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the-californicationist · 3 months

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Please! I need the part 2 of “Captain Price opens a package, thinking it’s intel, but it’s a sex pollen.“ I'm on my kneesss pleaseee it was so good! 😭♥️

Anyways, I'm your new follower 😍, and some of the stories you write is just so damn good😍 (Sorry for bad grammar's, English isn't really my first language, uwu)

im sorry but idk what a part two even looks like. i know a lot of people have asked for it but its... just some couch sex?? idk i'll try.

Laswell clicked the door shut behind her, and part of you wished she had locked it. Gaz was sure to tell the rest of the team, but you could do without an audience. What would they even see if they barged in here?

The captain had let his cock loose from the confines of his pants, and they were sliding down his thick, muscular ass with every selfish thrust. He was rubbing himself like a naughty dog against your clothed pussy, begging for entrance with every forward movement. Your shirt was pulled down, revealing your breasts, and now they were covered in pink marks from the roughness of his beard as he moved his mouth across you.

Feeling him take each nipple and suck it so gently into his mouth, pulling it in like delicious nectar through a straw, drinking you although you were dry, tasting you even though you had no flavor. It was too much, but he couldn't stop.

You felt a little wrong to be enjoying your commanding officer so much. His humping was making your body respond even as it waited for your guilty conscience to catch up.

"Cap... oh, my fucking God... No, Captain. We shouldn't..." you tried to protest on his behalf, knowing he was being controlled by the powder.

"Corporal," he spoke with his mouth full of your flesh, "I can stop... now. It'll give you... enough time... to run..."

His bright pink eyes flashed up at you in warning and he used both his arms to pin you on either side of your head, forcing you to look at him, the intensity of which went right to your rapidly-melting core.

Suddenly, in a moment of lucidity, he looked you right in your eyes and finished his sentence,

"But that will not be bloody true for long."

As if warning you, he rubbed his hardness up and over your belly, letting it ruck up your shirt, and you felt its incredible heat. It was like a long, steel brand. His skin was smooth, but it was scalding and swollen with his blood. The huge tip left a wet trail of desire wherever it went.

"It's okay, Captain. You can have me if you --"

There mere suggestion of your consent was all he needed to let the dam burst and the river run free. His need crashed from him with an explosive force. He all but ripped your clothes from you, nearly hurting you in the process, making your ankles ache from the sudden pressure as he shucked your pants and boots away in one go.

Your panties were torn from you, sturdy though they were. The fabric made a whining, popping noise as the elastic split. Air rushed across uncovered skin, and your body doubled down on its plans to produce as much natural lubrication as possible. It seemed to know you'd need it.

He didn't touch you. Not with his hands. There was no preparation of any kind. Price fed himself into you like a hand into a glove, a body part in need of sudden and immediate warmth. He took control of your head again, pinning you in that same furious way, and you had a singular view of his face, twisted in a sort of sublime agony as he sank himself into you for the first time.

The pressure was almost unimaginable. Your body was making a lurid, wet, slicking noise as his cock forced you in half. You tried to allow him in, tried to relax, but there was little you could do. He was immense and heavy. It felt like a fist on a strong arm, like a forge hammer, hot and searing. The only thing more tormenting was his voice purring darkly in your ear.

"Fuck, you're warm..."

He pulled himself out of you inch by inch, leaving a terrible hollow where you were once whole.

"Wet for me. So wet. How?"

Back in. And in. And in. It seemed to go forever in and it made you wonder how deep you were.

"It feels so good to have you 'round me, love..."

When the rosy head of him found the end of your wet hole, it sort of... settled there. Locked in, like a key into a tumbler, and each fold of you a lifted pin, fitting him as if you were crafted for it.

"Thought 'bout how you'd feel. Sometimes... dreamt it."

You felt your body give away your surprise. He was too gone to notice it, but not you. You would have been able to feel the planets shift an inch to the left if they dared. You could feel everything. Each and every pore and hair and breath was awake and alive and living in the rawest possible way. Could he have really been thinking of you like you were thinking of him?

"Bloody fuckin' hell. So tight. Too tight."

He was right. It was too tight. He was squeezing himself in with each of these aching, crazed thrusts, shoving himself inside of you hungrily, all the way up to your pounding heart, it seemed. You felt yourself slipping around him like hot oil, running down his shaft and matting the coarse, dark hair that cradled his root.

"John..."

You used his name in place of his title, and he noticed. Noticed it like a hawk notices a hare. Right in your ear, up against your cheek, he responded, too quickly, too much teeth,

"Yes, love. Yes. Yes? Tell me."

He was grunting now, clearly on the edge of his pleasure. You aimed to take him over it, to plunge him into blinding darkness. You whispered, and each word hit its mark like the straight shaft of an arrow, striking into the target one after the other, tearing through the bullseyes like they were nothing but air.

"You're gonna make me come, John."

Again, that unearthly snarl came from his chest, the one you'd never heard before come from the mouth of a man. It was a cry and a scream and a prayer and a plea and had he not been pinning you down prone with his own prostrated body, he would have been growling it from his knees. He commanded you as he worshiped you,

"Give it to me. Give it to me. Give. It. To. Me."

Your body listened before you could even register his words.

From the bones in your hips, you felt your muscles tighten along his iron rod like a fist, closing in on him knuckle by knuckle, and each closure brought you closer to that brink where the darkness turned to blinding white light. You could feel the sparkle of it, that peppery gunpowder flash and then...

"Holy fuck, love..." He stared at you as if you were the sun lighting up his whole life. Like he'd seen you before, all sherbet pink and blazing orange, in the dawn, in the mornings, cutting over the horizon.

Price had come in you. You felt it. It slid along the cleft of your ass and soaked into the fabric of the couch. He didn't mind it. You couldn't. His body was still thrusting as hard and as heavy as before, fucking up into you as if he hadn't just filled you with his thick, hot cream.

"I can't... " he gasped, wrenching his eyes shut, "I can't stop..."

"It's okay, John..."

"I can't bloody stop, love. I'm... fuck, I'm sorry..."

"I'm okay. It's okay," you whispered to him, trying to soothe him.

You pet the hair back over his brow and he leaned into your touch like a cat, purring for more of it. You laced your fingers through his hair and held him tight at his scalp, turning his head so that you could talk to him right into his ear,

"Fuck me how you need to, Captain."

Did you enjoy this tale or maybe some other work by me? Consider buying me a coffee, if you have the means. Kudos, likes, reblogs, and feral comments also work as well ^_^ Thanks!

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superbdonutpoetry · 2 years

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Ah... the Conscience...

Ah… the Conscience…

That forgotten “thing”, that ” small voice” most do not pay attention to in the 21st century, and if it is ignored too many a time, it is seared. 1 Timothy 4:1Now the Spirit speaketh expressly, that in the latter times some shall depart from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits, and doctrines of devils; Conscience: The sense or consciousness of the moral goodness or blameworthiness of…

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#Good #Pure #Seared #The Conscience

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lingerina · 8 months

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➤ g!p wonyoung x fem!reader ➤ pwp, smut, choking, hair pulling, creampie, squirting ➤ 748 words ➤ your roommate had invited a friend over for a study session, but said friend makes it before your roommate does. and what can transpire while you both wait for her to return?

You do not associate with Jang Wonyoung: the campus Barbie, valedictorian, and all-around athletic jock.

You do not associate with an arguably flawless being; your roommate does.

Ahn Yujin, one of Wonyoung’s closest friends who’s equally stellar in all aspects, had invited her over for a study session and a debrief on an upcoming volleyball tournament. She had consulted you about having someone over, so you had expected a visitor today. You just didn’t expect the visitor to be one of the most sought-after campus girls.

You couldn’t look Wonyoung in the eye.

You couldn’t look into her round, doe eyes. Couldn’t look at her gorgeous face.

Yujin has yet to make it home, so you’re stuck with her perfect best friend–tongue-tied and frazzled. From afar, there was no denying her beauty, and it’s further amplified by her confidence and charisma. Heads turn when Jang Wonyoung struts down the walkway, but you could barely allow yourself a glimpse of her in your peripheral view.

And she didn’t seem okay with that.

“Ah-!”

You gasp as she shoves her cock inside you, forcing you up against the kitchen counter that you’re bent over. Her chest presses against your back, long but dainty fingers locking your tresses in a vice grip as she fucks you. Her soft features and pure beauty masquerades the sins of a villainess with the way she had pounced on you, trapped you beneath her, and is now rutting into you with no concern of your roommate possibly bursting through that door.

You had prayed for Yujin to return when Wonyoung’s hand slipped up your flimsy pajama shorts. Now you’re begging for the world to stall her as you’re getting railed–destroyed.

“You like that, huh?,” Wonyoung purrs by your ear after a pause.

Your breath hitches in response, your slick walls suctioning tighter around her with the lack of friction. Your initial pleas and concerns didn’t match your actions, as you had allowed her to get this far. Pathetic, really. You’re even more pathetic now, pinned down with the prettiest girl balls deep inside your weeping cunt. Wonyoung thrives on your helplessness. You’re a person of little words, and it amuses her that you only make so much noise.

“Don’t be shy.”

With a flick of her wrist, she fixes a hold on your hair and jerks your head back. You yelp at the searing pain on your scalp, but it quickly fuses with a moan as her cock is dragged out, then rammed back into you. The force of her hips nearly embed you into the hard, marble surface, but you don’t care. Wonyoung is stretching your cunt deliciously, filling and hitting all the right places that have yet to be reached–even by your own toys.

Wonyoung’s hand wraps around the base of your throat. She forces your head back onto her shoulder and her lips skim over your collarbone, as if your neck hasn’t already been converted into a canvas for her mouth.

You’ve gone beyond your conscience over the pain though. Numbness. Accommodated. You’re already used to it. You’re more fixated on Wonyoung’s pace.

And with vigorous swipes of your clit, your eyes roll back and you clutch the edge of the counter for dear life as you squirt all over her dick. Your clenched walls resist her, but your orgasm ejects her. Her hand doesn’t slack on your engorged clit, however, and she forces you to make a mess everywhere, juices spattering all over the cupboard doors and her fervent digits. Her strength is to be commended because she’s holding you up while you’re writhing and struggling to keep still.

The second you sink onto the counter, she forces her hard cock back into you, minding the orgasm that tore through you a second ago and reducing you to a vessel for her cum as she fucks you. Your pussy has been through hell, heaven, and back, but Wonyoung is fixed on one final thing.

“Fuck!,” she hisses with a drawl, fingertips digging into your hips as she thrusts harder. “Yes, yes, yes!”

You nearly lose your footing when she bottoms out in you, the silent apartment reverberating with Wonyoung’s moans and profanity as she spills inside you. She withdraws her slick-coated dick and shoves back into you with a guttural ‘yes!’, pushing her cum deeper into you. Your brain can barely function now that you’ve been utterly ruined by your roommate’s best friend.

But you don’t regret it.

Not one bit.

#girl group smut #ive smut #wonyoung smut #fem reader #girl group imagines #wonyoung imagines #ive imagines #girl group scenarios #ive scenarios #wonyoung scenarios

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heavenlyraindrops · 1 month

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Father Forgive Me (For I have Sinned) ~ Teaser ♱

Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Song: Eve by Precious Pepala Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Mature Content (its Hazbin, come on guys) Smut (probably idk yet, I will of course warn before it shows up- if it does)

♱♱♱ You, the most virtuous of angels, the kindest soul that had ever graced the ground of Heaven. The Seraphim adored you, the First Man wanted you- you were everything.

You remembered the way the Seraphim had offered to create a third wife for Adam- you were there. He had stared into your eyes as he spoke, addressing the Seraphim.

“I don’t need you to make a third wife.”

You knew how highly the angels thought of you. Sera had told you repeatedly how you were completely Pure in her Judgement, her eyes sparkling with adoration for your virtue. You just smiled sheepishly and did you best to remain humble, which only made them love you more.

Which is what made your fall from grace so shocking.

♱♱♱

[Sneak Peek]

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you muttered, the words feeling alien in your mouth as you paced your living room. Your mind ran through your earlier interaction with Emily. ♱♱♱

“Emily, what do I do if I want to… repent for something?”

Emily’s eyes flashed with concern. “Why, what did you do?”

You knew what she was thinking. Sweet [name] would never commit a sin. Sweet [name] would never have to repent.

“It was just a little thing, I just felt bad about it, and I want to- to clear my conscience.”

Emily tilted her head, her face relaxing as you assured her it wasn’t a big deal. “Sure then. Sera tells me that there’s a confessional on this street-“

You winced, visibly, and her frown reappeared again. “Or,” she continued more slowly, “you could just say a quick prayer at home. ‘Father forgive me, for I have sinned… and then say what you did. Please forgive me.’ Sound good enough for you?”

You nodded. “Thank you, Emily.” And watched her as she turned and walked away, eyes fixated unseeingly onto her back as it disappeared.

♱♱♱ You dropped to your knees as the world lurched around you. You felt like you were going to be sick.

Just say it. Just say the words.

“Father…” Your voice cracked and you trailed off. You glanced out the window, before sitting up properly and tracing the shapes of the clouds againts the glass. How could you say the prayer when you knew, that whatever had happened, you didn’t regret it?

The hollowing pit of despair in your gut only grew deeper as you thought. What would the Seraphim say? You gulped.

You closed your eyes. You couldn’t keep them closed for long- the image of Lucifer was seared across the back of your eyelids. It didn’t matter. The feel of his hand was printed on your wrist. On your waist. The warmth of his lips on yours still lingered. His eyes. Why did he have to be so beautiful? You shuddered.

You knew that you could just forget this, bury it, never visit Lucifer during the exterminations again and continue your life as an angel. But you knew, at the same time, that he was too unforgettable, and it would only be a matter of time before someone found out if you continued- because you could never, ever stop.

“Father forgive me, for I have sinned,” you forced the words out, voice shaking. “I have fallen in love with the Devil.”

♱♱♱

A/N: Stay tuned guys!

Note: if u want to be added to the taglist then just lmk!

Update: Chapter One is now up!

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actuallysaiyan · 1 month

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Age difference with Toji👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻🫦

warnings: dark content, age gap, kissing, nipple play, Toji is a sleazebag, reader and Megumi are in college word count: 0.5k short and sweet pairings: Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader summary: you beg Toji to give you your first kiss, but he has other things in mind

“You really think you could handle me?” Toji asks, his lips curling into a mischievous smile.

You put your hands on your hips, “I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“Oh I know that…”

Toji grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. You have blossomed into a beautiful young lady. He tried desperately to ignore the fact that you turned him on. You’re Megumi’s best friend, for fuck sakes. How is going to live with this on his conscience? Still, here you were, basically serving yourself up on a silver platter.

“Please Toji,” you pout cutely. “I’ve never kissed anyone before. I feel like such a loser.”

His breath hitches in his throat. Never kissed anyone– fuck, why does that make his cock twitch to life? Why does all of this seem to make his blood boil in such a lustful way?

He holds you to his chest, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “I’m going to teach you a lot of things. We better start now, Megumi will be home in a few hours.”

You don’t even get the time to react or say anything. Toji presses his lips to yours in a searing first kiss. Your heart thumps madly in your chest. Your little hands cling to his shirt, tugging him even closer. All sorts of feelings are rushing through you. Feelings you’ve never ever felt before.

“There,” Toji says as he pulls away. “Now ya can say you’ve been kissed before.”

His words are so simple, yet they ring in your mind like your own personal mantra. You’ve been kissed, you’ve been kissed…

He smirks at your reaction. Just from one kiss, and you look fucked out. He figures you’d probably look so cute cumming on his cock. But he’s getting ahead of himself. He needs to teach you all of this so slowly. His large hands come up, cupping your breasts through your soft pink sweater.

“Ready to learn some more, baby girl?”

Your mouth is dry and your brain is blank, yet you still nod. He begins kneading your breasts, leaning in to kiss you so sensually. This time, his tongue slides into your mouth. You let out a cute little mewl, sending electrifying shocks of arousal through his body,

Then you watch with wide eyes as Toji pulls up that cute sweater over your tits and he smirks when he realizes you aren’t wearing a bra. One of his hands grips the shirt and holds it over your tits, while the other swipes his thumb over one of your pebbled nipples. You let out a cute moan, making his cock throb again.

“Fuck, I really love you young girls.” Toji comments before dipping down to capture one of your nipples into his mouth. “Love virgins so much…”

You cry out as he begins suckling on your nipples; he switches from one to the other in quick succession. His cock is aching in his loose sweatpants, throbbing and twitching as he continues to make you feel so good. There’s a steady thrum of arousal between your thighs. Your clit feels so swollen and engorged.

Then Toji looks up at you, his smirk still very apparent on his face. He leans in to kiss you; it’s sloppy and messy and leaves you breathing hard.

“Let’s go into the bedroom, yeah? Maybe I can show you how to suck cock this way.”

#bacon.writes #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji x you

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bonkhrnyjail · 2 months

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sweet plum | chapter five

series masterlist | pinterest board | spotify playlist

pairing: pedro pascal x fem!reader (plus size)

rating: mature (will become explicit in the future)

warnings: n/a in this chapter

summary: pedro needs your help in a pinch

a/n: thank u all again for the support on this story <3 AND ONCE AGAIN FUCK STARBUCKS i wrote this last year and it's ended up being a thread throughout the story but i'm planning on keeping it out of future chapters. i also made a cutie little pinterest board that follows the plot of the story and shows outfit visuals and stuff and a spotify playlist for vibes!!! they are linked if you wanna check them out. xoxoxo<3

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s been almost two months since you’ve seen Pedro.

Not without phone calls, of course. You talk, probably once a week minimum, ever since you met up for burgers that one time. He calls you for advice a lot, and it’s often for things that he probably doesn’t really need advice for. One time he called you to ask if he should get chicken or steak tacos. It was three in the morning.

You started working on a new show that films in town. Your clients are nice, friendly enough, but too self-centered and addicted to social media to pay you any mind. So you just work, chat with the crew, read, and try to fill the time. Most days you’re home by 6pm. Some days your roommate convinces you to go out dancing with her, some days you meet up with friends for dinner or drinks, but most nights you spend at home alone.

Pedro always seems to call at the most inopportune times. Half the time you’re sleeping, which has allowed you to perfect the skill of sounding very alert on the phone, even through your drowsiness. Work has you up at seven, so you aren’t exactly the night owl that you used to be, but Pedro sure as shit still is. And though you’ve shown up to work mid-yawn after many interrupted nights of sleep, you don’t mind. You’re just glad he thinks of you.

Because you think of him. A lot.

You’re curled up now, in the corner of your bed, a white fluffy robe draping across your curves. A mound of pillows and stuffed animals cradles you as you lazily scroll through an endless feed of Instagram stories. You eventually encounter Pedro's story, a repost of an old picture from his Javier Peña days.

Once you start thinking about Pedro it’s hard to stop. Your mind will wander and wind until you've fully immersed yourself in a daydream, completely out of touch with the reality attempting to claw its way back into your conscience.

Your eyelids flutter shut as you let a fantasy drown you. Pedro, in your chair, reaching his hand up to cradle your waist as you work to perfect the few strands of hair that are disobeying you. You gasp at his touch, your body erupting with chills as he snakes his strong, thick hands underneath your shirt and up your back. Your knees begin to buckle as you lean into him, a soft and needy whimper escaping your lips. He guides you with his palms to sit on his lap, facing away from him and towards the mirror showcasing your illuminated figure.

Neither of you speak as Pedro caresses you beneath your shirt, his callused hands setting fire to the soft skin there. He runs a thumb over your nipple, sending a searing sensation through you, and you bite down hard on your lower lip, your legs instinctively spreading to welcome his touch there. Your heavy breaths gain pitch as he gently twists and pinches at your nipples, your head falling back and your chest hitching with shallow, needy moans. He raises your shirt and removes it with ease, tossing it to the floor and returning his touch to your desperate skin. You feel him slowly start to unbutton your jeans as his other hand gathers your hair and drapes it over one shoulder, exposing the right side of your neck. He tips your head to the side and lowers his mouth to the spot beneath your ear, as his fingers slip past the hem of your panties and works their way toward your—

bzzz bzzz…. bzzz bzzz…..

You yank your hand out of your pants as your eyes shoot open.

Incoming call: P

“Shit,” you mutter, trying to regain some composure before you answer the phone. Of course he calls you right fucking now. A dry lump of shame forms in your throat as you slide the little green icon to the right.

“H-Hey P,” you manage, still halfway out of breath from how startled you were.

“Plum! Hey! I’m so glad you picked up!” He exclaims, slightly winded on his delivery. “How are you?”

“I'm, uh, good! Yeah, good. How are you?” you say hesitantly, your mind reeling with nonstop guilt.

“Well, I need your help.”

He goes on to explain the situation. A photoshoot and interview, in Anaheim, tomorrow. His regular groomer, stuck at home with a sick kid. He’d pay double, he’d drive you to and from, etcetera.

"Hey, of course, I'd be happy to. I don’t have to be back to work ‘til Monday anyways. Don’t even worry about paying double,” you insist.

Aside from the obvious benefit of seeing him again, you could use the extra cash. Plus, you know his hair like the back of your hand. It’s easy money.

“Are you sure? I know it’s the weekend and all, I don’t want to steal you away from the LA nightlife,” he chuckles.

“P, my plans this weekend involved a bottle of red and a chick flick binge. I promise LA won’t even notice I’m gone,” you giggle.

“You. Are. A. Lifesaver. Seriously, I thought I was going to have to do my own hair,” he jokes, the phone line crackling as his laughter booms through the tiny speaker.

“Oh, we absolutely can’t have that now, can we?” you tease.

“Fuck offfff,” he jests. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 8.”

. . . . .

Criss-cross on the stoop outside your apartment building, you wait sleepily for Pedro to arrive, two sweet plums in hand. You have your kit, stocked up with Pedro’s favorite scented hair products, and a few different pairs of shears. You’re giving the man a haircut if it’s the last thing you do today. You're absolutely certain he needs it.

Various items rustle about in your tote as you dig to find your book. You've decided to reread Pride and Prejudice, one of your favorites. You can’t even count how many times you’ve read it now, let alone watched the various movie renditions.

The 2005 version with Kiera Knightley reigns supreme as your favorite. It’s the definition of a comfort story for you, getting you through many a sleepless night and emotional breakdown. Your only qualm with the book is that it does not include your favorite moment from the movie, a fact you know is utterly ridiculous since the book is quite literally the source material.

The scene where Mr. Darcy appears, his flowing linen shirt halfway unbuttoned as he strides towards a pensive Elizabeth, who has finally realized that her feelings for Darcy have turned to those of love. Darcy speaks, overcome with adoration as he says: “You have bewitched me, body and soul and I love, I love, I love you.”

Just replaying the scene in your mind makes your toes curl.

Your train of thought is abruptly interrupted as a black sedan pulls in front of you. You lift your gaze to find a beaming Pedro, his head halfway out of the window, shaking and taunting you with a venti Starbucks cup.

“Look what I haaave,” he sings, his eyebrows wiggling up and down.

“Ah, the perfect bait,” you joke as you gather your things and load them into the back of his car. You skip around to the passenger’s side of the car and open the door to find a chocolate muffin and a bouquet of flowers placed on the seat.

You shoot him a puzzled expression.

“A thank you. The least that I can do on such short notice,” he flashes his smile as you pick up the flowers to examine them. The bouquet consisted primarily of daisies, your favorite flower.

“How... how did you know I like daisies?” you question.

“I saw you one day, out by the lot, picking some daisies that were growing along the road. You had tied them into a little bouquet and brought them back into the trailer,” he chuckled softly. “Anyways, I bought a vase too so we can put them in water later.”

You remember. Honestly, you didn’t think he noticed them, which didn’t bother you by any means. You'd put them in there for your own benefit, a little splash of something in his agonizingly plain trailer. You’d put the flowers in a mug, the only thing you could find in the little kitchenette he had. They sat on the counter where you’d place your things every morning, and, in a way, sort of “claimed” your territory in the space. Pedro never said anything about them, which you just chalked up to him and his limited attention span.

“That’s… so sweet,” you smile, a pink heat creeping across your cheeks as you take a seat beside him. His thoughtfulness never fails to surprise you. “Thank you, gosh, you really didn’t have to do all this.”

“I really did,” he leans over and gives you a cramped hug from the side, squeezing your shoulder and leaning his head of unkempt curls into your cheek. “Now, can you pick the music? You have better playlists than I do.”

“Oh ho ho, so you finally admit it!” you shout, snatching the aux cord from his hands with a devilish grin.

“You just need to put more Prince on them. They’re seriously lacking in the Prince department,” he rebuts as he takes a massive gulp of his iced espresso.

“Listen, I love Prince as much as the next guy, but not every playlist has Prince energy. I gotta keep the vibes consistent,” you explain as you take a bite of muffin, your hands cupped awkwardly to catch any crumbs that fall from the wrapper.

Pedro quickly reaches into the compartment between you and pulls out a napkin, holding it right underneath your chin as you chew on your first bite.

“You have a little…” his eyes dip to the left corner of your lips. “May I?”

You nod slightly as you watch his gaze, sparkling with a chestnut hue in the glow of the daylight. He gently uses his thumb to brush your lip with the napkin, catching whatever missed your mouth. He proceeds slowly, his stare focused and his touch intentional. You feel that familiar flush prickle your face as your eyes meet and he softly bites down on his lower lip.

“I got it,” he hands you the napkin as he starts on the road. “Don’t worry if you get crumbs on the floor. I snack in here all the time.”

You settle back into the chair, hopeful that your makeup is doing some heavy lifting to hide the heat you're certain is speckling your cheeks. In your haze you choose a playlist, one you made specifically for road trips, and scatter some Prince songs amongst the queue. You relax your shoulders and gaze beyond the dashboard as Pedro hums and drives you out of the city.

. . . . .

Pedro supplied you with a solid earful of his subpar vocals on the drive over. You sang along too, not really with your real voice, but more of a comical, singing at the top of your lungs with your friends kind of voice. The traffic wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought it would be, but it still took about an hour and a half to get to the location of the shoot.

Pedro walked with you to the sign-in desk and waited for you to get your badge, even with the dozens of employees trying to show him the way to his dressing room. He smiled as you draped the lanyard with your name around your neck and linked your arm with his as he led the way.

Your hands are raking through his hair, covered in a light pomade to bring out his natural wavy-curl texture. He always hums a bit when you work products in, so you take a little extra time to give his scalp a massage. His shoulders relax at the sudden pressure and his head falls back into you, resting gently on your stomach.

“You know that’s my favorite... mmmh,” he closes his eyes as your hands travel down to the base of his skull and you start kneading with your thumbs. “I've missed that.”

“I could so easily… just…” you snake your hands down and gently wrap them around his throat.

“Hey!” his spine shoots up straight as he yanks your hands from his neck. “Taking advantage of me at my most vulnerable… not very nice.”

“You've gotta to be more alert!” you joke as you go back to finger-curling his more defined ringlets. “Some crazed fan could seduce you with scalp massages and then try to crush your skull.

“Well I don’t let anyone else give me scalp massages, you know,” he looks up at you, tilting his head back, his gentle curls falling from his forehead.

“Oh, so you’ve been deprived these past few months, huh?” you tease, returning your hands to his scalp and deepening your pressure.

“Mmmmmhmmmmmm…” he hums.

“Well, just so you know, I don’t give scalp massages to any of my other clients,” you speak, slightly under your breath. “So, whenever you want one, all you have to do is ask.”

His eyes soften slightly at the statement and a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. You can’t help but let a stifled grin spread across your face as well.

An easy and comfortable silence falls over you as you finish up styling his hair. The brief asked for bouncy, voluminous curls with a windswept look, and you’re curious to see what the wardrobe looks like to match. You cross your fingers, hopeful they'll let you go back with him.

Much of the time you've spent with Pedro has caused you to often completely forget that he’s famous. You’ve never really been out with him during the day, nor have you gone to any super crowded places together. The only time you've been reminded of his fame was when you went to that little diner on the outskirts of LA. But even then, it didn’t feel like he was famous exactly. It felt more like he was a regular, a familiar face, a friend.

Now this is the first time you’ve been in an environment like this with him. There’s a swarming hoard of interns popping in and out of the already cramped room every few minutes, offering various snacks and drinks and bringing handfuls of clothing to drape over the empty hangers. One of them even showed Pedro his Mandalorian tattoo.

Of course, Pedro is a fucking sweetheart to anyone who crosses his path. Flurries of his “yes please!” and “thank you so much!” flood the room as more and more people bob in and out, ready to wait on him hand and foot. You feel a bit goofy, standing awkwardly off to the side as people dart around, like you should be helping. It’s what you’re used to, after all.

After a few minutes, Pedro walks toward the door as he's called out of the room. You start to make yourself cozy on the loveseat until you hear the low bark of a clearing throat.

“Are you not coming?” Pedro turns to you with a quizzical brow.

“I… I can?” you stumble on your words as you shove your book back into your bag and get back on your feet.

“Come. What if my curls drop?”

“Not on my watch," you wink, gathering your things and following close behind him.

. . . . .

You manage to locate a fold out chair —wide enough to accommodate your hips and ass— and find a spot, somewhat tucked away but still in Pedro’s sightline. You pull your phone out and immediately send a picture of him to Bella, catching him just as he makes eye contact with your camera. You burst out laughing, garnering a few head turns and a middle finger from Pedro.

Bella’s name pops up on your screen. Incoming FaceTime. You answer.

“Hi! Hold on, lemme sneak out of here,” you whisper as you speed-walk out of the room, ducking your head slightly so as not to garner any attention.

Once you escape into a hallway, you exchange equally joyous greetings, gushing with excitement to see each other.

“I miss you!” Bella exclaims. “You're with P today?”

You find a corner to sit, tucked away from the hustling bodies in the hallways surrounding the studio.

“He needed a last minute hairdresser for a shoot and I just happened to be around,” you explain, your voice slightly above a hush. “I miss you sooo much! How are things?”

Bella updates you on the important bits. Work, family, dramas, a new possible romantic prospect, they wiz through it all. You listen intently, wildly entertained and extraordinarily grateful to get to witness the musings of a British teenager.

“Anyways, I don’t know what’s gonna happen with her. I don’t think I can be with a girl who isn’t out to her own mum,” they conclude after an animated recounting. “Too… messy.”

“Agreed,” you nod. “You’ve got too much goin’ on for messy.”

“Sooo… what about you?” they question in that sing-songy, teasing tone that they frequent in your presence.

“What about me?”

“Any… romantic developments?”

Your eyes do near 360 into the back of your skull.

“Bellie, you know I don’t really date.”

“When was the last time you saw Pedro? Other than today.”

“Uh… maybe two months ago? Why?”

You hear them mumble something unintelligible under their breath, only catching the last word, “Idiot.”

You crank the volume on your phone, trying to make out what they’re saying.

“What? Who’s an idiot?”

“He doesn’t... listen… nevermind,” they cut themself off.

“Who? Pedro?” you blurt, somewhat fervently.

“You’ve really perked up,” they tease.

“Can we use more words, instead of being purposefully elusive and mumbling?” you quip, half-teasing but with an air of genuine frustration.

Bella starts giggling as they attempt to get their words out.

“I… I know. I. know you like him."

Your jaw goes slack, your mouth falling open in surprise.

"Your face!" they cackled.

You don’t have to see yourself to know that you’re certainly a sight to behold. Your cheeks are burning up. The air is grazing past your widened eyeballs, drying them out as your lips curl inwards. Bella’s laugh is bellowing and crackling through your headphones.

“Bella! Does he know?” you whisper, the fire in your cheeks beginning to become unbearable.

“I… I don’t know! I think so? Man, I wanted to just let this run its course, but I’ve known that you guys have feelings for each other for sooo long now. It’s been seriously painful to watch.”

Your stomach somersaults as the heat spreads to your ears.

“Did… did he tell you that?”

“I can’t believe you guys are the adults in this situation,” they mutter through their stifled chuckles. “I mean, he didn’t outright tell me, but he didn’t have to.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Listen, no grown man asks for advice on how to ask his hairdresser to hang out.” they say quite matter-of-factly. "Even my gay ass knows that."

You chuckle briefly in response, until a moment of understanding silence hangs between you. You realize you have no rebuttal to the statement. They really aren't wrong.

“Well I can’t… do anything about this, right? He’s… Bella, he’s Pedro fucking Pascal for christ’s sake.”

“And? He’s still just P. And you’re still you. Fame might make things complicated, but then again, romance is always complicated. Life is complicated. But the journey is where you find the joy.”

Wise ass kid.

You go silent for a moment, the belligerent swarm of contradictory thoughts and feelings buzzing around in your head getting louder and stronger by the second.

You almost don’t want to believe it. Once you allow yourself to step into that territory, you know you won't be able to reel it back. It would change things, permanently, whether you want it to or not.

“You’re right,” you admit, your expression softening into something more akin to defeat. “I just... I need to think about it for a little longer."

You say your goodbyes and end the call, feeling slightly breathless and a tiny bit dizzy from the gravity of it all. It’s stupid, yes, because no matter what lies you've told yourself, you know there is something more between you and Pedro. There’s been far too many moments, too many palpable signs to ignore. Actually admitting that to yourself and allowing your brain process it as a fact is something else entirely; something that simultaneously thrills and terrifies you.

It takes you a few minutes to settle yourself and muster the strength to stand up and walk back to the studio. Nothing has to change, you tell yourself.

Nothing has to change.

You re-enter and spot Pedro, mid-smoulder, working the hell out of the color block sweater they chose for him. It’s enough to garner a small chuckle from you as you make your way back to your seat.

You make yourself cozy in your folding chair and pull out your book, attempting to lose yourself in the pages to distract from the butterflies ravaging your stomach. It doesn't take long for the power of Jane Austen to transfix your attention once again.

“Is there something over there? You keep looking to your right,” you overhear the photographer saying to Pedro. You look up and immediately lock eyes with Pedro. He lets a gentle smile paint his face as he turns his attention back to the camera.

This is going to be harder than you thought.

The group breaks for lunch about 30 minutes later, but you’re too immersed in your book to actually notice. You only snap fully back into reality when you feel a wide hand gently graze your shoulder.

“Pride and Prejudice, eh?” Pedro peers over your head. “Is this your first time reading it?”

“Oh god no. I’ve lost count at this point,” you admit. "It's probably my favorite book."

“Good girl,” he gives you a gentle pat. “I knew you had good taste.”

… Much harder than you thought.

. . . . .

The remainder of the day flew by. You ended up taking a little snooze on the loveseat in the dressing room while Pedro went to interview (not entirely on purpose, but it did help the time pass nonetheless). You and Pedro said your goodbyes to the team, and the creative director liked you so much that he even asked for your card for future projects. Score.

The traffic you’re currently sitting in is horrendous. You’ve been in stop and go for nearly 30 minutes now and the GPS estimates another 30 until you make it out of the majority of the congested zone. Fleetwood Mac lilts from the speakers on the dash as you and Pedro jabber on about whatever comes to your minds. You just pray he isn’t picking up on the incessant nervousness you’re swallowing between each sentence.

“So what’s your favorite flower then?” you blurt, changing the subject almost entirely. “You know mine, only fair I know yours.”

“I don’t know if I have a favorite, per se, but I like purple flowers,”

“Oh, come on, that’s cheating,” you nudge his forearm that rests on the console between you. “There’s gotta be one you really like. This is, like, vital information. How else am I gonna know what to get you when you win your first Emmy?”

“Ha!" he bellows. "Well, in that case, I’d love a bouquet of daisies. They’ll remind me of you.”

He places his hand softly over yours, his fingers falling effortlessly into the gaps between your knuckles. You inhale with surprise, your chest noticeably hitching as you draw the breath in. A tightness surges in your chest, hot and asphyxiating as his thumb traces a little circle on the back of your hand.

You can’t bring yourself to remove your gaze from your lap, but you return his touch with a gentle squeeze, a reciprocation to the best of your ability. You wait anxiously, fully expecting him to unweave his fingers from yours, but he doesn’t. The muscles in his sturdy, flexing hands soften into a state of rest and settle atop yours.

This is the kind of thing Bella was talking about.

You’ve worked so hard to convince yourself that the little moments like this mean nothing, that Pedro is just a highly affectionate person or that he speaks to his other friends this very same way. Of course you’ve held hands with friends, but never with such tenderness and intention as the way he’s touching you. Your skin never felt like it had been lit ablaze, not in the way that it does at this very moment, with any friend you’ve ever known. With anyone you’ve ever known, if you're being honest with yourself.

Curiosity and apprehension rage like a wildfire in your mind, though ultimately your desire to know what he’s thinking breaks through the clouds of smoke. You turn your head to face him and are met with his profile, the sunset kissing the outline of his skin and illuminating him divinely. Your most favorite parts of his visage are displayed like a wonder of the universe, as his dimple slowly appears and his eyes wander to meet yours.

And then he smiles, teeth and all, and you want nothing more than to lunge out of your seat and kiss him.

But you don't.

You sit there, lips parted and breaths heavy as you turn your gaze back to the road. Frozen, as he unwraps his fingers from yours. Silent, as he turns up the volume of the music. You curl your hand into a fist at the loss of his touch.

Unable to withstand another moment of tension, you offer to show Pedro a podcast you think he'll enjoy. He obliges, and you listen the rest of the way home. You laugh, add little comments here and there, argue for a brief moment about the pronunciation of an artist’s name, amiably of course. You inch your way back to normal once again.

Once you finally arrive at your apartment complex, it’s almost 7 o’clock. The sun has long since vanished, your street only lit by two warm-yellow street lamps on either side of the main doors to your building.

“Well, this is me,” you turn to him and say, your voice mimicking that of a cringey romance film.

He laughs, the sound certainly escaping the confines of his car and down the street, as a couple jerk their heads in surprise towards your direction.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” he offers, unbuckling his seatbelt as you do the same.

“Oh, you really don’t have to do that,” you mutter as you gather your bag and water bottle from the floor.

“I waaant to do that,” he quips, his tone jovial and his head bobbing slightly as he teasingly mocks you.

You roll your eyes with a grin and exit the car as he meets you on the other side. You point to your entrance and start towards it, and suddenly feel his hand softly rest on the small of your back as he follows by your side.

His touch ignites something inside you, awakening a train of thought that you're incapable of slowing down. You can’t deny it anymore, he is everything you could ever ask for, everything you've ever wanted. And here he is, walking you to your door, making sure you get home safe.

You arrive at the doorstep and Pedro swiftly pulls you into a tight hug, his hands softly squeezing at your hips as he gently presses his face into your hair. You wrap your arms clumsily around his shoulders and embrace him on your tiptoes, your chin resting perfectly in the crook of his neck as you drown in his intoxicating scent. He presses his body into you and breathes deeply, letting out a little hum with the exhale.

His hands snake across your back and land uncrossed, resting softly on each side of your waist. He pulls away to look at you, and a tender smile crinkles his eyes and tinges his words as he speaks.

“Thank you so much fo—”

His sentence stops short as your hands grasp his face, your body possessed by something buried within you.

And you kiss him.

Hard. With desperation, like you're moments from death and his lips are your saving grace. He lets out a little grunt of confusion as your mouths collide and he grasps at your skin, bunching up the fabric of your skirt with his grip. And right as you feel him start to soften into your touch, his hands pulling you in, his lips melting into yours, you pull away.

“I... I...” you stutter, your eyes blown wide and mouth agape as you scour your brain for a string of coherent words amongst the rubble inside your head. “‘I’m so sorry.”

He inhales, and before he can respond, you interject.

“I-I’m so, so s-sorry,” you fumble as you yank your keys from your purse, frantically trying to scan your key FOB to unlock the door. “God I- I’m so sorry.”

The light on the detector turns green and you scramble to get your hand on the door handle.

“Shit... cmon...”

“Wait, I—” Pedro grabs your free hand.

You swing the door open as you slip through his grip, lunging yourself into the opening and slamming it behind you. You bolt to the elevator, jamming your finger on the button repeatedly until the doors part. You can hear Pedro’s voice, calling your name from down the hallway behind the glass keeping him away from you. You turn as you enter the elevator and see him, his hand flat on the window, a desperate expression as he shouts to you. The doors close and he disappears from your sightline.

Your knees fail you as your back slides down the wall, until you thump gracelessly onto the floor.

“Shit.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

chapter six

#pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #plus size reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #the last of us #pedro pascal x reader #chubby reader #fem reader #slow burn

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unabashegirl · 4 months

Text

Meeting her || Part II

Author's note: as promised here is the second part of this three part series. I am sorry it took longer to post, but I wanted por my Patreon subscriber have exclusive access to it. I hope you like it!

Golden boy

Meeting her || Part 1

word count: 3.4K

DISCLAIMER: The following chapter contains mentions of sex. Read at your own discration

Harry's kiss carried an intensity that threatened to sweep her off her feet. His hands firmly anchored on her hips to prevent any faltering. Initially resistant, Y/N found herself yielding to the wave of desire that surged between them, her conscience overruled and momentarily silenced.

Her hands, once resolute in maintaining distance, betrayed her surrender as they instinctively rose to explore the terrain beneath his shirt. The sculpted contours of his body, a testament to his disciplined routine at the club, hinted at strength and lean athleticism.

With an achingly deliberate pace, Harry's hands ventured beneath her coveralls, the contrast of her soft skin against his fingertips intensifying his desire. As he drew closer, the contours of their bodies collided, and she felt the undeniable evidence of his arousal against her abdomen. Normally reserved about such matters, the unveiling of his physique encouraged her, prompting her to guide them toward the couch.

Harry positioned himself between her legs, a commanding presence as he pinned her beneath him. His skilled hands deftly undid the front of her overalls, revealing the gentle curvature of her breasts. A brief moment of admiration passed as Harry absorbed the sight before him, his intense gaze leaving Y/N feeling both exposed and nervous.

Aware of her blush, Harry, without warning, leaned down and took her right breast into his mouth. Y/N watched, her fingers entwining with the strands of his hair, as the soft, whispered moans escaped her lips, filling the room with an intimate symphony of desire.

"Let me see those eyes," he murmured to her, his words accompanied by the rustle of his shirt sliding off his body. The urgency in Harry's actions betrayed a sense of haste, as if he needed to fast-track through the moment. It wasn't just for his own gratification; it was as if he feared awakening, as if this reality were too surreal and fragile to withstand the scrutiny of a waking dream. “There they are”.

Y/N helped him take off her overalls off her body and shyly watched him take off his joggers and boxers. She had lovers before, but never like Harry. They had been painters or artist just like her. She had never been with an athlete. His body seemed to be sculpted. He barely had fat on him. Y/N felt self-conscious as she sat on her couch only wearing a white thong and mid length socks.

Consumed by desire, he sought her by the waist, swiftly repositioning them until he lay on his back. On the opposite side of the couch, Y/N perched, an air of nervousness clinging to her. His intense gaze seemed to sear through her skin, leaving an indelible mark on the charged atmosphere between them.

“Don’t be shy, lovie” He took her hand and helped her to take off the rest of her clothes. Y/N straddled him, placing one of each of her legs on either side of him. She felt the heat that his skin emanated without even having to touch him.

"I-I've never been on top," Y/N confessed, her hips intentionally held aloft, avoiding the union with his. Submissive by nature, she had always yielded to the desires of others, a perpetual people pleaser. Her own wishes consistently took a back seat.

Harry found himself momentarily speechless. He had assumed artists, particularly of her caliber, were unafraid of embracing their sexuality. He had encountered many who were forthright in sharing their intimate experiences. Y/N, however, stood as an exception. Her admission of inexperience fueled his desire for her, creating a magnetic pull that seemed to intensify in the wake of her vulnerability.

They became one. She watched how he disappeared into her as their hips slammed against one another. Harry dig his fingers into her hips as he helped her find a rhythm that they both enjoyed.

“Teach me how to make you feel good.” Harry grunted. His words had enough power to send her shockwaves through her lower abdomen. She felt intoxicated and dazed as he continued to have his way with her.

“Kiss me” She demanded, so Harry reached up to the back of her neck as his hips followed her rhythm and lowered her head enough for their lips to touch and for her to moan into his mouth.

“Christ” He cried out from the sensation, pulling down her hips harder. Harry knew that he would leave bruises on her hips, but her moaning, the soft sounds she made or the way that her round breast bounced by his face, teasing and enticing him was all too much for him.

They were covered on each other’s sweat by the time that Harry finally released himself inside of her. His sight faded to black, and he could only see specks of white until his sight returned seconds later. Harry reaching his orgasm didn’t stop Y/N from continue working her thighs muscles.

Harry watched her as she continued to use him. Her chest and cheeks were flushed, and her hair was sticking to her forehead, but to Harry she looked like a Goddess. It didn’t take long for her to had arch her hips, her legs to go wobbly and for her to join Harry in bliss.

As the night deepened, Y/N stirred from her slumber, finding herself awake before Harry. The lateness of the hour was evident in the silence that enveloped them, a stark contrast to the usual symphony of city sounds. Her body rested atop his, a connection forged in the shared intimacy of the night.

With utmost care, Y/N gingerly lifted her body from his, each movement calculated to avoid disrupting his peaceful sleep. The room held the remnants of their shared moments — a delicate interplay of shadows and moonlight accentuating the contours of their entwined figures. Y/N allowed her gaze to linger on the tranquil sight of Harry, his features softened by the hushed glow of the room. In this quiet moment, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the echoes of their shared vulnerability in the intimate hours they had spent together.

Navigating her apartment with careful steps, Y/N made her way towards the bedroom in search of a robe or some clothing. The silence within her living space mirrored the weight of the guilt settling on her shoulders. As she locked herself in the bathroom, the walls seemed to close in around her, amplifying the echoes of her inner turmoil.

Inside the confined space, anxiety surged through her, transforming the room into a cavern of self-reflection. The magnitude of disbelief struck her; she couldn't fathom how they had ended up entangled in the depths of intimacy. Each breath felt heavy, carrying the weight of unexpected choices made in the heat of the moment. Guilt overshadowed the shared passion, leaving her to grapple with the consequences of a night that had taken an unexpected turn.

While Y/N and Emma weren't particularly close, Y/N couldn't shake the conviction that, regardless of their differences, Emma didn't deserve to be cheated on. Wrapping her body in a robe, Y/N gathered her thoughts before rejoining the living room. There, Harry sat on the couch, shirtless, occupied with tying his sneakers. The air held a palpable tension, a silent acknowledgment of choices made and the complexities that now enveloped their connection.

A surge of anxiety morphed into a fiery anger within her. The disbelief was overwhelming; he had been preparing to depart without uttering a single word to her. The weight of naivety and a tinge of foolishness settled in. He, it seemed, wasn't any different from the other men she had encountered—a bitter revelation that stung with a sense of betrayal. The emotions collided within her, creating a storm of frustration, disappointment, and a profound sense of disillusionment.

"So, this is all I am to you? Just a quick fuck, huh?" Her laughter dripped with sarcasm, cutting through the air to announce her presence in the room.

"You locked yourself in the bathroom. I thought you didn't want me here anymore," he responded, confusion clouding his features. The weight of guilt bore down on Harry, not only for betraying Emma but also for involving Y/N in the tangled web of their choices. The room crackled with tension.

"I'm not a bad person, Harry," she spoke with remorse, her voice choked with emotion. "But what we just did makes me one." Y/N fought back tears, the weight of guilt pressing down on her. "This can't happen again," she asserted, tears streaming down her face as she sought to externalize the overwhelming remorse within her. "It's not fair to any of us.”

"This isn't on you, Y/N," he explained, his words laced with a mix of regret and self-reflection. "I'm her boyfriend. I was the one who was supposed to be loyal to her." His admission hung in the air, emphasizing the role he played in the choices that led them to this point. “I understand if you never want to see me again.”

As Harry made his way toward the front door of her apartment, Y/N felt compelled to step closer, as if she could somehow halt the inevitable. However, her feet remained rooted, and her voice seemed to elude her. As he slightly opened the door, he turned to look at her.

"I just want you to know that I don't regret anything," he uttered, his words hanging in the air as he shut the door behind him. The finality of the action left Y/N standing alone in the room, grappling with the weight of those parting words and the aftermath of a night that had irreversibly altered the dynamics between them.

Night after night, Y/N found herself tossing and turning in the clutches of restlessness. The thought of reaching out to him tugged at the edges of her consciousness, yet every attempt to formulate the right words felt elusive. In those fleeting moments when she mustered the courage, a wave of self-doubt would wash over her, causing her to retreat once more. The cycle persisted for almost two weeks and her insomnia only made her crankier.

Finally, Y/N redirected her energy toward a new project. Engaging in sculpting for her latest project, she found herself immersed in the creative process, fueled by a restless determination. With minimal sleep, the clock striking three in the morning, she embarked on this new venture.

It was only a few hours later, after her coffee had cooled, and she went to the kitchen to warm it up, that she noticed she was sculpting a human. She began with the feet and had just started on the ankles.

As Y/N continued her sculpting journey, she found herself captivated by the evolving form taking shape beneath her skilled hands. The subtle contours of the feet transitioned seamlessly into the delicate curves of the ankles. The tactile connection with the clay became a meditative dance, each knead and mold bringing the human figure to life.

Lost in the creative process, she explored the distinctions of expression and emotion, her fingers working with an intuitive grace. The cold coffee on the table went unnoticed as she delved into the intricacies of her art.

A few days later, Y/N joined her father and brother for brunch. They had intentionally passed through Manchester to check up on her and insisted on a get-together.

"I love you, but you look terrible," her brother remarked as she took a seat in front of them. Y/N shrugged at her older brother and nonchalantly put her sunglasses back on, masking the evidence of turmoil beneath her eyes.

"Are you getting enough sleep?" Phillip, her father, inquired with concern for his youngest and only daughter. "You could always move back in with your mother and me if this becomes too much for you, honey." He reached for her hand, already settled on the table, and gently caressed the top.

Y/N and her brother, Archie, burst into laughter, leaving their father bewildered as he tried to grasp what was so amusing.

"Dad, she'd rather die than move in with you and mum," Archie revealed, a mischievous grin playing on his face. "I would too. You guys still love each other way too much. It's too much PDA for my taste."

"I thought you both would appreciate that we haven't ended up in divorce like most couples on earth," Phillip debated, a playful tone in his voice. "Ungrateful little fucks," he added, eliciting laughter from all three of them.

"How's Mum? Why didn't she come up with you?"

"You know how she is. She hates leaving the house and worries too much when we're away," Phillip explained. "How was the art show?"

"It went very smoothly. Most of the pieces were sold," she replied. "I think by the end of the year, I might be able to open the first permanent gallery."

"I still don't understand why you wouldn't let me fund it. So, you can dedicate yourself to just painting and not worry about down payments." Her family was very comfortable; Phillip held a high position in a large investment company. Y/N shook her head and put down her menu.

"You still don't get it, Dad. I need to do it on my own. I want to achieve it for my own selfish reasons."

"Fine, fine," he raised his hands, "just trying to help."

"I understand, and thank you," she smiled. "How about you, Archie? How's working for Dad? Is he everything you wished for?"

"He's the worst," Archie huffed just as the waitress approached them to take their orders. "But honestly, I've enjoyed it."

"I'm so happy that both of you are here. I really needed it," Y/N revealed. She had been going crazy in the apartment, and since she didn't have many friends, she hadn't gone out much.

"What are you working on currently?" Phillip asked her, genuinely curious about her new piece.

"A sculpture," she nervously shared.

"I would love to go see it," Phillip added.

"It's not going as I hoped for—" But before she could continue, making up excuses to keep her dad and brother out of her house, she was interrupted by none other than Emma. Surprisingly, it was the first time she was genuinely happy to see her.

"Y/N! I didn't know you came to places like this." Y/N nodded and awkwardly waved but remained quiet, anticipating Emma's usual backhanded compliments. "I haven't seen you in quite a long time. You've been distant."

"This is my dad, Phillip, and my brother, Archie. This is Emma," Y/N introduced them without forgetting her manners. "She's an old friend from college," she added.

Archie and Phillip greeted her with polite smiles.

"What are you doing later?" Emma asked. "I was just going to pick up some food before heading to the stadium to see Harry play. Are you guys fans of Manchester?" Y/N's body instantly went rigid at the mention of his name.

"Fuck yeah!" Archie enthusiastically jumped at the opportunity. "I mean—we would love to," he corrected himself after clearing his throat. Phillip turned to Y/N and shrugged with a smile. She wanted to scream and stop them from going. She didn't want to be dragged along. Y/N needed an excuse to miss the game.

"We don't have further plans. I think it could be fun," Emma smiled, feeling accomplished to have convinced them. She knew who Phillip was and how much he was worth. He was a big fish, and she loved the attention. Emma just had to win over Y/N's father. She wanted to be close to her family, just for the perks. "Honey?"

"Y-yeah," Y/N agreed, even though she felt like crying and sensed her heart was about to explode. What was she going to say to Harry? Would she even talk to him? Would Emma notice?

They were in box seats, which surprised Y/N. Emma had never invited her to sit in the box; they usually sat with the rest of the crowd. After all, not many people knew who Emma was or could easily recognize her.

The weather was great when the match started. As usual, Harry was in the initial team. Y/N noticed that he had allowed his hair to grow longer than usual, and he had a slight mustache. Despite the rougher appearance, she still considered him the most gorgeous man she had come across. The top of his hair was tied with a hair tie, causing a slight pang of jealousy, wondering if it was Emma's.

After half-time, the game took a turn for the worse, and the weather didn't help. It started pouring rain and became windy, but the game wasn't postponed. Something had set off the players from the other team, and yellow cards started getting pulled out.

Manchester was losing, and it felt like the team couldn't advance without getting pushed or kicked to the floor. It wasn't until the last twenty minutes of the match that a penalty shot was called after a player committed a foul on Harry.

"Oh god," Y/N whispered as she watched the players stand back and the referee place the football on the floor for Harry to kick.

"Since when do you like football?" Archie asked, noticing his sister's nervousness.

"I don't know," Y/N shrugged. "It's entertaining," she brushed him off, carefully watching Harry talk to the captain of the team while covering his mouth.

"If he misses, he is going to be hated for quite a few months," Archie said to Emma, who stood on the other side of him.

"That's his problem," Emma brushed off, showing a lack of concern. "He signed up to be a football player, not me." Y/N couldn't believe the bitterness of her statement. Harry was her boyfriend, and the least she could do was stand beside him.

The referee's whistle interrupted her thoughts, and seconds later, Harry kicked the ball with the arch of his left foot.

He missed.

The goalkeeper caught it.

Instantly, the crowd went mad, booing at Harry. Y/N felt helpless, wanting to scream for them to stop. She could see the disappointment on his face as he wiped the rain off his face while his team patted his back in solidarity.

"Oh well! They lost," Emma added. "I'm sorry I brought you to his worst game ever," she said to Phillip. Y/N rolled her eyes as she looked at Harry continue to play for the remaining match. "Would you like to meet him?"

"I have to get back to the studio," Y/N excused herself. "But if you two want to stay, that's fine."

"No, honey. We came to see you and spend time with you," Phillip said for both of them. "I appreciate your generosity, Emma. However, we want to spend time with Y/N. We leave tomorrow morning, and we still have a few things planned with her."

"That's fine," Emma coldly responded and looked back at the match. Y/N could tell that it had bothered her.

After the game, they ventured out for some shopping. Y/N confessed to her father that she didn't actually have to go to the studio but preferred spending time with him instead of hanging out with wet and sweaty men. Phillip laughed warmly, embracing her. He made sure to stock her fridge and handed her extra money for anything she might want or need.

Following the shopping spree, they enjoyed dinner at a fancy restaurant near their hotel. A driver later took Y/N back to her apartment after heartfelt goodbyes and hugs.

"I love you. Send me a picture of that sculpture. I'm sure it's great," were Phillip's parting words as he let go of her.

Returning alone to her apartment felt strange. Y/N had shared an incredible time with her family, making the solitude of her apartment even more palpable. Nevertheless, that didn't deter her from delving back into sculpting until two in the morning.

After a skincare routine, a bath, and a late-night snack at three in the morning, Y/N found herself tucked into bed. She closed her eyes, allowing the silence around her to usher her into a deep slumber. However, her peaceful state was abruptly disrupted by three knocks on her door. After much hesitation and grabbing the box cutter she used for opening mailed packages, she finally opened the door.

"I had to bribe your doorman to let me in with tickets," was the first thing out of his mouth.

Do you think Emma will find out and how?

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wordbymail · 1 year

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Devo - Know Him Personally

Our God wants us to know him personally. This devotion is taken from the message “God Gets Personal” from Matthew 1:23.

When we go to Bethlehem (and it’s a little hard to go to), there’s a cave cut in a rock right near a valley where they herd sheep, where the Church of The Nativity is. And it’s this phenomenal picture that a sheepfold is mostly a cave cut in limestone, cut in a rock, or made naturally. It’s a cave. And the animals would be herded in there to be protected for the night. The manger, just a feeding trough inside this cave.

Here’s what we know about the caves. They’re cold, dark, and dirty. They were the coldest and darkest, and dirtiest place around. The animals slept there. They stayed there at night. And it’s been said often that where Jesus came into that cold, dark, and dirty cave is where he comes when he’s born into every single heart.

He is born into a cold, and dark, and dirty heart with sin. And so you and I can’t say, “Oh. Jesus would never accept me. Jesus would never come into my life.” Really? Did you see how he was born? Not how the nativity scenes show it, but how the real world shows it because it’s really lowly.

Jesus was born in that animal shelter so that he could be in your heart so that you could be born again so that you could know God personally and have a personal relationship with him for eternity. Guys, the Creator of the Universe does not want to be an impersonal spiritual force in your life. He could have done that without breathing his life into you. He could have done that without creating you in your mother’s womb, without writing down every day of your life before one existed.

Listen, God is an impersonal spiritual force to the world, to the creation of the world. To you, he is a personal Savior and Lord. He is so personal to you; he came and lived your life to die in your place to overcome sin and death and the grave on your behalf. To rise again so that you could rise again in him. That’s very, very personal.

He wants to have a real relationship with you. And he proved it by what he went through, coming to this earth. He came like you. He lived a perfect life in your place so that he could justifiably be the perfect sacrifice for your sins so that you could know him personally and spend eternity with him in personal relationship with him. That’s how personal our God is.

#Become One Flesh Marriage #Seared Conscience Bible Teaching

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wri0thesley · 4 months

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not sfw, minors dni. reader wears a nightgown and is married to diluc.

It's so hard when he has to be away.

He knows you do not begrudge his work; you had told him, smile on your pretty lips, that you knew when you married the tycoon of the Mondstadt wine industry you were marrying the business as well as the man. You'd batted your lashes and said you hoped he'd still have time for the pleasures of a man, and Diluc had felt a warm heat glow in his cheeks, and had hushed you with a kiss before any of the wedding guests had seen and began to wonder.

But he has begun to begrudge it himself. He could leave much of it to Elzer, he supposes; the quality of the grapes, the trade deals, the things that Dawn Winery has always provided to Mondstadt as a whole . . . but he finds himself unwilling to let go quite so fully. And certainly, he could not have let go of this particular work of his; could not in good conscience expect Elzer to don a mask and patrol the streets at night and risk body and life for the safety of the denizens of Diluc's beloved nation--

But oh, when he drags himself home at two in the morning, weary and blood-stained and bruised with the heaviness of protection weighing him down, he cannot help but wish he could leave it all behind and spend the evenings luxuriating in the warmth of your embrace instead of the searing flames he calls forth with his vision to cleanse the streets.

He pauses at the threshold of the bedroom.

Something is . . . different.

Not wrong, exactly. He would know if it were wrong; he fancies he would be able to tell if you were in danger even if he were in Inazuma or Sumeru - that some thread of his soul tying it to yours would tug urgently and he would know. But he is used to you being buried beneath the covers by the time he returns, your lovely face a peaceful mask of sleep. Sometimes a book laid upon the covers, for you've been reading and trying to stay awake for him - sometimes your hairbrush still loosely held in one hand, for you often wish to brush his hair before bed and he does not always know what nights the services of the Dark Night Hero may be needed.

But he can hear something, behind the intricately carved wooden door. A rustling; a soft, rhythmic noise. He lets his eyes close briefly; tries to centre himself, and work out what it is that is happening behind his bedroom door.

Oh.

It makes itself clearer in small increments.

He realises the rustling is sheets; the whisper of silk and lace, your nightgown against the soft cotton. The sound of skin rustling fabric, loud in a room that ought only to be privy, at this time, to your soft even breathing.

He pinpoints another noise; something quiet but wet, a slick, rhythmic pumping . . . and his throat goes dry. The pumping is in time to a breath that is far from even; and even as he stays there, listening, he begins to hear the slightest whimpering pant in an octave most familiar to him.

It is only you. He knows that; he has complete faith in you when it comes to these matters, as he knows you hold in him. How could he ever wish for somebody else, when he has your hands to come home to, soft and warm upon his cheeks and eyelids and mouth as if they could heal the horrors he has seen? How could he want any other body pressed against him but yours, when the two of you are twin flames; musical instruments that fill in the gaps. When he is a violin and you are the bow, playing his strings until he is helpless under you - incomplete?

You are too far gone to hear the soft creak of the door - despite Diluc's bulk, he has always been good at moving in the shadows, undetected. You are, Diluc notes with a soft smile of amusement and fondness, utterly lost in whatever fantasy it is you are building for yourself - your eyes squeezed shut, tears of pleasure dripping from your lashes, your mouth a sweet, kissable pout.

Your nightgown is all rucked up about your thighs; in the glimmer of the moonlight through the fluttering chiffon curtains, he can see that slick droplets of arousal paint your thighs. And against your mouth, your nose - being breathed in with every sigh and pant and whimper - is one of Diluc's shirts.

He knows it is from the laundry hamper because he can see which shirt it is; the burns at the cuff, for he had worn it not two nights ago when he had discovered an Abyss Mage in the fields too close to Dawn Winery. It smells, he's sure, of fire and smoke and his own sweat; of the cologne you had painstakingly made him as a first wedding anniversary gift (lampgrass and valberries).

He knows, then, that with the slick pump of your fingers inside of you and the whimpering and the way your body is moving in time with your own touches, that you are thinking of him.

What fantasy are you imagining? He has coaxed them out of you, slowly - shyly, admitting to some of his own on the way. You have made some flesh; he has taken you over his desk, you have dipped your pretty head between his legs on a sweet picnic, on your wedding day the two of you had slipped away, between the ceremony and the little party, and christened three rooms in the winery before you were missed (and every room besides, since then)--

It does not matter. He is quiet as he walks to the bed; as he reaches for his clothes, the cravat at his throat. He is in shirtsleeves by the time he is beside you, as he gently takes his shirt in his hands and your sweet, guileless eyes fly open in surprise.

"Diluc," you whimper, caught with three fingers stuffed inside of you and the sheen of an orgasm not fully completed masking your lovely gaze. He smiles down at you, his heart a fire in his chest - and then he swoops like his own falcon, pressing his lips against yours, so sweet and so longing and so lovely.

"Darling," he murmurs, against your lips. "I'm here. Let me help."

And the shirt is no longer needed.

#drabble #writing #genshin impact posting #sigh #not sfw text

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eureka-its-zico · 10 months

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Commitment Part 2

Summary: After finding out the truth about who Jungkook really is, your world - and everything you thought you knew - comes crashing down. Do you begin to give in to your new captive situation, or do you continue to fight? The choices no longer seem so easy when you feel betrayed by the one you love…

A/N: Let’s be real: I bet a lot of you never thought there would be a second part to this (its a far assumption). But I’ve decide to make this a small series, maybe two or three more parts. I hope that this chapter feels worth the wait, and I hope it makes you excited for things to come. As always, thank you for stopping by, for reading, and hopefully, enjoying my work. Much love, Jenn.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 7k

Genre: Mafia!Jungkook, Detective Reader, enemies to lovers, lovers to enemies, mutual pining

Warnings: mentions of violence, sexual content (its smut, y’all), graphic violence, slight dom behavior, fingering, cunnalingus, almost p in v.

If it wasn’t for the searing pain that exploded behind your eyes you could’ve sworn - for a brief moment - that you were home. Safe at home in bed beside Jungkook, who was currently running his fingers softly through your hair. If he wasn’t peppering your jawline with kisses to wake you he was most definitely running his fingers through your hair.

You’d come to expect it. Your body responded in kind by nuzzling up beside him and claiming his lips with your own.

Morning breath be damned.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take your body long to remind you that the bed you were lying in didn’t belong to you. The pain pulsating inside your skull wasn’t just a killer migraine. God - you wanted to believe it was a bad dream and that you’d open your eyes and find yourself nestled against Jungkook’s chest with fresh coffee waiting for you on your nightstand.

The dried blood crusted somewhere in your hair and swollen lip reminded you that you weren’t that lucky. The only real thing you knew for sure was that Jungkook was in the room with you.

How did you know this? While you weren’t in your shared bed, sunlight drifting through the curtains to remind you it was time to start the day, you could feel fingers playing carefully through your hair. The pattern his fingers took, the way he gently moved through each strand to make sure his fingers didn’t catch it - pull it out of place - was something specifically Jungkook.

Now, Jungkook was taking even more care not to hurt you. His fingers moved achingly, slowly, through your hair making sure to avoid the throbbing wound.

You wanted to pull away from him. To open your eyes and scream at him while smashing your fists into his chests. You wanted answers - needed them to clear your conscience that what happened back at the station wasn’t your fault.

You wanted to hear him say he wasn’t the devil and you weren’t the fool.

But you couldn’t face him. Sure. You were filled with rage from being deceived, but had he really deceived you? Or had you simply deceived yourself?

All the red flags were there that his story didn’t make sense. The odd hours. The mysterious phone calls that sent him racing for the door half-dressed with promises to return. When he did come back, he wouldn’t let you touch him - come close to him - until after he showered. He’d ask simple questions over morning coffee about cases that you weren’t sure you’d ever talked to him about.

All the red flags were flown in your face, and you chose to overlook every single one for a handsome face and great dick. It wasn’t just that, was it? No. Somewhere along the line you both became too entangled; tethered to the same cord that strangled you both.

Maybe that’s why when he cupped your cheek your body instantly turned into him. You hated him - loved him - were hopelessly devoted to him all at the same time. All those emotions would tear you to pieces as surely as your rage would.

“Kitten - I know you’ve been awake for the last five minutes. Look at me.”

“Oh, I’ll look at you, alright,” you snarled.

You allowed all that anger - your brimming hatred - to burn in your gut. It gave you enough courage to do something either incredibly brave or plain stupid. You opened your eyes just enough to meet his gaze before your teeth sunk down into the soft flesh of his palm.

In a split second, the love that blossomed in his eyes as you looked at him wilted and replaced itself with a lightening of rage. Jungkook tried to shake his hand loose from between your teeth but it caused you to bite down harder. Never once did he yell or sound out his pain. It should’ve warned you that this flame would burn you.

You never were one to listen.

Jungkook tried one last time to violently shake his hand free, and when it failed his hand smacked down across your face. The ringing in your ears was deafening and caused your vision to blur. Your jaw loosened enough for him to slip his hand free, and the taste of copper flowed like a river across your tongue.

“Don’t ever call me ‘Kitten’ again,” you snapped, spitting blood onto the cold concrete floor.

“Anything else - Kitten.”

The bastard was smirking. Gone was the unholy look of rage that could destroy whole cities and back was the coy softness you’d grown to expect from him.

“Yeah. Don’t fucking touch me either.”

You expected him to snap. To bare teeth and tell you who you belonged to. Instead, all you got in return was that infamous smirk that spoke louder than words: he thought you were all talk. All venom that dripped from the pain of knowing you did belong to him. Even now with your body radiating with the urge to strike him you knew all it would take was one touch of his lips against yours and your fight would end.

“We both know you don’t mean it.”

“Don’t I? You’re a liar, Jungkook. A fucking psychopath.”

A sigh left him as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The smirk now gone as he regarded you with raised brows and a look of indifference. His reaction telling you plainly that you were overreacting.

“It’s a little late to try and act like a forensic psychologist, don’t you think?”

“I’ve been to your crime scenes! I’ve seen the fucking carnage that you leave behind. Shit that would make Ed Gein look like a fucking Saint!”

God. You wanted to keep it together and act as cold as he portrayed himself to be, but how could you? Jungkook had become eerily still. For the first time since you’d realized who he was you felt scared.

“A psychopath you took to your bed. Who lived in your house, and cooked you dinners with the same hands that were held finger deep by your clenching pussy were also the same ones used to maim and murder. Tell me, Kitten, did it feel better being fucked by a psychopath than the straight and narrow pricks you allowed in your bed?”

You allowed the fear you felt to turn into stone cold dread as it dawned on you that they’d been watching you from the beginning. That he was mentioning your old partner, Christian, that you’d had a relationship with before it turned sour. Before he began to care more about having you sit at a desk job instead of being in the field chasing after bad guys. Bad guys like Jungkook.

For all the dread that corroded your veins they were stoked to life with a rage so incredibly potent you could’ve sworn, for a moment, you went blind.

“Get. Out.” When Jungkook showed no signs of moving you grabbed the only pillow off the cot bed and flung it as hard as you could. He dodged it easily. “Get the fuck out! I don’t want to see you ever again. You hear me? I hate you!”

“No you don’t-“

“Don’t you tell me what I feel, Jungkook!”

“You wish you could hate me, Kitten, but you can’t.”

“Watch me. I’m going to get out of here and I’m putting your narcissistic, psychotic ass in prison for the rest of your unnatural fucking life. Afterwards, I’ll find someone to fuck to wash you completely out of my system! Marry them-”

When you first started your rant, Jungkook was smug. The cockiness of his belief that you couldn’t hate him - couldn’t move past him - kept his shoulders squared in confidence until his eyes met yours. Whatever he saw there - the raw determination - was enough to make that confident facade drop leaving only something much worse in its wake. Your bratty words meant to wound him only stoked a fire that threatened to burn entire cities.

He took a threatening step towards you as his hands dropped from inside his pockets. His fists clenching and unclenching in time with the ticking of his jaw. You wanted to put as much space between you two as possible, but you didn’t want to back down either.

“I have never loved someone like I love you. Do you understand that? You are mine. And if you think I’m ever going to let you go, you got another thing coming, sweetheart. I am not letting you go.” Jungkook was standing in front of you now. His body dropped down just enough to meet you at eye level as he breathed one final promise across your lips, “Ever. I will burn down a thousand fucking cities looking for you, if I have too.”

You braced yourself for a kiss that never came. Your pulse felt like at any moment it would burst from your neck. Jungkook noticed. He always did and that seemed to be enough for him, because he didn’t kiss you. He simply pushed back on his feet and turned towards the cell door. He called out and a man dressed in all black with an m16 strapped across his chest appeared. Jungkook shot you one last look as the guard opened the door, and allowed him to pass through just before he began to lock it again.

Jungkook was still looking at you when he spoke to the henchman. “Don’t you fucking go in there with her. Don’t you let anyone in there unless it’s been cleared with me first.”

“Sir, what about Namjoon-“

“I said cleared with me first. Got it?”

The man nodded his head too many times. Enough to make you wonder if he’d given himself whiplash before Jungkook spared you one last glance before disappearing back inside the depths of whatever fresh hell you’d put yourself in.

When you continued to wake up still breathing on the cot, you were surprised. Okay. You were a whole lot of surprised. You half expected to be a lifeless corpse rising from a trash heap than to be found tucked inside bedsheets. It didn’t take you long to know why you weren’t dead yet nor was it a surprise

It felt like you’d been awake for hours. Your eyes helplessly combed over every painted brick of the walls for any sign of weakness. Without an actual clock inside your makeshift prison there was plenty of room for error when it came to time frames. It could've simply been hours since you’d been in the cell. But because of the trauma you’d sustained to your head - the possible unseen damage - it could’ve been days. The thought alone causes your stomach to somersault violently into your throat.

Since you woke up that first time and had your spat with Jungkook, he hadn’t returned to visit you. The guards at your cell, however, still followed his orders. Most of them wouldn’t even look at you.

The headache you’d been nursing with the palm of your hand since you woke up continued to be a nagging friend. It’s persistent poking and prodding against your temple caused your vision to shift into doubles at the worst times. Mostly, those worst times accumulated down to when you were pacing in your cell. The game plan you’d come up with kept constantly changing -forming- and retaking shape.

When you first awoke in the dank cell, you were quick to notice you were lying on a cot. It’s placement in one of the corners of the room's brick walls made it easy for you to determine the only thing inside it was you and the cot. The exposed lightbulb above the room swaying at odd times. As if the ground above shook with the same rage you felt building in your chest.

There weren’t any windows, and instead of metal bars there was just a door. It’s rusted exterior letting you know wherever you’d been taken too was very old. No windows and no open metal framework told you simply that yelling for help was out of the question. You weren’t surprised: you’d been reading their files for years. If they didn’t keep you closed off from the rest of civilization, you’d have questioned the whole thing.

You started feeling the grooves in between the bricks. Every single one painted over in gunmetal grey to make the cell appear darker. Whatever light the flickering bulb above gave off was consumed and tinted by lighted shadow.

It took everything you had to concentrate on feeling out the grooves for possible signs that the bricks were possibly lose. Or maybe even catch the slightest breeze - making its way through a large crack. You allowed yourself to hope.

How stupid of you.

With every inch and glide of your palms against the cool surface, you felt your heart beginning to sink. You were never getting out. The chances of you making it out on your own two legs and not a body bag was dwindling and your hysteria. Well, that was definitely beginning to spring to the surface.

You’d just taken rapid steps back away from your latest attempt, the panic swelling up your chest was threatening to turn you feral. The only course of action you could think to do was to cause yourself pain. So, your hands flew up to grab at your head. The minute your finger scratched at the dull cut your vision exploded in pain - hissing past your lips with your eyes flinching at the thundering ache. The dried blood flaked down to your jacket, and you stared at the few flakes resting on your shoulder.

The pain was bringing you out of your breakdown, but barely. You were running out of ideas - of options - when you heard the sound of a large deadbolt coming loose and right after a few larger bolts slid out of place. Your anxiety attack had placed you dead center in the middle of the room.

The lightbulb’s glow painted you in a spotlight of sunburnt yellows - the blood on your hair and face made you feel like a wounded animal. Every click of a lock coming undone a time bomb to the Hunter coming in to finish the job.

Your heart was back in your throat as you glanced around hopelessly for an object, anything to defend yourself, and came up short. With the last lock coming undone you decided you would wait for them to enter. Your muscles tensing up in your thighs as you prepared yourself to run at whoever it was.

You prepared yourself as much as you could but when the door squeakily opened and Jungkook stepped through all your resolve faded. He was just standing there - like nothing happened - looking handsome as ever with a tray held with one hand. The entire night flashed before you. The deceit. The lies. The last conversation you had before he’d left the room. To see him standing there with that smug look on his face - the same one he gave you when he proved he was better at cooking, games, or sex irritated the shit out of you.

All the dinners you cooked together in your shared kitchen. The trips you’d taken and the little notes you found inside your coat pockets or on the fridge and bathroom mirror. Was it all a lie? Was his smugness due to him winning the biggest game of all?

The scream that you bottled up broke free as you charged towards him. You hated how unfazed he seemed - how amused. Jungkook wasn’t apologetic for tearing your world apart: for making you love him. If anything, he stood like a god before you. Gluttonous in his pride knowing you couldn’t do anything to him.

You swung at him, realizing too late it was a wide swing. His hand came up in seconds to grab your swinging arm in mid-air. You were still moving forward with your momentum, unable to come to a stop, and Jungkook used it to twist your arm in his grip and bring you colliding into his chest.

The tray of food and whatever else he’d carried was an afterthought as its content scattered all over the floor. You tried to wriggle out of his strong grip, but that only succeeded in making him hold on to you tighter. You could practically feel his muscles as they flexed under the shirt.

“I told you, I didn’t want to see you again,” you seethed.

“And I told you, Kitten, that I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“Let me go, Jungkook. Let. Me. Go!”

If you could’ve pounded on his big stupidity attractive chest you would have. Since you couldn’t, you settled for screaming in his face. You tried to take a step back, to try and gain some kind of leverage, when his free hand came up to grip the back of your head. He used that leverage to bring your face dangerously close to his. The wild look in his eyes made you grow incredibly still.

“I need you to get it through that thick skull of yours,” he used your name. Jungkook rarely ever used your name. “If you think for one second I am spending one second of my life without you, you are sadly mistaken.”

“You’re an idiot,” you gasped. You were not going to fucking cry right now. “Why would you want someone who doesn’t want you - who can’t stand the sight of you?”

Jungkook dipped down and brushed the tip of his nose over yours. The gentle touch shocked you enough that you stopped moving; forgot to breathe.

“When are you going to stop lying to yourself, Kitten? We were made for each other.”

You wanted to deny his statement. To remind him that he was not only a psychopath, but a delusional one at that, but was he the only delusional one in the room? Or was it you?

You didn’t get a chance to dispute his claim. Using the hold he had on the back of your neck, Jungkook brought you the last couple inches closer and sealed his lips down on yours.

The worst part about Jungkook kissing you was how your resistance completely crumbled. You knew he must have noticed it too - the way the fight slowly seeped out of your muscles. How easy it was for his tongue to spread your lips open to dive inside. The grip he’d held on your arm released, but Jungkook made sure he kept you secured to him. His hand on your neck pressing you painfully closer as the hand he’d removed from your wrist now dug its fingers into the soft flesh of your hips.

You didn’t want him thinking that it was over for you; that he’d won. Your lust may have clouded your mind, but somewhere behind the cloud your common sense was screaming. Unfortunately, common sense was losing when his hand trailed up beneath your shirt to the swell of your breasts. Nimble fingers pulled down the cotton fabric of your bra to expose your nipples to him.

Jungkook made quick work to take the bud between his thumb and index finger and applied the right amount of pressure. Just enough to make a moan gasp against his mouth right before he moved in to swallow the sound with another heated kiss.

He pinched your nipple one last time sending a delicious shiver to shoot down your spine. Instantly, your pussy reacted to his touch. You knew if - when - he pulled down your pants Jungkook would find your underwear soaked.

You weren’t sure what made you do it. Maybe you were annoyed by how easily he made you crumble at his touch. He was a monster. A killer.

But he’s your monster.

The thought made your blood run cold. The desire Jungkook had stoked inside you quickly disappeared as that thought haunted you. When you tried to pull away from his kiss, Jungkook’s grip on your neck refused to let you go. So, you did the only thing you could think of.

You waited until his bottom lip pressed down into a pout to grab it with your teeth. You bit down hard enough for your tongue to be greeted with the taste of blood. A growl rumbled deep in chest; a sound he pressed with violent force against your lips.

The kiss felt bruising as his hands dropped down to the back of your thighs. You were able to pull away from him enough to let out a small yelp of surprise when Jungkook’s hands grabbed your thighs and hoisted you up. Instantly, you wrapped your legs around his waist.

His feet carried you over to the corner of the room. You expected to be thrown down on the cot. Your body tensed up as it waited for the coming drop, but it never came. Instead, Jungkook pushed you up against the cold stone of the wall with enough force it pushed a rush of air from your lungs.

You were about to call out - the jolt of brief pain ready to escape from your mouth - when Jungkook crashed his lips back into yours. His hips rutted up into you. His cock hard and pressed into the fabric of his jeans.

He controlled the movement with his hands on your hips. Half of your weight supported by the wall and his hips that he moved over your clothed sex. The friction of his clothed cock rubbed against your clit made you moan into the kiss.

“You want to play rough, kitten,” he huffed against your lips. “I can play rough. I’ll be as rough as you want me to be.”

To prove his point, Jungkook traced his lips down to your neck. His tongue grazed from the hollow of your throat down towards your collarbone. When he reached your shoulder he sank his teeth down into the skin. You let out a small scream, your hands fisting into his hair, as you tried to tug him loose.

Jungkook kept the pressure of his teeth firmly in their place and, using his hands on his hips, ground up into you. The jolt of pleasure that collided with the pain sent another moan spilling free from your lips. You were close to begging him to stop teasing - to give you what you wanted - but Jungkook seemed to know from the soft pleas that you hummed against his ear.

Without warning, he peeled you from the wall and flung you both on top of the cot. Jungkook caught himself with his hands at the last second making sure he didn’t crush you against the mattress. You wouldn’t have cared. You couldn’t find time to care as he helped strip you of your jacket and shirt. Your own hands desperately trying to pull his shirt over his head so you could feel him bare and pressed against you.

When your bra was removed and flung off your arms, Jungkook didn’t hesitate to take each breast in his hands. He dropped down and wrapped his mouth around a nipple. The feeling of his tongue flicking and swirling caused your body to arch into him. Your hands flew wildly to grab ahold of the strands of his hair - fingers curling and pulling as he took a nipple between his teeth. Jungkook made sure he took his time taking each nipple in his mouth; tongue swirling around the stiff peaks.

You could feel his hand drift down your middle to the edge of your jeans. You didn’t try and fight him as his nimble fingers worked at the button of your jeans, and further down between the fabric and the lace of your underwear.

When Jungkook’s fingers first felt between your folds - his fingers finding you soaked - he exhaled heavily. His mouth made a loud pop as he disconnected from your breast with eyes hollowed with hunger meeting your own.

“Fuck. You’re always so wet for me, Kitten,” he huffed.

You weren’t sure how to answer him or if you even should. You hated him - wanted to believe you hated him - and everything he stood for. There was no denying, however, that you wanted him. It went beyond reason, because you couldn’t understand it. The only thing you did understand was when he pushed three fingers knuckle deep inside your aching pussy, your body turned molten with a need so deep that only Jungkook could sate.

The lewd wet sounds of his fingers thrusting in and out of you filled the room. The only other sound to try and cover that was your soft moans that only grew louder when Jungkook stripped your pants and underwear down over your thighs, and off your legs and buried his tongue between your folds.

His tongue traced up from your entrance, and took his time licking his way up to swirl at your clit before giving a large stroke. This time you did scream as his tongue fucked you; stroked and sucked every inch of you until your legs quivered around him forcing your words to become incoherent.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The need to be filled with him became overwhelming and, using his hair to pull him violently up, you asked, “Jungkook-“ you breathlessly pleaded, “Fuck me. Please.”

He looked up at you from between your legs. His pupils were blown out completely with lust. There was a moment where you wondered if he’d even heard you. There was no recognition in his face that he had heard you until a growl brushed past his lips, and he nipped at the inner corner of your thigh. You let out a sound of surprise as you tried to move back, but Jungkook kept you securely in place.

“Is that what you want?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want you, Jungkook.”

You thought he was going to ask more stupid questions. Couldn’t he see you were a fool for him? Couldn’t he see how much you needed him? At that moment, you were willing to beg him. You were ready to start doing exactly that when Jungkook suddenly moved up with his hands at his belt. His fingers were rapidly unbuttoning his jeans when a loud knock came at the door.

Jungkook’s response was instant and animalistic. A snarl cut through the room that seemed to suspend time completely. The person behind the door no doubt shitting themselves for making a boldly stupid decision.

“Whoever it is, you better have a good fucking reason for interrupting me,” he snapped.

Again. Silence. You were willing to bet they’d run for safety, except you were wrong.

“I’m sorry, boss, but Namjoon sent me down to find you. He needs you to come back to the lounge, and he requested you bring the prisoner with you.”

Jungkook had gone eerily still above you. The sexually charged air began to change as the lust that had been in his eyes was replaced by something darker; more dangerous. Suddenly, you felt too exposed to the room. Your hands meekly moved to try and cover your nakedness from the room, while Jungkook remained on his knees above you. His buckle loose at his waist and upper body bare.

He seemed to be deciding whether to do as he was asked or tell them to fuck off. You’d learned, however, that while Jungkook was no doubt the unhinged part of Namjoon’s crew, he was loyal. You didn’t think he would deny a request from his leader, even for you.

He let out a heavy sigh as he removed himself from the cot, his legs bending down slightly so he could scoop up his shirt and put it back on.

“Tell him we’ll be there in five minutes.”

While he didn’t sound happy about it, Jungkook was still going to be a good boy and do as he was told.

“Namjoon asked for you to hurry-“

“Fuck off!” Jungkook snapped. A booted foot slammed against the metal of the door making everything grow still with fear. “I said it’ll be five minutes. Now go.”

The sound of retreating feet filled the hall outside before Jungkook had even finished telling him to leave. Smart man. You swung your legs over the side of the cot and moved to start picking up your clothes when hands on your waist pushed you back against the wall.

You looked up just in time to watch Jungkook fall to his knees between your legs. His hands grasping your left thigh to raise it up onto his shoulder. The angle left him closer to the mound of your sex.

“Jungkook, what are you doing? You told them we’d be there in five minutes.”

The devilish smirk you knew all too well tilted the corner of his lips. The lust that was stripped away seconds ago coming back as his tongue lazy stroked between your folds coaxing a gasp to leave you.

“I only need a couple to make you come.”

Jungkook always was a man of his word.

You walked down the hallways beside Jungkook as he led you through the large building. Wherever it was The Devils’ called home, it was a renovated industrial building. Maybe once upon a time, it had housed machinery of some kind to build cars or maybe make some sort of sweet treat that eventually closed down. Whatever the building was used for originally, it had been refurbished to house evil.

The cold original metal and brick of the interior has been kept with only a few choices of artwork, drapes around the windows, and furniture giving it a sense of life. To you, no matter what anyone tried to place in the building, it would still feel uninviting.

Jungkook instructed you to follow him as he turned left at the next four way intersection of the building. His hand on your arm gently pulled you along and kept you close to him all at the same time.

“When we get in there don’t speak unless he instructs you to speak.”

“I’ll speak when I want too,” you snapped, hating the idea of being good for any of them.

Jungkook sent you a glaring look of warning as came to a set of double doors.

“Don’t be stupid, Kitten. The only reason you’re still alive is because of me.”

“And should I be grateful for that?” You wanted to pull your arm out of his grip, but it felt silly to do that when you’d just come all over his tongue.

Jungkook appeared to be having the same thought.

“Yes. You should.”

That was all the reply Jungkook bothered to give you as he pushed open the door and ushered you inside. This room, whatever it had been, was more updated than what you’d previously seen. The walls were painted a warm tone and carpet was put in. Off to the counter was a large bar that had an actual bartender stuck behind the empty counter with a slew of couches placed like a large C inside the middle.

Inside that large C is where your eyes found Namjoon. His body positioned in the center of the C and sitting patiently. The second the two of you entered his eyes were on you. The judgment in them was heavy and something that he wasn’t afraid to show.

Namjoon didn’t seem to like you very much. Well, the feeling was mutual. Jungkook stopped you in the middle and released the grip he’d held on your arm. He moved away from you to go and stand off to the left of Namjoon with Yoongi being at his right.

You hated being left there like some kind of fucked up prize. It wasn’t just the three of them and a bartender. No, scattered around the back of the lounge stood more lackey’s, the unimportant ones that were used as fodder when shit got heavy were scattered all around. Most of them wear shit eating grins as if your presence in their bad guy lair was just the funniest damn thing.

You’d see who’d have the last laugh.

“Welcome, Detective,” Namjoon’s voice boomed inside the room. His arms swept over the area as he attempted to smile in what he must have thought was a greeting. It looked more like a grimace. “I do hope you’ve been enjoying your stay here.”

You considered him coolly as you thought of how to reply. Jungkook had instructed you to speak when spoken too; to play nice. You always did have an issue with doing what you were told.

“Actually, it’s been shit,” you started with a shrug. “I’m just waiting to get out of here.”

“And why is that?”

Namjoon seemed to know why. He didn’t need to truly ask you. He was only doing it because he wanted to see if you’d have the guts to say it out loud.

“You aren’t dumb. None of you are, and I’m willing to bet you all know exactly what I’m going to do when I’m out of here.”

“Kitten.”

One word. Jungkook spoke your pet name as a warning. His face and body had grown stiff as he took a cautious step towards you. Namjoon held up a hand to stop him, waving him back to stand in his spot. Jungkook didn’t like it. It was made apparent by the ticking of his jaw as he continued to watch.

“No, no Jungkook let her speak. You think you are going to put us away?”

“Oh, I know I can.” You retorted, allowing yourself your own sickly sweet smile. “I won’t stop until I place every single one of you where you deserve.”

“That's a noble little quest you’ve given yourself, but you’ve got your ideas of who’s good and who's bad backwards, I’m afraid.”

A snort of laughter left you. The disbelief evident on your face as you regarded the men around you. These men who had slaughtered droves of people; families even. Men who had tried to come forward to atone for the crimes they had committed, their conscience finally taking hold, only for you to find the entire home missing or dead. Hospital staff who had been gunned down along with rival gang leaders who’d been inside.

The terror these men had caused and all for the name of what? Infamy? Power? Money? All the things that didn’t mean shit when you were six feet under. The thing that disgusted you the most wasn’t these men and their atrocities, but your own.

The very man who was responsible for so much of that carnage had just been buried nose deep between your legs, and you’d let him. All the fight you’d claimed to have - the moral standing - completely went away when he touched you. Where was your resolve then? Where was your belief in Justice for those victims when his hands were digging into your hips and his cock buried inside you?

Nowhere.

Looking at him now you knew a part of you hated Jungkook, but the person you really hated was yourself.

With your eyes roaming back to face down Namjoon, you square your shoulders and make sure your resolve shown through as you speak your next words.

“I’ve seen your handiwork, and I know what kind of men you are. I meant what I said. I’m going to find a way out of here and when I do, I promise you until my very last breath, I will hunt you down and put you fucking animals where you belong.”

You hadn’t realized you were shaking - that you’d taken a step towards him until Jungkook and Yoongi took a step with you. Good. Let them know you meant every word. That they weren’t the only boogeymen meant to be feared.

Namjoon sat forward, his arms resting on his thighs, as he regarded you with a calculating eye. No longer did he think you were trying to talk tough because of your situation. Now, you were positive, he knew you meant every word and that maybe he should proceed with caution.

“You’d lock up Jungkook, as well?”

He was testing you. Maybe it was a test meant to show Jungkook he shouldn’t have grown soft for you. That you didn’t care for him the way he did you.

You wished that was the truth but, unfortunately, it was far from it. Maybe that’s why when you turn to look in Jungkook’s direction you will yourself to look callous; completely disregarding what resembled hurt that was scrunching across his brow.

“All of you deserve to be in cages. No exceptions.”

“We’ll, I guess we better make sure to keep you locked inside one yourself.”

You knew that voice.

Your back went rigid as your mind raced at the recognition of that voice. A part of you didn’t want to turn - to see - the betrayal you felt coming towards you like a speeding train. Unfortunately, this was something you couldn’t run from.

Turning your head to your right, you watched as your Chief came into view. A smug smile showing all of his pearly white teeth like the Cheshire Cat who’d stumped you at your own riddle. The shitty part about that was that he had.

You’d always suspected that The Devils’ had some form of inside help. Most gangs were good, but no one rivaled The Devils’ when it came to the amount of intel they seemed to have. When witness protection magically lost informants, or informants were found out while undercover. Good seasoned Detectives who had been doing this for years miraculously were caught with their body parts being dumped in front of the police station with rats festering inside the bags.

At first, you thought it had been you. That these men and women had paid with their lives all because of some costly fling. The endless guilt of racking your brain wondering what you’d left out; let slip while grocery shopping or relaxing with him on the couch.

And all along it had been Chief Ebert.

“You fuckin’ traitor!” You snarled.

Seconds later, your closed fist collided with his nose and a spurt of blood erupted like a spout. A sharp cry of pain filled the room as you launched yourself at him, but found arms securing themselves at your waist and pulling away. The fast movement off to your left let you know it wasn’t Jungkook who had grabbed you, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know he didn’t like it one bit.

“Jungkook - stay where you’re at,” Namjoon ordered. “Hyujin, restrain her.”

“I’d like to see you fucking try!”

You felt murderous. Your heart pounded like war drums inside your chest. In a matter of a day, two days, the amount of betrayal you’d experienced left your world spinning. With an even bigger question of, “Who could be trusted?” raging inside of your head.

“You fucking bitch!” Chief Ebert muttered out. His fingers sloppily trying to stop the blood from running out. “I always knew you were psychotic.”

“That’s rich coming from a treacherous weasel,” you snapped back. “How much did you sell your honor for, huh?”

“Oh, shut up,” he huffed. “Like you have any room to talk. When I requested for Jungkook to follow you to make sure he kept you off leads on investigations, I never would have thought it would’ve been that easy for him to fucking get to you.”

Another flash of red filtered over your vision. With a snarl you lashed out with your foot with your boot connecting with his chest shoving him down.

“That is enough!” Namjoon’s voice boomed over the room. “Hyujin, take her back to her cell. Ebert get the hell up so we can get this over with.”

You were still struggling as the lackey in question, Hyujin, walked you back down the long stretches of hallway Jungkook had just led you down.

Did Ebert say he requested Jungkook to follow you? So, that night at the bar…Jungkook knew exactly who you were. He knew everything about you, because Ebert told Namjoon who had told him.

Your mind tried to make sense of the carousel of deceit you kept finding yourself in. It struggled to find footing - on a course of action - but at the end of every idea the uncertainty of who could you trust came slamming home into your chest. Hyujin almost had you back to your cell when you finally made up your mind. While you weren’t sure who you could trust, you knew one thing - you could trust yourself. With your mind made up you took in a breath preparing for your next move.

It was now or never.

You let out a small scream as you slammed the heel of your foot down on top of the guard's foot. When he bent down in predictable fashion, you brought your elbow up to crash against his face. It gave you just enough momentum to grab the m16 that was strapped around his neck, to grab at the strap, and move behind him, pulling it tight across his throat.

It takes longer in real-life to choke someone into unconsciousness, even longer if you’re trying to kill them. Lucky for this guy you only meant to only do the first. When Hyujin finally stopped struggling, you removed the strap from around his throat, completely removing the gun from his body. You put the strap over your shoulder and went to work looking for keys.

You found a walkie talkie and earbud and quickly put it on. While you didn’t plan on staying long enough to actually use it, it would come in handy as you tried to make your escape.

After locating the keys, you plugged in the earbud and secured the radio to the back of your pants. With the gun held tightly in your hands, you started making your way back up the hallway in search of an exit. It was time to start your escape.

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you for reading! XoXo

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