the camera, licking your messy lips, your lipstick or lipgloss was over the area your lips were and your mascara ran down your face. You actually looked like a whore, a pretty and classic whore.

Connie had enough and shoved the camera in Reiner’s hands before properly laying you down on the couch, “ Let’s give the pretty slut what she wants. You two could take anything but her pussy. That’s all mine for now.”

Reiner recorded all three of you whilst stroking his dick just like the rest. They watched as Floch got on top of you to grab your tits to fuck them with his cock, something Eren would gladly do if they got this opportunity again. One of their phones was ringing but they could care less because all of their focus was on you being used like a slut. Colt had put his body a little bit up toward your neck to fuck into your mouth, so he wasn’t that far from Floch as he lifted your tits up and down on his cock.

“ Shit, this bitch tits are fucking amazing. Fuck!”, Floch moaned as his spit coated his cock and in between your tits so wonderfully. It caused him to move with speed.

Connie gripped your hips and thrusted into your pussy like you were his flesh light. He was in love with your pussy because it was still tight around his dick, “ shit, her pussy is amazing. Tits as well but her pussy is- uughnn- even more amazing. It’s still so tight after taking so much cock. It’s not too tight but it’s just- mmmph- right.”

You were too busy getting your throat fucked by Colt to say thank you. His cock was so long and a bit skinny but it was still long. So when he thrusted in your mouth you automatically choke because it’s too much for your throat. You were in love with how gentle he was fucking your throat, “ Ahhn, she’s swirling her tongue under my cock e-e-everytime it goes in. It feels so fucking good. So this and her prettiness and personality is amazing.”

“ Relax Colt, it seems like you’re tryna take my girl.”, Reiner says behind the camera, getting chuckles and laughs from the guys.

Colt panicked and you saw he was about to apologize, so you locked your jaws around his cock causing him to throw his head back. He now started to thrust in your mouth like there’s no tomorrow. Spit was forming around his dick and around the base of his cock. Snot was beginning form when your tears poured down your eyes from how his dick was going in and out of your throat creating throat bulges he couldn’t see, but you could feel them.

You squirm when you feel something cold and pointy near your stomach. You felt another presence and heard Reiner’s voice, “ My strawberry loves the thought of being used by men in ski masks. She liked to be fucked senseless and treated like a flashlight by men in ski mask.. tsk.. tsk… tsk, what a dirty slut you are. She especially likes when you threaten her with a good time and her special tools. Isn’t that right, my little strawberry whore?” You tried to lift your head to talk but Colt wasn’t letting up as he wiped the sweat off your forehead as an apology.

You didn’t mind but Reiner still wanted to taunt you as he circled the sharp silver knife he got from the table next to the couch around your navel, “ My bad, I forgot you couldn’t speak.”

You moaned against Colts cock when you felt the knife lowering to your vagina but not touching it at all. Connie didn’t know how to take this new information, yet he knew one thing, he was turned on. So Connie placed a thumb over your clit and as soon as he did one rub, you squirted on him which made him cum inside you unintentionally, or was it?

Connie grunted out his moans, “ fucking shit, this fucking ahahhhhh.” He couldn’t form a sentence and he never couldn’t form a sentence, not even when he was inside of his ex-girlfriend's pussy. You were what he wanted and needed, he’s sure all of them felt the same.

Floch was now fucking roughly into your tits and he soon came on your chest and neck since he was a long cum shooter. “ Perfect. Fucking perfect!”

Reiner recorded everything and came on the open space on your tummy with a loud groan. “ Such a pretty baby doll you are, letting my friends use you and get off to you. Ohhhh.” He stroked his cock even more to free himself of all the cum that needed to come out.

Colt was last and when he came inside of your mouth your tears and snot was running down your face. Colt didn’t even mind that, if anything he thinks you looked more beautiful because in his mind he caused this and he was a proud man, “ So- Aah- so pretty.”

Reiner captured everything and when Colt pulled out he positioned the camera in your face at the same time Eren gave him the marker he picked up from your dresser. Reiner let Colt get up and positioned the camera on your body and then your face. He took the cap off the marker with his mouth and threw it behind him. He then wrote “ Pretty Bambi”, “ Angel face”, “ Strawberry whore”, “ Pretty girl”, “ Whore”, and “ Doll” on your upper body.

Once he was done writing it, you finally calmed down from your high and looked at the camera. Reiner wiped the snot off your nose and onto a towel they brought out the bathroom to wipe you down, “ Tell the camera who the pretty slut of the night is.”

You smiled and gargled around Colt’s cum into your mouth before finally swallowing it and letting out a loud breath, “ I’m { reader’s name}, nice to meet ya.”

Reiner smiled and pecked your lips, “ Let’s get you cleaned up, baby.”

ෆ ̟ ̇ ┈•ﾟ Tagging: @chosoist @honeybleed @simpingfor-wakasa @angelshub @bleach-your-panties @savagemickey30 and anyone else who would like to be tagged <33 ( please let me know if any of you don’t want to be tagged in my fics like that anymore, it’s not gonna stir up no hard feelings<33)

#aot smut #aot x reader #reiner braun smut #reiner braun x reader #eren yeager smut #armin arlert smut #jean kirstein smut #attack on titan smut #connie springer smut #floch forster smut #porco galliard smut #chubby reader #x black reader #smut #anime smut #anime x reader #angelshubnetwork #plus size reader #colt grice smut

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dallaji · 6 months

Text

Hope we make it to the Cloud.

♡ bada lee x idol!reader / NSFW❗

SUMMARY: Amidst an identity crisis, you try to adequately prepare for your solo comeback. The lyrics have already been perfected, the song recorded and the visuals pinpointed. However, your creative team is not fully convinced by the choreography you came up with. They decide to send over one Bada Lee to help you finetune your jumbled ideas and bring harmony to your vision. You just have one specific request: the routine must include a trampoline.

WORD COUNT: 10k

CW: eventual smut, bada is 100% a giver and not a receiver in this jsyk (but i promise it makes sense in context), hinted voyeurism.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was meant to be pure smut but it became much longer than i intended ... oops for that . . . lets just roll with it!!1 also the choreo described is heavily inspired by tinashes bouncin.

- you don't care about those 7k words worth of boring build up? skip to this line: <After ten minutes of complete silence, Bada was the one to speak in a hushed voice: “What happened?”>

————— ୨୧ —————

The first thing you notice is how surprisingly gentle her voice is.

“I’m Bada, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

Bada Lee stood tall in front of you, clad in an oversized jersey, cargo pants and a cap hugging her forehead in such a way her eyes were entirely obscured from your view. She promptly bowed after she spoke. Unsure where to look, you dropped your gaze and followed suit; vaguely aware of her seniority and bowing deeper.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” You tried to keep your own voice as neutral as possible, but agitation bubbled in your chest as you felt your manager’s prodding, eager eyes behind you. “Thanks for being here.”

Your team was much more excited about this collaboration than you were.

None of the aggravation you felt was Bada’s fault. It had been three weeks of your creative team dismissing every choreo draft you came up with: Three weeks of sleepless nights at the dance studio, tiring out yourself and your background dancers. Three weeks of browsing through videos sent in by other choreographers across the country, attempting to mix bits and pieces together but none of it ever feeling right. Three weeks filled with reminders of a deadline looming over your head. Three weeks of your team letting you know they had little confidence in this comeback. Your last attempt at showing them what you had come up with had ended up in a shouting match. Your manager, who you otherwise got along with just fine, bluntly stated that, perhaps, this concept simply wasn’t something you could pull off.

It had left you feeling betrayed. Your creative team had agreed it was time for you to approach a more mature concept, something that you felt was years overdue. But it seemed their definition of mature and yours were wildly different. You had worked hard on perfecting a set of songs to choose from, but you immediately butted heads with the rest of the team. You wanted to do the bouncy and playful R&B track. Your team wanted the EDM track. Eventually they relented, but now seemed hellbent on making it as difficult as possible for your vision to come to fruition. Putting together the visual board for the concept photos and the eventual music video was a similarly arduous process. You had to meet in the middle and sacrifice a lot of your initial ideas, but that procedure was almost pleasant compared to what you were dealing with in regards to the choreography.

Every idea you put forward was promptly shut down. Too complicated. Too boring. No TikTok challenge potential. Too sexy.

And maybe it was true. Your formations weren’t as clean as the ones thought up by a professional choreographer, but you weren’t really given a chance at all. It wasn’t like you were a bad dancer either. Far from it. You picked up choreos incredibly fast and had always played an active part in brainstorming past routines alongside your background dancers. You had more experience than most of your peers, yet you were treated as if you were still the same teenaged trainee from years ago.

“Is that really how you all feel?” You had whispered after your manager dropped that bombshell, searching for an answer in the facial expressions of your creative team. Most of them were not even willing to meet your eyes. “We just need to be realistic.” Your manager stated matter-of-factly. “That other song is still an opt—” “I am not changing the song.” You cut him off. Momentarily, your manager looked like a fish on dry land, gasping for air. “Sorry.” You added quickly, albeit a bit flustered. “Look,” He sighed, “We can do mature without shocking the nation. Let's keep it mild for now and maybe after two or three more singles, you can go all out.” “I haven’t been 18 in years, you know.” You retorted bitterly. Something inside you understood where he was coming from, but you had been obedient since your debut- how much longer should you wait? You didn’t want to sacrifice any more of your creativity, so many years into your career. You had even seen one of your own concepts go to a labelmate instead, your own team dubbing you too “youthful” to pull it off. “Okay, how about this,” He began with a frown, “Let us pick one of the choreographers’ drafts for you. You can finetune it with their guidance.”

Their pick had been Bada. You hadn’t even realized she sent in a draft: at one point you were so overwhelmed you just stopped checking your emails. You also hadn’t bothered to watch it before this meeting. You were genuinely too deep in your feelings about that whole ordeal for that. However, now that she was standing in the studio, tall height towering over you, you couldn’t help but feel a little self conscious.

You had seen Bada around.

After all, she had worked with many of your labelmates before. You had also watched a fair amount of her videos. She was one of the best in the business, and whenever you had downtime to practice freely you scrolled through her routines on Youtube to help stay in shape. As you were facing her, even with half her face hidden, you understood why everyone was so stricken with her. When she had walked into the room she oozed with authority, though not in an obnoxious way.

“Great!” Your manager clapped his hands, effectively breaking your train of thought. “Thank you so much for supporting us, Bada. Shall we jump right in?”

“Sure,” She nodded eagerly, hands wringing together as her body turned towards you. “I kind of wanted to see what you had in mind for this choreo.”

That surprised you, and you were certain your facial expression wasn’t hiding it. Your manager held his breath. “Oh! Well—” You chewed on your lip as you vaguely motioned the corner of the room, trying to find the words. “I wanted to use… I wanted to use a trampoline.”

Bada immediately turned her head to follow your gestures, her eyes landing on the mini trampoline set up in the studio. “A trampoline?” In the background, your manager heaved a sigh.

You purposely ignored him and nodded, slowly: “I can show you, if you want.” You had hoped that sounded more self-assured to her than it did to you.

Bada scratched her chin, still looking off to the trampoline, and then nodded along with you. “I’d love to see it.”

You felt the tension in your chest ebb away. There was no malice to her tone; she seemed genuinely curious.

Then, Bada turned her head towards your manager, her ponytail falling off her shoulder. “I hope I'm not imposing but, I would like this to be a collaborative effort between the two of us. I think it would take the pressure off if you…?” She trailed off with a kind smile, one impossible to say no to.

As if he got doused with cold water, your manager stood up with an urgency. “Privacy! I can give you two some privacy, no problem!” He fussed around, gathering his things. “Just let me know when we can sit in on the finished product.”

The both of you bowed to him as you bid your farewells, watching him leave the studio with a wave. Once the door shut behind him, you could feel yourself exhale in relief. You knew that if your manager was going to sit in on every practice, he would go out of his way to shut down all of your ideas. Without him around, you had more opportunity to champion your vision- at least, you hoped so.

You craned your neck, looking up at the ceiling, before letting your eyes fall shut with a sigh, almost forgetting there was another person in the room.

“They’ve been on your case, huh?”

Bada's soft but clear voice broke you out of your spell, and you turned your head to search for a glimpse of eye contact. Tough luck, as her hat was still in place casting a shadow down her face. There was, however, a knowing smirk playing across her features.

“You have no idea.” You muttered honestly. Bada laughed.

“I don’t want to make you dance a routine you don’t fully stand behind. I did mean it when I said I want this to be a collaborative effort.” Bada spoke carefully, but sincerely, her fingers once again intertwining. “I always wanted to work with you, so it’s an honor.” She added.

If you got a penny for every time you were caught off guard today, you could set some humble savings aside for an early retirement.

It is true that you’ve been sought after, but it wasn’t something you had ever internalized. Hearing it come from someone who herself was heavily sought after, made your face heat up.

“T- thank you. It’s an honor to work with you too.”

She bowed her head humbly, glancing over to the corner of the studio again where the trampoline sat, waiting. “Do you feel comfortable showing me what you have been working on?”

You nodded and rushed to the corner to set up your speaker, and then dragged the trampoline to the center of the room. You were oddly aware of your own presence, and almost felt the urge to make yourself smaller as you moved around. In the meantime, Bada was getting comfortable: she had dropped her things on a nearby table and left out a bottle of water. To her it must be a regular working day, but to you this felt scarier than getting up on stage.

Once you stood behind the trampoline, facing the wide stretched mirror filling up one side of the room, you stole a glance at the choreographer who was now crouched on the floor. She had pulled out a small camera and was setting it up on the edge of the table, making sure the lens was focused on your position. Long fingers fiddled with the buttons, and her tongue was prodding the hollow of her cheek. The angle allowed you to finally catch a glimpse of her eyes.

As if on cue, she glanced up at you. Your eyes met in the reflection of the mirror and your heart raced.

She gave you a soft smile and moved to sit cross-legged on the floor, the camera now fully set up. “I usually record everything, so we can watch it back and give feedback.”

Right, of course.

“Yeah, that’s usually how we operate as well.” You spoke timidly, and it was true. Yet something about having her attention on you felt more intimate. Usually there was at least one other person from your creative team looking on as well.

Trying to come across casual, you tied your hair up in a high ponytail. “What do you think of the song?” You asked curiously.

It was now Bada’s turn to be caught off guard. Her smile faltered and she broke the eye contact you had been sharing, clasping her hands together as she spoke. “I like it.” She began. “A lot, actually. It’s why I wanted to play a part in it. There isn’t anyone doing a song like this nowadays.”

Even though her body language was confusing, you couldn’t find any dishonesty in her voice. What she said made you feel relieved, some of your insecurity fading to the background. It’s why I wanted to play a part in it.

You sent a smile her way even though you weren’t sure she was even looking at you.

Proving you wrong, she smiled back.

“Alright, so,” You gestured to the trampoline at your feet. “The idea is, the other dancers and I all do the same routine. I'll be front and center. Four or six other dancers dance behind me, with their own trampoline.” You gave the trampoline a light shove with your foot, making sure it would stay in place, and then grabbed your phone. “Then you have an idea.”

You looked over your shoulder at Bada and gave her an inquisitive thumbs up. “Ready?” You asked.

Bada pressed a button on the camera and mimicked your thumbs up with a smile. “Ready when you are.”

You faced the mirror again and shook your shoulders a bit, forcing your body to loosen up. After twisting your neck a few times, you hit play on your phone, quickly placing it under the trampoline as the familiar synths of the song started blaring from the speakers. You tried to feel the confidence you were usually able to conjure up on stage, closing your eyes and swaying your hips, ponytail moving from side to side.

As soon as you heard your own voice through the speakers, instrumentals going deeper, you got into position. Your eyes opened up to focus on your own reflection in the mirror as if it was a fan in the crowd watching. Mouthing along to the lyrics, a playful smile on your lips, you hit every move as you had envisioned. Once the chorus came up, you dropped to your knees on the trampoline, grappling the edge as you performed the routine. Pushing back against the springs gave you the velocity to keep your moves fluid, your body twisting and turning, flipping over and hitting the next move. You made sure to move your hips deftly, aware that you had enough curves to allow you to pull it off, and kept your facial expressions in line. It had to look effortless.

You felt your ponytail swing along with your movements as if it were an extension of you, and sat up on the trampoline. The chorus came to an end and you used your arm strength to twist yourself around fast enough, gracefully falling back on your chest whilst keeping your toes en pointe in your sneakers. The tips of your fingers were touching the floor as your legs crossed, moving to rest your elbow on the edge of the trampoline and resting your chin atop your palm. You lip synced to the final words of the chorus, gaze alluring as you finished the move, and the music stopped.

You slowly sat up straight on the trampoline, crossing your legs, and slid your hand underneath to hit pause on your phone. You looked towards Bada expectantly, but the question got stuck in your throat. She was staring at you, mouth slightly agape, with an unreadable expression. For a split second you were reminded of your trainee days, when you had just finished a routine and were met by your choreographers’ stern faces; they wouldn’t spare you a single compliment, and instead listed off every mistake you had made.

But then, Bada blinked once and then twice, as if in a daze, and let out a soft “woah”. She started applauding you, shaking her head in bafflement. You felt your shoulders drop in relief.

“That was incredible!” The choreographer took off her cap, fixing her bangs before putting it back on. “You came up with this?”

You nodded slowly, the tips of your ears glowing hot. “I used to be a gymnast.”

“I can tell—” Bada spoke bluntly, but then snapped her mouth shut as if she said something wrong. “I mean, that was really good. Every part of your body was in command. Your team didn’t like it?”

“They think it’s too much, compared to my usual routines.” You had the urge to go off on a tangent, but ultimately you didn’t know Bada well enough. Unfortunately, you were naturally quite expressive and the disapproving frown on your face was on clear display.

“Too much? I kind of wanted more, actually.” She laughed softly, looking down to where her legs were crossed. You felt your heart skip a beat and bowed your head in lieu of a thanks.

Subsequently, the bright green light of the camera caught your attention. It was still recording.

“Hey, I think the camera is still on.” You spoke before you realized, and hoped it didn’t sound accusatory.

“Huh? Oh!” Her expression was almost akin to a child being caught with a hand in a cookie jar, the way she swiped at the camera to turn it off. “Sorry. Good call.” She mumbled shyly, tucking it behind her.

You weren’t sure what to say next, still flustered at her lofty praises, but luckily Bada broke the momentary silence.

“I had an idea…” She began, her hand rubbing at her chin pensively. “I don’t know if you’ve had the chance to watch my draft yet?”

You shook your head abashedly. “No, sorry, I honestly didn’t get to it.”

“It’s fine.” Bada waved her hands dismissively. “Maybe instead of doing the trampoline routine in every chorus, we could only do it in the middle? Exactly as it is. I wouldn’t change anything. And then for the other two choruses, we could keep some key moves but keep it on the floor.”

You mulled it over for a second, glancing up at the ceiling contemplatively. Using the trampoline the whole way through was not an option, according to your team. They had felt you were toeing the line with ‘raunchy’ much too closely. Perhaps you could find middle ground this way, while still keeping the part of the routine you felt most proud of.

“Okay.” You agreed, nodding slowly. “We would need something special for the final chorus, then.”

“I had another idea for that, if you’re fine with it. Would you like to watch my draft with me?”

————— ୨୧ —————

Her draft was good. Really good, actually.

Bada and you were sitting on the floor next to each other, the taller girl holding her phone out in front of you as the draft played on the screen. You were sitting quite closely together, but not close enough to be touching, a conscious decision on your part. You were a bit too aware of her presence, something about her was heightening your senses in a variety of ways. It wasn’t even as if she was stern or unkind, she just had an aura that intimidated you. At least, that’s what you were telling yourself.

A blonde girl you didn’t recognize was dancing your parts. Six other dancers, one of them being Bada, were in formation behind her performing the choreography perfectly in sync as your song played in the background. While you should really be paying attention to the girl in the center, your eyes couldn’t leave Bada’s figure. In the video she was dressed in loose-fitting cargo pants, just like today, and a crop top. Once again she wore a cap covering half her face, and even a face mask, but her hair hung loose over her shoulders.

You were always impressed by the small movements she was able to squeeze in, emphasizing certain parts in ways the other dancers weren’t able to. However, it was the final chorus that had your hands turn clammy.

The final chorus was a duet formation. Bada, with a quiet confidence in her step, and the blonde girl moved towards each other in the center of the room. They were effectively dancing for each other, the blonde girl whipping her head back as Bada stared her down, swaying their hips together rhythmically. Their steps were coordinated in such a way they almost mirrored, Bada rolling her body one way and the blonde girl moving the other; but it still felt cohesive. It was an intimate choreo. There were a few split moments of hips grinding against crotches, but it never lasted long enough to be straight up inappropriate. Still, you couldn’t help but realize you would have to practice this routine with Bada as well, and you felt yourself getting hot under the collar.

The choreo ended with the blonde girl giving Bada a playful shove, and the taller girl backed away slowly, a saunter in her step, before moving off the screen along with the other background dancers. The video ended and Bada dropped her phone in her lap, not looking at you.

“That was good.” You were relieved your voice came out evenly, and Bada started nodding in her trademark way, hands clasped together. “The formations were really clean and— I loved the final chorus.” You blurted.

She smirked, head raising and meeting your eyes for the second time today. You were starting to feel eager, greedily watching.

“I’m glad to hear. We definitely need to finetune the first chorus, line it up with your routine and all that. I really don’t want to lose your input.”

“That sounds great, thank you.” You felt a surge of gratitude in your chest, and shot her a wide smile. “I’m looking forward to working on this together.”

Bada dropped her gaze again, worrying her lower lip. You felt miffed at the brusque interruption of your shared eye contact but didn't show it.

“I suggest we start with practices tomorrow, we will edit the first chorus as we go,” She whipped out her phone, looking at her calendar. “We should practice the duet together until you’ve got a handle on it, and then I can bring over some of my guys to prep for the actual performances. I know someone for my part. He’s worked with some of your labelmates before, I’m confident he’s right for the job.”

You couldn’t tell if you were anxious at the prospect of practicing such a choreo with Bada, or if you were disappointed that the eventual product wouldn’t be performed with her. It made sense, though. If your label was already worried your concept was too mature for the country, having two women perform such a choreography wouldn’t be received well at all.

“Great. Same time tomorrow, just the two of us again?”

“Same time tomorrow,” The third time she was willing to meet your eyes, and once again with a small smile playing across her features. “Just the two of us.”

————— ୨୧ —————

Working with Bada the past few days has been surprisingly easy.

On the first day, she brought some iced coffee for the both of you and presented it with an exaggeratedly deep bow, holding out the plastic takeout bag in front of her as if she was a lackey presenting you a treasure. You giggled, muttering an incredulous “thank you” as you took the bag from her hands. Through sips of coffee, the both of you fast forwarded through the recordings trying to piece the choreography together. You were able to bounce ideas off of her in a way you never felt comfortable enough doing with other choreographers. Bada was attentive, patient and, above all, eager.

On the second day, you wanted to repay your debt and entered the studio with a box of doughnuts. She let out a surprisingly girlish squeak when you laid the box on the table, and barreled over to grab one. That day she was wearing a beanie instead of a cap, something you inadvertently preferred as you could now lock eyes and take in her features. Sometimes you had the impression she was hellbent on looking anywhere except into your eyes, but you didn’t want to mull it over for too long; some people just had a different way of interacting. Everything else about her still left you with a warm feeling.

Sometimes you both took turns performing for each other. She would pull her beanie further down her head as she took the center of the studio, and each time something inside you would brace itself. You could only watch in awe: her movements were sharp and magnetic, her entire body language changing in the blink of an eye. While your attention should be on her footwork, you were instead hypnotized by the sway of her hips, greedily drinking her in. You chalked it up to her being such a captivating dancer.

However, little could explain how much you relished in her undivided attention. When it was your turn to copy the moves, you made sure to give it your all and put on a show. Without a hat obscuring her eyes, you could tell where her eyes were looking and it wasn’t always on your reflection in the mirror. You swore you could feel her gaze burning in your lower back, but you didn’t mind. It encouraged you to hit your moves a bit harder than you usually would.

“You’re a fast learner,” Bada said at the end of the day, drinking from her water bottle as you watched her throat bob. “Keep it up and you won’t need me anymore.”

You didn’t like the sound of that.

————— ୨୧ —————

By the fifth day, the both of you had started working through the details of the duet.

The familiar song sounded through the speakers, the room filled with the sound of your singing voice and the squeaking of your sneakers on the floor.

You were painfully aware of the way Bada closely danced behind you but you kept your eyes down, forcing yourself to keep track of your footwork. You bent over slightly at the start of the next line, your hips popping out and letting your hair whip to the side as you hummed along to the lyrics. In tandem, Bada moved her hips the opposite direction but gyrated closer to you, her hand coming up to tug her cap lower. You spared the mirror a glance for a split second, realizing Bada was much closer to you than you had realized, but you pushed the thought away.

You looked good together.

“Pause real quick.” She spoke suddenly, stepping away from you and bending over to stop the song. You immediately halted your movements at the command, trying to control the heaving of your chest and willing away the warmth of your cheeks.

She stood up again, meeting your eyes in the mirror before steadying herself behind you, body close to yours.

“You’re doing great, but,” A tentative hand slid to your hip, fingers curling over in a loose grip as she subtly urged it to move to one side. Both your eyes remained locked through the mirror. “I think we should move together in this part. Like this.” She repeated the motion, her grasp on your hip tightening ever so slightly before pulling you flush against her pelvis. Her hips rocked along with yours, and you could only follow.

She hummed close to your ear, and you felt her breathe along the side of your face. “Just like that.” Her voice was quiet, gentle even, though her stare was everything but that. It was intense.

In an attempt to sound casual you replied with an “okay”, but it came out softer than you had hoped for.

Her eyes dropped from the mirror, opting to look down at you directly, but you couldn’t find the confidence to return the favor. “You should do that thing again," she continued quietly, "Where you throw your hair back, but look at me when you do it.”

You repeated your steps, but this time both her hands came down to hold your hips in place. You turned your head as requested, your hair falling over your shoulder as your eyes finally met. Her gaze was intense but undecipherable; she hadn’t been looking at the mirror at all this time.

Bada was so close, unblinking and heady. The thought entered your mind before you fully realized: if you craned your neck you could kiss her. In a careful motion, you felt her hands slide up and down slowly, smoothing along the curve of your hips.

“Perfect.” She said, and it sounded so intimate you felt lightheaded. Usually she voiced her approval with an animated smile and a thumbs up, but she spoke to you as if she was scared you would set off running. “You got it. You want to try that again with music?”

You nodded slowly and her hands dropped from your hips, leaving a burning sensation in their wake. As she bent down to turn the song back on, you brought the back of your hand up to your cheek; checking if it was as warm as you felt. Then you ran your fingers through your ponytail, tightening the hair tie with a sharp tug in an attempt to snap yourself out of whatever daze you had fallen into.

It meant nothing. She had merely workshopped a move and there was no need to feel so nervous.

The final chorus of the song began thumping again and the both of you got into your starting positions. Bada’s presence was palpable behind you, but you tried to force your head back into performance-mode. You kept your moves sharp, lip synced as if the voice came directly from your own throat and smiled playfully at all the right lines.

As the instrumentals of the final chorus got louder, you twirled a finger around your ponytail, playing with the imaginary crowd in front of you. Bada pressed up against your back. Your hips moving in tandem just as the choreo required and you could no longer repress the urge to grind back against her. You saw Bada smirk in the mirror, her eyes obscured by her cap, but you could tell she was enjoying your blunt display of confidence. That made you laugh for real, putting an extra ‘oomph’ into the roll of your hips, dropping even lower, and feeling Bada take what you gave her with a great amount of enthusiasm. You heard the choreographer let out a "woo!" and you giggled.

At the very end of the choreo, you were meant to face Bada and push her away; making room for a final solo moment. So you turned around, meeting that familiar mischievous grin and your hand came up to curl into her collar. Bada sucked in her lower lip, greedily towering over you and looking down expectantly.

But something about the giddy atmosphere had you feeling bold, so you tugged her even closer instead. Her mouth fell open, but she followed you down nonetheless, eyes becoming half-lidded. You were mere inches removed from each other, and her breath fanned across your face. For a split second her gaze lingered on your lips, and you held your breath, heart fluttering in an unfamiliar feeling. A fleeting thought told you to bridge the gap, pull her impossibly closer by the grip you had on her collar, but your body acted before your brain could.

You reached for her cap and tugged it off her head, putting it on yourself in one swift movement and then shoved her away as you were supposed to do; effectively breaking the spell. You turned on your heel to look back at your reflection in the mirror, consciously blocking Bada from your periphery and closed out the song. The music stopped.

Now that the studio was quiet you could hear the both of you catching your breaths, and rather than facing Bada while your face was still heating up, you flopped onto the floor, limbs spread out. You moved Bada’s cap atop your face, blocking out the bright lights of the practice room, feeling exceptionally winded.

You felt Bada sit down next to you and she promptly pulled her hat off your face.

“Ow,” You uttered lamely, arms coming up to cover your face instead. Surely the shame you felt was on wide display and you had to save the little bit of the reputation you had left. You could already hear her voice, albeit uncharacteristically, echo in your head: “What was that?” “Why didn’t you just stick to what I told you?” “That was highly unprofessional.” Your stomach churned.

But instead she said: “That was incredible.”

“Huh.” You exclaimed unintelligently. You tentatively moved your arms from your face and were met with Bada staring you down, her hat back in place. It would probably be too weird if you went back into hiding, so you dropped your arms uselessly.

“That was incredible,” she repeated, a fond smile on her lips. “You are incredible. I’m telling you, we’ve got a hit on our hands.” She extended her arms excitedly, as if she had to convey the sheer magnitude of potential you both had crafted.

“You really think so?” You sounded breathless, the warmth in your chest blossoming.

“I know so. Seriously? If your team doesn’t like this, they’re idiots.” Her bluntness kicked a laugh out of you, and you playfully whacked her knee. “No, I mean it!”

“It wasn’t too much?” Slowly you sat up, tugging at the front of your shirt clinging uncomfortably to your body from the sweat.

Bada tilted her head, blinking at you sympathetically as she weighed your words carefully.

“I’ve already told you,” her voice was quiet, as if she was worried someone else might overhear, “I can’t get enough of you. The same goes for the public, by the way.”

That made you want to kick your feet like a teenager, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you fought the impulse to fall into her arms. Instead, you dropped your head with a timid smile hoping that did enough to show your gratitude.

Bada placed a hand on your shoulder with a touch so soft she might as well be reassembling a broken vase, urging you to look at her. “Let's take a break, order some bubble tea and then watch the recordings. Sound good?”

You leaned into the touch with exhilaration. “Yeah. My treat, though.”

————— ୨୧ —————

The tenth day coincided with a photoshoot in the morning. You had gotten up at 4am to get to the location early enough so that there was enough room for your stylists to get to work.

The first thing you noticed was the visual board you had worked on tirelessly a few weeks prior.

It had changed.

Some of the images jumbled around or left out entirely, replaced by ones you did not recognize or even liked to begin with. Even the color scheme had changed. Before you could ask your manager about it, however, your hair stylist beckoned you to follow her into the booth. Still groggy, with just a protein shake in your belly to keep you at bay, you followed without objection.

But then, after you emerged fully made up with your hair in intricate braids and ribbons, you saw the backdrop you were going to work with and the outfits you would be wearing: they looked nothing like what you had agreed on.

Once sown into the baby pink corset, you looked at your reflection in the mirror with a glassy expression, too exhausted to even express the anger that was simmering in your chest.

“What happened to the costume I commissioned?” You asked your manager in a flat voice, fully realizing you wouldn’t like whatever the answer would be.

“Oh,” But he didn’t sound surprised at all, “We didn’t really like how it turned out, so we decided to go with something else. Pink looks good on you, you know.” He added hurriedly.

You blinked, clenching and unclenching your jaw. The last thing you wanted was to cause a scene in front of all the staff. Firstly, it wasn’t their fault; secondly, word got around quickly and the last thing you needed was a trending blind item about diva behavior. With great difficulty you swallowed the venom down your throat and walked over to the camera crew without sparing your manager a single glance. Bowing to everyone separately, you turned on the autopilot. You just needed to get through the day. You posed for the flashing of the cameras, turning your brain off.

“That’s a wrap! Great work, all.” The photographer’s voice snapped you out of your daze, and you slowly stumbled away from the backdrop, blinking back tears.

“Great job everyone, thank you for your hard work.” You hoped your voice sounded even and hurried away to get changed.

Once alone in your dressing room, you bent over the sink with your hands in your hair. You didn’t understand. They had seen the choreography Bada and you had worked on, and approved. They had been enthusiastic even, and it felt like your team and you had finally buried the hatchet. Now you understood why they were so pliant in their acceptance of the final choreo; they had found something else to exert their control over. You didn’t want to cry, so you grit your teeth and untied your hair, fingers smoothing out where the braids had been.

Bada.

In the bustle of the early morning you had almost forgotten you were meant to start your first practice with the entire dance crew today, with Bada as the lead choreographer ensuring everything played out exactly according to your collaborative vision. It had been almost two days since you had last seen her, yesterday being a day off for the both of you, and for some reason it felt like a lifetime.

You wanted to see her, but you weren’t sure if you could dance today.

You arrived at the studio about an hour later, right on time, with most of your makeup cleared from your face and dressed in joggers and a crop top. This time you were sporting a cap as well, hoping the dancers wouldn’t notice the fatigue etched on your face on your first day with them.

Everyone was already there. Some dancers stretching, others practicing and a few watching the recordings while in deep discussion with Bada. Her flannel shirt was bunched up at her elbows as she made grand gestures with her hands, explaining something to the dancers in front of her. As the sound of the door opening and closing filled the room, the tall girl perked up mid-sentence, shooting you a wide smile.

“Hey! I got you some coffee.” She spoke brightly, walking over to you in big strides as her loose braid fell off her shoulder. You had just finished bowing to everyone when you turned to Bada, feeling your chest swell at the sight of her. “How was the shoot?”

She must’ve noticed something. Perhaps it was the sag of your shoulder, the way you bit your lower lip or the exhaustion in your eyes; but her smile faltered slightly when she got a closer look.

“It went alright.” You spoke neutrally, unable to meet her eyes but adding a nod to come across as reassuring as possible. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Bada stood a bit helplessly but seemed to understand that prying any further would be futile. “Of course, it was my turn, after all.” She smiled carefully. “You wanna get started?”

“Let’s do that.” You agreed, hoping that dancing would get your mind off of things.

Bada gathered everyone together and gave a small speech, making a conscious effort to do all the talking so you could comfortably hide the swelling insecurity you felt deep in your chest. You nodded at the right times, smiled at the dancers (some of them peeking at you in awe) and tried to come across relaxed.

Once Bada finished talking, she called for everyone to get in position as she strode to the far end of the room, where she had the most optimal view. You moved to the front, right next to your trampoline, facing the mirror and vaguely took note of a tall guy with a buzzcut who now stood in the spot Bada did when you had been practicing with her. Something about her not being part of the dance anymore, even though you perfectly knew this was going to be the plan all along, made you feel even less secure.

You shook your limbs loose, trying to empty your head for the sake of the dancers who were all blind to your inner turmoil and instead incredibly excited to be here. You did not want to waste their time. Once again, you forced yourself into auto pilot.

The song started playing, bubbling synths building up to your first lines, and you danced. You danced as you had practiced with Bada, but weren’t able to envision the crowd in front of you. Instead you relied on muscle memory, which worked out well enough. Even when the tall guy was behind you for the duet, hips grazing yours, you didn’t feel very aware of your surroundings at all. Sometimes you all had to stop midway when Bada noticed that someone was offbeat or out of position, but you slid back into the moves easily. The team was strong, too. You danced the choreo once, twice, thrice and a fourth time. When you grabbed the guy’s collar, you pushed him back immediately, unlike what you had practiced with Bada, and finished your move.

Bada clapped her hands together with a cheer.

“That was solid, everyone!” She strode over, giving everyone a thumbs up. “Some things we have to smooth over, but we are way ahead on schedule. Let’s take five. I— Are you okay?”

You barely realized your own actions until you felt the warm tears run down your cheeks. You had sat down on the trampoline in such an unceremonious way, body shaking from exertion as you tried to hold back hiccups. Panic began crawling up your body and into your throat. Suddenly aware of the dancers seeing you in such a state, you took your cap off and held it in front of your face.

“Actually, since we are ahead on schedule, let’s make this a short day.” Bada’s authoritative voice declared to the entire room. The dancers nodded along nervously, glancing at your hunched figure with palpable worry. “Great work everyone, make sure to get home safe. Same time tomorrow.”

You croaked out a soft “Thank you, everyone” through your fingers, but your voice was barely audible. You couldn’t face them.

Footsteps rushed around the room, the dancers gathering their backpacks off the floor. You barely registered the hushed voices slowly echoing further and further away from you, until the door shut with finality; a lock sounding in place and silence reigning over the space.

Bada’s hands came to rest on your shoulders as you felt the trampoline sink with her added weight. Then she pulled you into her arms with a tenderness you had never experienced from anyone before. Your arms tightened around her frame in instinct, dropping your cap onto the floor, and your heart constricting painfully as you hid your face in her chest.

She didn’t speak as you hiccupped soundlessly, letting the exhaustion pour out of you with quivering shoulders. Bada’s hands traced comforting lines along your back, her cheek pressed against the top of your head as she waited for the trembling of your body to subdue. In turn, you tried to focus on the steady rise and fall of her chest, her breathing lulling you.

After ten minutes of complete silence, Bada was the one to speak in a hushed voice: “What happened?”

You glanced up at her, tears still running down your cheeks as you choked back a particularly pathetic sob. “I’m sorry…”

Bada let out an affronted gasp, bringing her hands up to cradle your face instead and letting her thumbs wipe the tears from your cheeks. “Please don’t apologize. Tell me what happened.”

“My team,” You began with a slurred speech, “They still don’t believe in me. They don’t think I can pull this off.”

Your voice sounded heartbroken: “They make sure to remind me every chance they get. My manager is certain I am going to embarrass the nation, because there is only one thing I can do and it’s not this. I can’t be sexy. I don’t have good ideas. And maybe they’re right! I don’t have the charisma to pull this off. My fans are going to hate it, because it’s not the person they wanted to support—” There was nothing you could do except keep going, like a faucet running, and Bada let you, “—I can’t even wear what I want. My visual board was cybercore inspired. I had a red PVC two piece outfit custom-made, but they put me in a pink dress and ballet shoes.” You added, horrified; not at the clothes, but at the clear disconnect between your team and you.

Bada, who was nodding along to your words with a serious expression up until that point, chuckled at your words, thumbs still catching tears. “Well I always thought you looked like a pretty princess, but that’s indeed a bit on the nose.”

The follow-up to your rant died in your throat, eyes widening at her words. Your brain was short circuiting. “You think I’m pretty?”

The taller girl scoffed at that, brows furrowing. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”

“Why?” You asked, genuinely.

For a moment she gawked at you, deep in thought and searching your face for insincerity. Bada was unable to find it.

“It’s not the only thing I think of you.”

Something about the atmosphere in the room changed when she spoke, and you almost forgot why you were upset in the first place. She carefully tucked your hair behind your ears, her eyes staring into yours unblinkingly. It reminded you of the way she had looked at you during practice days prior, when you had pulled her close by her collar for the first time. Her attention on you was suffocating, but you were glad to be drowning.

You sucked in your lower lip for a split second, releasing it, and waited with bated breath for her to continue. Her eyes dropped immediately, following your movements. She slid one hand down to the crook of your neck, slowly, the tips of her fingers tracing along your skin and leaving shivers in their wake; her other hand curled under your chin with a loose grip, tilting your head back slightly. Your head felt so heavy you could only lean in closer, wanting more of something you couldn’t even put in words.

But as always with Bada, she seemed to know what you wanted before you could open your mouth and ask for it. She closed the distance, brushing her lips against yours in a soft peck, and it was when you realized she was also holding her breath.

Her thumb trailed along your jawline, breath fanning over your lips. “Is this okay?” She asked quietly. You placed your hands on her thighs to brace yourself, your own lightheadedness overwhelming you, and nodded.

There was a shadow of a smirk on her lips when she kissed you a second time; lips connected with more force this time before gliding together in tandem. She tilted your head to get impossibly closer to you, her hand moving from your chin to tangle her fingers into your hair and cradling the back of your head. When her lips parted and closed around your bottom lip, nipping eagerly, you inadvertently let out a soft noise at the warmth of it all which only seemed to spur her on further.

You curled your hands into the front of her shirt as her back straightened, crowding around you as if her goal was to subdue, the trampoline creaking underneath your shared weight. She seemed to relish in overpowering you, inhaling sharply through her nose when you parted your mouth for her further.

You felt the tentative prod of her tongue, and accepted. The wetness made you shiver as she swallowed your quiet gasps. The hand that was previously nestled against your neck slid lower, began exploring along the curve of your waist and feeling the bare skin your crop top couldn’t reach to hide.

She parted the kiss, and you let out a soft whine. Biting her lip in an attempt to hide her smile, but ultimately failing, her eyes were drinking you in. You could only imagine what you looked like as even Bada was flushed all over, chest heaving from excitement. Then, as if she was reading your mind, her eyes glanced over to the mirror in front of you.

Bada shifted her position behind you, running her fingers through your hair before ultimately placing her palm against the other side of your waist. Steadily, as if she were correcting a move during practice, she turned your body to face the mirror. At this rate you simply accepted the effect she had on you, and wordlessly obeyed her ministrations. She planted her feet on the floor, long legs on either side of you; and ultimately caged you in, nestling her chin into the crook of your neck. Her eyes never left the mirror.

She brushed some of your hair over your shoulder as if she were propping up a doll, and spoke in a hushed voice: “Look at yourself.”

The sight made you feel all the more dizzy. Through half-lidded eyes you barely recognized your own reflection; hair slightly mussed and lips swollen and lovebitten. Someone did that to you. Bada did that to you.

The taller girl, pressed up against you, placed a kiss on your shoulder, fingers running up and down your body and making the hairs on your arms stand straight in exhilaration. You loved the way she touched you, how it made you feel; as if she was tracing the lines on an art piece. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered against your shoulder, “people would kill to see you like this.”

The honesty in her voice made something in your stomach roll. “Bada…” You began, but you didn’t even know what you wanted to say.

“You have no idea how other people look at you.” Her hands cradled the small of your waist, fingertips digging into your hips. “So let me show you how they look at you.”

She began kissing up your shoulder, soft and warm presses of her lips, before parting her mouth against your neck with a tangible hunger that left you sighing. You tilted your head to the side to give her more room and every inch you freed, she swarmed eagerly. Her tongue swirled against a patch of skin, hand flattening on your lower stomach as the other traced higher and higher, along your ribcage, before inquisitive fingertips moved under the hem of your top. As she sucked a mark onto your skin, you clenched your thighs together at the familiar sensation between your legs. Your eyes slowly fell shut as she crept up higher, lips pressing right below your earlobe with a barely-there hum.

She whispered: “Keep looking at yourself.”

You obeyed bashfully, right when Bada reattached her lips to your skin. She had been tracing lines along the hem of your sports bra, enthralled with the way you shivered in her grasp, before slipping a hand under; her hand was warm as she kneaded your breast, but your nipples stiffened at the sensation all the same. You pushed out your chest to convey your delectation, and she rewarded you by sinking her teeth into your skin. Suddenly, with a swift movement, both her hands hoisted up the hem of your top and bra, and pulled it upwards, your breasts releasing from its confines. The cold air made them perk up and Bada’s hands cupped the underside.

She detached her lips from your skin with a wet sound before looking up at the mirror, taking you in with her saliva-slicked mouth agape.

“So pretty,” Bada muttered, bringing your breasts a little higher, “Are you sensitive here?” She wondered loudly before tracing her thumbs right below your nipples. Once again your legs squeezed together, feeling yourself throb from excitement, and Bada picked up on the hint with a wide smile. “You are.”

In your reflection you saw Bada bring her fingers up to your mouth, thumb pressing down on your bottom lip imploringly, and you opened your mouth. She slipped her digit past, pushing it back against your tongue and you sucked obediently. Her eyes were drilling into yours through your reflection, enthralled by how pliant you were under her care.

You released the digit with a wet ‘pop’ and Bada promptly brought it to your nipple, rubbing it in circular motions as her other hand continued to knead your other breast. A quiet moan escaped you, chest rising into her touch and Bada giggled, pressing another kiss on your shoulder. Your own hands ached to touch her, but she kept you firmly locked between her legs; instead you squeezed her upper thighs, feeling her shapes through the baggy cargo she was sporting.

“Give me a kiss.” She commanded, and you immediately twisted your neck to capture her lips.

It was all teeth, wet noises echoing through the room as your tongue swirled against hers; the taller girl groaning into your mouth at the sheer force you exerted. She gave your nipples a pinch before rubbing her fingers over them repeatedly, and she swallowed your breathless moans greedily. You dug your nails into her thighs as she cupped your breasts again, her tongue slipping out of your mouth to trail along your bottom lip instead. Your head was chanting her name, getting drunk on the near delirious attention she gave you. Tilting your head back even further, you connected your lips again even though the angle was uncomfortable. You were starting to feel desperate, hips lightly rocking back against the firmness of her body as Bada sucked down on your tongue.

One of her hands released your breast and trailed down the expanse of your stomach, once again breaking the kiss and instead opt to look at you in the mirror. Her fingers found the knot of your joggers as your eyes met in the reflection, and she pulled on the string; untying it.

“Okay?” Bada inquired meaningfully, and you nodded much faster than you intended. “Let me hear you say it.” The tone of her voice, which was otherwise so gentle and quiet, made your full body shiver.

“I want it.” You spoke breathlessly, squirming impatiently between her legs as her fingers finally slipped down your pants.

She trailed along the sweatband of your underpants before cupping your heat over the fabric, fingers pressing against your folds inquisitively. Her eyes never left yours, quietly measuring your reactions. Unwittingly your thighs clamped around her wrist, breath hitching in your throat as she began to caress you with a touch so gentle it didn’t fit the precarious position you both were in.

“You’re so wet.” Bada spoke coyly, smirking at the way your eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment. She began rubbing circles over your covered folds, feeling your wetness spread as if on command. Your breathing turned into whining, subconsciously grinding back against her hand.

She removed her hand much to your distress, until you realized what she wanted: Bada began tugging the fabric of both your joggers and underpants down as far as she could, before giving your hip a commanding pat. You raised your hips to assist her ministrations, and she pulled the clothing down past your knees before you kicked them off fully.

Your thighs were pressed together when you got back in place and suddenly felt self-conscious at how exposed you were despite your own eagerness. Bada wasn’t having it: her eyes were taking in your figure, hands immediately coming down to smooth along your thighs. Then, she squeezed tightly and wrenched your thighs wide apart, making you expose yourself for her. Before you could instinctively close them, her long legs hooked over your ankles, forcefully keeping them in place. All of it only made you throb harder.

“You don’t want to know how often I’ve been thinking about this these past few days.” Her hands smoothing along your sides in marvel, cupping your breasts once more. The tip of her nose pressed against the shell of your ear. “How many times I’ve watched those recordings and imagined you, exactly like this.” Her fingers fit into your mouth once again, and you sucked on them, letting your tongue swirl along the digits as if you were starving for it. “I think I lost count.”

Her confession made you moan around her fingers, shivers running down your spine. She scooted back ever so slightly, pulling your hips back with her unoccupied hand until it was the angle she needed, and then dropped it between your legs. Her fingers spread your folds and she sucked in a breath, completely mesmerized by your reflection. You were still swallowing around her fingers and she hummed encouragingly, hand cupping your vagina and spreading your wetness across your heat.

She removed her fingers from your mouth and you caught your breath, fingers digging into her upper thighs as you braced yourself. As one hand kept your folds spread, the other, spit-slicked, began rubbing slow circles against you. You gasped at the sensation, mumbling her name in amazement. You raised your hand to the back of her head; grabbing a hold of her braid to simply have a hold of something, but it earned you a particularly sweet noise from the girl behind you. Your hips rocked back against her movements trying to find more friction in the right place, and Bada slowly sped up, moving her wrist up and down to try and find the spot that did it for you. Her lips pressed against the back of your neck so tenderly, and something about the dichotomy between that and the way she was touching you between your legs made your eyes roll back; lids closing as you thrusted back against her hand.

You didn’t understand how she was able to build up to that familiar knot in your stomach so soon, and it almost made you feel embarrassed, until you realized Bada was savoring every second of it. Her eyes never left your form, as if she were studying just another choreography, lips parted in an awestruck way. You had long foregone the urge to keep quiet, vocalizing exactly what she was doing to you: You let a particularly loud moan leave you when she rubbed along your most sensitive spot. Trying to pull more sounds from you, she pressed against your clit with more force and rubbed faster. Your hips could only chase her touch as your lower stomach constricted.

Bada brought her hand up to her own lips and lapped at her fingers, effectively pausing her motions for a split second and thus drawing a broken whine from you; both because her hand wasn’t where you needed it to be and also because she had no qualms about having you in her mouth. It didn’t last long: she hushed you soothingly as she put her hand back where you felt it belonged and used the added wetness to add faster friction against your clit. Your head rolled back and you tugged at her braid, pulling an attractive groan from the girl behind you.

You weren’t far away anymore. Your lower stomach was unbearably tight with desire and you were a gyrating, frantic mess against her hand while her fingers rubbed against you in vertical swipes, her name falling from your lips repeatedly as if you were reciting a prayer.

You managed to utter an “I’m close”, and Bada crowded against you before you could start begging her for release. “Come for me.” She demanded, and then immediately captured your mouth in a desperate kiss, teeth clashing together while she drank your sweet moans.

As if on cue, the tension in your stomach imploded and you gave her braid a sharp pull. You gasped into her mouth, no longer kissing each other but rather breathing each other's air, as your orgasm rippled through you.

You felt your whole body quiver and shake in pleasure as Bada led you through your release, thighs trembling despite the hold the choreographer’s legs had on you. Her fingers hadn’t left your core, but the rubbing slowed down until you were gasping at the overstimulation, yet unwilling to make her hands leave you. As if she read your mind her movements came to a halt, but she pressed her palm against you; almost possessively. She planted kisses along the side of your throat, whispering praises against your skin as you caught your breath.

Once you had the rise and fall of your chest under control, her arms curled around your waist in a fond embrace, and you turned your head to look directly at her. She had already been staring at you, meeting your eyes with a bashful smile. The two of you laughed at each other, and Bada pressed your foreheads together.

“That,” You mumbled, eyes falling shut as you relished in her open affection: “Was amazing, thank you.”

“Was happy to do it.” She responded playfully, rubbing the tip of your noses together affectionately.

“Will this happen every time I get self-deprecating?”

“I definitely intend to do this more often, but you could also just ask nicely.” Bada retorted with a smirk before pecking your lips. You giggled, putting your hands over hers and leaning back into the embrace.

After several more shared kisses and hushed whispers, both of you decided to get a move on: you were starting to get cold in your exposed state so Bada urged you to get up. She helped you step back in your clothes, a smug self-satisfied grin never leaving her face when she noticed the unsteady wobble in your legs.

When you pulled your bra and top back over your breasts, Bada pouted. You gave her a playful shove but she caught your arms instead, bringing them around her neck as her own enveloped your waist.

“Wanna grab dinner?” Her eyes were round and hopeful.

“I would love that.” You replied, and gave her a kiss.

As the both of you tidied up the practice room and gathered your things, Bada listing off food suggestions in the background, your eyes slid to the table at the front of the room.

A familiar device remained perched on the edge, a small green light lighting up proudly.

“Hey, Bada.”

“Hm?”

“Camera’s still recording.”

She stumbled over looking mortified, snatching the device off the table and rewinding haphazardly.

“Oh, fuck.”

#bada lee x reader #swf2 #bada lee #bada lee smut #street woman fighter 2 #dalla!writes #im sorry in advance bhahaha #idk what i did

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capslocked · 8 months

Text

DIPLOMACY

male reader x kim minju

7k words

For those not paying attention - of which there seems to be an increasing number - it’s not that she doesn’t have the pedigree. But just shy of getting into that storied history or into the nitty-gritty of her curriculum vitae, the only thing that really matters is:

"This all seems a little beneath me."

It’s another day of this. Of you, of her, of trying to gather the mien of someone who isn’t utterly disarmed by Minju’s usual, beautiful, challenging self. Which, let’s be honest, is always an uphill battle.

Minju nearly pouts, flipping through a copy of the dossier idly from the other side of the desk in a gesture that reads both bored and dismissive and every little thing it needs to annoy you.

"Look," you offer up, graciously diplomatic all things considered, "it's about finding the right springboard, to something else more… substantial."

"Or to something else, you know, beneath me." Her red lips turn down ever so slightly. She doesn't seem so interested in playing ball on this one. And, for you, amounts to something of a huge problem.

See, Minju doesn't quite understand how the working world really, actually works. That the carrot that's dangled in front of her is your carrot just as much as it is hers - that you stand to lose out just as badly. That it's both of your asses on the line if things fall apart and Minju's shortsighted insistence to only work those certain roles befitting a name like hers puts that all at risk.

"Maybe you can tell me something,” you start, coming across more curt than you possibly intended - but not by much, “how many of your former cohorts have had their career aspirations line up with reality, Miss Kim?"

“I’m picky, not naive,” she sighs, not missing a beat, and you watch her dark hair cascade gently down her shoulder when she reaches a hand back to unfix her loose ponytail from its hair clip.

“You might see how I can get the two confused.”

“Then spare me the lecture,” says Minju.

Though she says nothing else, an unspoken you already get paid too much for that hangs in the air.

The tricky part is that no matter what else Minju does, her contract has some non-negotiable clauses to them that no talent has before, or will likely get afterwards. Things that cannot be broken. Like the requirement of her making x number of media appearances, and she gets to approve all of them.

Or that her agent's take home comes from a fixed fifteen percent of her gross earnings, with further incentives when her roles hit specific milestones. But with her refusing projects like the ones in the dossier before you, it leaves you in the unenviable position of losing out on your guaranteed fixed income or trying to convince your diva talent to do what it is she ought to be doing.

The truth is that there’s quite a long list of things no one has had the guts to say ‘no’ to yet.

And, well, it's rather simple and obvious when you look at her:

Minju is that particular blend of A-lister gorgeous. The special look that’s all kinds of mesmerizing and magnetizing, in full bloom - that makes you feel like you're suffocating in beauty. Like if she said come here, you would go; the type where a single look is all it takes and then - just like that - she's got your number forever.

Because everything about her is tailored - from her clothes to her perfect porcelain features. And they made her that way for a purpose: to sell records. (Which, that's exactly what they did.) You can hardly blame the people in power over there, wanting what's best, in a position where everyone would kill for a taste, or even just a glimmer of possibility.

"I don't suppose the part of the governor’s neglected wife is capturing your imagination.” You push the dossier closer, and she doesn’t so much as look at it. “It’s this year’s big budget political thriller, a shoo-in for awards.”

“You mean the one who ends up in a lot of very steamy shots on the apartment’s rooftop pool. Maybe I’m mistaken, but you can’t really unshow your tits.”

"This isn't about being above, Miss Kim, it's about being well regarded; it’s about proving you’re easy to work with,” you argue. “We could-"

"Find a better use of my time?" she cuts in, closing the dossier shut. There's a long moment in which she's looking you over, her gaze sizing up every little inch.

"Your big break won't happen just because you ask for it." You grimace a bit, hating to tell it like it is, but not really wanting to just coddle her either. "But listen - we work together, one project at a time - we can build up to it."

Minju crosses her arms with a loud hmph. "And what are you going to do if I decide not to accept these projects?"

There’s enough edge in her voice that it gives you pause.

"If," she says again pointedly, a teasing little grin tugging at her lips.

So - actually, another thing: when you start digging into the details, there’s more problems than just what can be seen at the surface. Which perhaps it’s too reductive, but essentially everything between you and the talent sitting on the other side of your desk is not quite so straightforward. It was never about Minju doing the best she could for either of your careers; it was about Minju making sure her needs were taken care of, no matter what.

Months ago, thanks in part to the way Minju filled out this tiny black excuse of a cocktail dress, and as a compromise of sorts, there’s an uncharacteristic mistake you ended up making. Or two or maybe a couple.

Because there’d been the perfect backdrop - an end of year party, beautiful dresses and suits, lots and lots of champagne, the kind of jovial mood that inspired one drink too many - and then you and her, taking off down one of the hallways, towards the exit.

Of course, you ended up exactly where neither of you should have ever been - where the snow was falling gracefully and melting into the pavement, behind a private accessway at the back of the venue, somewhere dark and dingy and dripping with a smell reminiscent of garbage; somewhere your hands had gripped firm fistfuls of Minju’s waist before you shoved her up against the back of the building.

In short:

You remember how she gasped when her palms hit the brickwork, how you figured you may as well give her everything she wants.

(So what, it was one time, you hear yourself explaining, mildly repentant, and to say that it’s complicated the matter is a massive fucking understatement.)

In the interest of full disclosure, you tell her, “what exactly did you have in mind?”

"That maybe," she hums, tongue flicking out over her lips before she purses them thoughtfully. "You should persuade me a little better."

"And let’s suppose, I don’t do any of that," you persist.

"It'd be a shame, wouldn't it, having such a promising future cut short so early? If word got out. From such a respectable agency too, of all places. Couldn't live with yourself," Minju remarks, leaning forward on her elbows until her eyes are level with your own. “Come to think of it, it’s the kind of thing that could totally, like, end your career.”

But as she sits there, arching that perfect brow again, you don't feel so good about the whole thing. You take another look at her - which, your mistakes start there, if nowhere else - at the girl that is somehow not the airheaded starlet she’s supposed to be. No, she’s calculating. A rarity, though you do know the type: here’s a girl who just happened to take her brains for granted in the years she was pampered by the industry - the same one that fattened on her only to later spit her out. And that thought, the look of cold intellect in her eyes and the slight upward curl at the corner of her mouth, has you frozen just a bit stiff.

She takes a key card from her clutch, and throws it onto the desk in front of you.

“Minju,” you caution, and there’s a taste of danger on each syllable of her name - more of a warning for yourself than you can conceive of it ever being for her.

"I'm only suggesting" - she’s watching you nearly fucking choke, amused - "what's best."

And when the lines get muddied between the two of you, that's exactly the issue. What's best. As though this was always Minju's aim. Maybe you've read it wrong, maybe you've gotten too lost in your own delusions, maybe - maybe, it doesn’t matter -

"For work," she adds, at which point her knee bumps yours playfully beneath the desk, leaving the suggestion open, and the implication unmistakable. "Whatever's required."

Here, you should definitely tell Minju no. Say no. Say: you're a professional, and getting involved with her, romantically, officially, personally - whatever - would lead to nothing but disaster. That’d be the responsible thing probably. It’d be generous to say you end up getting even halfway there:

"There's rules against this, you know."

Minju tips her head. “Why ever would there be rules in place against doing your job?”

She thinks that if she feigns being clueless, you'll bite, which -

“Against me folding you over this desk and fucking you until your forget your name.”

"My apologies," she practically coos, knowing that she’s not only made progress, but that she’s wrapping you around her finger. She is a bright girl after all. “You might see how I can get the two confused.”

At that, you figure, the only real move, to be perfectly blunt, is to play Minju at her own game -

To convince her to bend, just a little. To persuade her. So you lean closer, you start to promise, with your face just next to hers:

"You want me to show you how I might handle an uncooperative talent? Would that do it for you, huh?"

And now if that isn’t enough to earn you a whole look, one that’s equally a challenge and a triumph; you watch as she bites the inside of her cheek, not that she can help the smirk creeping across her pretty mouth, a grin full of want and need and all those dangerous, thrilling thoughts that're probably too predictable given your unique sliver of history you’ve already carved out.

She arches that perfect brow of hers once more, toying with the corner of her lip between her teeth.

You navigate around your desk to hand her your pen, with instructions that are perfectly clear: "then for once in your life, be useful, and sign on the fucking dotted line."

And her whole act falls apart just like that.

She’s humming almost pleasantly to herself as you settle in flush behind her, sinking into you just a little when your hand arrives at her waist, another carding through her hair. “Here,” you point out, watching her name materialize in ink on the document - pressing your lips to the nape of her neck each time she finishes penning out an exaggerated curl of a u.

“And here.”

“And here."

She signs again - and again - and that merits a reward; she’s good when she wants to be. Persuasive when she needs to be.

You can hear her murmur your name when your mouth slips just beneath her jaw, when you mark your next path across the bare skin of her shoulder and when she gets started on the last page of the documents, it happens just like this -

The pen drops from her fingers at some point, tumbling onto the desktop with a clack that might as well be a round leaving the chamber of a starting pistol. The office door isn't even locked and you have half a mind to check on the blinds, but the idea of some desperate executive running face first into this scene - where you’re smoothing your hands down the fabric of Minju’s top, down the rise of her jeans, fiddling slowly with the button at her waist - it holds an unfortunate sort of appeal; those blinds, they're mostly closed anyway. And at this hour of the afternoon, well - maybe it’s a little more clear why Minju asked to reschedule this meeting in the first place.

At first, it’s just a few of your fingers dipping under the waistband of her pants, following the curve of her hip, her thigh, then inward, and when you reach down to find her already burning up in anticipation, she inhales sharp, a noise that makes you groan in turn, low, right into the hollow behind her ear. Minju, to her credit, is absolutely willing, so very helpful and - as you pinch the soft, tender skin at her hip, she's saying something but you haven't quite paid it a moment's mind.

Her head turns, eyes looking up at you ever-so-slightly-more-vulnerable than their usual mischief and calculation, and there’s a hint of a demand dancing on her tongue, ready and waiting; she moves her leg upwards just a few inches, settling to rest her knee on top of the tabletop, a calculated little pose, angling her hips so you can sink your hand lower, closer, press your fingers into the lace over her hot cunt even deeper.

Here you figure you're probably ruining the fabric, drenching it in her own slick as you work two, then three fingertips in tight circles. You’ll ruin it, and you’ll ruin more - ruin everything and take what you're owed. As her breath hitches again, in some way that makes your senses come to life: you can feel her skin become taut and tense, gooseflesh rising when your hand untangles from her hair and slides up under her shirt, can hear the steady rush of blood in your ears, her pulse quickening, the heart in her chest beating rapid -

(She can pretend all she wants that this was an attempt at extortion. She can pretend she’s not an easy read; that she doesn’t like being easy for you, when she’s hot and whimpering and aching so wet, creaming on your fingers when you haven’t even gotten her pants off.)

- as if every part of her wasn't made for this, as you lay out your first real proposal:

“Do you remember what I asked you? The first time, right after you signed on, when you were so good for me up against the bricks in the alley?”

Minju chokes out an affirmative when you toy with her pussy where she’s craving the shape of anything, but, boy, are the rough pads of your fingers more than up to the task.

"I remember you almost couldn't answer, you didn't dare want to admit that it's what you needed - isn't that right?"

She moans with a voice thick as honey when a couple more fingers brush up against her wet lips and fuck, she does look breathtakingly good; she's exquisite, she's irresistible - the image of a living wet dream.

"Say it, baby," you croon, her voice beginning to melt a bit at the edges, her own heat burning her resolve up from the bottom up as you tug sharply at a string on her lace.

Minju sighs. Arches into your touch.

Because you’re settling into this torturous pattern, where you draw inwards, closer, so close to the little bundle of nerves, her cunt flexing and rippling hungrily when your fingers flick once or twice around it, only for her to wince just slightly as your fingers trace down towards her entrance to start all over again -

Minju steels herself, drawing in a heavy breath past her teeth. “You asked how rough you could be.”

There's something so painfully wicked, how her voice falters there - but then your own voice is rasping right back in a similar caliber of depravity.

“Hm. That’s pretty close to how I remember it.” After all, you are always taking care of Minju - her concerns, her contracts, her needs. So if she was interested, why the fuck would you hold back on providing exactly what she wants. “But help me out, what did you tell me?”

Another twist - another catch. Another push - another pull. She's going to break so sweetly if you're patient - and, ahh, patience - she's shuddering underneath your touch, squirming against you so nicely that you've already gotten away with a bit too much, this much, these fingers and you and Minju's breathy gasps.

"M-that you could be. That you could-" she stutters, all as you feel her folds start to swell, then quiver, as your thumb drags painfully over her clit again -

And in that moment Minju starts to consider if this were a good idea or not, but her back is already arching against your chest. She's gripping your arm to get you right where she wants you, and the reality of this hits her - a rush of cold clarity through her head just as everything else threatens to spiral into something else, something frantic, something hot and animal and making the muscles at her core begin to clench up.

But you just ease out of her completely, a whine coming out from the back of Minju's throat - her thighs parting further in desperation.

And oh, the disappointment, the sound, it’s incredible - a high pitch - almost a sob -

You slide your other hand in her hair to make sure she's got an earful of your words:

"What was it you said, hm?" you whisper, nipping at the skin on her neck, the side of her jaw - she's shuddering with it when your mouth lingers so close -

“As rough as you fucking want.”

God, the little things that her voice does to you. “Exactly, sweetheart.”

And how's that boundary supposed to hold up and remain uncrossed then, really, if you just give her whatever the fuck she asks for - especially if you have your mouth working it's way around her pulse-point, toying with her as she starts to tense and soften all at once.

In fact, Minju can only stutter out an okay or two as you grind forward, the hard suggestion of your cock nestling up against her rear, just shy of the perfect spot between her legs, and even with still a few layers of clothes between you, the feeling - fuck, the friction, the sight - it’s enough to get you grinning.

Enough to form this near-half-coherent thought: that it’s what's always had you on edge with this girl. She is absolutely every bit your type. Everything about her, right down to the way that she was put together.

All her hard edges and soft curves that should've never really been yours to covet and now, somehow, have become exactly that. Oh, she's the kind of temptation that's better suited for the life of glitz and glamor and the time it requires for indulging in it. You never thought that you would actually ever get here, even as the years have begun to stack up and time starts to grind everything in the back of your head and turn it all over into something like resentment.

If only Minju weren't so good at making you a sucker for those pouty lips and big doe eyes.

Particularly when she's turned around - face to face now - she's the epitome of gorgeous, equal parts aphrodite and adonis; a fucking knockout, her body sculpted and lithe and athletic. Those lines curving out and away like they might tell time, like her thighs could count the minutes and seconds until she's straddling you in your lap with her ankles locked in at the small of your back and you're rutting up into her without reservation, without doubt.

(So what, really, is your goddamned excuse? Your pride? The nature of the beast in you that demands that you must have some degree of control over yourself? The power that your position, here, now, provides? But you can hardly be blamed, even when it's wrong and filthy and so fucking good.)

"You’re stalling." Minju’s leaning back against the desk, tilting her chin up, blinking lazily, and there’s a bit of bite in her voice again.

It takes a minute for it to dawn on you that it must be intentional, trying to get a further rise out of you, the same way your hands have risen up to trace the dips and elevations of her spine, her every vertebra, your fingertips mapping the hollows and rounds of her back. To learn the geography of her shoulders and where, and when, and how to get her breath catching in her lungs, each labored intake of air a little harsher, hastier, hotter than the last.

"You know," you start, spreading your palm across a soft plane of denim, fingers pulling onto the cheek of her ass, dragging her even tighter against you, "I always figured your reputation was a little overdramatized. Most everyone's bound to have a story or two."

She laughs, full of mirth. When the mood strikes, she's the picture of perfection, and she knows it. "Well? Were you disappointed?"

As she coils an arm around your waist to slide your shirt free from the confines of your pants, and as a deft hand slips its way in, you stop asking yourself about right or wrong, good or bad, or about the kisses that land playfully at the corner of your mouth - until you hold her tight and seize her lips, hard, like you mean it - it isn't long before she's fumbling and scrambling with the zipper at your waist.

"That depends," you’re pulling yourself away long enough to say.

"I think I know the answer."

And by the way she shivers a little when you shove up the bottom of her top, the way she's melting into your mouth and demanding more and more and more, Minju does. You think she probably has since the first night that your threads got all tangled up. Especially when she slides off her top - her bra - her jeans - leaving them in a pile that lasts barely a second where it started once you sweep everything off of your desk in one broad, efficient gesture -

There's a thud when a pair of binders and a couple of books hit the floor. Someone exclaiming in recognition, the muffled noise drifting through the office door, and, oh, this would probably be the best moment to remember how painfully thin the walls are; you consider whether to walk over and lock the office door, and when Minju’s fingers run up your sides, you decide you won’t.

Too little too late, you figure.

And before you can take a second to give it the more congruent thought it deserves, Minju opens her mouth: "which, in your professional opinion," a hum and a slur as her nails find their way to your collar, "is well, that the thing I should take," she gets out, unbuttoning you at the cuffs, loosening the last of your shirt, "really," her hands palming over the fabric on either side of the lapels, working their way downwards, "how - how do you think this goes?"

“Oh, Minju.” She’s all but begging you to fuck her and still has the wherewithal to be asking for terms.

Like her fingers aren’t completely down your pants, locking around your hard cock - pumping you with soft, lazy strokes - not too different from how you have her chewing on her lip every time your fingers circle over the entrance to her cunt, tenting the last of her lace all slow and careful.

It’s driving her crazy. She just bites into the edge of her thumb in response.

"Fine. Alright. Let me explain it clearly." You dip a finger into her cunt; the whimper is short-lived when she tightens around you and it hits home, the pressure so delicious that she can barely stutter to keep up.

“A negotiation, of sorts-”

“Yeah, sure, we can call it that.”

The mental picture you have of your length outlined against Minju's tiny fist - as she works it into her hand, steady - it's all almost more than you can possibly bear: the way her long legs stretch out so pretty in front of you, the way her wrist twists with each pass and every bump at the veins of her forearm that is such a damn perfect shade of porcelain white in the dim glow of the desk lamp.

This girl with her pert pink mouth and those lips, the ones that aren't quite touching yours but rather smirking the whole time. (If only you were to make her scream loud enough, because you know she could be so much prettier.)

The thought flits through your brain, unbidden and treacherous -

"Think, fuck - think of this, as a one-way track into your career. Think of me, a guiding hand - if you want to. The key to all this," you continue, spacing the words carefully so you don't falter under the pace Minju is picking up, "is that you're going to need to be compliant. Easy."

"Mm. And in exchange?" she bites, choking down an embarrassing moan.

"Here's the basics." And there, there's no fucking reason for you not to dip the tips of your fingers right on downwards, tap into her soft heat until her hips are arching away from the flat of the desk, searching for more. “Whenever you need me to take care of you, I’m there, however you need it: on my fingers, my tongue, my cock - I’ll make you fucking cum over and over.”

"That sounds," she gasps, losing track of the end of her sentence, rolling herself along the pads of your fingers, taking them deeper into her, "very-very-oh fuck-”

Her grip around your cock releases, arms throwing themselves around your shoulders, holding on tight as she starts to trust you implicitly - to give her exactly what she wants, what she needs - and give herself over to you, to your fingers, circling and circling and circling.

“See, tomorrow,” you start, “there’s an audition,” and when you pull your finger out of her cunt, Minju lets out this sound that’s between a whimper and a whine. Her pretty mouth has dropped open, like she's all out of words, lost somewhere, chasing this. Getting dire.

“It’s this teen soap; they need someone young, someone pretty, do you think you can do that for me?”

She doesn’t answer so much as grab and tug and pull you even closer as the heel of your hand pushes and presses over her clit, just about enough force behind it that, eventually, you begin to feel a certain rigidity through her limbs, how the lines of her face and her faultless features grow more and more focused, fixed and concentrated; her voice reduced to the high-pitched huffs and half-formed syllables of pure and utter desperation.

I can, I can - she’s murmuring - please, yes, I will - putting herself right into your capable hands.

When you feel Minju tightening, flexing around nothing, then seizing and shivering, her pussy throbbing hot and wet and clenching around your finger as it again works deeper inside her, an anguished groan finds its way out from her throat.

And from yours, well -

"Show up," you command, giving her another knuckle, curling it just right - watching as her expression contorts and twists up for all her worth. "Make a good impression. Don't make me fucking beg. Show up, Unreserved. Understood?"

And if her body wasn't making her pleas utterly transparent, she's screaming in agreement. It takes you barely a couple seconds, working up inside her cunt until she's all full-body, fully, blissfully spent. She starts to nod, needy, eyes screwing shut.

“And let’s say, something else pops up. A little racy, a little more gravure, just the right amount scandalous, I need you to keep an open mind.”

When it sinks in what you've said, Minju gives this wail, low and perfect - her cunt throbbing over the pulse at your palm - inches away from cumming and shaking and creaming on your hand. You could ask for anything, you think, and she’d give it to you -

“My PR team,” she gasps out, the consonants of her words fraying at the seams, “it’s up to my PR team.”

“Minju,” you say, priming a loaded question and a half. “Do you trust me?”

She nods, expression readable and open like a book. It starts to set in just about then, how you’re going to fucking ruin this girl.

Your breath runs hot, right against her temple, and you whisper the slightest affirmation, “good girl, I’ll take care of it.”

Because to be fair, you’ve not made it this long in your career without learning how to pull a string - how you might pull up on the sensitive skin straddling Minju’s clit and get her reeling; her pussy flutters in the tight, wet heat, muscles clamping, demanding as you work yourself in deeper and then, when the timing's right, pull out to slide a second finger past the slip of lace she has covering her cunt.

She's this tight, dripping, overwhelming fit - even more than you have yet to discover, to tease and then take, the heel of your wrist landing on her clit in a heavy pattern, circles - circles - circles -

- so you figure: fuck the PR team.

If only they knew how well and thorough you were going to fuck the rules right out of Minju.

That you were going to remind her who's the one in the driver’s seat of her life, of her career, that you would make sure she stays in her lane - the proper lane - that this, you think to yourself, might become a recurring sort of negotiation, the kind she's so shockingly eager to accept.

You'd be doing her a favor, fucking a couple good lines into her head, into her skin, into her cunt.

And soon, before long -

She's gritting her teeth around the shape of your name and giving one last heave against the hard wood of the desk underneath her. It's almost beautiful to watch how Minju crumbles into herself; the way she grinds back onto the digits in her cunt. How you’re dragging her underwear down her thigh, pulling your cock into your fist and twisting her leg around your waist until finally, you press yourself right up against the heat radiating from her cunt.

“I’m going to take good care of you, Minju, don’t worry, I’ll fuck this pussy of yours just right. I'm going to make you shake and cum all over me.”

“Please.” Fuck, she looks at you sincerely - no games, no bullshit - pupils so very blown out with want, with need. You watch her adorable mouth uptick into this faint lazy smile as she tilts her head into your collarbone, lips parting slightly to remind you: “as rough as you fucking want-”

And you sink right in.

It’s all skin-on-skin as Minju practically collapses in your arms; pushing deep past her soaking entrance - your hips slotting together just so, cock engulfed by her tight heat. Minju fucking wails when you drag back from her cunt, slow - so, so agonizingly slow.

You let her recover just a bit, watching her breathing quicken and shallow.

And the word on her lips becomes something reverent, the most indecent prayer, pleading please, please, please let me have it, please fuck me with your cock-

You brace yourself, thrusting back in, and she doesn't wince this time, holding fast to you like you aren’t the one fucking her open and taking her apart.

“God, I - look, this perfect little fucking cunt, look at how you’re stretching around me, Minju,” you’re telling her - promising her really - all of which doesn't count for shit when, once, and then again, and a couple more times after that, your hips meet hers and she starts to break just so slightly around you. “I can’t believe - it’s like you were fucking made for my cock, baby, you’re taking me so fucking well.”

"Now, show me why - why the fuck everyone wants you - wants you to be their-" she's trying, in a fashion all to her credit and her fault. She should probably care more about that raw, unhinged noise you’re making right into the crook of her neck when you bury yourself deeper into her pussy. But in the next moment, with another wild crash of your hips, the tables start to turn.

Slowly at first, and then all at once.

Because the sound you’re ripping from her chest when you start fucking her - truly fucking her - becomes far, far filthier than anything you've ever heard a girl like her make. All of it coaxed out from you working the edge of her pussy open, stretching her, hitting each and every sensitive spot inside her.

Minju tips her head back to stare at the popcorn ceiling and fluorescent lights, brow creasing in the middle, mouth gaping open. You find you might have missed something, when she moves to hold you down, hold you in place with an insistent leg, the back of her heel digging into your ass. As though there were somewhere you might possibly want to go.

It all comes down to something she's murmuring, quietly, harboring this smug lilt like you aren’t fucking her raw and senseless: how maybe the key to unlocking the rest of her potential isn’t all that dissimilar, not as off-brand as you may have been initially worried about. And the notion that both of you might actually be profiting off of this - how it shouldn’t sound as incredible as it does - is doing absolutely fucking nothing to slow the brutal pace you fall into.

"Fuck, just like that," and she's smiling, grinning really, nails biting into your nape - your name and curses and a fuck you or two falling out of her mouth as you pound each short breath right out of her chest.

"The only talent I'm gonna need to show," she manages, dizzy, and with one arm hooking around your waist, she pulls the two of you close, right up against each other. The sound your skin makes, clapping against hers - her cunt tight, pulsing, quivering around you - "is my, my, my-"

Your thumb should have never left her clit, you realize, pressing down on where your cock is disappearing between her legs, pushing up against that bundle of nerves that can get her screaming. That’s how you’ll punctuate your end of the bargain, how you’ll make her cum and cum and cum -

"-talent for being such a-"

There's something ungovernable in you, something fumbling, as you find yourself drawn to her lips like a magnet - claiming them in a kiss that has you both growling with all the intensity you can muster, groaning as her jaw goes slack, surrendering to the fucking. To this hard, solid snap of your hips, a raw fuck forward that pushes Minju against the edge of the tabletop.

It doesn’t matter what she had wanted to say, though it must be evident how easy she can wind you up, and you do your best not to be too gentle. Pushing into her so rough that her breasts, oh-so-delicate, bounce up and down along her chest, nipples tight and rosy, begging to be tasted and played with.

You’re pressing your mouth on hers hard, fucking her harder - fingers digging into the flesh around her thighs and leaving marks and memories, all these reminders you’ll be sure to come back to.

But the fact is that this is your girl in so many ways: needy and a dream in all her curves, and how her waist rocks back, her body fitting so perfectly against yours - you're hooked on all of it. On her - she is temptation made real, in blood and bone and soft, supple skin, so exquisitely touchable, just like the sound that she makes, high and tittering when your thumb starts to work her clit over; each swirl and figure eight sending a jolt through her nerves and straight back into your own spine. It's difficult - hard to focus, you find - when all her exposed skin has these drops of sweat standing in saltwater relief, how it rolls down the plane of her chest and disappears where her waist flares wide.

Minju turns her cheek, mouthing falling open, and asks with a certain helpless pleading, “yes, can you-”

she sighs,

“right there,”

she hiccups,

“please, again,”

she begs,

“again, harder, i’m so close-”

Not before long, the desk is scraping loudly across the carpet, moving right into the next office over, all from where you have your hand trapping her voice back in her throat, palm over where she’s practically sobbing for you to let her cum.

From where you’ve got her locked in tight, lifting her up into your arms, into some perverse, unspoken promise to carry her the rest of the way. To do with her whatever you want.

"I'm going to show you," you're gritting out, "exactly how a professional handles their star, the girl at the center of it all, their top draw - and it's so easy, isn't it? This is - fuck, sweetheart - you're nothing more than a - just a desperate little cockslut who's aching to cum, and it's good - oh so, fucking-"

When that next shiver courses down the length of her perfect form, it's entirely because of you, when her legs are still locked and clamped over you like this, as she sputters and babbles, totally cock-addled and barely managing a coherent thought. “Please, sir, please, fuck-”

And then a keening, sounding low, lost.

“Sir. Please, sir, please just - I just wanna-" Her lips are shaping all these words that never quite materialize - because her cunt is slick, the whole of it hotter and softer than anything else in this goddamn room. Maybe anything else in this whole building. Or in the entire world. It makes her whimper and ache, her voice rising and rising, belting out, need it, need it, please let me cum -

Which -

Minju, oh god, Minju cums, and you are fucked sideways to hell and beyond when her whole body convulses, shakes, every single part of her contracting, contracting - all at once - the way her hands claw desperately onto the blades of your shoulders as the room gets taken up with the scent of her; the sounds she's making are fucked and filthy. She starts to become undone as you double your pace, aiming true - thrusting, pounding, nailing Minju right into the finish.

“Minju, sweetheart, I’m going to cum in you,” you tell her, and it’s not even a question, or a concern. You’re dictating, not negotiating when you say it to her again, when you tell her you’re going to fill her perfect pussy so full with your cum, she'll be hung up on it for weeks.

One long, stretched out moan is all it could ever take; a split second, where everything runs blindingly hot, and you bury yourself as deep into her pussy as you possibly can.

Cumming so much, spilling out deep inside - this heavy flood of cum that pools warmly at the back of her cunt and fills every corner of Minju - she whines and sobs and tells you it's too much, please, all this hot and thick white cum pumping right into her -

As you throb into her, she's having a hard time saying anything beyond your name, actually, because if anyone can, if anyone would, if Minju can trust anyone and anything in this world more, it would be you.

Her chest shudders and shudders, and she kisses you in a vain effort to quiet her own body, to quiet yours. She has all this faith she's pouring right down your throat as you rock the last of your orgasm into her twitching heat, spilling and spilling and spilling, not caring about the wetness leaking onto the carpet. Not bothering to mask the obscene slickness, how everything gets completely fucking sopping between the two of you.

When she's practically drooling over you, eyelids growing heavy and fluttering, Minju sags heavily into the bend of your arms. In that shallow heaving and gasping for air that bathes the both of you - blissed the hell out, a lazy tangle of limbs - and without warning she turns to speak into your neck, her breath cooling, like a whisper of a dream:

“Okay, and already… I guess this isn’t entirely-”

“Completely terrible,” you offer after you swallow the dryness in your mouth.

Minju smiles into your shoulder. “And sir, in the spirit of honesty and transparency, I think I - I think I really did want - this - you - the entire thing…”

You stop her there, right in the middle of that particular train wreck. A drop in your voice, and the message is clear, when your mouth works its way to hers.

(No more of her talking like that.

Besides, she looks even better on your lips like this, and fuck, doesn’t Minju taste like you will have to remember, like a little bit like desperation, but only in the way that it has you both completely hopeless, hanging on to every whimper as your cock slides lazily about her well-fucked pussy, a bit deeper, a bit further.)

Like there is something far beyond professionalism guiding the hand with which you hold her hip and let her ass spill through the gaps of your fingers.

It’s all mixed up, how in this exact moment you figure this is a terrible, terrible idea, the worst kind of agreement, this pact - because no one could look at you, could look at either of you and have any doubts in mind now. But you can see it, how you’ll both wear this little agreement like the most beautiful stain in your histories. Even though it might, conceivably, cost one or both of you dearly at some point in time.

And yet, still.

"Will you - can I - can you..."

She's clinging onto you with all her remaining energy, like she wants to see it through.

But her eyes - the poor thing - her expression is melting into this haze, her face contorted in something like pain and something else entirely: a different kind of satisfied glimmer. It's almost unreadable how that sharp mouth softens at the edges as her cunt gives this small flutter over the head of your cock, as you pump her so full, threatening to overflow.

And in your ear, you catch this little whisper. It says, “please, let me show you,” she's practically purring, “let me, let me - I'm gonna clean you up now, lick my cum right off you.”

It's true. Minju can act and perform and pose and make faces, for a shit ton of people - but she’ll play-act any facade you might ask her to, and she'll do it for you - because, this time around, all you ask her is this:

To be yours.

To be a good girl for you, an obedient little thing, in your private audience, away from the cameras and the lights, away from everyone.

When her knees hit the carpet, she is perfectly between your legs, palms on your hips and fingers splaying out against you.

And when she tries her damnedest like this, no one should bother ever pretending to think differently - least of all, you - and certainly, not while your cock is hardening again in the wet heat of her mouth, under the curl of her tongue, the gentle touches of her fingers -

How can anyone ever bring themselves to tell her that she isn't completely, indisputably the greatest.

(The very, fucking best.

And in every other way: the woman of your dreams. A woman, you realize, you ought to endeavor to keep, in all manners, and forever.

Minju, who could probably do anything, and you, who just might be able to give it to her.)

#minju smut #izone smut #kpop smut #male reader #kpop fanfic #male reader smut #izone minju smut

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proxima-writes · 5 months

Text

title: my tears ricochet | part i

pairing: husband's best friend!joel miller x female reader

rating: chapter - t; full work - explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 7k

summary: after moving from new york to texas with your fiance, you expect to jump right into wedding planning with his help. when he claims to be too busy, he suggests asking his best friend, joel miller, to help you instead.

you weren't supposed to fall in love with him.

author's note: this story is a three part fic inspired by the song "my tears ricochet" by taylor swift. this first part is reader's POV, part two will be joel's POV, and the third part will be dual POV. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging or commenting!

chapter tags: modern au, infidelity, emotional abuse, the fiance is shitty, no use of y/n, single POV (reader), wedding dress shopping and other wedding planning activities, angst, arguing, alcohol consumption/mention, kissing, no smut. please let me know if i've missed any!

major work tags: modern au, infidelity, explicit sexual content, character death

You stare out at the manicured yard, watching as guests move about the grounds and waiters in black uniforms carry trays of food and drinks through the crowd. Your boyfriend -- wait, no, fiancé -- Alex laughs boisterously with your father, a hand on his back in easy familiarity. You know you should be down there with him given that this is your engagement party, but you were starting to feel overwhelmed by the constant smiling and greeting strangers and showing off your shiny new engagement ring that you needed a break.

The door opens and a man you don't recognize steps into the room, pale blue dress shirt stretched tight across his broad chest and a pair of wrinkled dress pants. He runs a hand through his messy dark curls.

"Sorry, I didn't think anyone would be in here," he says. As he looks you over, his brown eyes go wide with surprise. "Shit, you're the bride!"

You smile at him. "That's me," you reply. You hold a hand out towards him as you give him your name, his rough palm sliding against yours as he grips it firmly.

"I'm Joel Miller," he tells you. You know the name well, being that he's your fiancé's best friend. "Didn't mean to make our first time meetin' so awkward."

"No, no, it's not your fault. I've just been feeling a little overwhelmed with all the," you wave your hand towards the window, "festivities. It's great to finally meet you."

"I don't blame ya. They can get pretty stuffy down there. Congrats, by the way."

"Thank you." He lets go of your hand. "So, why are you hiding?"

He laughs, deep and full bellied. "Alex's mom doesn't like me much. I'm sure she was hopin' that we would stop bein' friends when he went to school on the other side of the country, but I’m like a stubborn tick."

"How could she not like you, Alex told me that the two of you have been best friends since kindergarten!"

"There may have been a few mishaps in high school," he says. "You ever tried eggin' your principal's house?"

"Can't say that I have," you reply.

"Well, it doesn't end well if you get caught." He looks out the window with a smile on his face. "We got arrested. Alex's dad had to bail us out. Probably had to throw some hush money around so that it wouldn't show up on his record when he applied to school."

"He's never told me that!" You say, laughing hard enough around the words that your stomach hurts.

The door opens and this time, Alex himself steps into the room. His serious expression morphs into a smile when he sees you and Joel.

"There you are," he says, crossing the room to kiss your cheek. He greets Joel with a hug, patting his back roughly. "What are you two doing in here?"

"I just needed a minute alone," you tell him.

"And I crashed her minute alone. Told her about the time we got arrested in high school," Joel adds. Alex's jaw tenses, his smile tight as his eyes flick to you, like he's worried about your reaction. "She laughed. It's all good."

"Right. Well, I came to find you because its time for the toast and dinner," Alex says. "Let's get back down to our guests."

A hand at the small of your back urges you towards the door before you can reply.

"Alex, are you listening to me?" You ask. Your fiancé looks up from his phone.

"I'm sorry, baby, I was finishing an e-mail," he says. He sets his phone down on the table, dark screen facing up, and gives you his full attention. "What were you saying?"

"I wanted to schedule the cake tasting. Do you have any free time this week?"

He grimaces. "I don't think I do, sweetheart. Your dad's got my schedule pretty packed."

"I can just ask him to--"

"No," he says sternly. "You know I have to make a good impression with the rest of the firm."

"But--"

"Babe, no. I can't do this week. Why don't you ask my mom? Or Joel?"

While your future mother-in-law is kind enough, you don't have much patience for the way she tries to take control of your wedding planning. Joel, however, might be a good idea. He knows Alex well enough to be a stand in for a decision like cake and icing flavors.

"Could you give me Joel's number?"

Alex smiles, seemingly pleased that he's off the hook as he takes his phone in hand and sends you his best friend's phone number.

You meet Joel at the bakery that week. To your surprise he's there before you, dressed in worn jeans and a t-shirt and he smiles brightly at you as you approach.

"Hey," he says. "Ready to eat some cake?"

"I think this will be my favorite part of planning this whole wedding," you reply. He laughs as he pulls the door open for you to step inside, following in behind you.

"Welcome to Buttercup Bakery! Can I help y'all with anything?" A young woman with a name tag reading BEVERLY asks from behind the counter, pink and white apron tied around her waist.

"I have a cake tasting appointment," you reply, giving her your name for the reservation.

"Excellent! If you want to go ahead and take a seat anywhere you'd like, I'll bring out the tasting options and we'll get you squared away in no time!"

She disappears through swinging doors as you and Joel take a seat at a pink acrylic table with matching chairs. He looks around the shop with interest.

"What made you pick this place?" He asks.

"Had the best reviews," you say with a shrug. His brow furrows.

"Alex didn't suggest it? He helpin' you at all with this weddin'?"

He says it with a laugh, but the question makes you dig your fingernails into your palm. "He's just really busy with work. I've been doing a lot of the planning."

“What about your uh, what are they called? Bridesmaids?”

“They’re all back in New York. It’s just me.”

“I thought your parents were here, too? Isn’t Alex workin’ with your dad now?”

“It’s just my dad, he’s back in New York. His partner opened a firm in Austin and Alex is working with that office. He’s hoping to make partner soon, too.”

Joel nods, eyes scanning your face but you keep your expression as neutral as possible. The swinging doors open and Beverly returns with a marble tray, bites of cake artfully arranged on the surface. She sets it on the table between you and Joel.

“Okay! These are our six most popular flavor combinations for you to start with and if there’s something more custom you have in mind, we can totally make that happen,” she says. “Starting at the top, we have classic vanilla with vanilla buttercream, chocolate cake with chocolate ganache and chocolate buttercream, our signature champagne cake with strawberry buttercream, lemon cake with lavender buttercream, caramel cake with caramel mocha buttercream, and white chocolate cake with raspberry jam and white chocolate raspberry buttercream.”

Joel grins at you. “This might be the best thing anyone has ever asked me to help with.”

“I’ll leave you guys to it,” Beverly says with a wink, walking back to the counter.

“I don’t know which to start with,” you say, eyes scanning the selections.

“That chocolate one is callin’ my name,” Joel replies, spearing one of the chocolate cake bites with a fork and taking a bite. He hums appreciatively. “Oh yeah, that one is a winner.”

You choose the vanilla to start, taking a bite of the moist cake with buttercream that tastes strongly of vanilla bean with a hint of cinnamon. The simplicity makes it good, but overall the flavor doesn't stand out to you. Joel continues to take bites seemingly at random while you opt to go around the tray in the order that Beverly introduced the flavors.

"Any of them stickin' out to you?" Joel asks when you've reached the half-way point.

"They're all delicious," you reply. "I think Alex would probably like the vanilla best, though."

"I didn't ask what Alex would like, I asked if there were any that you liked." He spears the remaining piece of white chocolate raspberry with his fork and holds it up to you. "Here, try this one next."

You eye the fork dubiously. "I don't think--"

Joel slips the bite of cake into your mouth despite your interrupted disagreement, smiling at you triumphantly. You chew the bite begrudgingly.

"I think that one and the chocolate one are my favorite," Joel says as you swallow.

Beverly returns at that moment, a notepad in hand as she pulls up a third chair to the tiny bistro table.

“So? What are your thoughts?”

“I think I’m going to get the vanilla,” you tell her. Joel’s jaw ticks, almost like he’s upset you’ve chosen the flavor that you said Alex would like. “But, could I get alternating tiers of the white chocolate raspberry, too?”

Joel’s lips quirk up in a small smile and you try to ignore the way it makes your stomach flip.

Joel: Have you picked flowers yet?

Not yet.

Joel: I know a place. You busy today?

You stare the at the message in surprise. You weren’t expecting to hear from Joel again, but his name on your screen has you fighting back a smile.

I’m not busy. When did you want to go?

Joel: They open at noon. Here’s the address.

“Baby, have you seen my blue tie?” Alex calls from upstairs. You drop your phone to the counter like you’ve been caught doing something wrong.

“Which one?” You reply, pressing a hand to your chest.

“The plaid one!”

“Should be in your tie drawer!”

“It’s not here!”

You pinch your nose, making your way to the stairs to join him in your shared bedroom. He’s standing in front of his tie drawer, hands on his hips as he stares at the contents. You peek over his shoulder and reach into the back, pulling out the neatly folded blue and green patterned tie.

He takes it from your hand. “That one should be towards the front. Can you remember that next time you put away dry cleaning?”

“Sure.” You bite your lip to hold back the sigh that threatens to spill. “You want me to tie it for you?”

“No, thanks, I need it to be perfect. Big meeting,” he says, his lips tilted in a smile that feels condescending. He leans into you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” you murmur, watching his back as he enters the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

Joel is waiting outside of a dark green storefront when you arrive at the address he’d sent you. He smiles when he sees you, a true one that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, and it gives you this strange feeling of emptiness because you can’t remember the last time Alex smiled at you like that.

When you’re close enough, he pulls you into a hug that envelops you in strong arms and the scent of woods at nightfall with a hint of citrus. Your eyes flutter shut as you hug him back and breathe him in.

He releases you and immediately you feel a chill in losing his warmth despite the oppressive Texas heat. You look at the shop as he steps back, taking in the gorgeous floral arrangements in the window and cursive script painted on the glass that says PETAL TO THE METAL.

Joel opens the door to the shop, a brass bell ringing to announce your entrance. A man at the counter in the center of the store looks up and grins at you both.

“Joel! Nice to see you,” the man says. You watch as they shake hands with familiarity, the man behind the counter smiling kindly. “You must be the bride. I’m Frank.”

You give Joel a look of surprise before introducing yourself and shaking Frank’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Do you two know each other?”

“Joel’s an old friend of ours.”

“Ours?”

A back door bangs open, someone emerging with their arms so full of potted plants you can’t see their face. A deep voice let’s out a series of curses.

“This is my partner, Bill,” Frank says. “He’s not much of a people person. Great with plants, though.”

“A little help would be nice,” Bill grunts. Frank rolls his eyes but leaves the counter to take a couple pots from Bill’s hands, revealing a man with long brown hair and a grizzled expression hidden amongst a thick beard. Frank leans in and kisses his cheek.

“You need only ask,” Frank says. Bill’s cheeks turn pink beneath his thick facial hair. Despite the annoyed expression on his face, his eyes are soft as he watches Frank. “Let me grab you the event portfolio and we can talk about your wedding. Have a look around.”

As Frank leaves and Bill busies himself arranging the new plants, you and Joel wander the shop and take in aisles and shelves of different flowers with little gold name cards in their pots or on their buckets.

“So,” Joel says, “How are you liking Austin?”

“It’s…hot,” you reply. “Really, really hot.”

“That’s the south for ya, sweetheart.”

Your face grows hot at the endearment and how it seemed to just roll off his tongue. “Have you lived in Austin your whole life?”

“Texas born n’ bred,” he says proudly, puffing his chest out.

“You never wanted to live anywhere else?”

“I’ve always thought Wyoming sounded nice. A farm that I built, some sheep, no neighbors for miles,” he says wistfully. “Maybe someday.”

“Building a farm, huh? You good with your hands, Joel?”

He blinks at you. “Y-yeah. I mean, I’m a contractor. I gotta be.”

“That’s impressive,” you tell him, biting your lip to hold back your laughter at his flustered response.

Frank approaches, lifting a heavy book in his hands. “You ready to pick some flowers?”

Joel holds the door open for you as the two of you leave the flower shop an hour later. He waves goodbye to Bill and Frank with a promise to visit them for dinner soon before following you down the sidewalk.

“You wanna get lunch?” Joel offers. “My treat.”

You pull your phone from your pocket to check your messages and finding none from Alex, you think to yourself, why not?

“Sure,” you agree.

That's how you find yourself sitting on a bench in the park with Joel Miller, your husband's best friend, talking to him about everything and nothing as you eat street tacos from a food truck nearby. He makes you laugh so hard you choke on birria, the sauce dripping down your chin. He reaches out, wiping the mess with a brown napkin while he smiles so bright it puts the sun to shame.

Later that night, while you're in bed, you can't help but think today was the best day you've had in a long time.

And you're not sure what that means.

You begin texting Joel regularly. You ask him for his opinion on things that Alex can’t be bothered with — the suit colors for the groomsmen (navy blue), the invitation stationary (the linen finish), and favors (miniature bottles of hot sauce - Joel assures you this will be a hit with the Texas crowd). In between those conversations, he sends you pictures from his construction sites or asks you how your day has been and whether you had gotten the chance to check out that show he recommended.

When you tell Alex about the wedding decisions you've made, leaving out the extent of Joel's help, he hums and nods at the appropriate intervals, feigning attentiveness while his thumb moves rapidly across his phone screen. It should bother you, you think, that your future husband is so uninvolved with planning his own wedding, but then your own phone lights up with Joel’s name and a goofy photo he sent from a construction site, his hard hat askew on his head and his eyes crossed, and your annoyance with Alex fades into background noise.

There’s one last item on your checklist that you’re more nervous to ask Joel for help with than the others — dress shopping. You could probably fly back to New York and be with your friends for the momentous occasion but you’re certain that Alex wouldn’t appreciate your absence for something he considers so frivolous.

Not that you say anything when he’s gone for his golfing trips.

You’re staring at Joel’s contact screen, working up the nerve to call him and ask him if he’d be willing to come dress shopping with you, when it lights up with an incoming call, his name at the top of the screen like just your thoughts summoned him. You answer on the third ring.

“Hey, I was just about to call you,” you tell him.

“So that’s why my ears were itchin’,” he laughs. “You need somethin’?”

You take a steadying breath. “I just have one more thing I need help with and then you won’t have to deal with me.”

“I don’t mind helpin’ you, sweetheart.” You stomach flutters at the nickname and he clears his throat to fill the loaded silence that follows his words. “Now, tell me what you need.”

“Could you come dress shopping with me?”

“That all? Just tell me where and when,” he says. You breathe a sigh of relief, giving him the details of the appointment you made at a local boutique. He promises to meet you there this weekend before hanging up.

The word sweetheart in Joel’s deep voice echoes through your mind for the rest of the day.

Joel looks hilariously out of place on the pristine white couch located in the middle of the dress boutique, a dainty glass of champagne held in his large hand. You sit beside him, your legs touching as you watch the sales associate flit around the store, pulling hangers of dresses from the racks.

“That’s a lot of dresses,” Joel comments, taking a sip of champagne.

“You not up for the challenge?” You tease. He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his wide smile.

“Trust me, I’m up for the challenge. We’re goin’ to find you the best damn weddin’ dress Texas has ever seen,” he promises.

“Alright, I’ve got some gorgeous choices here for you,” the associate announces, holding up a handful of ivory hangers draped in all types of fabric from satin to chiffon. “You wanna follow me and we’ll get started?”

You follow her to the fitting room and she sets the hangers on a rack, fanning out the dresses so that you can get a better look. There’s five of them in a variety of styles, including an impressive ball gown boasting layers of tulle that trails to the floor.

“I’ll try that one first,” you tell her, pointing to ball gown.

“What’s your fiancé’s name?” She asks as you undress, taking the gown from the hanger and arranging it on the floor for you to step into it.

“Alex,” you reply. She drags the bodice up and instructs you to hold it to your chest while she laces up the corset back.

“I think it’s sweet that you’ve brought him with you.”

“Oh, no. That’s Joel, he’s my husband’s best friend.”

“Really?” She asks, the strings tightening around your waist. “The way you two look at each other, I would have bet money he was the one marrying you." You're about to ask what she means when she finishes tying off the bodice and says, "Wow, this dress is stunning on you."

Her comment retreats to the back of your mind as you look at yourself in the mirror. The strapless white gown hugs your chest and waist, flaring out into a layered skirt with lace appliques. There's beading on the sweetheart neckline that trails down the bodice in intricate patterns that catch the light of the fitting room. The dress is stunning.

Marnie leads you back out to the showroom, helping you step up onto a raised platform in front of a trifold mirror that shows you your reflection from multiple angles. You twist and turn, taking in all the details of it before finally facing Joel.

"Damn," Joel says. "That sure is one hell of a dress."

"It's...a lot." You twist your hips from side to side, the heavy skirt swishing across the floor. "I feel like a cupcake and I don't know if I'll be able to dance in it."

"You wanna test it out?"

He's standing before you can respond, reaching a hand into yours to guide you down from the pedestal. When you're on the floor, he wraps an arm around your low back, pulling you close while swaying side to side.

The world around you goes a little blurry and the only thing in perfect clarity is Joel. The feel of his hand in yours, the weight of his arm at the small of your back, the clean smell of soap and citrus, everything is just....Joel.

"How's it feel?" He asks, voice low. You tilt your head back to look up at his face.

"Huh?"

"The dress...dancin'...how's it feel?"

The question drags you back to reality, where you're currently dancing around a bridal salon with a man who isn't your fiance. You pull away from him, returning to the pedestal as the bridal associate joins the two of you again.

"Uh...I don't think this is the dress for me. Can we try the next one?"

You try on two other dresses in quick succession, neither of them leaving a lasting impression. It's the fourth dress that really gives you pause as you look at yourself in the fitting room mirror.

"Honey," the associate says, adjusting the off-the-shoulder sleeves of the dress, "This dress was made for you."

The scooped neckline highlights the lines and curves of your neck and shoulders, the corset bodice hugging your curves in satin folds. The skirt fans out from the waist, similar to the silhouette of the ball gown without all the additional weight and fabric and a thigh high slit allows for some extra movement.

She leads you back out into the showroom and helps you once more onto the pedestal. You grin at your reflection as she fixes the skirt into place.

"Well?" You ask, catching Joel's eye in the mirror. His mouth is set in a serious line, brows pinched together and his arms crossed over his chest. You own smile falters. "You don't like it? What's with the look?"

He shakes his head, his serious expression morphing into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "You look..." His voice trails off and he clears his throat. "Alex is a lucky son of a bitch."

You laugh, lifting the skirt so that you can step off the pedestal. Joel's eyes drop, his gaze fixing on the skirt as you walk towards him.

"You think so?" You ask quietly, stepping in close.

"Yeah, sweetheart," he murmurs. A single finger runs down your arm, goosebumps erupting over your skin in its wake. "I know so."

With the wedding plans finalized, your attention returns to your work as a web design consultant. Your client portfolio starts to build once more, keeping you busy in the months leading up to your big day. Alex remains focused on his work at the firm, working long days and longer nights that have him arriving home well after you've gone to bed, the two of you just ships passing in the dark. You would feel lonely, you think, if not for Joel.

The two of you still message each other frequently, though you don't see him again until a month before the wedding, when Alex invites him over for dinner one Saturday night.

The doorbell rings just as you put the chicken in the oven and you wipe your hands before going to answer it, your heart racing. Joel's sweet smile greets you when you open the door and seeing him across the threshold has the tension in your shoulders easing the slightest bit.

He steps across the threshold, strong arms wrapping around your waist in a tight hug. Footsteps on the stairs have him releasing you far sooner than you would have liked.

"Joel, my man! Glad you could make it," Alex says as he reaches the first floor. "Honey, is the table set?"

"No, not yet," you reply.

"You need any help?" Joel asks. You open your mouth to respond, but Alex jumps in to say, "No, she's got this. Let me give you the tour."

You watch as Alex leads Joel upstairs, commanding his friend's attention. You swallow down the anger that rises in your throat at your fiancé's dismissal and return to the kitchen, gathering the place settings and arranging the table to his liking.

"It's a nice place," Joel says as the two men enter the living room, which opens to the kitchen and dining areas.

"All that work finally paying off," Alex comments. You roll your eyes, fighting the urge to mention that you were the one who fronted the down payment for Alex's choice of home in Texas. The oven beeps and you pull out the chicken parmesan that had been baking.

"Smells good," Joel comments. You look up, catching his eye. A wordless understanding passes between you, a quiet appreciation that makes your blood run hot.

You plate the food while your fiancé uncorks a bottle of wine and pours it into the wine glasses at each place setting. Alex settles in at head of the table and Joel takes the seat to the left, leaving you with the seat to Alex's right, across from Joel.

The three of you make small talk between bites of dinner and sips of wine. Alex asks Joel about the contracting work he's been doing, Joel asks him about his work at the new office and how he's settling in, being back in his home state. It's halfway through dinner that Joel looks to you and asks, "Are you excited for the wedding next month?"

"Of course," you reply, fingers tangling in the cloth napkin resting across your lap. "Planning it was a labor of love."

"Right, thanks for helping her with the cake, man," Alex chimes in.

Joel chuckles. "Helped with a lot more than just the cake."

"What do you mean?" Alex asks, glancing between the two of you.

"Well, I helped get the flowers, the cake, pickin' out the stationary. Dress shoppin'," Joel clarifies. Your stomach drops as Alex's jaw grows tense, his brow pinched as he nods and pastes on a forced smile.

"Wow, I didn't realize you'd been so involved," Alex says. He removes the napkin from his lap, setting it on the table. "Would you excuse us for a second?"

Alex stands, looking down at you expectantly. You smile at him and Joel in turn, but the expression feels hollow and you taste bile in the back of your throat. As soon as you're on your feet, Alex has a strong hand wrapped around your wrist, urging you along behind him as he makes his way towards the stairs.

Once he's reached your shared bedroom, he turns to you, eyes filled with rage. “What the fuck is that about?”

“What do you mean?” You ask. He laughs, the sound devoid of any humor.

“He helped you pick out your dress?” Alex paces the length of the bedroom like a caged animal and for the first time in your relationship with him, a frisson of fear courses through your veins. “You can’t possibly be that fucking stupid?”

“Excuse me?” You snap. “You told me to ask him for his help!”

“With the cake!” Alex shouts. “Not the entire goddamn wedding! Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

“You weren’t exactly offering much help, Alex!”

His eyes narrow. “I thought you would be perfectly capable of planning shit on your own, but I guess that was giving you too much credit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask. “Why are you being such a fucking asshole right now?”

“Because you’re my fiancé, not Joel’s!” He steps in close, towering above you as he hisses, “Did you fuck him?”

“No!” You shout.

His eyes search yours and whatever he finds seems to extinguish his anger, his coiled muscles loosening. He grips your shoulders, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “Why don’t you head back downstairs and I’ll stay up here for a minute to cool off, okay?”

The sudden switch leaves your head spinning but you manage to nod. Alex kisses your forehead and you take that as your cue to leave, escaping the confines of your room. In the hall, you grip the banister of the loft that overlooks the living room and take the first real breath in what feels like ages, your eyes squeezed shut as you try to calm your racing heart.

You return to the kitchen and Joel’s head snaps up when you enter. He rises from his seat at the table, rushing to your side.

“Are you okay?” He asks, low voice filled with concern, his brows pinched with worry. “What the fuck was that?”

“Just a misunderstanding,” you murmur, pushing past him.

“That’s bullshit,” he hisses. “Is he always like that?”

“Like what?” You sigh.

“An asshole. Yellin’ and threatenin’ you.” His fists are clenched at his sides. “He ever hit you?”

“What? No, of course not.” You take a deep breath, beating back the wave of tears pressing at the corners of your eyes. “He’s just got a lot going on with the move and work and the wedding.”

Joel is quiet, watching you with keen brown eyes that you, for once, wish weren’t focused on you. He steps close, voice low as he says, “Be honest with me, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine, Joel,” you tell him. The lie claws at your throat and sends your stomach into a tailspin. “I promise.”

Footsteps echo on the stairs and you step away from Joel, busying yourself with loading the dishwasher, clearing the counters, anything to keep your hands occupied and stop their shaking. Alex enters the kitchen with a sharp smile.

“Hey, man, sorry about that,” he says, clapping Joel on the shoulder. “I think we’re ready to call it a night. Ain’t that right, honey?”

You force yourself to keep your eyes on Alex as you smile and say, “Yeah, baby.”

“Let me walk you out, Joel,” Alex says. “Honey, say bye.”

“Goodbye, Joel.”

Joel: Hey

Joel: You having a good week?

Joel: Been a while. You doing okay?

Joel: You’ve been quiet

Joel: I need to know you’re okay.

Joel: Just let me know

Joel: Please

“Just two more days until you’re my wife,” Alex says, pressing a kiss to your lips. He smiles at you and you mirror the expression as best you can.

“I can't wait,” you reply.

"I gotta get going," Alex says. He presses a kiss to your cheek as he passes where you're sitting at the bar. "Love you."

"Love you," you repeat, out of reflex more than affection.

The front door slams shut and quiet settles over the house. All you want to do is crawl back into bed and pull the covers over your head in the hopes that it protects you from the way time continues to creep forward despite your uncertainties. Maybe, if you lay there long enough, time will move on without your involvement.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a heavy knock at the door. You’re not sure who it could be — your dad is scheduled to fly into town in the late afternoon and your friends arrive early tomorrow morning and you’re fairly certain you don’t have any deliveries scheduled. Sliding from the bar stool, you leave the kitchen to answer the door.

Joel stands on the other side of the threshold, haloed by the morning sun. For a brief moment, you wonder if you’re dreaming.

“What are you doing here?” You finally ask.

“Can I come in?” He replies, running a hand through his already messy hair. “I need to talk to you.”

You step aside and allow him to enter the hallway, shutting the door behind him. You avoid his gaze as you return to the living room with him following behind you. The silence that settles between the two of you makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

"Why haven't you been talkin' to me?" Joel asks. He takes a step closer, brown eyes searching yours for an answer you try to keep hidden.

"I've been busy," you say.

"Cut the bullshit," he snaps, surprising you. "Is it because of what happened at dinner?"

"No," you reply. Joel must sense the brief hesitation, hear the weakness in your voice. His eyes go soft, full of pity, and you can't fucking stand it. "Don't look at me like that."

"Look, I've known Alex a long time, and all those years weren't exactly peachy," he says cryptically. "I love him like a brother but even family ain't without faults.” He steps in close, his hands cradling your face in a delicate grip. “Tell me this is what you want," he demands. "Tell me that you're happy with Alex. Tell me that there's nothin' here between us."

The words are there, right on the tip of your tongue, but nothing can bring them to life. Your heart beats a frantic rhythm against your ribcage, the rush of blood in your ears the only thing you can hear. He leans closer, eyes dropping to your lips and you know what's about to happen next but you can't bear the thought of stopping him as he closes the scant distance between your mouths.

For the briefest moment, you allow yourself the chance to just feel. No thoughts, no panic, no worry. Just Joel's warm lips moving against yours, the trace of his palm from you cheek to behind your head, pulling you closer even though you're already tightly pressed to him. It's slow and deep, like he's trying to convince you down to your marrow that this is where you're supposed to be.

But it's not.

You push him away and he doesn't fight you, but the look he gives you damn near shatters your resolve. His eyes are dark, jaw tense, hands flexing at his sides like he's fighting the urge to reach out and pull you back, damn the consequences. Your eyes and throat burn with the effort of holding back the tears that threaten to spill.

"You need to leave," you whisper. "You can't do this, we can't do this. I'm getting married in two days, Joel!"

He runs a hand through his hair, pulling on the strands in frustration. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't lay awake at night thinkin' what a fuckin' asshole I am for fallin' in love with my best friend's fiancé?!" He shouts.

"This isn't love, Joel--"

"Don't," he snaps. "Don't you lie to me. I know it, you know it, hell, the fuckin' lady at the dress shop knew it!" He takes a deep breath. "I'm showin' you my whole hand here and you won't even lay down a goddamn card!"

"There is no card!" You shout.

"You kissed me back!" He counters.

You stare at each other for a long moment, like two scared, wounded animals. Eventually, one of you has to back down, retreat, lick their wounds until they've healed in a messy pattern of scar tissue that will serve as a painful reminder of what could have been.

Joel sighs, another pass of his hand through his hair as he says, "You know what? Fine." He turns to leave, the line of his shoulder lower, his head low.

A glutton for punishment, you call out, "Joel?"

"Yeah?" He asks, weary. Bone tired. You feel it, too.

"Will you still be there tomorrow?" You ask, unsure of which answer would be worse.

Another sigh. "Yeah. I'll be there."

The door slams shut behind him.

Your rehearsal dinner is torture.

This should be one of the happiest events of your life but all your energy is being directed at avoiding Joel like the plague. He moves through the crowd comfortably, having known many people in attendance for most of his life, and you feel like an unmoored boat, hoping a wave doesn't crash over you.

Alex sits beside you, drinking from a glass of whiskey as he talks to one of his uncles that has been praising him for landing the opportunity to work with such a prestigious law firm right after college. A dizzying rotation of people approach you through the night - friends who chatter excitedly about the big day tomorrow, aunts who ask when you think you'll have children, uncles who tell you that they're proud of you for landing such a successful, promising young man. It's those last comments that have you hiding a frown in your champagne glass.

It drags on forever, this constant stream of polite conversation and forced smiles. When you finally return to the hotel that you're staying at for the night, you start to feel like you can breathe again. You have a suite separate from Alex's for getting ready early in the morning and he walks you to your room, hand on your low back, a smile on his face.

"I'll see you in the morning," he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. "My almost wife."

The sentiment has bile rising in your throat and as he turns to leave you're blurting the words, "I can't do this."

"Sweetheart, you're just nervous," he says, voice surprisingly calm. He squeezes your shoulders. "You just need to sleep it off and everything will be fine in the morning."

"No," you tell him, shaking your head. "No, it won't be fine."

His smile drops, like a mask has just been removed. "Where is this coming from? Everything was fine at the rehearsal."

"Everything was not fine at the rehearsal!"

Alex takes the room key from your hands, unlocked the door and ushering you inside. He flicks on the light to the sitting area and takes a seat on the couch.

"What's going on with you?" He asks, exasperation dripping from his words. "What do you mean the rehearsal wasn't fine? Did you not like the food or something?"

You stare at him incredulously. "The problem wasn't the food, Alex! The problem is us!"

"There's no problem with us," he says. "Unless there's something you want to tell me?"

"What do you mean?" You ask.

He stands, coming close. "Is this about Joel?"

"No!" You snap, perhaps too quickly. "This isn't about Joel."

"Then what is it? Because as far as I know, we're a perfectly happy couple."

"Perfectly happy? Alex, you didn't even help me plan this wedding. Not a single minute of it."

"Not this again," he groans. "Sweetheart, let it go. I'm sorry, okay? Is that what you need to hear?"

Your jaw aches with how hard your teeth grind together as he dismisses you so easily. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth steadies you enough to say, "I'm not marrying you."

"Baby, please," Alex says. For the first time, he sounds panicked. "Don't make any rash decisions, alright? Whatever this is, we can work through it. If I lose you, I lose everything."

Maybe he's right. Maybe the stress of the last few months has just caught up to you.

"Okay," you whisper. He breathes a sigh of relief and presses another kiss to your temple.

"I love you," he says. "Everything will be okay after tomorrow. You'll see."

You don't say anything back, and he doesn't wait around for a response. He leaves your suite, the click of the door shutting loud in the late night silence. You stand there for who knows how long, wondering if he's right. Would everything be alright after tomorrow? Could you sweep those lingering feelings for Joel to the side in favor of the life you'd been building for the last few years?

You know what the safe choice is, but is it the right choice?

It's the morning of your wedding day and you've been poked and prodded with makeup brushes and your hair has been perfectly styled for the occasion. Flashbulbs have been going off on the cameras that are documenting your special day, capturing moments like your bridesmaids helping you into your dress and your dad's first look, a handkerchief clutched in his hand as he smiled at you.

For the first time in hours, you're alone in your suite. The makeup artist and hair stylists have packed up and taken their leave and your friends are downstairs, waiting for the limousine. You told them you would be just a minute longer.

A soft knock at your door has you realizing that you may have taken too long and you shout an apology as you rush to answer it. But it's not one of your friends on the other side like you had expected.

It's Joel.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. His hair is styled, curls smoothed and slicked back into submission. His white shirt is a stark contrast to his navy blue tuxedo, matching bow tie tight around his neck. His boutonnière is slightly crooked where it sits pinned to his jacket lapel. He looks you up and down with a small smile.

"You look beautiful," he says. He reaches for your hand, fingers tangling with yours. Never quite folding together, but never quite letting go, either.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"Are you ready?" He asks. You wonder if he knows, if Alex told him or if he can just see it on your face.

"Yes."

It's a lie, one you've been repeating since your alarm went off this morning after a night of tossing and turning. His smile falters, but doesn't drop.

"Good, that's....good," he says. His hand leaves yours, and you feel like you've had an entire unspoken conversation that's left you both defeated. "Lets go get you married."

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