#the outside in yk. like half of me is feeling the emotional response and the other half is just watching from the outside like im someone | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

free-pool-trash · 3 years

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happiness - peter maximoff

yay a new peter fic <3 i was feeling a little unmotivated for a few days (since our boy wasn’t in episode 8 at all :/) but im back 😎 although im back in school so i might be on and off for a while 😩✋🏻

!!!it’s not a songfic those lyrics at the start are just my inspo!!!

word count: 5k <3 😳

warnings: maybe swearing but i dont think so i cant remember, peter being sad, angst, but mostly fluff, WandaVision spoilers maybe??? I pretty much made up this plot so idk, endgame spoilers, reader was an avenger, kissing but it’s not graphic😽 probably some mistakes yk how it is

feedback is appreciated <3

tagging: @enchantedcruelsummer (should i make a peter maximoff taglist? let me know and I’ll do it)

masterlist

haunted by the look in my eyes that would’ve loved you for a lifetime

leave it all behind

& there is happiness

Loneliness had always been something that plagued him. That and a plethora of other negative emotions.

There wasn’t a day that went by where Peter Maximoff wasn’t made to feel like a loser. Admittedly, he’d never held himself to a high standard, he grew up thinking that he’d never fit in anywhere and eventually that thought mutated into a lifestyle as he began isolating himself from the world around him, either far too good or heartbreakingly not enough to be a part of that crowd.

He liked spending time with himself. Nobody else knew him the way he knew him, and still, he found nothing but an overwhelming hollow space where his deepest most important hopes, aspirations, dreams and self discoveries should have resided.

Peter had always put this feeling of exile down to the fact that he was a mutant, it was the most likely explanation, right?

It was only when he’d decided to join the X-Men that he finally came to the conclusion that maybe the rest of the world wasn’t the problem, nor was his mutation the problem, but that he himself was the problem. For even in a school full of people exactly like him he was still the same loser that he was in his mother’s basement.

And he was under no illusions that that was exactly what his teammates saw in him; nothing. No potential. Just a space holder to bring the numbers up.

Super speed was incredible. That’s how Peter acknowledged jobs well done, he praised his speed but never himself. He just saved Charles and Erik from a room full of armed guards? No that wasn’t him, that was simply his speed. He saved an entire mansion full of people from a potentially fatal explosion? Nothing special, Kurt probably could’ve done the same.

Forget all of the good deeds and saved lives because the bottom line of it all, to him at least, was that all he was good for was cheeky one liners and hopeless kleptomania.

His life took a turn for the worse when he found himself being mind controlled in an alternate universe. And even then, he was playing the part of someone that wasn’t him, the thought humbled him, reconnected him to his roots and reintroduced him to his life long philosophy that he’d never be anything more than a social pariah. Not even an alternate reality could accept him for who he was. There wasn’t a warm welcome and despite not knowing what was going on, the definition of “imposter” or the weirder, “recast”, still shot to kill.

He settled on the notion that he was an inter dimensional waste of space. At least in WestView he could be blissfully ignorant, let the real him be drowned mercilessly in favour of being an integral part of someone’s life- to feel important, even if it wasn’t real.

When WestView fell apart he was completely lost. In every sense of the word. In a new world with no way home and as it turned out, nobody was looking for him. Although he didn’t expect anyone to care, it still stung that nobody did. He always hoped that one day Erik would step up as a father figure for him, this; getting kidnapped and smuggled into a different dimension, seemed like the perfect moment for that epic father son moment, but it wouldn’t surprise Peter if his father has yet to notice his disappearance.

But then, seemingly out of nowhere, he came into contact with a beacon of hope. A guiding star that might possibly lead him to an existence consisting of something other than misery and self loathing.

It offered him a choice; return to being the self proclaimed loser he was known as or start fresh as someone new and mysterious, with first impressions yet to be made and conclusions about him yet to be drawn. Peter had known himself to be rash in the past, when it came to making decisions he had the tendency to act impulsively, never putting too much thought into how his decisions would affect his life in the long term. The choice before him now is no different, he knew exactly what he wanted going forward, however selfish the choice may have been, the second he realised it was an option his heart was set on it.

That previously mentioned beacon of hope arrived to him in the form of a girl, in the form of you. An ex-avenger and close friend of Wanda’s, you were hired by S.W.O.R.D to help them clean up the more ‘sensitive’ fallout that the fall of WestView brought about. Obviously, they were sticking you- the only other avenger with magik- on babysitting and rehabilitation rather than letting you go after your best friend who had gone completely off the rails. Having said that though, you didn’t want anyone else handling him.

You hadn’t watched WandaVision, nor were you even aware that any of it was going on until it had reached a boiling point and you got a call from Monica Rambeau, she’d begged you to come and wait on the edge of town while she went in and act as her eyes on the outside along with Jimmy Woo.

That’s where you stayed until the hex broke down.

As soon as the barrier came down the base you manned was overrun by an armada of terribly confused and distressed citizens, Monica and Wanda were not among them but in their places stumbled in Darcy and the man playing the role of Pietro.

Jimmy appointed himself to Darcy, who in all honesty seemed relatively unscathed by the situation while you made a beeline for the dirty blonde charading as your former, dead teammate.

Peter was, to put it simply, completely enthralled by you as soon as you’d strolled over to him and in the moment he’d put his almost magnetic attraction to you down to the fact that you were the first friendly face he’d seen upon breaking free of Agatha’s possession.

But one thing in particular struck him; you’d asked him his name. You hadn’t immediately assumed him to be some knock off Pietro, as everyone else had. You acknowledged that he had his own personal identity and despite how often he caught himself hating the person he was, he found that when it was torn away from him that he wanted it back. The simple question you posed gave him the opportunity to regain his identity.

“Peter. My name is Peter.” He answered you, almost unsure of himself and you found your interest in the man piqued even further.

He remembered with perfect clarity the way you’d offered him a grin, tilted your hand, extended your hand and said, “Well it’s nice to meet you, Peter. Come on, I’ll be your babysitter for the next while.” There was something about the way you’d laughed after saying the words and the slight, yet unmistakable, glint of mischief in your eyes that had him captivated from the get go.

With you came a whirlwind of new emotions. After only a few weeks of knowing you, Peter noticed he wasn’t as lonely as he had been back home. He didn’t hate himself half as much either, he wasn’t entirely free of self deprovative tendencies and maybe he never would be, but undoubtedly, he likes himself more in this world than he ever had in his last. He thanked you and your determination to make him “a functioning member of society” for that.

It didn’t feel belittling, the way you helped him. You hadn’t dragged him to your favourite mall every weekend just to taunt him about how he couldn’t stop himself from stealing something. Even the very first time, when he’d sped away from you and returned within a second adoring a pair of freshly stolen sunglasses. Your only reaction had been to laugh and casually place your hands on both sides of his face.

“At least remember to take the tag off next time, speedy.” You’d muttered, subtly pulling the tacky stickers off the arms of his shades. No, you weren’t dragging him sight seeing or forcing him to help you go clothes shopping because you thought he was a loser who needed reforming you were doing it because you were a true friend who wanted him to succeed.

The pair of you seemed like two peas in a pod. Which to be fair, you were. Peter Maximoff intrigued you in every sense of the word. He was new, quite literally other worldly, he was kind, he was funny, he was perfectly mischievous and completely wonderful.

What caught your eye the most was the way he held himself, as if he wasn’t entirely comfortable in his own skin. It became apparent to you that he lacked confidence with the phrases he usually tacked onto the ends of his sentences. When you’d invite him to hang out in the beginning his response would always be something along the lines of, “Sure. If you want me to.” But the excitable puppy dog eyes told you that he was dying for someone to want him to tag along some place.

There was a certain understanding between you. You were both more than accustomed with the harrowing feeling of being alone and even though you’d never exactly voiced those thoughts with each other, you couldn’t deny that his was a spirit kindred to your own and he felt it too.

Since the Avengers has disbanded, one of your best friends, Natasha, was dead and your other best friend, Wanda, was gone completely off the rails and the people chasing her wouldn’t let you anywhere near her or even attempt to help pull her out of her darkness. You were being kept as a wildcard in case they needed her taken down. Peter was no stranger to the feeling of being cast aside and so he quickly responded to your frustrations, and in doing so, forced himself out of his comfort zone to be there for you. To his complete shock though, you’d been so appreciative of his efforts.

You never failed to thank him for the little things he did for you, always complimenting his mutation when he’d use it and giving him the recognition he never received at home. The friendship he formed with you was so… two sided, again, something he wasn’t accustomed to before. It didn’t involve him giving everything he had to offer and receiving nothing in return, you matched his energy meticulously and never left him hanging.

In a series of firsts, he didn’t wonder whether or not you genuinely liked him, never feeling the need or want to question it as you’d left him with no reason to doubt.

As he walked around the mall with you now, his mind brought his attention back to the question you’d asked him rather casually a few nights ago. You were both lounging on your couch, watching some ridiculous reality show (a favourite of yours and Peter’s) when you’d turned your head to look at him, a thoughtful look on your face. “Do you think when S.W.O.R.D figures the technology out to crack into other realities, you’ll go back to yours?”

The question had taken him aback for a second, in all honesty, he hadn’t thought about going home, not when he was with you at least and considering he’d become your roommate about three weeks after he got out of WestView, the thought of returning to his old life had barely crossed his mind.

Being an ex-Avenger you were fairly well off, you lived alone in a two bedroom apartment in New York that you’d bought to be closer to Stark tower. Peter had nowhere to go and aside from having a spare room to offer you’d also been sort of lost in the current of the busy city with everyone you once loved in the area either dead, on the run or busy elsewhere.

While the question hadn’t crossed Peter’s mind, it had crossed yours on several occasions. He’d been staying with you for six months and the moment you realised that he was becoming one of the most important people in your life, the thought of him leaving you too weighed on your mind but at the end of the day you wanted him to feel happy. He deserved to feel happy and if going back to his reality brought him that happiness then you’d support him.

“Dunno,” he’d replied, turning to face you, chucking a handful of popcorn at you when you looked incredulous at his response, “To be honest I haven’t really thought about it, m’way too busy babysitting you anyway.” He joked, effortlessly dodging the few pieces of popcorn you attempted to throw at him.

For the last few nights, the question haunted him, but it wasn’t just the question that was bothering him. You were at the forefront of his mind as he replayed the past six months of his life which also happened to be the best six months of his life. WestView put him through hell but coming out the other side of it and meeting you felt like heaven.

He weighed up the pros and cons of returning to his native timeline. The cons: he’d have to leave you behind, he’d go back to being the loser who nobody took seriously, his talents would be downplayed and disregarded and he’d inevitably end up revisiting his lifestyle of solitude. Then there was the pros: he’d get to reunite with his pac man machine. He couldn’t manage to think up anything else.

If he stayed he’d have everything he ever wanted and needed. You’d be there and he knew you always would be, besides he couldn’t leave you knowing that you needed him. If he left who would wake you up when you had night terrors about the catastrophe that your reality was still recovering from? There would be nobody there to comfort you when you woke up from the nightmares, reliving the deaths of Natasha, Tony or Vision and the experience of being snapped out of existence? If he wasn’t there to make you laugh when you were about to cry then who would be? In his heart of hearts he knew you had a huge support system at your disposal, he’d met most of them. Even though he was well aware that Sam visited you as often as he could, that Bucky wrote you letters on a monthly basis and sometimes tagged along with Sam on his visits, that Stephen Strange appeared in your apartment whenever the urge struck him, that the literal god of thunder invited you out for beer whenever he was visiting Earth, that the little spider-kid, also named Peter, swung by your apartment at least once a week to tell you all about school and his good deeds. Despite knowing all of this and knowing all of these people loved you dearly, Peter wanted to be your main source of support, he didn’t want to be someone who came and went, who’d love you then leave you. He wanted to be with you through anything and everything and the feeling that you’d love him for a lifetime had him satisfied with the decision he was about to make.

If leaving his old life meant he could stay here, with you, and experience happiness for more than a fleeting moment then he’d simply; leave it all behind.

“I’ve been thinking about what you asked me the other night.” He spoke through a mouthful of curly fries. You were sitting in the food court of the mall when he decided to let you in on his desire to stay with you indefinitely.

You raised your eyebrow, “You? Putting thought into an answer? Peter, I think I’m starting to become a bad influence on you.” You told him teasingly, taking a long sip of your drink as he rolled his eyes humorously.

“You’re a terrible influence which is exactly why I’ve decided to stay here and put you on the straight and narrow.” The glee you felt at his statement was undeniable, your eyes lit up and your lips curled upwards.

“You’re staying? Really staying?” Your smile was contagious, Peter’s face now painted with a wide grin as he nodded his head.

In a moment of weakness he frantically added, “Y’know only if you want me to though. If you don’t that’s completely cool.” He rushed through the words, feeling more embarrassed when the fond look on your face never faded.

“Of course I want you to stay. You mean a lot to me.” You reassured him, a gentle smile on your lips as you reached across the metal table, intertwining your fingers with his.

Peter squeezed your hand gratefully, holding it in his grasp securely and allowing his smile to return to his face, “I know. You mean a lot to me too.” It was somewhat of an understatement, he was starting to understand that you didn’t just mean a lot, but that you meant everything.

His resolution lifted a huge weight off your shoulders that you wouldn’t be losing yet another best friend. You were glad he’d be with you when everything blew over with Wanda, the two of them definitely had the potential to develop a beautiful sibling relationship and they both deserved that. Of course, Peter would never replace Pietro and having known them both it was obvious just how different the two men were, the only thing they had in common being their powers and last name. Still, he and Wanda would still be able to work on it. He didn’t hate her after WestView and you knew Wanda well enough to know that she was kind hearted and she’d be more than willing to give him a chance. When she eventually comes back to her senses, that it.

As the months went on, life with you and Peter seemed to only get better. You never stopped laughing, your nightmares died down and Peter had taken on a whole new lease of life. Yourself and Peter were the perfect example of meeting the right person at the right time, you balanced each other out and accentuated the other’s good qualities.

Peter could now say with complete confidence that he was happy and what’s more is that he was finally sure that he was making someone happy.

Up until nearly eleven months of living together your relationship had been purely platonic, save for the constant flirting but flirtation pretty much ran in yours and Peter’s blood. Peter wasn’t going to lie to himself, he’d fallen for you the second you’d peeled the security tags off his stolen sunglasses.

You, on the other hand, had been fighting with yourself because yes, you love Peter but you couldn’t have told him when there was the possibility he’d eventually leave and now so much time has passed and you’ve got such a good thing going you didn’t have it in you to ruin it.

However, all of that changed when your original Maximoff best friend came knocking on your door.

Wanda was on the run. She’d caused an amazing amount of chaos but Stephen Strange and S.W.O.R.D were hot on her trail and now she needed a place to lay low with the twins. She figured there was no place more reliable to go than to the always open arms of her best friend, who conveniently had a divinity for earth magik and could muster up a protective barrier without raising suspicions. And that’s exactly where she found herself; outside your door.

You’d been chasing Peter around the apartment when you heard the knock on the door. Peter was on the opposite end of the kitchen to you, using the bar as a shield from you. “You better get that.”

“Oh you’d like that wouldn’t you?” You glared as you spoke, it was his own fault really. What sort of idiot jumpscares a witch while she’s mid-meditation? He’d frightened you so badly you accidentally blasted a ball of your signature green energy and ruined your favourite couch throw pillow. When you were ready to pounce on the scared speedster the knocks sounded again, more frantic this time.

With one last glare towards Peter you stomped towards the door. Your anger melted away completely when you saw her. Her hood was up and she looked completely exhausted, two small hooded little boys by her side.

“Wanda…” You breathed out, relief flooding your system at the sight of her alive. She didn’t get a chance to speak before your arms were pulling her against you tightly, hugging her as if your life depended on it. Wanda returned in your embrace, allowing herself to relax for the first time in nearly a year, she sniffled against your shoulder, holding back tears as she realised how much she’d truly missed you.

Billy and Tommy watched in confusion as their mother cried into your shoulder. They didn’t know who you were, all their mother had told them was that they were going somewhere safe.

It was the yell of one of the boys that caused you and Wanda to separate, “Uncle P!” With that you felt a familiar rush of air across your leg but instead of Peter appearing one of the kids was gone.

You shared a perplexed look with Wanda, although your confusion was for different reasons.

“Hey hell raisers!” Peter responded, catching the mini speedster who all but threw himself at him barely regaining his balance before the other child had flung himself into the hug.

“Wanda? Those two… are they...?” You started, at a loss for words Wanda cut you off quietly, her tone as disbelieving as yours.

“My children? Yes. Is that…?” You nodded your head numbly, anticipating the end of her question.

“Your fake brother? Yeah.” Quickly, you realised you and a wanted woman catching up with the door wide open wasn’t ideal and you ushered Wanda inside, shutting the door when she walked in.

“Hey.” Peter greeted her simply, as if he hadn’t been used as a meat puppet in her altered reality. It wasn’t in his nature to hold any grudges.

“Hi?” Wanda replied, her voice still twinged with confusion.

“Peter, will you keep an eye on the kids for a bit? Wanda and I have some catching up to do.” You asked him with a nervous laugh, just thankful that Wanda was too tired to argue with your suggestion.

Peter ruffled the boys’ hair and gave you a grin, “Only if you stop trying to kill me.”

You rolled your eyes as you began to lead Wanda into your bedroom, “You’re on probation, jerk.” You called over your shoulder.

Once you were securely in your bedroom, the door locked and sitting comfortably you fixed Wanda with an amused look, “I’d ask you what’s new but I’m not sure I even wanna know.”

Wanda gave you a sad smile while she shook her head, “No, you probably don’t. I will tell you tomorrow, I don’t want to get into it tonight. I’m so tired.” She admitted, her voice overcome with sadness.

“I’ll pump up the air mattress and you and the boys can sleep in here for however long you need. I’d offer you the spare room but that’s where Peter’s been staying and I don’t think empty food containers are the kind of decor you’d be into.” Wanda nodded, squeezing your hand gratefully.

“So his name is Peter?” She asked, curious about the man Agatha had used to trick her in WestView.

You nodded in confirmation, “Yeah. Peter Maximoff, actually.”

Wanda’s brows came to a furrow at that, “Maximoff? So he’s a relation?”

“Yes and no. Peter is from a different reality but he’s still a Maximoff and he’s got super speed. So, and this is just my theory, while you’re not directly related he could still be your brother- if you wanted him to.” You explained, as gently as you could, not trying to push her too far but to nudge the idea in her direction.

Wanda, to your surprise, didn't seem to hate the suggestion, “What is he like?”

A genuine smile made it onto your face then, as you shot into your description of your roommate, “He’s caring, funny, a little bit of a kleptomaniac but he’s working on it. He’s understanding and moronically selfless, moronic in the sense that he doesn’t even realise he’s being selfless. Huge pain in the ass too.” Wanda had a soft smile on her face by the time you’d finished.

“You like him.” Was all she said and you let out a laugh in disbelief, standing up and opening the door.

“Go grab a shower. I’ll have Peter blow up the air mattress while I go introduce myself to my god sons.”

“I thought you’d at least wait until I actually asked you.” Wanda laughed as you walked out of the room.

Things moved fairly quickly after that. As promised you introduced yourself to Billy and Tommy as their god mother, which they seemed more than thrilled about and you assumed that excitement had to do with whatever description of you Peter had given them. Wanda and the twins were all cleaned and fed and had all but collapsed into bed, foregoing the air mattress and huddling together in your double bed instead.

“Where are you sleeping, mother Teresa?” Peter teased as he noticed your eyes drooping where you stood.

“On the couch probably. Or the air mattress.” You mumbled, cutting yourself off with a yawn.

Peter, unimpressed with your options, scoffed, “No way. Come on, you can bunk with me.”

Much like Wanda, you were too tired to argue and you let Peter pull you to his, surprisingly clean, room by the hand.

You both crawled into the bed, lying close together despite the amount of empty space on the mattress.

“How are you feeling about all of this?” Your soft voice broke through the silence and Peter turned his head to look at you.

“About Wanda?” You nodded your head, watching him intently as he rolled onto his side, facing you more comfortably.

Peter shrugged lightly, “I’m feeling ok. Just glad the twins still see me as their cool uncle.” You let out a small laugh at his response.

“Wanda was asking about you. Seemed interested in getting to know the real you.” You informed him, your heartwarming as you watched a hopeful look fall across his face.

A lull settled over the room once again and Peter caught himself staring at you. His eyes drifted over every visible part of you, reminding him of most of the points on his pros list for staying in your universe; your eyes, your lashes, your nose, your lips, you.

“What’re you thinking about?” The sound of your tired voice pulled him out of his thoughts and ultimately pushed him to bite the bullet and tell you how he’s feeling. With you curled up beside him, in his bed, fighting sleep just to stay in his company for as long as you could; he knew there would be no better time.

“Just about how happy I am to be here with you.” He answered you honestly, the butterflies in both of your stomachs fluttering in sync at his words.

You trailed a hand under the duvet and onto the bedsheets between your bodies, feeling around until you found his hand and gently intertwined your fingers. “I’m happy you decided to stay.”

“What you’ve all gone through in this timeline sucks- don’t get me wrong-“ Peter started sincerely, scooting closer to you and dropping his head back down on the edge of your pillow, leaving the pair of you practically nose to nose as he went on.

“And I hate that Wanda had to go through so much… but I’m really glad that it led me to you.” Peter swore in that moment, right after the confession left his mouth, that he could die right now and be completely content knowing that you now knew how he felt.

His heart stopped, and he thought that maybe he was about to die, when you gave him the softest, sweetest smile he’d ever been on the receiving end of and whispered, “I feel the same.”

Time moved in slow motion as he felt you moving your intertwined hands towards your lips, your lips pressed gently against the back of Peter’s hand before you brought them to rest against your chest.

It was a fact to say that Peter Maximoff had never felt intimacy quite like this before. But, experiencing it now, with you, led him to wonder how he’d ever survived without it. He wasn’t sure whether it was natural to crave more, especially when the affection you were showing him was so gentle, but he didn’t care as he let the impulsive side of him take over.

Not sparing another word, Peter closed the small distance between your lips and his. His free hand cupped your jaw while yours wasted no time in getting tangled in his silver hair.

His lips moved softly and surprisingly slowly over yours and he savoured the feeling of your hand holding his while your other got lost in his hair, your body pressed up against him, the way your jaw moved against his palm as you reciprocated the movement of his lips and the taste of your lips, promising himself he’d never let the memory slip from his mind for as long as he lived.

With complete clarity, Peter could say he had felt true, genuine happiness and he had no doubt in his mind that there was absolutely nothing Charles, Hank, Scott or anyone else from his original timeline could say to make him leave this happiness behind. Because in the process of forgetting his old life, he couldn’t deny that he has undoubtedly found himself in the position of a man who had so much more to live for.

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wandavision x reader #wandavision spoilers #x men x reader #avengers x reader #marvel x reader #mcu #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader

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angelfoxx · 2 years

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✧˖*°࿐ THE JUNE BUG

FEATURING: june moone/enchantress (yes, that one)

WARNINGS: afab reader. dubcon-ish, implied mind control & abuse of emotion

NOTE/S: down horrendous. so sorry

i can explain. i swear i can this is completely explainable and normal. what do you mean suicide squad came out in 2016? what do you mean it’s been six years? sexy characters don’t have an expiration date baby i know the law!!

um. anyways. this is a wip so this is kinda a placeholder bc i wanted to make one lawlsies anyways. anyways the plot (or lack thereof) of the film pisses me off and so does the lack of canon or fanon content for objectively the sexiest bitch they introduced so anyways im literally building this fucko from the five minutes of half-assed screentime she got. doing my best just hang in there, I’ll update this soon.

warnings bc there are kinda a lot methinks

gay! gay as fuck! you think a man wrote this? hell no! im a bitch! bitch alert!

jealousy/cheating/toxic themes because fuck u flag

a lotta degrading. lotsa bitch & whore calling

possession. like, june being possessed yk. fuck you dc for not giving me a clear indicator on how enchantress works when she’s dormant but for this one we assume her & june are like itadori & sukuna

noncon/dubcon when it comes to the witch!! again fuck you dc for not giving me ANY goddamn characterization on this bitch but also you left her abilities vastly undefined so. pov enchantress, an empath, sensing you think she’s sexy as fuck

“Do you think I’m overreacting?” A head of thick, dark hair falls into my lap, and crystalline doe eyes blink up at me from behind lashes blackened with mascara. “Do you think he’s being distant?”

Clothed in a hoodie three sizes too big to be hers and a pair of sweatpants that, now that I’m thinking about it, share an uncanny resemblance to my pair that went missing last week, June shifts so her legs dangle over the opposite arm of my couch. The steaming cup of hot chocolate I’d made her is probably beginning to go cold by now; as if in response, she reaches over and gingerly plunges her finger into the mug.

“Do you?” she repeats, raising a brow before sticking that same finger into her mouth.

“N…no, of course I don’t think you’re overreacting,” I stammer out, voice uneven. “You guys are dating. He should listen to you.”

From where she’s sprawled restlessly across my legs, June lets out a loud, defeated sigh that rises into an annoyed groan.

“That’s what I’ve been telling him,” she moans, running her hands over her face. “He’s just too bull-headed to listen to me.”

Then maybe you guys should break up. It’s what I want to say. Break it off with him. There are people who’d treat you better.

What I actually do is just nod, humming in agreement as my gaze slips to the window across the room. My suburban street is quiet; in the grey winter gloom, nobody seems to want to come outside, and that somehow makes June’s visit feel more private.

“When’s the last time you guys were together?” I ask, trying to brush off my stammer. Eyes closed, June smiles bitterly, slowly taking hold of her mug and bringing it to her lips.

“Normally or sexually?” she replies, dry laugh breaking from her throat as she cranes her head forward to take a sip of the hot chocolate. “A week and a half since both. He always wants to drink when he visits and it always ends up with us in the bedroom.”

“Well, that’s a douche move,” I reply, tone quiet; June scoffs at that, shaking her head as she puts her mug back down.

“That’s what I think, too,” she says, blinking up at me with a sad smile, “but nobody else seems to see it. They all just say he’s busy being the best colonel we have.”

“That doesn’t mean he gets to be a shitty prick at home.”

“It doesn’t.” Groaning again, June turns over to plant her forehead firmly against my thigh, face flat against my couch, and lets out a long, defeated breath, arms weaving around my leg.

And oh, I really, really hope she doesn’t feel me shiver.

June considers us friends. I mean, we are; we’d met a little under a year ago for a project DC was hosting after June had discovered (in her own words) a “rather funky set of bones” in some remote South American jungle that caught government attention. I was working as Amanda Waller’s secretary at the time, and though the job was — and still is — far from glamorous, it did, in fact, pay the bills. When I was tasked with coming along (“just in case we need your expertise,” Amanda had said, with a tone that still makes my nose wrinkle) I had mentioned that I’d be sidelined the entire time, to which Amanda vehemently disagreed. Fast forward two days or so and I was there…sidelining, surprise surprise. In any case, June had sought me out by the bar as the “only normal person for (her) to talk to.” One year later, and I was still the “only normal person” for her to talk to, except now she thought I was “pretty cool.”

She told everything to me and I told everything to her.

Well, except for the crush.

It’s how it’s always been with her. In the beginning, it was just a little crush I’d harbored for the pretty archaeologist with the light eyes and keen tongue, and I’d been sure it would fizzle out like every other crush I’ve had.

Spoiler alert; it did not fizzle out like every other crush I’ve had. Actually, it did the complete opposite and got worse. Unbearably worse.

The damn thing became incredibly concerning when she suddenly started showing up at my office daily; er, rather, she showed up at my office with Flag in tow half the time. Then she started showing up at my car. Then she started asking to hang out after work. She never told me why — the first time she did, she met me at a shitty Denny’s at ten p.m with a half-assed “surprise!” and a bottle of hard liquor — and that was that. Sometimes she’d talk about work, sometimes she’d talk about random things that interested her — usually foreign archaeological digs — and, as of recently, she’d talk about her issues with Flag.

And now we’re here, with her laying on my couch in the middle of a grossly cold and overcast November asking me if I think her boyfriend is a bitch while I have a closeted meltdown.

“Weird question,” she starts suddenly, rubbing her face against my leg.

“Huh?”

Turning over, she shoots me what I think is supposed to be a mockingly sexy smirk, but what ends up making me gasp about as quietly as I can. Eyes hooded and shoulders gently rocking back and forth, she glances over at my hands — both very firmly wrapped around my mug — before she looks back up at my face.

“Would you play with my hair?”

“H-huh?” I sit up a little straighter, much to June’s dismay. “Like…just mess with it? Now?”

She blinks at me dubiously. “You don’t have to. It just feels good.”

“N…no, I didn’t say I wouldn’t…I can do it. I’ve just…you’ve never asked me that before. I got caught off-guard.”

“Why?” she quips back, hoisting her upper body off of me so that I can readjust my position. “Never given a head massage before?”

“No?” I settle back down, legs crossed; June comfortably returns to her place in my lap, gazing up at me with an amused little grin on her face.

“All you have to do is mess with my hair,” she says, raising a brow. “It’s easy, I promise.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” I mumble, ignoring her laughing eyes. “Let me know if I’m, like…ripping your hair out, or something.”

She laughs at that, nose wrinkling and eyes folding into little upturned crescent shapes, and my heart does that damn fluttering thing again. My hands threaten to shake; biting back my unwinding panic, I sink them into June’s hair in hopes of calming down.

It doesn’t work. She sighs, eyes fluttering shut; and fuck, fuck, she’s so pretty, she’s so pretty, and fuck Flag, fuck him to hell and back, because ooh, that damn toy soldier asshole got her before I even had a chance, and—

“You can move, you know.” June is suddenly gazing up at me with dubious amusement in her eyes, grinning when I visibly jump and begin massaging the heels of my palms into her scalp.

“Just like that. Yeah, yeah, like that.” Her eyes close again, and she stretches her shoulders back, long breath hissing out of her nose. “Thank you. Feels…really nice.”

There’s a note of grievance in her voice; and the question forms before I can think, comes out before I can stop it.

“Did he do this?”

June squeezes her eyes shut, a dry laugh scraping itself out of her throat. Her words are full of cynical humor; there’s an empty dislike in her voice.

“Once. When we first started dating.” She leans back into my hands. “I was…stressed. It helped me to relax.”

“Oh.” I lapse into an awkward silence. “I mean, I’m…if you need anything to help you destress, I’ll help any way I can.”

“Any way?” June asks, tone taking on a coy, scandalous edge; I don’t clock the little laugh in her voice before I answer.

“Anything you want. I know Flag’s a…bitch, and I’m not gonna let you feel like shit because of him.”

“God, someone doesn’t like him,” she laughs, head tilting so she can look up at me. “What, did he metaphorically shit all over you too?”

“No. I just…don’t like him.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just never liked him.” I shift uncomfortably, fingers rubbing absently through June’s hair before I add; “He looks like a toy soldier.”

At that, June snorts, cheeks puffing out as if she’s trying to stop herself. Her eyes squeeze shut; one hand comes up to cover her mouth.

“I shouldn’t laugh,” she whispers. “I shouldn’t laugh.”

Her eyes flick back up to mine; and then her composure fails her, a wheezing bark of laughter exploding out of her before she can stop it.

“That’s so mean, babe. That’s so mean.” June’s eyes crinkle shut. “But it’s true! It’s true!”

I laugh. I manage to, anyway; but truthfully, I’m stuck on her words. Babe. Babe. Babe. Ooh, it’s such a friendly nickname but oh, I love it, I love it, and I want her to say it again.

“I don’t like how he talks,” I continue, biting my tongue. I don’t like how he talks to you.

“How he talks?”

“He yells. A little too much.” I wince. “He doesn’t shut up. He just makes me anxious.”

“Anxious? Like you’re afraid he’ll hurt you?” June looks back at me curiously, eyes tracking my fingers as I section off a piece of her hair and begin to braid it absently.

“N…no, not necessarily that.” Over, through, under, around. “I just get frustrated around him.”

“Frustrated how?” At first, June’s question doesn’t make sense; but then she waggles her eyebrows at me suggestively, and I lurch into an aggressive stammering denial about how no, no, not like that, he doesn’t frustrate me like that, he frustrates me in the way that I want to slap him across the face every time he breathes a little too loud. June is cackling throughout the whole thing; she makes a breathless, wheezing remark about how big my eyes got when she asked the question, and I continue to stumble through my words because now not only am I flustered, but she’s so pretty when she laughs, and fuck, I’m falling head over heels for my taken coworker.

“But really, though. Enough about me and my relationship problems.” She tilts her head, gazing up at me with narrowed blue eyes. “I want to hear about yours. You’re single, right?”

“I…how’d you know?”

“Amanda.” June shrugs. “Don’t ask me why she knows or why she told me.”

“That’s a little weird.”

“I agree. But, anyways,” and she grins at me, “who’s it for you?”

“Who’s it for…what?”

“I mean, it’s not Flag, obviously.” June lifts one finger, counting names off on one hand. “Jerry…no, he doesn’t seem like your type. Neither do John or Zach.”

“How do you know my type?”

“Educated guess. It could be Josef, but I don’t know if you’re a fan of the stubble.” She looks up at me for approval.

“I’m—I’m not, but we don’t need to talk about—“

“Not a stubble person. Good girl.” June means it as a joke. It’s a joke. It’s a joke. Push off of it. Don’t think about how “good girl” sounds coming off her tongue. Don’t do it.

“One of the inmates? You have a thing for bad guys?”

“N-no, I—“

“Or bad girls. I don’t judge.” June tilts her head, winking at me coyly. “I get it.”

I take a sharp breath. I knew she was…you know, I knew, but hearing her just admit it out loud is…different.

“Is it the girls for you? One of your coworkers?” She leans forward curiously, raising a brow.

“No! No, I mean, we don’t have to talk about this, I—“

“It is!” June sits up, twisting violently to look back at me. “Ooh, it is! Tell me, tell me. Who? I don’t know a lot of your coworkers. I know Olivia. I know Jade. I know…I mean, if you’re into the Joker’s girl, good luck, but…”

“No!” I shake my head furiously, heart beginning to thud in my chest. “It’s none of them; I’m not suicidal enough to even look at the Joker’s girlfriend, I’d get my ass kicked, and…”

I trail off. June is studying me with a scarily acute look in her eyes; if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was calculating something. There’s a tiny little smirk on her features; I gulp nervously, suddenly feeling very, very exposed.

“It’s not one of them?” she asks; and suddenly her voice has gotten very quiet and velvety, like she’s purring. “Are you lying to me?”

“Lying? No, no, I’m not…lying.” I lean back as June lifts herself onto her knees, arms stretching over her head; and for the briefest second, her hoodie clears the top of her sweatpants.

She has a little mole just above her waistband. I shouldn’t notice it. I do; because fucking hell, I’m whipped.

“It’s not one of them.” June tilts her head, slowly lowering herself back down onto her heels. The cogs in her head are turning; I can see that much, and blood begins to roar in my ears. There’s a feeling like lead in my stomach; her eyes are beginning to gleam, and then she tilts her chin down to glower at me from behind black lashes.

“Who is it?” Her words are thick as honey. “Because I have some ideas, and I think I might be right.”

“Y-you do?” I laugh nervously, the sound almost hysterical as June lowers herself onto her hands, taking one crawling step toward me. “I mean, I don’t have a work crush, I don’t even see y-her—them— at work, and…”

“You sound a little flustered, babe.” She cocks a brow, taking another step, and at the pet name my breathing audibly stutters. “Why is that?”

“I’m not…I’m…” Her fingers wrap around my ankle, and a shiver courses through my body, one that makes my legs tremble.

“She doesn’t work in the office with you, does she?” June’s voice is soft, coaxing the truth out of me. “She just stops in sometimes.”

I bite my cheek, throat dry and tongue swollen. My voice is barely anything more than a hoarse, dry hiss.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” She draws a fraction of an inch closer, her other hand landing on my opposite knee. “Does she work under Amanda?”

“Maybe.”

“Hm, hm.” Her fingers unwrap from my ankle, trailing slowly up my frozen leg until they land on the inside of my thigh. “You know, babe, I’m thinking of someone; but she has a boyfriend, doesn’t she?”

I shiver again. She’s close enough that I can see every shade of blue in her eyes, close enough that I can feel warmth on my chest every time she breathes.

“Maybe.” I close my eyes when she leans forward, heart having gone from hammering to still; and then I feel her breath sweep around from my neck to my ear, the hand on my knee slipping up to land just beside my hip.

“Crushing on me even when I’m dating Flag?” Her voice is directly beside my ear, and I swear I feel her nose brush my cheek. Is she straddling my leg? She might be straddling my leg. “Oh, babe, that won’t work.”

“I’m sorry,” I reply — and I don’t really know what I’m apologizing for, but something feels so wrong when she says it like that — but then she’s sighing, both hands coming to rest on my upper thigh.

“You should be,” she murmurs, pressing down on my leg. “Lusting for a taken woman. Were you going to tell me?”

“N-no.” I manage to crack open my eyes when her breath shifts, only to be greeted by June’s face hovering directly in front of mine. “I didn’t w…I don’t want to be a homewrecker, or…”

“Homewrecker?” She almost laughs before leaning forward, until her chest is touching mine. “There’s no home to wreck, babe.”

“Th-there’s n…no, no, wait,” and suddenly everything is moving too fast, and June’s too close, and there’s a little voice in the back of my head begging me to stop because what if Flag finds out, what if he finds out, but the other part of my head is screaming at me to take the chance June’s giving me.

“You okay, babe?” The sweet words drift past my ear, and the little voice punches me in the gut. She’s so close; she’s all but straddling my waist, one hand on each thigh now and leaning over far enough that the loose open head of her hoodie is hanging a little too low, and she’s gazing at me with hooded, glinting eyes and a coy little smirk, and, and…

“June,” I whisper, eyes wide with alarm and chest heaving with adrenaline, “we shouldn’t be doing this, you shouldn’t be…you’re with him, and…”

“Forget about him,” June replies evenly, gazing back at me with wild, unbridled passion burning like cold fire in her eyes as she advances forward, till our noses are almost touching and she’s hovering a mere inch away from my face. “Right now. Forget about him, right now, and kiss me.”

When June leans forward, I’m frozen in shock. When her lips touch mine, I’m still frozen in shock. Only when she takes a long sigh, tongue running up over my bottom lip, do I become mobile again. The breathy moan that comes out of my throat is embarrassing at best; blood rushes to my face when June snorts in amusement, but I have to push that thought to the back of my mind almost immediately because then her tongue is slipping in over mine and her teeth are grazing my lips.

For a moment, I forget about everything else. I forget about the weather, I forget about work, and I forget about Flag.

The only thing I can think about is June. June, right in front of me, arms looped over my shoulders with one hand arriving to cradle the back of my head. June, right in front of me, who’s leaning further forward and pushing me back towards the arm of the couch with every inch. June, June, June.

My back bumps the arm of the couch, and my progress backwards halts for a moment. June’s progress doesn’t, though; and when I don’t keep moving, she quite literally takes matters into her own hands.

“Down, down,” she’s mumbling, words squished against my mouth. “Lay down, lay down.”

One hand lands on my chest, fingers splaying across me and pushing, urging me down and further back. I don’t fight her; I just obey, sinking into the cushion of the couch and sliding down the arm of the thing until I’m crunched up right against it and June is quite literally on top of me.

“All the way. Good. Good.” She pauses; a little smirk splits her features, and her lips ghost past my ear. “Good girl.”

I moan in response, sound contained somewhere deep in my throat, and she hums in curious satisfaction, one hand coming to massage around the base of my neck.

“I didn’t peg you as the praise type, babe,” she murmurs, “but your face is getting pretty red.”

“No shit,” I reply, voice quivering. “You’re…on top of me, and, and…”

“And what?” she presses, cocking her head. “On top of you and what?”

My eyes flutter further closed, until June’s silhouette is blurry and dark, hanging over me like a ghost. When I don’t answer, my breathing coming in long gasps, she laughs quietly to herself before pressing her chest against mine and slithering up beside my ear.

“Am I pretty?” she murmurs, fingers trailing up and down my throat. “Do you think I’m pretty, babe?”

“You’re so,” I gasp, breathing now a challenge, “so fucking pretty. You’ve always been so fucking pretty.”

June’s breath fans across my face, her eyes smiling as mine start slipping across her face, her body, her face, the open window across the room, her face, her…her, her, her.

“Did you think I didn’t know?” she whispers, head tilting and gaze set intently on mine. “That you thought I was pretty?”

My pulse skips a beat, and my eyes widen; a breathy little laugh washes against my face as her fingers slip beneath my jaw, landing right where I know she can feel my heart racing beside my throat.

“You aren’t good at hiding it, babe. You never were.” Her head tilts to the other side, body slipping past mine. “I knew when I met you.”

“Y-you did?”

“I did.” Teeth nip at my ear, teasing the skin beneath my hairline. “I know you wanted to kill Flag the first time you saw him with me. I’ve never seen anyone glare like that, babe.”

“He g…got you first.” My voice is uneven, warbling on desperate. “I didn’t get the…the ch-chance t….”

“I know you didn’t then,” June whispers, a light little laugh coming into her voice as she tugs at my earlobe, “but what about now?”

“N…now?” I feel a shiver run down my spine; June pulls back, eyes gleaming in the gloomy gray light as she sits back on her heels.

“Right now.” Her fingers run over my throat, looping in my collar before she drags me up and forward.

Suddenly, we’re both sitting cross-legged, halfway in each-other’s laps with my collar now hanging way lower than it should be and my hair tickling the sides of my face. June, on the other hand, looks perfect; her hair’s a little messy, but none of her clothes are askew, and that’s a problem.

The smirk June shoots me could kill; she tilts forward, one hand landing beside my knee. She gives me one, two tugs at my collar; and I fold forward, eyes closing as her head tilts.

We kiss, again; only this time, instead of slowly devouring me while she shoves me into a couch, June pounces on me like a wild animal. She yanks me forward, biting my tongue and forcing hers down my throat; I grab onto the back of her neck and drag her closer, she drags me closer, and suddenly we’re crawling onto each other with zero regard to anyone’s fucking boyfriend. My hands find their way to the hem of her hoodie; and ugh, it’s his, it’s definitely his, and I want it gone.

“Don’t like it?” she breathes; and in response, I can only gasp, wrapping my hands around the bottom of it and tugging.

“I hate it,” I manage, gripping the thick black fabric so hard I hear a tear; and then June grabs my throat, coy little laugh right in my ear.

“If you hate it so much,” she purrs, voice simmering with a challenge, “then rip it off of me.”

I don’t let myself think twice. Her tone is daring and defiant and a dominant invitation; so I push all of my soft, fluttery feelings to the side, and I shove her over.

June audibly gasps when her back hits the couch, her hold on my throat loosening for a second; and it’s then that I try to rip the stupid fucking thing over her head.

The hand around my throat slips as she tries to grab the hoodie and hold it down; but ooh, it’s way too late by now, and I want that fucking thing gone and burned because the thing smells like him and it’s making my stomach turn.

June lifts her arms, like she’s surrendering her fight; and then she lets out a pitched moan, back arching as the fabric finally comes off and I can hurl it across the room. Quite frankly, I want to throw it in the fireplace; but there’s no time for that, not now, because I look back down and find June smirking up at me with both arms resting loosely over her head.

“You didn’t have to throw it, you know.” Her eyes narrow. “I’m not planning on wearing it home.”

Good, I want to say. It’s ugly.

But oh, I can’t, not when June is just sprawled, shirtless, across my couch, with thinned challenging eyes and that stupidly smug grin on her face.

“Cold feet, babe?” Her hips wiggle under me. “Better start moving; or do you want me to lead?”

Fuck. Fuck. I can’t stop staring at her, and she knows it. Fuck, fuck, she’s so fucking pretty; god fucking dammit, god fucking damn the minx for being so stupidly fucking pretty, god fucking…

She’s smiling up at me with lazy cockiness all but glowing in her eyes, and her fingers are beginning to trail up my thigh. She’s ready to pounce; panicking, I grab her wrist, awkwardly holding it for a second before I pin it to the couch. June doesn’t fight it; her eyes stay firmly on mine.

“Oh?” She raises a brow, back arching. “Now what?”

I gulp, a little nervous bug seeding in my gut. My eyes fall to her sweatpants; they’re hanging low on her hips, now, dangerously low.

“Take them off.” June’s seductive purr breaks the tense silence, voice low. “You want to, don’t you? Do it. Take them off.”

I can do it. I can, I can; but I can’t when she’s looking at me like that. I need her eyes to close; she gazes up at me with lazy eyes as I rock forward, kneading the heels of my palms into her lower stomach and nose up beneath her jaw.

Her eyes flutter shut, and she makes a low sort of groaning sound at my touch, head tilting back; and I slide her pants down her thighs.

“Smooth,” she sighs, turning her face toward mine, messily sucking on my earlobe. “What are you going to do now? Going to touch me?”

Her skin is hot beneath my hands, searing when I trace my lips down the line of her stomach. She arches into my touch; I shiver when her fingers weave into my hair, winding a thick lock around her hand.

When I finally reach the black elastic sitting low on her hips, I pause, and I look up. I don’t say anything; but June smirks, eyes dark with anticipation.

“Go ahead,” she purrs, crystal gaze burning. “Touch me.”

“You gonna let Flag fuck you now?” The envy-fueled words are so vulgar coming out of my mouth, especially when they’re smashed up against June’s sobbing cunt, but she shivers at them, hard, moaning out my name.

“Fuck no, n-never again…not when you’re…not wh…not when you…shit, shit, shit—!” June clamps a hand over her mouth, head snapping back and her body rocking up against my mouth; my grip on her waist tightens in some last attempt to hold her still, but that does nothing. Her image now is so far from the one she had been sporting a mere five? ten? minutes ago. Gone is her suave purring and her dominant invitations; maybe she’s desperate, or maybe it’s been too long since she had sex with someone who wasn’t an uptight asshole, but either way, June’s fully lost herself in pleasure. One of her hands lands on my head, grabbing a fistful of hair; and from there, she starts to pull me in time with her rocking, moaning every time she tilts forward.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” she’s gasping, voice tightening with every second. “Fuck me fuck me fuck me f…uck me!”

“Am I better than him?” I ask, voice a whine. “I’m better than him, right?”

June wants to answer — her mouth opens and closes over and over but no words come out, just strained gasps and pants. Finally, she just nods, squeezing her eyes shut as a hard, quick breath makes her body jerk.

Her pace grows more erratic, more turbulent; and then she’s smashing my face into her lower stomach, long wail drawing itself out of her throat as she starts to fall over the edge. She rips on the chunk of my hair she’s got in an iron grip; I groan into her and her body jerks at the vibration, tugging frantically at my hair.

“Donstopdonstopdoooohhhh, fu-ck, oh, fuck,” she’s crying, voice broken and growing more in pitch, “sogoodsogoodfeelssofuckinggood—!”

Every time I move, she wails louder. When I lick her clit, she twitches; when I bite the inside of her thigh, she jerks; and when I nose into her cunt, shoving my tongue down her hole, she sobs.

“Right there! Right th…righ…don’t stop, please, oh, fuck,” she’s mumbling, and I can’t really tell if she’s crying, “r’there, righ’there, gonna c…cum soon, gonna cum, I’m g…”

Do it. Do it. I glance up at her with big doe eyes, moaning at her expression. Please, please, do it, do it.

June’s head lolls. Two glossy blue eyes gaze down at me, downturned and hooded with pleasure; her mouth opens to say something, but no words come out. She grips my hair a little harder — a tiny squeak comes out of her mouth — and then her body is all but convulsing against my mouth as the orgasm she’s been trying so hard to hold off hits her like a freight train. Her hips jerk into my face; a broken wail comes out of her mouth as her back arches, hard, and she gathers up a handful of hair up against my scalp. Something sprays against my tongue, thick and fast and June, fuck, it’s all June, and she’s screaming as she humps against my face, watching herself come undone in my mouth with tear-stained cheeks and glazed blue eyes. My body is twitching in response, digging my heels into the couch and moaning when my eyes meet June’s. Between the two of us, I don’t know who’s more shamelessly desperate, and I don’t care. I’m lost in the moment; hot tears land on my face, though I don’t know if they’re mine or hers, or if they’re even tears at all.

When a final peal of overstimulated pleasure explodes out of June’s mouth, fading into shaky, labored pants, I tilt my head back, gasping when my mouth slides out from between June’s soaked thighs and fresh air hits my face. For a minute, the room is filled only with the sounds of both of us coming down from June’s high; shakily, she slides off of my face, slumping against the head of the couch as her sleepy gaze lands on me. She can’t speak, and neither can I; her knuckles brush my face, eyes falling onto my lips.

She doesn’t have to say anything for me to understand. Weakly, I shift to hold myself up on trembling elbows; as June slowly leans forward, I open my mouth, shivering when I feel June’s arousal stringing between my lips. June’s brow pinches; her eyes grow lidded, and a little “oh, fuck” whispers out of her mouth as she leans forward.

Her tongue traces my lower lip, poking into the corners of my mouth; she breathes against my face before, softly, tamely, she slides her tongue into my mouth.

It isn’t fast and aggressive anymore. It’s slow and sleepy and soft; she’s melting into my body as hers slows down, chest coming to rest weakly against mine while her arms loop behind my neck. Even when she sucks on my tongue, she isn’t doing it hard; she’s doing it gently, quietly, submissively. When I wrap my arms under hers, holding on around her waist, she sighs into my mouth. Every breath she takes is accented with a tired moan, growing slower with each passing second. When she pulls back for a moment longer, breath warming my face, I open my eyes; chin brushing my collarbone, June is fighting to stay awake. Her eyes threaten to flutter closed; I swear she’s starting to slip away on top of me, eyes staying closed longer and longer.

“June,” I murmur, massaging my thumbs into her back. “I have a spare bedroom, if you want me to…”

“No.” Her response is raspy and breathless, eyes opening and gaze liquid crystal. “No, no, not…done, I’m not done. I want to touch you too.”

There’s a simmering desire in her words; one of her palms lands on my stomach as she pushes herself up, clumsily crawling down my body to my waist.

“Wait, wait,” I start, weakly reaching for her retreating head. “June, wait, you don’t have to, we can wait, we c…”

June shakes her head, and a quivering hand falls on my hip. “I have to, I have to,” she murmurs, managing a sleepy grin. “You want this, right? You’ve wanted this for so long.”

She waits for my response; she sits between my legs with her fingers wrapping under my waistband. Despite her lidded eyes and slow, deep breaths, the smirk on her face is pure, foxy seduction; I broke her, and now she wants to break me.

“I…yeah, yeah, but you’re tired, we can wait, you can sleep if you…”

“You want this, right?” June repeats, voice lowering. The grip on my waistband tightens; her eyes widen with tantalizing interest. “Right?”

“Y…yeah, I do, I do, I just…”

“You want this.” June’s tone is guiding, now; she raises a brow, smirking when I, shakily, nod.

“Good girl.” The praise rolls off her tongue like a curse; and then she drags my pants down my legs.

I gasp when cold air hits my bare cunt, hands flying to my face as June’s eyes land on my heat and she groans, grip on my thigh tightening. I don’t want to look; my face burns hot under my arms as I fold them over my eyes, shivering when I hear June shift.

And then she does…nothing.

She doesn’t move, she doesn’t touch me. She just sits there, still and silent, and I keep my arms locked over my eyes.

“Stop staring,” I manage, face burning beneath my skin. “June, stop staring at me like that.”

She doesn’t reply; she doesn’t even move. After a very, very long second, I hear a breath.

But it’s wrong.

It’s not light and tipsy like it’d been at first, and it’s not husky and foxy like it’d been a second ago. It’s low and hoarse and eerie, and it comes out of nowhere.

I suddenly don’t want to pull my hand away. Every bone in my body is yelling at me to keep my hand right where it is. Why? I don’t know. I can’t move. My fingers are plastered to my face, and my eyes squeeze further shut.

“June?” My voice quivers. “Stop fucking with me. If you wanna stop, we can stop. Just stop…staring at me, and say something.”

Another rattling breath. She sounds dead, and I have no idea why. She sounds like she’s been six feet under for the past thousand years.

Something cold slides over my hand, then. I flinch at the touch — because what the hell would June have brought with her that happens to be kind of soft and weirdly gritty and freezing cold — but then it’s wrapping around my wrist, and I feel nails.

Oh. She’s holding my hand.

She holds my wrist for a little. Her grip keeps shifting, until her palm comes to rest over my vein, like she’s feeling the dull pulse of my heartbeat under my skin.

“Your hands are cold,” I stammer, nervous laugh finding its way to my tongue when her grip tightens.

Her nail pokes my skin, and I flinch; because suddenly, her nails somehow seem sharper. They run up over my skin, and they leave a cold burning sensation in their wake as they travel up my arm, over my shoulder, up my neck, and then they’re sitting under my jaw, wrapping lightly around my throat.

Something is different. June feels different, she smells different — something has changed.

Hot breath fans over my stomach, another cold hand landing on my hip. Her nails dance over my skin, and hair tickles my sides; an unnatural shiver runs down my spine, and a pulsing, alien thought enters my head, one that comes out of nowhere and seems impossible but it makes my heart stop all the same.

Whatever is in the room with me isn’t June.

It’s insane to think. I don’t know why I’m thinking it, or what it means, but I’m certain.

It’s not June in the room with me anymore.

“June?” My voice is tiny, afraid. I stare into the blackness of my arm pressed against my eyes. “June? Hello?”

The nails move. A little laugh, dark in nature; and then the hand around my throat gives it a tiny squeeze, hot breath warming my chest.

Look at me.

My body moves on its own. My arm just falls away from my face, and my eyes open, and they land on the figure hovering over me; dark hair tickles my face, pooling around my head.

And then my body freezes; my eyes go wide, and my jaw drops.

The eyes staring back at me aren’t sleepy, aren’t crystal blue, and they aren’t June.

They’re predatory, they’re dangerous, and they’re burning gold.

June isn’t here right now. Not-June’s lips curl into a wicked grin, and her blazing gaze rakes over me before they return to my eyes.

Right now, you’re mine.

I can’t speak. I can’t do anything, actually; every muscle in my body is frozen in a mix of shock and surprise and terror and a desire that explodes to life in my gut when the thing’s eyes meet mine. Face hovering like a ghost, the creature only stares, starving golden gaze flicking across my body.

It takes a minute; but then my body restarts, and one deafening thought rings through my head.

Run.

Something laughs when my legs bunch up beneath me and I throw myself out of the bed. Maybe something laughs. Maybe I think something laughs. I don’t know. I don’t care. My head is spinning, my throat is closing; I just want to get to the door, away from the thing that is no longer June.

Stop. The word blasts through my head like it’s being purred through a loudspeaker; all at once my knees buckle, and I collapse onto the floor a mere ten feet from the door.

But I can’t move.

I can’t move.

Look at me, the voice in my head whispers, warm and waiting.

And I do.

I turn, and I look at it.

The thing is sitting on my couch, cross-legged, with its hands palms-down between its folded legs. Its head tilts; that piercing golden gaze razes over me with a predatory curiosity. A weird, unnatural black fog is drifting around its bare shoulders; and are those embers floating around my room?

I’ve been waiting, the creature says, or…or thinks, or I think. June hasn’t told you about me. About us.

Wide-eyed, heart pounding a staccato on my ribs, I breathlessly shake my head. The creature smiles, then; it does look oddly like June, down to the smile. June, if she suddenly stripped off her normal clothes and changed them out for ragged lingerie, then proceeded to roll in dirt and give herself mud-matted black hair. Plus the eyes, and the embers, and whatever else is accompanying the thing on my couch.

Elegantly, the thing stretches forward like a cat, eyes fluttering shut; and then it’s elegantly crawling off the bed, gliding towards me on long, blackened legs.

I still can’t move. My body is still frozen; I can only watch in terror as the thing draws closer, hitching at the waist to look me in the eyes. Its pace is smooth and elegant but its movements are not; its head twitches curiously from side to side, studying me.

I understand why June likes you. The voice is a murmur this time, one that makes me shiver. I wonder why you like her so much?

The creature’s questions are rhetorical. I think. Maybe. I feel like I’m losing my mind.

My jaw quivers as I open my mouth, and I tremble when the thing’s eyes meet mine.

“What,” I start, words horribly slow, “are you?”

The creature smiles darkly, lowering itself to its hand and knees to get at my level.

What do you think I am? it asks. Its voice is all in my head. Its eyes sear into mine; I swear I’m seeing heaven and hell, and I’m feeling it too, and in response the thing laughs, low and wicked.

Heaven and hell, both at once. Smart girl, you know there is no difference.

“I didn’t say anything,” comes my response, rushed and confused; and then I suddenly know that the thing can hear me. It’s in my head, in my thoughts.

Smart girl, smart girl. The thing stops a mere few inches from my face, eyes smoldering gold, dark hair hanging nearly to the floor. It smells like dirt, but it also smells sweet, unnaturally so, and it makes me feel dizzy. I waver as I stare back into its gleaming eyes; it reminds me of a cat, of a cunning predator toying with the mouse stupid enough to get caught in its trap.

It takes me a moment to realize the thing is reaching for me, ash-covered fingers stretched towards my face.

And I can’t move away.

“Don’ touch me,” I whisper, voice tight and trembling. “Don’t, please, please.”

Are you scared? the creature — witch? — asks, voice coy. What do you think I’m going to do to you?

It’s still reaching for me, but slower now, like it’s mocking me. The shaking breath I take makes the corner of its lips quirk up in wicked amusement; it cocks its head, clearly waiting for my answer.

“Hurt me,” I reply, gaze shifting wildly from the creature to its moving hand. “You’re gonna hurt me, or take me, like you took June, or…”

Took June? The creature laughs, lowering itself further to my level and all but slithering its face nearer. I didn’t take June. I’m only borrowing her body.

“To hurt me,” I finish, breathing growing quicker as its fingers reach for my cheek. “You’re gonna hurt me, or kill me, or, or—!”

Soft, blackened fingers brush against my face; and all at once, my body is on fire. A violent shiver runs down my spine; my jaw drops in some mix of shock and desire, because suddenly, suddenly, fear isn’t on my mind anymore. No, no; all I feel is overpowering desire, swamping my senses and rendering them useless.

The witch has been watching my face; and when the panic disappears from my eyes, it smiles, hot breath washing sweetly over my face as its hand slides beneath my jaw, cradling the side of my head. I lean into the touch in a daze; because suddenly, I’m at the creature’s mercy, warm and tingling in its fingers.

I’m not here to hurt you, the creature murmurs, eyes glowing. You have something I want, and I’m here to get it.

“Get…get wha’?” My voice is drunken as I slump forward, weakly rubbing my cheek against the fingers caressing my face. “I’ve…I’ve…got some stuff in the other room, but…”

No, no. Nothing like that. The witch’s other hand lands on my waist; slowly, she — she? — begins to rise onto her knees, and her chest is pressed against mine, lips brushing the side of my face and eyes trained on me. I’m not here for any material possessions.

“Then what,” I start, mumbling against hot skin when I turn my face towards her shoulder, “do you…want?”

I breathe in against her neck, shivering when the sweet smell from earlier swallows me whole and the tiny embers alight on my skin. I feel so woozy; the soft drill of rain on the windows has bled into white noise that falls behind the labored sound of my breathing.

Slowly, the witch tilts my head up; her eyes are glowing with bridled anticipation and a lust she hasn’t yet let bleed.

I can show you.

What happens next is confusing.

One second I’m on the floor, leaning into the witch’s shoulder; and the next, my back is slamming against the couch, and the witch is on top of me. A second later, my stomach catches up; and that jolt sobers me up just enough for me to scramble onto my elbows, nearly bumping my forehead against the witch as she leans down toward me.

“What the fuck was — hey, hey,” and now I’m seeing that the witch is kneeling between my open and notably naked legs, hands landing on my thighs, “hey, hold on, hold…”

What I want, the witch purrs, suddenly ducking her face into my neck, is right here, and her grip tightens on my thighs.

Oh.

“Y-you want t…but,” and I gasp sharply when a hot breath hisses out against my neck, “but June, I only…”

June is watching, the witch replies, voice low, and she’ll be watching while I ruin you.

Oh.

“That’s not what I…that isn’t what I — oh, oh,” and then my back is arching as lips meet against my neck, sucking hard on the pulse point beneath my jaw.

Once I get what I want, I’ll bring June back. The witch laughs against my skin. Cry out for her while I use you. I’m sure she’ll love it.

Use me? I want to ask, eyes opening, because that sounds a little more forceful than I’d expected, but then fingers are brushing over my cunt and holy shit, holy shit, the crack of pleasure that sounds off through my gut makes me wail.

Against my neck, the witch smirks, and I feel her tongue run up the side of my throat. It’s about now that I realize the roles here have switched; I’m completely at the creature’s mercy, a mere, melting puddle in her fingers, her fingers, her fingers…

Use your voice. A sharp tooth pricks my neck, and I jolt, grabbing onto the couch in surprise as the witch digs her nails into my thigh. Tell me what you’re thinking.

And just like that, my mouth opens, and words start falling out; and oh, oh, no, they’re worse than before, they’re so much worse and I can’t fucking stop.

“Want you t’ fuck m…fuck me, please, need you, your fingers are s-so long and your body is so fucking hot and fuck, fuck,” and holy shit, I can’t stop shaking, I can’t stop shaking when she’s brushing her fingers over where I need her most and she’s sucking on my pulse point with lazy interest.

Good. The witch laughs; and then, in a husky, teasing purr; good girl.

And the flood of comments from me only increases tenfold. I’m stammering through my words but I can’t stop talking, I can’t stop confessing how desperately I want to get ruined, how desperately I need to get ruined.

Please. The thought is mine, but I swear it’s as loud as hers. The witch lifts her face just enough to look straight into my eyes; and oh, her starving gaze is glowing like molten gold, and there’s a low rumbling in my ears.

You’re pathetic.

And then my knees are hitting my ears, knees slamming down beside my head and my stomach crunching up, because the witch is suddenly breathing against my cunt with her fingers wrapping tightly over my thighs.

Spread further, the witch growls, voice dark. Let your pretty June see you.

“J…June?” My head feels foggy. “June’s…she can see, she can watch, I can’t…she can…”

Embarrassment floods hot over my face at the thought — June, watching helplessly as the witch in her body ruins me from the inside out — but the hands on my thighs hold firm. The witch grins; she’s enjoying this, I think, watching me struggle to hide myself.

You’re helpless, the witch purrs, leaning down and letting a hot breath drift across my cunt. You’re weak.

“No,” I start, face hot, “I’m not, I’m n-not,” but then something rough and warm licks a long, wet stripe down my slit and my legs jerk and my back arches and I scream.

Smoldering golden eyes meet mine, hooded and gleaming with sinister desire as the witch’s tongue, serpentine in nature, snakes between my folds. Keep telling yourself that, she replies, voice mocking as she flicks her tongue back up. June knows you’re lying.

“I’m n…I kn…fuck, f-uh-huck, you’re so good, fuck,” and ooh, ooh, I shouldn’t be letting her do this, I can’t let her do this but holy shit, holy shit, it’s never felt this good. June’s name is stuck in my throat but the witch’s eyes are stuck in my head, burning and evil and calculating. She crouches between my legs, studying my face and noting my reactions every time her tongue flicks back and forth, skimming across my cunt.

My gut is heaving as I try to keep myself grounded. My body feels so heavy, and the witch is drawing all that weight to seed in my stomach, tight and tense. Every time she touches me I jolt like I’ve been electrocuted; and when she presses my thighs down, body suddenly slithering up mine, I moan openly into her face.

Careful, she hisses, a cruel smile drawn across her face as a slow shiver rolls down her spine. You’re getting June excited.

“I-I’m what?” I try to grind against something, anything, but it’s near impossible when I’m folded in half, my knees hitting my ears and my thighs beginning to burn from the stretch. Above me, the witch only smiles; and then she sweeps back down my body to my open legs, going straight back to edging me with her tongue. I’m growing desperate; head tilting back, I let my trembling moans echo down the short hallway beyond the couch, legs twitching.

Between my thighs, the witch sighs; and then I feel her nose press against my cunt a mere second before her lips close over my clit.

The broken moan that explodes out of my mouth is volatile; my head snaps back up, and I grapple furiously for a rapid hold on anything in my near vicinity because oh, fuck, my hips are rocking on their own and I can only ride out the waves of pleasure bubbling in my system.

My right hand finds the edge of the couch; my left hand finds a handful of slick hair, and before I can stop myself I’m pulling furiously on both, anchoring myself down as my legs jerk.

And for the first time, the witch gets caught off-guard. Abruptly, she stops; her grip on my thighs tightens, and she looks up at me with predatory humor in her eyes and a wicked smirk crossing her face.

For a moment, I think she’s about to kill me.

But then she arches her back, leaning slightly off-center, and gives me a perfect view as she reaches down between her own legs, sighing smokily against my skin when her fingers crook beneath clinking metal scales.

So mean, she laughs, the sound dark, getting June all worked up when she can’t do anything about it.

And then her fingers are sliding between my lips, pushing down my throat; and oh, it’s June, the taste is all June but sweeter and oh, fuck, fuck, the witch is breathing into me again, but this time she’s flicking her tongue, fast, and fuck, fuck —

“In,” I hiccup, voice garbled by the fingers pressing down on my tongue, “In, in.”

I grip onto her hair a little tighter, winding it around my fingers as I buck my hips up toward her face; and in response, the witch leans forward, pressing my legs further back.

Don’t be rude. Lazily, the witch closes her lips around my clit once again, sucking absently on the swollen nerves and grinning when I take a loud, shuddering breath. Ask properly.

“Please,” I stammer, words rushed, “please, in, please tongue-fuck me, please, please, I need it, I need, I need…”

The witch closes her eyes, cheeks hollowing; and again, I moan, nails scraping against the edge of the couch as I try to hold back from double-fisting her hair.

Say her name, the witch purrs; and then I understand.

“Please…pleas-e, June, fuck, I need it bad, I need it now — please, June, please, I’ll do anything, anything, please, please,” and now I sound pathetic, whimpering out for June while the thing possessing her body listens but oh, who cares anymore, “please, June, I’ll fuck you when I’m done, I’ll fuck you again, I don’t care, please, p-please…”

The witch pauses. There’s a soft graze of teeth over my cunt, and I flinch; but then the witch is laughing wickedly, gazing up at me with lust-charged adrenaline in her eyes.

Wicked, she breathes, nails digging into my skin, wicked, wicked girl.

And then her mouth is hot against my cunt, teeth pinching me for a second before something hot and long and rough is sliding down my entrance and I swear I see stars. My body draws tight, thighs flexing beneath firm fingers; and oh, oh, I can’t breathe anymore, I can only quiver and yelp as the witch begins to slowly rake her nails down my legs while her tongue draws out the most sinful of sounds from my aching core.

“R…right there, ri…right there, right th…right th…” I can’t finish my sentence; my chest heaves every time the witch moves, my voice jumping and breath dying in my throat, because holy shit, holy shit, her tongue is so long, and it’s in me, it’s in me, it’s slithering and flicking through my insides and I swear it’s her life source because she’s sucking me dry like it’s the water she needs to live. Spit dampens the insides of my thighs; her nails dig into my skin, eyes narrowing in thin focus before her tongue curls and pokes the spongy spot right beneath my entrance.

I moan, loud.

Her eyes narrow further — an ember rushes past my face, more frantic than before — and then her tongue is rubbing acutely against my sweet spot, and overstimulation is sending me into overdrive. The hand on my couch flies to the witch’s hair; I’m near ripping handfuls of it out at this point, jaw dropped and flooding pleasure and sensitivity making me scream.

“Right there, right there; please be nice, please be nice, p-please be nice,” I beg, mantra spilling uselessly from my lips as I try to rock into her face. Crouched between my thighs with her eyes glowing like beacons in her face and her lips curling into an otherwise unnatural smirk, the witch only looks up at me with mock sympathy, the triumph of watching me break in her fingers all-too-evident in her gaze.

No.

And then oh, she’s sucking, the rough caress on my sweet spot sinfully heaven, and fuck, fuck, I can barely contain myself anymore. An incoherent, pitched wail explodes out of my mouth, and before I really realize what I’m doing, I grab the massive crescent moon crownpiece on her forehead and pull.

For some reason, she doesn’t fight back. I anchor myself to the thing as hard as I can, squeezing it till my knuckles go white; my eyes open for a split second, just long enough for me to see her glaring up at me with a burning golden gaze and glazed skin.

“Y-you’re insane,” I pant, hips bucking up into the witch’s face, earning another long wail from me as her tongue reaches all the right places and then a few more, “this is insane, a—haa, I…I…”

I can’t think anymore. I can’t think. I feel my back crack as it arches higher off the couch; cold hands slide under my back, lifting me further up and pulling me closer to the succubus between my thighs. Her tongue writhes in my gut, stroking the rough patch on my walls mercilessly.

“R-righ’, y-yeah, like th…like…h’oh, oh, fuck,” and I grab onto the corner of the crescent with shaking hands, “g’onna…gon…fuck, f-fuck, wai’…”

I can make you lose your mind. The words hiss through my head, seductive and raspy and dangerously predatory. I will make you lose your mind.

I don’t doubt her words. My head feels like it’s splintering into a thousand pieces; my chest aches every time I try to breathe, and my stomach is a whole other story. I’m clenching down on her tongue so hard that I’m shaking, legs twitching uncontrollably every time she moves. There’s a tight knot weaving itself larger and larger in my gut, and flecks of light have begun to seed behind my eyes, flashing every single time the witch’s grip tightens, every single time her tongue thrusts down into me, every single time she growls against my cunt, every time —

Out of nowhere, the witch pulls away, tongue drawing out of me and grip on my legs vanishing. All at once, the pleasure evaporates from my body, and the disappointed, desperate moan that escapes my mouth is humiliatingly loud, embarrassment flushing red across my face as the witch only smirks, corners of her lips curling up mockingly as she leans forward.

I can do something else, too. Slowly, she hoists herself over me, and the room lapses into a tense silence, save for the clink of the metal jewelry adorning her body that hangs low onto me and the soft rustle of long hair brushing over my skin, tickling against my sides. For what seems like a long time, she just watches my face, head tilting when my hands slide from her crownpiece to the thick loop on her neck.

I crook my fingers into the center of it before I tug, breathing light as I try to coax the witch closer.

Nothing.

“C-come back, come b…please, was s’close, pl…June, please, please.” I tug a little harder on the thing, blinking back the frustrated gloss threatening to gather in my eyes.

The witch cocks her head the other direction, smirk growing wider. Are you crying?

“N-no, I jus…please, please,” I beg, hands slipping to the chains hanging off of her sides. “I don’t wanna wait, I can’t w-wait, please, f’uck me, break me, need t’cum, please.”

The witch glances down at my hands, watching for a moment as I fiddle with the loops of chain hanging off of her sides. Then she looks back up, cruelty in her eyes; and she sweeps forward, face bumping mine as she all but coils up around my head.

Are you ready to beg for me to stop?

And then she kisses me; and oh, fuck, fuck, I can taste myself on her lips. She hums smokily into my mouth and I moan wantonly into hers. She sucks my tongue, she bites my lip, she all but chokes me; and then she laughs into my open mouth, the sound dark and sinister and promising nothing holy and everything sinful.

Cum.

One moment, my body is frozen, pleasure long gone like a withdrawn tide; and the next, it’s back, only this time it’s multiplied by ten and the knot in my gut is reaching every inch of my body as it shreds and rips into a thousand pieces that set my body on fire.

I don’t just moan, I scream; but the witch swallows my cries, drinks them from my mouth as my long-awaited orgasm blazes to life, setting wildfire to my core and hooking its claws into my lungs. It rocks my body in its grasp; the seeds of light behind my eyes explode into fireworks, until all I can see is white and all I can feel are the cold chains biting into my hands. My chest bumps something — the witch, maybe — and as I drag her down against my body, my orgasmic screams ringing dully in my ears, I start to get dizzy.

Cum.

The witch’s voice echoes in my ears; and immediately, despite my dizzying overstimulation and uncontrollable screams, my body obeys. A fresh wave of hot pleasure snaps in my gut, sending sparks rocketing through my veins and crackling in my ears.

My screaming rises into breathless silence, broken by shattered cries that stick in my throat like briars and the witch’s low, wicked laughter.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. My body is alive with a new, burning pleasure; and there are teeth in my neck and a hand on my throat. Her teeth are in my neck and her hand is on my throat. She’s marking me, and maybe I’m bleeding but my body is boiling hot with pleasure and I can’t stop shaking and I can’t see, I can’t see anything besides exploding white. I cling to the witch’s chains, near swinging from the things with how hard I’m pulling on them; my body jolts as the witch wrecks my neck, the sharp pain only magnifies the pleasure, threatening to hurl me headfirst into a third violent orgasm.

Does it hurt yet? the witch asks, voice taking on a darkly amused edge. Cum again.

My vision clears for a brief moment, just long enough for me to see the thick haze of black fog and simmering embers zipping haphazardly past my face before my gut writhes and my feared next climax crashes into me at full force.

Something hot rolls down my face, and — oh, am I crying? — and then tears are flooding from my eyes, vision going blurry before it goes white once more. The witch keeps biting me — and fuck, fuck, every time her mouth touches me I seize up, and my body convulses, and my hands are shaking so hard when I frantically drag myself up to the witch, burying my face in what I think is the crook of her neck as I try to ride out my painstaking high.

She laughs in my ear when my tears start soaking her skin, the sound low and hoarse. My head is spinning, but I can still feel the faintest shift as the witch moves me, and then I feel something firm beneath my head.

Look at me.

I can’t, I want to say. I can’t see.

But then I can. I can squint — and through hot, salty tears, I can see her.

You’re weak, the witch murmurs, voice taking on a rough edge before her tongue traces a long line up my cheek, swallowing the tears dampening my face. Her eyes swims in my starry vision, hot breath warming my cheek. You couldn’t control yourself if you tried.

“I c…I ca…d’oh, no, please.” I’m trying to say that I can’t get away and I need to, I need to, but the words won’t come out. The witch bites my ear before she drops back down to my stomach; gazing up at me with hooded, smokey golden eyes, her tongue runs in a long hot streak up the center of my chest, and one more cum echoes in my ears.

My back nearly snaps from how hard I arch forward and how fast my vision explodes to white once more. My legs shake like I’ve been electrocuted; my hips jerk up, hitting something slender and lean that’s slowly drawing over my body. I can’t breathe, I can’t see, I can’t think, I can’t; my body is splintering into pieces, my breath is being stretched thin, and my cunt just keeps pumping out pleasure, even when my senses are long overstimulated and pumped with too much, too much.

One more time, the witch purrs, voice cutting through my silenced climax — and for a second, I’m panicking, terrified of how my body will react to another turbulent orgasm.

And then, legs are sliding around my head, and my face is buried between the witch’s thighs and I’m drowning in sweet, thick arousal.

The witch doesn’t need to speak for me to understand; and when a light touch lands on my shivering stomach, slowly reaching down between my legs, I dive headfirst into my task.

You’ve tortured June for so long. The fingers crawl closer to my soaking cunt, nails pricking my skin. You finish when she finishes.

Fuck. I’m desperate; I gasp against the witch’s cunt, trying to remember what I’d done with June to finish her off. Heaving for breath, I start pushing my tongue into her; but then the witch’s finger taps my clit and I explode.

I scream into her cunt, teeth pricking the wet, sensitive skin; my hips jerk up, heels digging into my couch as a climax, or maybe an effect of one, sends blistering pleasure through my body. The inhale I take is pressed against the witch’s cunt; and she shivers, she tangibly shivers, grinding down into my mouth.

June is close. The witch sighs as she rolls her hips into my face, fingers threatening to get too close to my arousal. Make her cum, fast, and maybe the pleasure won’t kill you.

I know. I know. Desperate tears stream from my eyes; I can’t breathe, my body is shattering and fracturing and falling to a hundred tiny pieces and the witch could crush those shards into even smaller ones.

Please, June. The plea is mental as I wrap my lips weakly around her bud, abusing the swollen bundle of nerves with panic driving my motions faster and faster. Please, June, please.

I don’t know how the witch and June work together — the witch has her body, but June is in there somewhere, and she responds. The witch’s hips twitch, rolling brokenly against my face.

Please! My desperate sob is accompanied by a breathless, choked scream. Please! Please!

The witch freezes. There’s an audible gasp; and then, a final cum is blasting through my head as two fingers thrust up into my cunt and the witch’s body convulses.

I can’t scream anymore. I can’t breathe anymore. My chest is as tight as it can be; arousal paints my face, spraying into my eyes and across my chin and neck. My orgasm — my fifth — is rendering me lifeless. The fire has devoured me from the inside out, and I can’t feel anymore as the final tide of pleasure, a thousand feet high and a hundred feet deep, swallows me whole and thrusts me into thick, black silence.

It’s the drum of rain that brings me back.

The drum of rain; and the shallow, weak panting coming from beside me.

When I open my eyes, it takes a minute for my vision to return. The world is blurry; I wipe at my eyes, only for my hands to come back damp and fingers strung with —

Oh.

Sobriety smacks me in the face, and with a sharp gasp I scramble to my elbows, gaze flying round to find the witch.

I don’t find the witch.

Instead, I find a weak, shivering June, half-fallen off the couch with her nails digging into the upholstery and her face screwed in exhaustion. Sweat gleams on her skin, hair sticking to her damp face and body quivering with overexertion. Her bare chest is heaving, her stomach twitches with every breath — and whenI look down, I find thick, pale arousal painting her lower stomach and running down the curve of her thighs.

As if she can feel me watching her, she shifts; her eyes open, and her blue hues focus blearily on mine.

“She’s never…done that,” June breathes, voice hoarse. “She…I’m so sorry.”

My body jolts at she, and with a weak, shaking hand I wave her off. “S…’s fine. ‘M…okay.”

Exhaustion may be weighing her down, but June manages a dubious raise of her brow nonetheless. “She f-uhhh-cked you up,” she replies, voice shaking. “You…sure you’re okay?”

Weakly, I nod, trying to roll toward her; it’s then that I find my body has shut down, legs locked and too heavy to lift. June notices my predicament; a moment later, a hand lands on my shoulder, followed shortly by a smell that’s sweet, cozy, and June.

“Don’ move,” she murmurs, eyes glazed over with fatigue as she collapses unceremoniously against my chest. “S’ a succubus. You’re g…gonna be tired for a little.”

Tired? No shit. Quivering with the exertion, I manage to weakly loll my head against hers, breathing into her hair as she tucks into me.

“She’s tired,” June continues, voice trembling. “She won’t…she won’t come back for awhile.”

“Good,” I reply, word slurred and sleepy as exhaustion threatens to drag me under. “Need…need a l’il time t’ sleep.”

Weakly, June manages to tilt her face up; her eyes land on mine as she sleepily pulls my face down, open mouth ghosting against mine and lashes brushing delicately against my cheek.

“Mind if I spend the night?” she laughs, sound breathy and hoarse. In response, I shake my head, nose bumping hers.

“Don’t think I’ve a choice.”

“Not unless you want me t’ Uber home like this,” June replies, voice sleepy. “I’ll make you somethin’ when I wake up.”

“Pancakes,” I mumble belatedly, breathing slowing down as darkness creeps in on my vision and June’s eyes start to drift shut and the sound of rain outside seeps into my head. “Pancakes would be perfect.”

#i want clout so i use way too many tags #i write this character better for sex than they did for a whole movie #whatthefuck #lol anyways #suicidesquad #dc?#enchantress #bro she doesn’t have a tag what the hell #how the fuck you gonna make a sexy unhinged fem villain #and she doesn’t even have her own tag #oh right bc the writing sucked ass for her #right #forgot that part #i want enchantress rights ill give her the movie she deserves #im open any day after 3 cmon dc call me let’s chat #um #dude what else #dc smut #thats a tag #shitsmutposting acc warning #dude idk what else #please give me clout #blow me up on tiktok just for funsies #that’ll be my legacy #ill have it on my gravestone #hashtag this bitch wrote the one and only smutfic of enchantress on tumblr #n she did it six years late #what a madwoman #fuck yeah #suicid squad smut

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