#fucking never going to ever recover from this...emotionally
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Me whenever I heard the variations of “Talk to me, Goose”:
it also didn’t help that the soundtrack made my allergies act up TT_TT definitely wasn’t me crying uncontrollably about a movie with jets and an iconic beach scene.
#top gun: maverick#top gun 2#top gun: maverick spoilers#top gun 2 spoilers#pete maverick mitchell#bradley rooster bradshaw#maverick#rooster#talk to me goose#wtf I thought it was just going to be jets#i didn't realize my heart would be torn up like this#i truly am in the danger zone#fucking never going to ever recover from this...emotionally#it's the allergies...not me crying uncontrollably
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Honestly though I think it’s really a bad sign when I look at Shin Tsukimi and literally feel like he’s a self insert 😩
#the klock keeps ticking#yttd#i wanna replay yttd so bad but i also like Gotta play other stuff with the time i have akskks#but yeah the brainrot this specific character has given me idk if I ever really talked about it but it was BAD#i like obsessively played the game in like 3 days and it was not a good idea lol but just like shin#i had to take like a week to recover from this guy cuz i couldnt stop thinking about him and how hes just like me fr#first off just the very inconsistent personality hes got going on that is very me he has these different personalities he wears to cope with#all the traumatic shit happening hes both so helpless its comical and so manipulative its terrifying#and idk its really interesting how like good and bad he is at being manipulative like hes very smart and can analyze weaknesses and lie so#good not even he knows the truth but hes also grasping at straws he doesnt think things through at all#like the second main game he just didnt prepare at all hes fumbling his way through everything its going so bad#he just wants to go home he wants to outdo the game makers but hes being used by them so bad he wants it to STOP#and its just the way that like. it hits so hard cuz you know hes really not a bad person not at all he doesnt want any of this hes just#being horribly manipulated and doing whatever he can to survive but its also really scary how#well hes able to lie and manipulate and claw his way through but hes also weaker than a grade schooler#and you never forget that either and as much as he cheated his way through he still failed it was all just a cheap trick in the end#and all of this hits very hard like his personality is eerily similar to mine and just the way he thinks and acts#cuz im the same like im weak and a dweeb who likes funny cats but im also emotionally detached and observant and selfish#but where it hits the hardest is his relationship with midori like oooof that one was too real just like#the first person who was ever his friend was horribly abusive and treated him like a child and didnt respect any boundaries#and he just got sick pleasure out of seeing shin be upset and he was like. a groomer#and shin was fucking relieved when he died but also kept his scarf and adopted his personality to survive#and still goes by sou after ch2 and the scene that gets me the most is when shin ai is asked about his relationship with midori#and you can just SEE how horrified shin is because his deepest shame his abuse is being shared to everyone without his consent#and hes reliving it all in that moment and literally seeing who he used to be experiencing the abuse#he just curls into himself and like covers his ears and pulls his hair thats literally what i do AAAAAA#im just so grateful for the direction they took this character kokichi ouma wishes he was shin tsukimi so bad#and yeah just like damn. its scary how similar i am to shin like damn i really am going through it huh oof#I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I WILL DEFEND HIM WITH MY LIFE HE DID ALL OF THAT STUFF YOUR HONOR BUT LISTENNNN#have you considered that hes cute and smart and weird and maybe just needs friends who arent assholes
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lessons in intimacy (k.ys)
summary: you didn't mean to actually meet the man who's audio porn was single handedly getting you off every night, but you do.
note: this has been a looooong time coming and is dedicated to one of my best friends, grace. 💗 i hope everyone enjoys this chaotic smut fest.... also i've recently discovered that porn is actually illegal to produce or consume in korea? so suspend your disbelief for this fic lol
warnings: camboy!yeosang/barista!yeosang x fem!reader, it's a smut-a-thon barely a plot in sight featuring - nsfw/audio porn, guided masturbation, female masturbation, male masturbation, lots and lots of orgasms, use of dildo, nipple play, one night stand dynamics except they kind of fall for each other, big and i mean big dick yeosang, oral sex (f receiving), gratuitous squirting, fingering, thigh riding/grinding, protected and unprotected sex (do not do this they're being hella dumb), rough sex, maaaaaajor praise play he says good girl more times than i can count, so much use of 'baby', plus pretty girl/babygirl, absolute pleasure soft dom yeosang of our dreams, reader literally passes out from coming you're welcome
pairings: yeosang x reader
genre: smut and more smut, where's the plot???
word count: 14.5K
additional note: yeosang owns a cafe in this fic called ongozisin, it's a real cafe in seoul and you can check out their ig here! the vibes are truly so yeosang i can't even articulate it, so i just wanted to share this for the extra visual!
Paid porn for women has tiers. You stumble headfirst into this realization with your fingers stuffed inside yourself and your body slick with sweat, and there’s nothing that takes you right out of your frantic self care session than a request for your credit card number and a terms of service page.
Your chest is heaving, legs shaking, and you feel your orgasm slip right through your fingers as you skim over his Fansly page. You should have just skipped to another one of his free audios on Pornhub like you always do, but this week was long and stressful and slightly emotionally fraught, and there’s only so many times you can ignore his husky little ad at the end of the audio file inviting you to check out the full, uncut content.
“Jesus,” You breathe, pushing yourself up in the bed and letting your phone drop to the side as you recover your breath.
Are you really going to do this? Are you really going to pay for porn? The internet is full of it, spilling over from every angle with any little thing you can imagine. There’s a reason Rule 34 exists, people are horny and people love attention, so if you can fathom it there’s free porn of it.
And yet, nothing ever, ever gets you there like he does, and you’ve never even seen his face.
You glance down at your phone again and you see his familiar header image, a deeply contrasted black and white header of tangled white sheets, and his username striking across the corner in neon green. fromryu. This is what drew you in initially, the simplicity of it all. You were sick of skimming through all of the men making porn for women with names like ‘TheMasterDominant’, ‘Your_Daddy’, or ‘forherpleasureee’ and then just listening to them groan in your ear and call you a slut for fifteen minutes. That might work for some, but it definitely doesn’t work for you.
Ryu was different, is different. His audios are a mix of scenario based role-plays and straight forward guided masturbation for women, and you’re pretty sure he comes right along with you when you listen, but it’s just not the same.
You’ve fucked yourself to every single one of his free audios. Some of them more than once, some of them several times, if you’re being honest. You’ve always ignored his ads, because he gives so much content away for free you can’t imagine what would be behind a paywall that would get you off harder, until today.
Your brain just couldn’t get there. You’ve heard him chuckle that chuckle before, say that line before, coax you into orgasm with those exact words before, and you need more.
Your credit card is firmly in your hand before you can give it another thought, and with a fluttering stomach you tuck yourself into a robe and back into bed to pick a tier. With a long sip of a fresh glass of wine you lean back in your pillows and read through his welcome page.
His tiers make you smirk, he’s funny.
Third base, full uncut audios and one special audio per month just for subscribers – $4.99/month
Just the tip, uncut audios, one special audio per month, and access to a private discord server where subscribers can make audio request submissions – $9.99/month
Every inch (and more), uncut audios, exclusive audios, access to discord, exclusive video content, and access to a private Snapchat - $24.99/month
In for a penny, in for a pound, you guess.
You click on ‘Every inch (and more)’ and plug in your card numbers before you have a second to rethink your decision. You really hope you don’t get hit with a fraud alert that you have to explain to some poor customer service representative.
The wheel spins, the charge goes through, and suddenly you’re in. Your mouth has never been so dry.
There’s dozens of videos, dozens. For every audio you’ve listened to on Pornhub, there’s a video that goes with it, and for every free piece of content there’s two times as much paid video content. $24.99 was nothing compared to how many hours of content you’re suddenly sifting through.
There’s a common thread across every video though, you can already tell from the thumbnails, Ryu still never shows his face. Almost every thumbnail is the same, a white wall and a charcoal gray couch, and a man wearing oversized black sweatpants and a tight black athletic shirt.
His knees are parted, legs spread open and casual, and his hands rest clasped between them. You swallow thickly at the sight of his arms. He’s built. His hands are so good looking you think idly that he should just be modeling watches or something, it’s ridiculous how nice they are. His skin is tanned, veins snaking up his forearms, and silver rings across several of his long, thick fingers. Can the sight of a man’s hands make you come? Your aching clit throbs.
You skim through the video titles and tags to try and select one and your stomach twists. His videos are even more varied than the free content he posts and organized so well you think you might be in love with him already.
There’s a folder for role play videos, and you skim through that quickly just to see. Neighbor overhears you moaning and comes to check on you, best friend takes your virginity, boss and secretary working late, brother’s best friend slips into your room at a sleepover, step-daddy teaches his babygirl a lesson.
Your cheeks flush hot pink and you settle further into your sheets, backing out of this folder and navigating to your tried and true favorite.
Guided masturbation and encouragement.
There are even more videos in this folder and you skim through any of those ones that say ‘exclusive’ in the title to avoid ones you’ve already heard parts of. The hashtags alone leave you breathless and you have no idea what to choose, every video cleanly tagged with what you’ll need to be able to keep up with his instructions. Hands only, rabbit vibe, hitachi wand, bullet vibe, dildo, butt plug, nipple clamps, lubricant, massage oil, blindfold, wrist restraints, ankle restraints, the list goes on and on.
You select one at almost random with the tags ‘hands and fingers’, ‘dildo’, and ‘optional squirting’.
The screen starts black, and for a second you’re pretty sure something’s wrong, but then you hear him.
“Hi everyone,” Your muscles melt, and you push your noise canceling earbuds deeper into your ears, “I have something a little special today,”
You’ve never heard him talk so casually, almost like a vlogger or something. His voice hasn’t yet shifted into that deep teasing tone that kicks off every free video, and you’re already sold on every dollar you’ve spent when he starts to just chat.
“I got a request from a special subscriber in my discord,” He says, “someone who’s become a friend and who confided in me that she’s never been able to make herself squirt,”
Your breath comes a little more quickly.
“It’s not easy to do, I know,” He says, tenderly, the screen still black, “and I want you all to know that if you’re still struggling after this audio, that’s okay. It takes time, and your body is not a sex toy. There’s not a perfect combination that works for every person with a vagina,”
Your brow quirks at the inclusivity of his language choice and you smile a little, easing yourself down in the bed to keep listening to him.
“But I’m going to do my best to help you,” He continues, “so while I get set up over here, I need you to get your own space ready. Get up out of bed or off the couch, but keep me with you, okay, baby?”
You’re shaking and he hasn’t even said anything sexy yet. You don’t always listen perfectly to instructions, sometimes you skip ahead a bit and get to the good stuff just to get yourself off, but this time it’s different. You tuck your phone in your robe pocket and stand.
“For this session,” You can almost see the smile in his voice and you try to imagine him, “you’ll need a couple of good towels laid out across your space. You’ll need to drink a big glass of water before we get started, and then I want you to find your best dildo, the one that really makes you come hard. The one that fills you up just right, that hits that tender little place you wish I was touching with my fingers,”
He’s going to make you come so hard you see Jesus, you can tell already.
“We need everything to be perfect,” He says, “and for you to be comfortable. Tonight is not the night to test out that new toy, okay? Tonight is for you and me, so go and get your supplies, and I’ll tell you all about my day. I’ll be your favorite little sexy podcast.”
As he starts warmly talking to his audience about his long lazy morning off work, you nearly crumble. You’re really not supposed to be getting a crush on this guy, but here you fucking are. He’s sweet, casual and laughs a little while he talks, and while you gather up the towels and the water and the frankly oversized dildo, you’re smiling.
You hear him sit down and sigh and then his voice shifts, just a little, “Alright, baby, are you ready?”
You sink back back down to sit on your own bed and you wait.
“Just a reminder,” He says, “I will be using female descriptors throughout this video. If you’re uncomfortable with me calling you ‘girl’, like babygirl or good girl, or referring to you as a woman in any way, I am posting the similar content with male descriptors. If you’d prefer to hear baby boy or good boy, check the links below this video, okay?”
You smile again.
“Alright,” He hums, “now, where were we?”
The camera clicks on and you feel the little gasp leave you. You almost forgot.
He leans back on the couch and keeps talking, “That’s right, the lesson. Get settled over the towels, and if you’re wearing anything, it’s time to take it off for me.”
You lay back over the towels and let your robe part open.
“That’s so good,” He croons softly, “god, you’re so pretty, baby,”
Your chest thumps hard.
“Let’s start slow, okay?” His hands smooth over his thighs, “the key here is teasing, and I know how much you like it when I tease you.”
Your hand rests on your own thigh, your other propping up the phone as you watch with rapt attention.
“Touch your pretty thighs for me,” His voice is rich and thick in your ears, “that’s a good girl, there we go, nice and soft. Is your pussy wet? Did I do that to you again, pretty girl?”
You’re barely breathing, eyes fixated on the screen as he strokes his own thigh through his sweatpants, slow and steady.
“Are you aching?” He asks and you can’t help but nod, feeling like suddenly he can see you through the screen.
“Touch just a little,” He murmurs, “but don’t jump ahead. Keep your fingers off your clit, we’re not there yet, sweetheart.”
A little tight sound slips out of you as you follow his instructions.
“Is your sweet slit wet?” He hums, and his hand slides up his thigh and rests over his stomach, “Are you throbbing?”
Fuck.
“Someday, baby,” He sighs and you watch him shift on the couch cushions, “I’ll taste you,”
“Fuck,” You whisper.
“But for now,” He’s smiling, you know it, “you just need to listen to me and do everything I tell you,”
You’re nodding again.
“I promise,” He says, “I’ll take such good care of you baby, if you listen, I promise to make you come.”
Your stomach clenches, core fluttering, and you drift your fingertips up and down your slit, following the way his middle finger is slowly sliding back and forth on his abs.
“Are you listening?” His voice goes husky and your head drops back into the pillows. Next time you’ll need a better way to watch him and listen and touch yourself, but you’re so incredibly desperate at this moment that it really doesn’t matter, you’ll make due.
“You are, aren’t you?” He murmurs, “Good girl,”
Your legs spread a little wider.
He leans forward, you hear the rustling of the fabric and you snap your eyes back to the video to see him leaning forward, hands clasped together loosely, and you’re pretty sure you can see the outline of a bulge in his sweatpants.
“Does it hurt?” He croons, teasing.
You love him like this.
“Take your hand away from your pussy,” He says, just a little more commanding, “right now, baby,”
You pull it back reluctantly.
“Close your eyes for a minute,” He murmurs, “spread your legs for me,”
You comply immediately.
“Tease your nipples,” He sounds a little breathier now and you fight the urge to watch the video, “do whatever feels good, touch your tits exactly the way you like it,”
You roll your nipples, tugging them softly and kneading your breasts with both hands now that you’re not propping up the phone.
“Imagine me with you,” He says, “feel my fingers sliding up your calves, my lips on your inner thigh, you can feel my breath against your sweet cunt, I know you can,”
You’re about to come untouched, that’s the thought that rocks through your mind when your hips jerk on their own, his deep voice nestled right in your ear.
“Look at you,” He muses, “squirming around, so fucking desperate for something inside you,”
Your breath catches.
“You’re so needy,” He continues, “are you making noise for me? Little pants, little moans? Are you trying to be quiet?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth, a soft scold, “Not with me, baby,”
A moan bubbles up out of you.
“Hands off.”
Your eyes open immediately, and you don’t pull your hands away just yet, but you’re frozen still. You’re breathing hard, blush climbing up your chest, and your hips jerk slightly. If he doesn’t let you touch yourself soon, you’re going to lose your mind.
“Good girl,” He says after a moment, “very good,”
You drop your hands, scrambling for the phone so you can see what he’s going to do next.
“Now watch me,” He instructs, holding his palm up to the camera, “take two fingers,” he separates his fingers, keeping his middle and index fingers tucked together, “and when they’re inside curl them just like this.” He crooks his fingers in a come-hither motion, “Just like this,”
You slide your hand down your front, slipping your fingers through your soaked folds, but his voice makes you pause.
“Go slow,” He instructs, “push them in nice and slow for me,”
You follow his instructions.
“There you go,” He sighs softly, “now curl your fingers,”
You watch as he does it in the video and you follow instructions dutifully, your fingers brushing over your spongy g-spot.
“Feel that?” He leans back, and the tent in his sweatpants makes you pant, “That perfect little spot that makes you whine so good for me?”
You nod again, biting down on your lip, desperate to move but waiting.
“When I say,” He slips his fingertips into his sweatpants, teasing you, “fuck your perfect pussy with those fingers,”
Sweat drips down your chest.
His hand disappears into his sweats and he groans, “Now,”
You don’t have to be told twice.
“Harder,” He says, throaty and low, “I know you can,”
A tight sound slips out of you as you work yourself, but you nearly fall apart when you watch him push down the top of his sweats. His cock is huge, there’s no other way to say it. Thick and perfect, aching pink at the head and when he wraps his hand around himself you feel the tense knot of your orgasm rushing back.
“Oh, f-fuck,” You scramble in the sheets, pulsing your fingers in and out just like he told you to.
“Look at you,” He says again, “fucking yourself for me. I bet you’re imagining my fingers, aren’t you? Just like I’m imagining your dripping pussy,”
Pleasure rocks in your gut.
“Use your other hand,” He instructs, “rub that clit for me,”
You drop the phone like it’s hot, and you have to crane your neck to see the video, but it doesn’t matter. He’s given you the perfect permission to do exactly what you need and you have to take it.
“Does that feel good, baby? Yeah? Do you feel like you need to come for me?” His voice gets closer to the microphone and you’re rapidly approaching the edge, “You’re so close, fuck, listen to you,”
“God, oh god,” Your legs are trembling.
“Do you see how hard you make me?” His fist jerks over his cock faster and your mind is unraveling, none of his other audios feel like this, “Do you know how much I want to see you come?”
Pressure drops in your belly.
“Fuck,” He pants, “you’re almost there, I know you want to come for me, but not until I say,”
It’s happening whether he wants it to or not, whether you want it or not, and your fingers bear down harder on your clit, your eyes locking closed, head falling back.
“Hands off,” He’s not teasing anymore, he’s telling, “right now, babygirl, hands off.”
You pull your hands away and it’s possible that nothing has ever felt as bad as this one stolen orgasm. Your hands are shaking, body flushed and slick with sweat, and if any of your neighbors are up they are probably getting an earful.
You lock eyes with the video again and his hands rest on his knees, cock standing tall and at attention, edging with you.
“Get that dildo nice and wet,” He says, and you search your sheets for the silicone cock, “in your mouth pretty girl, imagine that’s my cock between your lips,”
He strokes his hand slowly down his length, smearing a bead of precum down to the base of his shaft as you dip the cock between your lips and take it as far in your mouth as you can.
“It’s time to come,” He soothes, like he knows you’re a whining, quivering mess, “I know you need it,”
The dildo pops free from your mouth and you watch as he lifts the hem of his shirt to expose the smooth plane of his abs, “Fuck yourself with me, sweetheart,”
Pleasure pops through you as you press the toy to your hot channel.
“Nice and fast,” He pleads, thrusting into his fist, “don’t stop this time, not until you come,”
The bubble inside you expands again, pressure everywhere.
“Just trust me,” He whispers in your ear, “don’t stop. I’ve got you, I’m right here, you let go baby. Don’t fight it,”
Your back arches up off the bedding, the muscles in your arm aching as you thrust the toy in and out of yourself, pressing it up again and again into your g-spot.
“Come, baby,” He sounds like he’s begging, and your free hand flies down to grip the sheets, “let go, you come, that’s it, there you go,”
You turn your head, catching sight of him again and the way he works himself over.
“There we go,” He groans sharply, his own release spurting up ropes of cum onto his exposed chest, “can you feel me inside you? Come with me, that’s a good girl, good fucking girl,”
He sounds dizzy, panting himself, you’ve never heard him quite like this and one final thrust sends you spilling over the edge. Your vision whites, body locking up in ecstatic pleasure, and you clap a hand over your lips to stifle the moan that rips out of you.
It takes a minute to come back from that. Your ears ringing, and the dildo slips out of you with a final pulse from your shattering orgasm. He’s talking, you register it, but his voice sounds far away and you realize that you’ve lost your earbuds. You scramble to get them back in, pulling the video up to your eyes.
“-And that’s okay,” He’s saying, his cock tucked away and his shirt back down, “you can try again another time if you didn’t quite get there,”
For a second you’re confused, it was the hardest orgasm of your life, but then you remember this was intended to be a guided masturbation to squirt and you blush, alone in your apartment, at the fact that you didn’t quite get there and he’s talking to you.
“It’s all about the build up,” He explains, “but I’m sure with a little practice we can get you there.”
You’ve never really cared about squirting until now, but he makes it sound like a perfect date and something tells you that you’ll be back here again night after night if he’ll have you.
“Anyway,” He sighs and you hope he’s smiling above the camera, “thank you for spending a little bit of your day with me, I hope I made you feel as good as you made me feel,”
You blush again.
“I’ll see you soon,” He assures, gentle like a lover would, “sleep well, jagiya,”
The video cuts and you blink hard, you’re still smiling.
You are so, so fucked.
After that, Ryu becomes a problem. You wish it was just the videos and the dirty talk and the good orgasms, but it’s more than that. You just like to hear him talk now, the little bits at the beginning about his day are starting to get into your head. And then there’s the Snapchat.
You kind of expected the private Snap to be sexy photos and videos of him in the almost pitch dark huskily saying good morning, but it isn’t. You still have never seen his face, but his videos are casual, friendly, too real for a man you spend every night fantasizing about. He chats about things he’s doing or books he’s reading while he’s cooking, filming just shoulders down so you can watch the muscles in his arms while he chops vegetables. You fall in love with the sound of his voice when he’s just talking, his stretched out s-sounds that only really peek through outside of his constructed scenes. You find yourself missing him a little on days he doesn’t post.
You’ve gotten used to waking up with him, falling asleep with him, checking in on him during the day. His message announcements in Snapchat don’t feel like they’re for everyone, they feel like they’re for you. You know that’s not true of course, you know you’re paying a hefty monthly bill just to feel like this, but you don’t care. It’s been a while, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t just need some company.
It’s a Thursday when everything goes to shit.
You wake up far too late, forgetting to set the alarm on your phone after falling asleep directly after yet another Ryu narrated orgasm, and everything has been off kilter since. You’re scrambling to get to work on time and every little thing is going wrong. Your coffee machine isn’t turning on, the sweater you want to wear is still in the wash, and your umbrella will not open despite the rain that’s ruining what would have been a good hair day.
When you decide to stop into the coffee shop across from your office it’s not even a want, it's a need. You’re already thirty minutes late, why not make it forty-five?
You’ve never come here, not once. You’re used to going to the shop around the block from your apartment, and this place is new. Ongozisin is the kind of place you’d normally take your time in. The space is clearly industrial, concrete walls and flooring made to look unfinished. The aesthetic is still warm though, with natural dark wood furniture and bamboo accents, Joseon era paintings and a juniper bonsai along the back wall.
To the left side of the cafe stands a bay of tall windows and the very modern, very clean point of sale. The line isn’t too long, but you can see that the pace of this place is slower by design, so maybe you’ll just round up and call it an hour late. A door opens to your left and you watch as one of the baristas steps out from a kitchen holding two black plates of colorful, carefully constructed pastries.
The line moves ahead of you, and the person behind you softly clears their throat to jog your attention.
You step closer, only one person ahead of you now.
When you hear his voice you nearly reach for your phone.
“That’s perfect,” It’s Ryu, clear as day. His voice is distinct and deep and here.
Your eyes snap up to the barista behind the counter, your body frozen stock still as you take him in, mind spinning.
“Do you want any cream?” He says to the woman ordering.
Blush lights up your cheeks and all you can think about is the video you watched the night before and his voice in your ear - Do you want my cum inside you, pretty baby?
You should leave. There’s a reason this man is anonymous on the internet, never showing an inch of his face, and Ryu isn’t even his name, it's just what you call him. He never calls himself anything in the videos, never reveals what part of Korea he lives in, never talks about his job. He doesn’t want to be found.
You’re about to turn, run, scramble away, but his voice comes again and this time you realize he’s talking to you. The man, Ryu, smiles, “Good morning, can I get you something?”
You’re frozen.
“Miss?” A little crease between his brows.
“Sorry,” You jump forwards, ignoring the annoyed huff behind you and shaking off as much of this panic as you can, “I don’t know where my head is this morning,”
“That’s alright,” He says warmly, “that’s what I’m here for,”
You can’t say anything, your mind blanks.
His eyes flick over you and then he nods, “You know, coffee? To wake you up?”
“Right!” You nod, “Sorry, yes, an americano please,”
“Iced or hot?” He asks.
Are you feeling hot, babygirl? Do you need to take something off for me?
“Hot,” You say it on a reflex but then you remember yourself, “no sorry, iced, iced please,”
“Okay, sure,” He smiles, “iced,”
You make it through payment without too much more embarrassment, apologizing again, and then you step to the side. Another barista appears, slotting into Ryu’s place so he can turn his attention to the drinks he needs to make and you take the moment to get composed.
He’s handsome, that’s a given. You expected that, but still he looks even better than your imagination conjured up, more real. He looks exactly right for this cafe too, his black hair long enough to brush the base of his neck with half gathered into a ponytail, pieces loose to frame his angular face. He’s dressed smartly too, black oversized trousers and a fitted black t-shirt, slim black boots, and an open jacket in a dramatic modern-hanbok style. You realize you’re staring the minute his eyes hold on yours and they crinkle up as he smiles. He has a birthmark, a smooth light pink flush across his eye and your heart thumps in your chest.
“Long night?” He asks you, passing off a coffee in a mug to the woman who had been ahead of you in line.
He just puts you at ease and you nod, “Something like that,”
“Ah,” He knocks out the round cake of used espresso from the portafilter as he talks, “and you look like you got caught in the rain, don’t you have an umbrella?”
“Broken,” You grimace, “it’s been one of those mornings,”
“Mm,” He nods, focusing on queueing up espresso for your americano, but while the shots pull he turns back to you, “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before?”
You shake your head, “No, first time,”
“Do you like it?” He gestures around with a nod of his head.
“Very much,” You smile, “it’s a great space,”
He smiles again, looking proud, “I’m glad you like it,” he says, “we haven’t been open very long, but so far people have seemed to enjoy it,”
“Oh,” You watch him pour your espresso over ice, “is the cafe yours?”
He nods, “Mine and my friend’s,”
You wish you weren’t late, you wish you were able to stay just a little longer.
“Well,” You tell him honestly, “it’s beautiful here, I’ll have to come in more often, I only work across the street.”
“Ah,” He nods, “I thought you looked familiar,”
Blush creeps up your neck.
“Did you need cream?” He asks and you hope he doesn’t notice the way your pulse quickens at his words, but he nods towards your coffee and you shake your head.
“Thank you,” You take the cup off the bar and step back, “I appreciate it.”
“I hope that helps,” He says, and then he glances behind you at the large round window, “actually, I’m sorry, can you wait one moment?”
“Sure,” You watch him duck out from behind the bar, making a quick beeline for the swinging door that leads back into the kitchen. You have no idea what he could want, there’s no way you’d be recognized by him except as a stranger on the street, and your stomach knots up.
It takes him a moment, but he darts back out, a long black umbrella in his hand, “Take this,”
“I can’t do that,” You wave a hand, “I’m only across the street, but that’s really kind of you,”
“If you’re only across the street then I know where to go to get it back,” He shakes his head, “just take it, it’s raining like crazy out there,”
He presses the handle of the umbrella into your free hand, and your breath catches in your throat, his skin brushing against yours. Your eyes flick over his rings, just the same as always. A signet with a deep black stone, a hammered silver band, a clearly vintage one on his index finger that looks like an old Catholic saint token, the finer details rubbed away with age.
“What time do you close?” You ask, accepting the umbrella.
“Seven,”
“I’ll bring it back after work then,” You tell him, “is that alright?”
He nods, “But if it’s still raining, just keep it. Bring it by tomorrow,”
“Tomorrow,” You nod.
“Mhm,” He nods, something warm in his expression, “this will have to be your new usual spot,”
Is he flirting? You’re wholly and entirely unprepared to deal with that considering the way you moaned his name last night. Something clicks in your brain at that thought though and you nod, “Maybe it will. I’m y/n, by the way,”
“Yeosang,” He smiles, “it’s very nice to meet you.”
Yeosang.
“You too,” You dip your head, “and thank you again for this,”
“Of course,” He says, “I hope this turns your morning around a little,”
You open your mouth to say something, but there’s a voice from the cafe bar that slices cleanly between your conversation, “Yeosang-ah!”
Yeosang glances back and then he sighs, just a little, “I have to go,” he tells you, “but I’ll see you again,”
“See you again,”
He’s back behind the bar before you can blink, focusing on each customer’s order. The man who called his name is grinning, and you wonder idly if he’s the friend who owns the cafe with Yeosang or just a part-timer.
With your stomach fluttering, you push out into the rain to get to work, Yeosang’s name on a loop in your brain for the rest of the day. When you get home, his umbrella resting by the door, you delete his Snapchat from your contacts and unsubscribe from his Fansly account.
Ongozisin becomes a daily ritual.
The money you used to spend on his Fansly now goes straight into the cafe, first thing in the morning before work and a last lingering stop in the evening before you go home.
On busy days you barely get to see him and sometimes you’re left just chatting with Wooyoung, his best friend and business partner. You like him too, you like the atmosphere and their kind warmth, but if you’re being honest you find yourself living for slow days. The days where you’ve timed it just right to have a little talk before the rush of the day or the closing tasks of the evening.
Little by little, Ryu fades from your mind, and the man in front of you is just Yeosang. The guy who runs your favorite coffee shop, the guy who dresses almost otherworldly, who smiles wide but only when you say something truly funny, who sometimes gets lost in his own head while he’s making cappuccinos.
He’s lovely.
Sometimes you think he might be flirting, a little more suavely and charismatic than his business partner who asked if you had a crush on him since you were coming into the cafe so much. Sometimes Yeosang adds a little extra treat to your plate of food or he adds pretty latte art to your cup if you’re staying in the cafe. That might be nothing, but it certainly might be something.
It isn’t until another day of rain, harsh pelting rain, that Yeosang appears at your table.
“We close soon,” He says, and when he sees the brief flash of concern that you’ve overstayed your welcome on your face he shakes his head, “sorry, I meant to ask, how are you getting home tonight?”
“The train,” You glance outside.
His nose crinkles, “You don’t have an umbrella today either,”
“True,” You look down at your belongings, “I didn’t check the weather,”
“If you wait a bit for us to lock up,” He says, “I’d be happy to walk you to the station,”
“Oh,”
“Or if you’re not busy,” He clears his throat softly, “I could walk you to this little restaurant around the corner?”
Flirting, then.
You smile and nod, trying to keep your eagerness tamped down to a normal amount, “Are you asking me out, Yeosang?”
He grins, “I��ve been trying to,”
Your stomach flips pleasantly, “I’ll wait, dinner sounds nice,”
His shoulders sag, a little relief in his expression and he clears away your empty cup as he says, “I’ll be quick,”
You catch Wooyoung slapping his friend's shoulder as he disappears into the back room, and before you know it you’re blushing and sitting across from this man at the restaurant down the block.
Dinner is so smooth it feels surreal. It turns out you both like the same music, and several books too, and you’ve never been on a date with a man who asked you so many questions about yourself and didn’t just talk your ear off. Dinner stretches long too, and you’re strangely grateful it’s a Friday when you finally do check the time. He has to work on Saturday at the cafe, but not until a little later in the morning, and so neither one of you really wants to call it quits.
The after dinner walk turns meandering, and then his hand is brushing against yours, knuckles to knuckles.
You don’t think of him as Ryu until his fingers brush down your back, lips close to your ear when he finally asks you. The way he does makes your body melt - I hope I’m not ruining things by asking, but would you like to come home with me tonight?
You agree before your mind catches up to itself, but every step of the walk to his apartment has your heart picking up speed. You had forgotten on the date how you met him, really met him, and your gut churns.
Do you tell him? Do you lie?
Everytime he grins at you, touches you, tucks his long hair behind his ear and nods, you can’t imagine a one night stand. You could maybe swallow the truth if that’s all this was to you, but it’s not, and so you can’t.
On his block you feel the internal countdown ticking.
“You can change your mind, you know,” He offers, noticing how you’ve gone quiet, and it pulls you straight out of your thoughts.
“Oh,” Your head snaps up, “I’m sorry, I don’t want to change my mind at all, I just got a little lost in thought.”
He nods, this time finding your hand and giving you a squeeze, his steps slowing as you approach his building, “Can I ask what about?”
You nod, returning the soft pulse of his hand in yours before separating your skin from his. His eyes flick down to your hands, and then back up to your eyes.
“I have a bit of a confession,” You swallow hard, “something I think I should tell you before we go upstairs,”
“Okay,” He leans against the stone wall behind him, “is everything alright?”
“I hope so,” You nod, “I just feel like there’s something I should say now, and if it makes you uncomfortable at all, just be honest. I’ll go home, no hard feelings,”
“y/n,” His brows draw together in confusion, “what’s going on?”
You take a deep breath, taking a step back to get a little breathing room, “I recognized you when I came into the cafe that first day,”
“Recognized me?”
“Yeah,” You clear your throat, your chest feeling tight, “for the past few months I’ve been… a subscriber,”
“A subscriber,” He repeats, and for a brief flickering second you wonder to yourself if this man just looks and sounds and feels exactly like Ryu but isn’t, but then his face blanches, “oh,”
“I’m not anymore,” You shake your head, “and clearly you like your privacy, so I didn’t know how to just come out and say it, but if you’re actually interested in me and not just being flirty at the cafe then I just can’t lie to you… I don’t want to start something with a lie,”
He’s quiet, and then his eyes flick down.
It was so, so nice while it lasted.
“I should have told you sooner,” Your stomach flips and you take another step back, “and I completely understand that you’re upset, I’ll just, I won’t say anything to anyone and it was lovely getting to know you, and I’m sorry, I’ll go,”
His head snaps up, “Go? y/n, stop, slow down,”
His hands smooth down your forearms as he jumps forwards, pulling you gently back towards him. Your heart is beating so loud you can practically hear it, “I’m sorry,”
“I’m not upset,” He assures, “can we go inside to talk? I don’t want to do this in the street,”
You nod, letting him lead you through the garden gate and up towards the house, but his words pulse on a loop in your mind. You hope he’s good at letting you down easy because this hurts. You should have known it that first day at the cafe, you should have stayed away and not played with fire.
His house is small, but very nice and despite being sparsely decorated, you like it. You feel trapped in the entryway so unsure of what to do in this space, especially when you recognize the corner of his gray couch.
“Can I get you a drink or something?” He interrupts your thoughts, “I have wine, probably some soju, and a bottle of truly undrinkable Japanese whisky,”
“Undrinkable?” You blink.
“I think it’s supposed to be very good if you like whisky,” He explains, “it was a gift,”
“Ah,” You couldn’t feel more awkward if you tried, “wine, I guess?”
“Okay,” He smiles, a close lipped polite smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes, “well, make yourself comfortable, I’ll get us a drink and then we can talk,”
“Sure,” You’re still frozen as he walks away down the hall to what you presume is the kitchen. It takes a minute to unstick yourself, but you make your way to the couch and wait.
He returns with two glasses of red wine and then he sits in the chair opposite you, not on the stretch of couch next to you.
“Sorry,” You take the wine, stomach flip flopping, “I know this isn’t how you thought the night would go,”
“Mm,” He nods, taking a sip of his drink.
“I don’t know what to say,” You tell him honestly.
He nods, looking anywhere but at you until he finally meets your eyes again, “You’re not a subscriber anymore?”
“No,” You tell him firmly.
“Why?” He asks, and the question hangs between you.
“When I recognized you at the cafe and you were being so nice to me,” You explain, “it occurred to me that something might happen between us, as friends or otherwise, and it just felt wrong to know you as Yeosang and then… engage with your content that is clearly anonymous and meant to be private. I didn’t want to do that without you knowing,”
He nods, setting his glass on the nearby coffee table, “I see,”
“You are keeping it private, right? I feel like you’re careful to not overshare,”
“Yes,” He nods, “no one knows.”
“Then I really am sorry,” You set your own glass aside and lean forwards, “I’m sure you didn’t want to bring your real life as Yeosang and your online life as Ryu together, I just recognized your voice immediately that day in the cafe,”
“As Ryu?” He glances back up at you.
“That’s what I…” You try to parse through it so it doesn’t sound like a parasocial affair, “fromryu, you know? That’s just what I filled in for your name, I guess,”
“Ryusang,” He nods, “it’s the Hanja spelling of Yeosang,”
“Oh,” You soften.
“Why didn’t you mention you knew me before?” He asks, but despite his words nothing in his demeanor is upset, just curious.
You take another large, steadying gulp of wine and nod, “I didn’t really think the cafe was an appropriate place to tell you that I’ve gotten off to your voice before,”
He laughs sharply and looks down, “Okay, that’s fair,”
“Right,” You murmur.
“y/n,” He sounds hesitant and you look back up to him, “can I ask you something?”
���Anything,”
“Did you come out with me tonight because you wanted to go out on a date with the guy from the cafe, or because you wanted to have sex with Ryu?” The question is direct and cutting.
“With you,” You answer quickly, and now you know exactly why he’s putting this distance between you, “you, Yeosang.”
He’s quiet, turning your words over, you can practically see him thinking.
“Yeo,” You murmur, fighting the urge to reach out to him, “if all I wanted was that, I wouldn’t have told you. But I really like you, Yeosang, and I’d like to see more of you and see where this could go, but I completely understand if me knowing this part of you is too much. If you don’t want to go any further with me romantically or as a friend, this can just be a nice date we both had,”
He nods and then says, “I have one more question,”
You wait, your stomach in knots.
“Do you have a problem with what I do?” He asks.
“I mean,” You shake your head, “I was a subscriber, so no,”
“I don’t mean like that,” He clarifies his words, “I mean in terms of a romantic relationship. I like my work, both the cafe and the content, and if we start seeing each other I’m not going to suddenly stop making porn just like I wouldn’t close the cafe.”
“I’m not asking you to,” You shift over on the couch and reach towards him, resting a hand on his forearm.
“I’ve dated a few women,” He explains, slipping his hand into yours and twining your fingers together, “this was not something any of them were comfortable with,”
“Oh,” You nod, but he continues.
“A couple of them thought it might be fun,” He adds, “but when things got more serious they expected me to stop for them,”
“I’m sorry,” You tell him quietly, “I don’t expect anything like that,”
“You don’t now,” He points out, “and neither did they in the beginning.”
You can see the way this has fucked with his head a little, the way he keeps his shoulders stiff and turned away from you as he explains, and you suppose you might react the same way if you were in his shoes.
You chew the inside of your lip as you think about how best to say this to him, but finally you manage it, “Yeosang,” you get his attention, “what you do for work doesn’t change what we do on a date or in bed,”
He turns his head a little, the only indication you have that he’s really listening.
“I have no expectation that you’re some… sex god,” You smile a little, “though my guess is that you’re pretty good at dirty talk,”
A small smile appears on his lips.
“If I didn’t like what you do for work I’d go find another guy,” You continue, “and I’m sorry if the other women you dated weren’t comfortable with it, but I’m not so shy about it. I like what you do, and you’ve helped me plenty, and there’s nothing more flattering than knowing you liked me enough to even bring me upstairs,”
“Don’t sell yourself short there,” He looks up, shaking his head, “when you said yes to dinner I thought I’d be lucky if I got to so much as touch you,”
Your heart quickens in your chest, “You, what?”
He turns his body towards you properly now, “y/n,” he says, “I like you, I’ve liked you since you walked into the cafe soaking wet and exhausted, I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you out for weeks.”
“I think I’m dreaming,” You breathe, and he grins at your words. You clap a hand over your lips and groan, “Sorry, I didn't mean to say that outloud,”
“It’s honest,” He says, “I like that about you,”
“Well,” Your hands naturally separate as you lean back onto the couch, “then believe me when I tell you that I am fine with your work. All aspects of your work,”
His eyes flick over you, gauging how honest you’re being now, “All aspects?”
You nod again.
“y/n,” His voice softens, “what tier subscriber were you?”
It clicks in your brain that you haven’t really told him everything, all the things you know about him and his work. Little audio videos here and there might be forgivable to some women, but more might be too much.
“The highest,” You tell him, “when I say everything I mean it, the videos, the Snapchat, all of it.”
He seems to relax at that, “And if this does go somewhere,” he gestures between you both, “if we keep seeing each other. If it becomes more than a few dates,”
You nod.
“You’re alright knowing that even if we were dating and going to bed together every night, I spend my free time making people come on the internet for money,” He says it so plainly that you have to blink at him.
You turn his words over and then sigh, “There’s one thing,”
He leans back in his chair, putting a little more distance between you both, obviously braced for your words.
“I just have a question,” You ease him, “just something I should know, I think.”
He nods once, his shoulders tense again.
“Do you ever talk one on one with people?” You feel your cheeks heat, “I know you do, you have the discord, but I mean do you ever do what you do alone with someone?”
He softens, “No, no I don’t,”
“Okay,” You nod, the tense knot in your stomach relaxing, “okay, then,”
“Would that be a boundary for you?” He asks.
“I think so,” You tell him, “it’s different when you’re making a video to upload for anyone and talking to someone, at least to me,”
He nods, and then he moves, shifting from his position on the chair to your side on the couch. The nerves that were knotted deeply inside you start to unfurl, his proximity feeling like a peace offering, like an acceptance of your words.
“Subscribers aren’t lovers,” He says finally, “and some people blur that line with their content, but I don’t.”
“Then, Yeosang,” You take the opportunity to slide yourself sideways a little closer to him, “I am fine with all aspects of your work, more than fine.”
“Will you tell me if that ever changes?” He asks.
“Yes,” You make him this promise, “I like you too, all I want is to be honest with you,”
He nods, his fingers flexing on his thigh as he thinks. Finally, he swallows tightly, his skin flushing a little now that you’re almost pressed together on the couch, and he asks what he’s wanted to ask all night, “y/n,” he turns towards you, “can I kiss you?”
He’s stunning this close, enough to render you speechless, breathless. You manage a single word, “Please,”
He’s on you in a flash, and Yeosang’s lips are warm, soft and plush and as he presses into you and winds his arms around you. Your body relaxes into his instantly, the feeling of his warmth, the scent of him, rich coffee grounds and sugar infused into his skin from his work at the cafe.
His tongue probes your mouth, his breath hot as he sighs. Your body feels alight, hot and feverish and desperate from just a single kiss. You need him inside you yesterday.
When he breaks the kiss, you realize you’re half straddling him. Somewhere in the heat of the moment and the muddled fog you hitched a leg over his and his hands dragged you up against him so you’re chest to chest. When your mouths break apart, you’re still merely inches from each other and panting the same little breath of air.
“y/n,” His hands explore you slowly, moving over your skin like he’s trying to learn you, “normally I would try to keep the kink to a future date, but since you already know all of my deepest, darkest fantasies, maybe we can skip ahead?”
“Yes,” You laugh softly, “definitely,”
“But I am realizing something,” His hands find the curve of your ass, “I’m at a disadvantage here, you’ve seen my videos, but I don’t know anything about what you like.”
“You,” The word bubbles up and you flush red again.
“My voice, I’m sure you like that,” He drops it a little to emphasize the husky bedroom quality of it with a teasing smile on his face, “but what videos do you like? What were your favorites?”
He’s about to ruin you, there’s absolutely no question. Even if he was all talk you’re sure to be coming just from his words alone, but his hands, the way he touches you, there’s no doubt he has the skills to back up everything he’s ever said in the videos too.
“Now I’m a little embarrassed,” You admit, “an hour ago we were on a first date,”
“An hour ago I didn’t know the woman across the table had fucked herself to the thought of me,” He counters softly, “and we can slow down if you want but judging from the wet patch on my thigh I think you want to keep going,”
You jerk your hips immediately, angling to pull them away so you can stop embarrassing yourself all over this man after a single kiss, but his hands lock down hard over your ass and he holds your body firmly against him.
“No, no,” He adjusts his leg so that his thigh is pressed even more firmly against your cunt, “don’t be embarrassed with me,”
“Right,” You blush darker.
“I’ll tell you what I want,” He offers, “would that help?”
You nod quickly.
One of his hands shifts to lovingly stroke up and down your back as he speaks, “I want you to enjoy this more than anything. There is nothing that gets me off harder than making a partner absolutely fall apart for me, and knowing I did that for them, and I think you already know that from my content. That’s real, that’s me.”
You shiver a little and he leans up to kiss you, softer this time.
“I’d like this to be good for you,” He continues, “and honestly I already want to see you again, but in case it’s only one night for you I think we should make it count.”
The night went from nothing to everything so fast your head is spinning but you nod, surging up to kiss him with your hands pressed against his chest for balance. Your core drags along his hard thigh with your momentum forwards and you gasp a little into the kiss, your hips bucking softly on their own at the sudden pleasurable sensation. You feel something stiff and warm pressing into your belly and you feel a rush of sensation between your thighs.
“So,” He kisses you again, leaning away so he can talk to you, “tell me what videos you liked,”
“The um,” You clear your throat softly, “the guided ones,”
He smiles, “Those are your favorites?”
You nod.
“And the roleplay?” He asks.
“Good,” You nod, “everything you do is really good,”
“But the guided ones get you off, hmm?” He squeezes your hips.
You nod again, “You’re very good at what you do,”
“Guided,” He says, almost to himself, before he drags your hips up and back along his thigh, “so you like when I talk you through it?”
You rock your hips on your own this time, picking up on his cues that he wants you to grind on him, “Mm-hmm,”
“Tell me more about what you like,” He keeps one hand planted firmly on your backside, but the other starts to wonder, fingers teasing the skin of your collarbones before he cups your breast through your sweater.
“Y-you’re so comforting,” You manage as you slowly rut your body against his, “even when you’re edging me and telling me what to do, you’re just, I don’t know,”
“Is that right?” He teases softly, his fingers toying with the top button of your closed cardigan.
“Mm,” You sigh, pleasure truly starting to build inside you as you rock your clit lazily against him, “and you understand it takes time for women,”
The button opens.
“You take your time with the build up,” You sigh, finding a better position for your hands against his firm chest while you continue to rock, “and when you talk about what you wish you could do to me if you were there,”
Two more buttons part open and he hums softly, appreciatively, “You like knowing what I want?”
You nod, watching as he makes short work of your other buttons.
“Maybe I should just show you,” He slides the cardigan off your shoulders until it pools around your waist, caught on your elbows, “wouldn’t that be better than just listening?”
“Y-yes,” You sigh, your hips slowing so you can let him take the lead.
He shakes his head, pressing his hand against your ass again to keep you moving, “That’s it,”
You moan softly, fingers gripping his shirt, “Yeosang,”
He chuckles at your needy whine and brushes his fingers between your breasts, stroking up your chest, down and over the wire of your bra, and lower still over the soft flesh of your belly.
“There you go,” He smiles, “I know that feels good,”
You nod, “So good,”
“Jagiya,” His hands slide your bra straps down, letting the soft material of the mesh cups fall and reveal your breasts to his hungry eyes, “look how pretty you are for me,”
You’re close.
“Don’t stop,” He murmurs, shifting under you so that he can sit up further and press his lips to your chest, “I need you to come,”
“Yeo,” You whine, your hips sinking into a quick rolling rhythm that feels so right.
“I need to take my time with you,” He confesses, lips traveling from the center of your chest across the swell of your breasts, “but I don’t think I can,”
“I-I don’t want you to,” You moan, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to stay steady, “please,”
“I want to,” He groans, “but, fuck, y/n,”
“Yeo,” You shudder, pleasure snapping up and down your spine, “it’s not one night, it could have never been one night for me,”
He exhales a heavy breath against your skin, hands tightening pleasantly on your rutting hips.
You’re startlingly close to tipping over the edge, the bubble growing closer and closer to bursting, and you squeeze your eyes shut tightly to focus on the sensation of him, “I-I need,”
He grips you harder, “Tell me, baby,”
“I, I,” You stammer, body stumbling towards coming.
“Come on,” He says lowly, “tell me what you need, baby, I’m right here,”
A tight sound bubbles out of your mouth and you figure it out in a second, your hand winding into the back of his hair to direct his head, pushing his mouth until you feel his lips ghost over your pebbled nipple.
“Oh,” He groans, his tongue catching your nipple firmly and sending a shock down your back, “there we go, I’ve got you,”
His tongue flicks over your nipple again, closing his lips over the hardened bud to suck sharply in exactly the way you need to take you right over the edge.
“I’m,” You grip him harder, losing yourself entirely now as you grind against him for your release, “I’m so close,”
“Come,” He pants, latching back onto your breast to keep lavishing the same attention, his arms banding tightly around you to hold your shuddering body close.
Your finger tightens in his hair, he begs you once more to come, and your orgasm knocks into you sideways. You moan sharply, jerking against him as you fall apart, and you feel him start to move.
He presses fast kisses across your chest, his voice soothing, “Oh, there we go,” he sighs as he feels you trembling, “fuck, what a good girl showing me exactly what she needs,”
His words draw a groan from your lips, your head buzzing at his praise.
“Perfect,” He sighs against your chest, “you have the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen,”
You shiver, “Yeah?”
“Mhm,” His fingers trace a circle around your nipple, and something in the way he’s touching you and the sound of his voice tells you everything. He’s about to tease you, edge you, make you come, and god willing he was about to fuck you. Yeosang flicks his thumb over your nipple and smiles, “Baby, I’m going to turn you over, if you want to slow down or stop at anytime you just tell me,”
“I think I’ll be,” You start to say, and then he maneuvers you quickly in his strong arms, gathering you close so he can turn you over on the couch, leaving you lying flat on your back against the cushions. You squeak and the way he pushes your legs together, quickly undoing the buttons on your trousers and pulling down the zip, and he glances up at the sound to check your eyes but finds nothing but your lazy post-orgasm smile.
As he kneels and strips your trousers off he groans, “God,”
“W-what’s wrong?” You blink, finding his eyes.
“Absolutely nothing,” He smooths his hands up and down your bare legs, “except I’m finding it very difficult not being inside you yet,”
“So come inside me,” You smile.
The corner of his mouth turns up at your words, “Already, baby? It’s only the first date,”
You process your words and roll your eyes, “You know what I meant,”
“I do,” He smiles wider now, “but you need to come again before I fuck you,”
“Not that I’m complaining about you touching me,” You gasp sharply as he hooks his thumbs under the sides of your thong and yanks it away, “but I’ve been daydreaming about your cock for months, so,”
He laughs sharply, tugging his own shirt up and off over his head as he does, “I’m flattered,”
“Shut up,” You press your thighs together and let your head flop back onto the cushions.
“Darling,” Yeosang says, kissing each of your thighs before he starts to slowly open your legs again, “how long has it been since you’ve been with someone?”
“Honestly?” You grimace, “A while,”
“And how long since you’ve had anything bigger than your fingers inside you?” He asks it so plainly, so calmly, while he widens your legs and starts to tip you open, another kiss to your inner thigh.
You shiver in his hands, “N-not that long,”
“Hmm,” He sounds pleased at that, “do you like using toys when you fuck yourself to my voice?”
“Fuck,” You gasp as his finger traces the softest line up and down your slit.
“Is that a yes?” He blows a cool stream of air across your throbbing clit and you jerk in his hands.
“Yes,” You answer quickly.
“What I wouldn’t give to watch that,” He says, kissing your inner thigh again before he continues, “but still, I’m probably bigger than your dildo, be patient with me,”
“Oh, fuck,” You melt as he presses one finger inside your slick channel.
“Relax,” He soothes you, “just let go for me,”
You don’t know how your life is this strange, how you went from listening to this man through your headphones while you touched yourself under the covers alone at home to his fingers sinking inside you. You’ll probably wake up from this dream with sticky thighs. There’s no way this is real.
Those are the thoughts that dizzy you until he pushes two fingers flush into your heat and you moan sharply, your hand gripping down on one of the couch throw pillows. He feels pretty real.
He groans, gently pumping his middle and ring finger just to get you used to the sensation, “Feel good?”
“So good,” You sigh.
“How badly do you need to come, darling?” He asks, continuing the slow and steady thrust of his fingers.
“So badly,” Your voice is whiny, needy, entirely informed by the feverish heat spreading through you.
“Pretty girl,” He hums, “with an even prettier pussy,”
“Oh, god,” You grip the pillows harder, and he’s barely doing anything to you but your legs are already starting to tremble.
“Mmm,” His fingers begin to pulse more firmly and you feel his fingers curl, finding the spongy crook of your g-spot with practiced ease, “and you need my cock inside, don’t you?”
“Ah, yes! Yes,” Pleasure blooms through your body.
“Soon,” He promises.
You moan again as he repositions, continuing the steady drumbeat of his fingers inside you as he reaches around with his opposite hand to separate your lower lips, the pad of his middle finger now alternating between maddening flicks and taps to your clit.
“Ah! Yeo,” Your hips rock, “just like that,”
“Good girl,” He murmurs, “telling me what you like,”
A tight sensation fills your lower belly, a blossoming heat that spreads from your core up through your body in warm waves, “F-faster,”
“Mm,” His thrusting picks up speed instantly, the angle slightly adjusting as he does, “that’s it,”
The angle chance has his curled fingers pumping against your g-spot hard and suddenly the sensation drops low, almost painfully tight and sharp like you’re on the precipice of something.
It occurs to you all at once what he’s trying to do, the way he’s trying to make your body sing, and despite the rolling waves of pleasure and how close you are to your second release, you don’t necessarily want the first time you squirt to be on Yeosang’s floor.
“B-baby,” You whine, the pet name slipping off your tongue, “I’m gonna, I think, oh fuck,”
“Fuck yes,” His fingers flatten down over your clit and he rubs fast, slickly rolling over your firm bud, “let go,”
“I can’t,” You shake your head, sweat breaking out across your brow, “I’ve n-never, oh, fuck, Yeosang!”
“Come,” He commands softly, “that’s it, you come, right here, baby,”
He’s not stopping, and with the way he’s working you there’s no way you could even if you tried. In a snap your body releases hard, a sensation like nothing you’ve ever felt pulsing through your slick cunt and your legs jerk, hips snapping up as clear fluid pulses out of you. The sound that leaves your lips is wanton, broken and needy, and your ears are very clearly ringing.
“Oh, fuck,” Yeosang hums, almost to himself, rubbing fast across your soaked slit to help coax every bit of slick from your center, “oh, baby, look at you,”
Your legs try to snap shut at the suddenly sharp overstimulation, but all he does is take that as his cue to stop directly stimulating you and instead drop the warm flat of his tongue over every inch of your glistening pussy. You gasp sharply at the feeling, rolling your head forwards so that you can look down between your legs, and you moan softly at the sight.
He’s buried between your thighs, lazily licking stripes up your inner thighs and over your cunt, but slowly enough that his aim isn’t to draw you into another orgasm, he just wants to taste you. To feel you on his tongue and ease you through your little aftershocks.
“God,” You breathe after a moment, “oh, my god,”
He chuckles, kissing the top of your mound, “Was that your first time?”
You nod, still trying to catch your breath.
He groans a little, palming his hard cock through his trousers to readjust, “That’s an ego boost, I’m not going to lie,”
You manage a laugh despite your dizzy, orgasm fogged brain, “Yeah?”
“Mhm,” He strokes your thigh, “if you’re not careful I might get addicted to the way you taste when you come,”
A shudder runs through you, “You can’t just say things like that,”
“It’s not a lie,” He says, “I’d spend a whole night between these thighs if you’ll let me,”
“Mm,” You sigh, reaching down for him and brushing your fingers through his long, dark hair.
“Now?” He cocks his head slightly to the side, “If you want my mouth, you just have to ask,”
You shake your head, slowly starting to push yourself into a sitting position and slide your hips away from him, “Not tonight,”
“What more can I give you tonight?” He murmurs, running his hands up and down your bare thighs, “Anything you want,”
You cup his face, drawing him close to lock your lips on his, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nuzzling into his nose, “Take me to bed, please, Yeosang,”
“Let’s go,” He agrees, extricating himself from your arms so he can stand and offer you a hand up.
You take it, but as you do you realize the wet puddle on the floor in front of the couch and you blush dark red, covering your mouth with your hand, “I’m so sorry,”
“For what?” He blinks at you, and then follows your nervous eyes.
“I didn’t realize,” You start to say but he interrupts you with a hard kiss.
“Relax,” He says, “if we’re lucky you’ll make a mess of my room too,”
“I don’t know how I did it,”
He laughs again, “I do,” he smiles, “now come on, I need to see you in my bed before I combust,”
He tugs your hand, leading you down the hall until you’re in a large master bedroom. Your eyes flick over the details - industrial, warm wood, dark green sheets, soft ambient lighting. You’re about to comment on it, but he flips you back around to face him and captures your mouth in another hungry kiss.
“God,” He backs you up to the edge of the bed, dropping you down and falling over you, “tell me I can have you,”
“You have me,” You pant against his mouth, all thoughts of his lovely interior decor gone in an instant when you feel the hard shaft of his cock nestled between your thighs.
“I swear next time we’ll go slow,” He grinds his hips down, rolling his length up and down your slit, only the thin fabric of his trousers separating you.
“Please,” You buck against him, “I need you right now,”
“Fuck,” His hands are hot, searching, “is that right, darling?”
“Inside me,” Your hands scramble to find his waistband, “please,”
He nods, lips still pressed against yours, and then he leans back just enough to undo his trousers and start to push down his pants and boxer briefs.
Your mouth runs dry immediately. He wasn’t wrong about his size. You have fairly large dildos at home, thick and long and perfect for reaching all the spots you need it to, but Yeosang was bigger, thicker and longer than anything you’ve ever had inside you.
“Condom?” He manages as he shucks off his pants.
You blink, tearing your eyes away from his perfect, aching cock and nod, “We probably should?”
“Right,” He doesn’t push you to make a different choice, he simply searches his nightstand for a moment and produces a foil packet.
He strokes his cock twice while he tears the packet open with his teeth, before watching you beneath him as he rolls the condom smoothly down his length, adjusting it so that it fits perfectly.
You’re trembling with anticipation, you can feel it and so can he.
“y/n,” He murmurs, leaning over you and pressing a hand beneath your back to finally unclip your bra, “I want you to do something for me,”
You nod, sliding the cardigan and bra off your body and pushing them over the edge of the bed.
He grabs a firm looking pillow and folds it in half, “Lift your hips for me,”
You lift up and he slides the pillow right under your backside to leave you propped up and open for him.
“If it doesn’t feel good,” He murmurs as he maneuvers you into the position he wants, “or if I’m hurting you at all, just tell me,”
You nod.
“And I want you to tell me when you’re about to come,” He instructs, “I need to know,”
You nod again, your stomach flipping with desire.
He licks his lips, folding your legs open a little wider and slotting himself over you. He settles with one hand on your raised hip, the other braced on the bed by your head, his knees on the edge of the mattress between your splayed thighs.
His cock finally, finally, nudges at your entrance and you grip down on the sheets below you.
“Mm,” He groans, sinking just an inch or two into your tight heat, “you’re even tighter than I thought,”
He pushes in a little more and you moan at the stretch, “Oh, god,”
“Do I feel that good, babygirl?” He teases, pushing in a little more.
“So good,” You lift your head to watch the way his thick length splits you open.
“I am bigger than your toys, aren’t I?” He rolls his hips this time, rocking himself deeper with every little thrust.
“Y-yes,” You nod, your head dropping back to the mattress.
“Can you take me, baby?” He murmurs low.
“Fuck yes,” Your hips buck up again on their own as he opens you up, nearly fully sheathed inside you.
“Just a little more,” He says, his hand tightening on your hip, “there we go, fuck, that’s it, you’re taking me so beautifully, baby,”
Tears rush to your eyes, not from any kind of discomfort, but just from the overwhelming sensation of him. You’ve never been so full, never been so deliciously stretched and had these parts of you touched, and it rushes a blush to your chest and emotion through your veins.
His fingers brush along your jaw, bringing your eyes to his, “Good tears, or should we stop?”
“If you stop I’ll actually cry,” You laugh, blinking away the hazy sheen in your eyes, “you feel so fucking good,”
“Oh,” He sighs, thrusting gently in and out of you, “what a good, good girl, you are,”
“Jesus,” You shiver beneath him.
“Yeah?” He starts to move now, just a bit more, rocking his cock at a steady pace in and out of your wet core, “You like when I tell you how good you are for me?”
“Yes,” You moan, a shock of hot pleasure spiking up from your core, “please,”
“Such a good girl letting me fuck her perfect pussy on the first date,” His voice has dropped low again, husky and direct, and you babble out a sound of pleasure as he talks, “so warm and wet,”
“Fuck, fuck,” Your eyes roll.
He collapses over you a little more, his desperate lips searching for yours and the angle deepens, pushing his cock deeper and deeper inside you with every downward thrust of his hips.
You grip his shoulders, nails digging into his warm skin, “Baby,” you pant, “your cock, oh god,”
He hums against your cheek, head falling slack as his lips find your throat, sucking your pulse points and no doubt searing his mark into your tender skin. He pumps his hips harder and you moan under him, cursing again and scrambling to hold him closer.
“Such a dirty mouth,” He nips at your neck, “are you always like this, or is my cock that special?”
All you can manage is a taught moan in response, his cockhead now continuously connecting with your sweet spot over and over and rendering you unable to string a coherent thought together.
He groans at the way your cunt flutters and spasms and he kisses you hard, fingers tangling in your hair, “One of these days I’ll feel you for real,” he pants, “nothing between my cock and your sweet cunt,”
Your back arches, your mind spinning at the thought, “Yeo,” you moan.
“Fuck,” He chokes, “the way you’re squeezing me,”
You make a tight sound, something between a pleasured whine and a sob, and his hips stutter and stop, pressing his cock in as deep as possible as he grips down on whatever parts of you he can, breathing hot and heavy against your skin.
You can’t really move well in this position, but your hips rock in tiny back and forth motions to try and keep the sensation rolling through you. He’s panting into your shoulder, clearly trying to keep himself from coming too soon, and your mind commits to an idea before you have a second to double check yourself.
“Yeo,” You tap his arm, “baby I need to move,”
He pushes off you, his cock sliding out of your soaked core and you leg your legs straighten out, “What’s wrong,”
The words are barely off his tongue before you’re sitting up, grabbing his hand and drawing him back to the bed, pushing him onto his back with a guiding hand to his shoulder. He lets you lead, watching you as you put him where you want him this time, and he smiles, eyes flicking over you appreciatively.
“I need you,” Is all the explanation you can give, and maybe with a stranger this is foolish, borderline stupid, but you know him. He’s not a stranger really, not to you.
With a feverish pulse of need inside you, you shift to straddle his hips, and with quick, sure hands you roll the condom up from the base of his cock and toss it to the side.
“y/n,” He manages, but you’re lifting yourself over him now and his hands fly up to brace your waist, “are you sure?”
“So sure,” You connect his cockhead with your slick hole and drop your hips down fast, taking the whole hard length of him inside you in one smooth motion.
It’s his turn to moan, his head dropping back at the sensation of your wet walls and he grips at you, his hips stuttering beneath you.
“God,” He bucks up into you, “you’re perfect,”
“So are you,” You rock against him, finding the perfect place for your hands on his chest, “you’re so deep,”
He moans again, and when you start to bounce up and down he curses tightly.
“J-just don’t come inside me,” You keep bouncing, a steady fluid motion in your hips that you can tell is driving him crazy, but you have to keep your head at least a little.
“F-fuck,” He groans, his jaw tightening as his eyes flick down to the place your bodies are joined together, “you’re making that kind of difficult,”
“I just wanted to feel you,” Your shaking arms buckle a little and you find yourself flush against his chest while you work his cock.
“Me too,” His hands find your ass again and he starts to direct the pace, “God, I could fuck you forever,”
A moan drops from your mouth, your hands tightening on his chest.
“Don’t stop,” He urges you, and you realize your hips slowed at his words, “you feel so good riding me like that,”
Your thighs are burning already, but you hardly care, every fast shift up and down leaves you closer and closer, “Love you cock,”
“Mm, yeah? Say that again,”
“I,” You curse as a spike of pleasure rolls through you, “fuck, I love your cock,”
“Good girl,” He grips you tight, his hips jutting up to meet you now.
Your pace falters slightly, “Please, please,”
“I’ve got you,” He adjusts just enough to hold you steady as he fucks up into your tight heat, “I’ve got you,”
You moan, dropping your head into his chest and shuddering against him, “Baby, oh fuck,”
“A-are you close, jagi?” He pants, fingers digging into your hips so hard you know you’ll have bruises.
“Don’t stop,” You beg, “please, god, don’t stop,”
He groans, keeping the pace of his thrusts and using his hands on your ass to maneuver you to meet his hips.
“Shit,” You shudder in his arms, your orgasm fast approaching, “I’m coming,”
“Come here,” He shifts you fast, rolling you up and off him and manhandling you up to your feet.
You make a surprised noise at the lack of him inside you when you were getting so close, but you don’t have to worry for very long. Before you can open your mouth he has you standing, facing away from him, and bent over ninety degrees to brace your hands on the bed.
He thrusts back inside you sharply, slamming his hips into yours and leaving you moaning and curling in on yourself, your legs starting to tremble.
“Come on my cock, pretty girl,” He palms your ass before planting his hands on your hips and using the leverage to pull you back into each of his thrusts, “you’re so close,”
Your eyes slam shut, fisting the sheets as you hang on, every sharp push of his cock driving deeper and deeper. You’re going to have bruises, you’re going to be sore, but none of it matters when he’s making you feel this good.
You sob out a moan, collapsing forward into the bedding but he holds you up, “I can’t,”
“Yes, you can,” He pants, his sweat slick skin connecting again and again with yours.
“Fuck,” You groan, “I’m almost, I’m so,”
“Touch your yourself,” He directs, interrupting your pleasured ramblings, “rub your clit for me, baby,”
You slide a hand between your legs, locating your slick bud with ease and rolling your fingers over it quickly.
“Fuck, there you are,” He groans, “that’s right, baby, come on my cock,”
The same new sensation drops in your gut, your legs start to shake and you’re fairly sure that without his sure hands you’d be crumbling.
“That’s it,” He coaxes you up, never once slowing the sharp snaps of his hips, “there you go, that’s my good girl,”
Something unravels in your gut and you come with a shout, folding in on yourself as your legs quake and your mind whites out. Yeosang wraps his arms around you, curling over your back to keep you steady, and his cock slips free so he can stimulate you through your orgasm with his fingers, more liquid pulsing out of you as he fucks you over the edge.
You’re a quivering mess, and he lets you drop into the sheets, pushing you onto your back so he can stand over you, one hand fisting his slick cock.
“I’m coming,” He groans, “w-where?”
Your hands cup your breasts automatically, and you arch up to offer yourself to him, “On me, baby, come all over me,”
Yeosang groans sharply, his hips thrusting into his tight grip as ropes of silvery white cum paint your skin, covering your belly and breasts and dripping down your chest. He’s panting, his skin flushed pink and sweat covering every inch of his toned chest.
It takes you both a moment to recover, both trembling in the same position as you try to regain your breath, but after a few moments he smiles a hazy, satisfied smile and finds your eyes, “You’re so beautiful,”
Suddenly you feel a bit shy, even despite everything you’ve just done together.
“So beautiful,” He sighs again, pushing his hair back out of his face, and then he drops to his knees.
He hushes your soft protests and this time he tastes you slowly, but with intention. After such rough, intense sex, he follows it with the softest, slowest orgasm you’ve ever had. With slow sucks and gentle licks he brings you through a languid rolling wave that softens your limbs and leaves you sleepy and pliant in the sheets.
You drift, falling into sleep too easily for a first date in a sort of stranger’s apartment.
You wake a little later to a warm sensation on your skin, and you blink your eyes open to see Yeosang sitting next you, freshly showered and wearing black sweatpants and a familiar blank tank top. He draws the wet washcloth over your skin and then stops and smiles when he sees your eyes open.
“Hey,” He murmurs.
“Hi,” You reply softly, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,”
He shakes his head, “Don’t be sorry,”
“I think you scrambled my brain a little,” You laugh, covering your face with your hands.
“Hopefully in a good way,” He nudges you.
“Beyond good,” You look up at him, “are you kidding?”
He smiles a little wider, “Good,” he says, “I drew you a bath,”
“Oh,” Your eyebrows raise.
“I thought you might be sore,” He explains, “I know I was a little rough, I hope you’re not feeling it too much,”
You shake your head, “Just a little, but in a good way,”
He nods, “Does the bath sound nice, or would you prefer a shower?”
“Bath is perfect,” You can see that he’s suddenly a little nervous, back to the same man from your date, no trace of Ryu’s husky tones.
“Here,” He offers you his hands to help you up, and guides you towards the connected bathroom suite. It’s large, crisp and clean, and in the corner stands a large spa-like tub filled high with warm water.
“Thank you,” You murmur as he helps you slip into the cocoon of water, the subtle scent of lavender wafting up from the steam.
“Mhm,” He nods, pulling a bamboo stool from the side of the sink and setting it down so he can sit at the edge of the tub and be at eye level with you.
“This is nice,” You murmur, still finding yourself a little shy in the post-orgasm clarity of it all.
He’s quiet for a moment, his fingertips dragging over the surface of the water and then he bites his lip.
Your stomach sinks for a moment, nerves coming back tenfold at the idea that maybe he’d prefer you to go after this, maybe this is all you’d ever have. Maybe he reconsidered what you know about his online persona and maybe he wasn’t willing to take the leap.
“y/n,” He sighs, “this might be forward,”
You look up from the rippling water.
“But what do you think about staying the night? We could order some dessert, maybe keep getting to know each other a little?” He asks.
You can’t fight the smile that blooms over your face, “I thought you might have changed your mind,”
“No,” He reaches into the water to find your hand, twining your fingers together, “not at all.”
“Yeah?” You squeeze his hand.
“I’d be crazy to let this be a one-time thing,” He lifts your hand from the bath and presses a kiss to the back, “I hope you feel the same.”
“I really do,” You twist to the side, leaning over to find his mouth and lock your lips together.
Yeosang cups your cheek, deepening the kiss tenderly, his tongue sweeping against yours, “What are you doing tomorrow night, then?”
“Tomorrow?” You lean back a little.
“Let me take you out again,” He kisses you again, softly this time, “I’m probably supposed to wait a few days, Wooyoung would tell me I seem too eager, but,”
“Who cares about that?” You grin, leaning out of the bath far enough to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him, “It’s a date,”
“And Sunday?” His hands slide down your back.
You nuzzle his nose with yours, “I have a date,”
“Oh,” He says, deflating instantly.
“You might know him,” You tease, “he owns this lovely little cafe,”
He laughs, his forehead leaning on yours, “You’re mean,”
“You like me,” You peck his lips.
“I do,” He nods, “I really, really do,”
#honeyhotteoks updates#honeyhotteoks fics#yeosang x reader#kang yeosang#yeosang#ateez#yeosang ff#yeosang fic#yeosang smut
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we all know leo is probs a switch. but how do u think he would he do with sub reader??
YO. rip all of us because SHAKING SQUAKING WRITHING MOANING.
Leo with a subby s/o is like an unexpected paradise for him. he literally is such a simp. he's such a munch that his brain short circuits around you. he would let you toss him around like a rag doll. but when he finally shoots his shot and makes a move on you, the moment he sees your eyes go all fuzzy and your brain melt when he touches your face with his big warm hands that smell like metal and firewood??? when he watches your eyes flutter shut and you let out this soft little sigh???? Leo goes fucking ballistic. he can't believe it. he cannot believe that the gorgeous breathtaking angel on earth he's been heartsick over is sighing because he touched your face. he needs a minute to recover from that. then he gets curious. he starts teasing you a little, he starts making eyes at you and watching you flush and get all nervous. he starts touching you casually, an arm around your shoulder, a hand on your waist or your thigh, he starts playing with the waistband of your shorts to see how you react. and every single time it's better than anything he could have possibly concocted in his brilliant little mind. when he kisses you he has to hold you so you don't fall over. tbh it just makes him want to kiss you more. anytime he tries to ask you why you get all dizzy and fuzzy when he kisses you or touches you, tries to work out why your brain melts for him the same way he tries to work out problems in his engineering designs. he tries to figure out the way your pretty mind works, what makes you tick, what it is that makes your cheeks flush and gets you flustered like you do. but every time he does, he's already been kissing you and touching you and paying so much rapt attention to you that you can't form a coherent thought, much less express one. that's when it clicks. that's when he realizes that he's the thing that makes you like this. when I tell you this realization makes him burst into flames it's not an exaggeration. he did not think he could get anymore into you, but here Leo finds himself, pinning you against walls and touching and kissing you all slow, teasing you with his hands and his quippy little comments muttered into your ear more into you than he's ever been. he can't keep his hands off you after that and you don't want him to. by now you know that he knows the power he has over you. and he's still so tender and emotionally intimate and soft and playful with you. and GOD does it drive you wild. he fucks you slow and soft, drawing out orgasm after orgasm from you, knowing just what to do, and he kisses you all over until you feel like you can't breathe. he's so warm, so attentive, and he cannot shut up. he talks you through every single one. every. single. one. he teases you and praises you and gets you so wound up for him, he bites your ear and sucks hickeys into your neck and encourages you to make those pretty noises for him, to drag your nails down his back and pull his hair. and it's bliss. there are no words. and yet, just like it always does with Leo, somehow things get better. after you're both so fucked out that he's been shooting blanks, when you finally collapse into each others arms, you cling to him so tight. you bury your face in his neck and wrap your arms around him. you wish you could crawl into his skin. you breathe in his scent, listen to his blood thrumming through his body and Leo realizes that no matter what you are not going to get tired of him. you actually just like him so much that it's never going to be enough to satisfy you. and he pulls you close in his buff arms and rubs your back and kisses your head. he plays with your hair or taps little morse code messages into your skin, he talks to you, he hums songs, singing pretty spanish lyrics under his breath. and he can tell just by looking at you that you've never felt more at peace. you feel safe with him. you want him. and he is never ever going to disappoint.
#drabbles#leo valdez#leo valdez x reader#leo valdez drabbles#leo valdez smut#heroes of olympus#heroes of olympus x reader#heroes of olympus smut#heroes of olympus drabbles#sub!reader#dom!leo#AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHH#BACKFLIPS!!!!!!! IM DOING FUCKING BACKFLIPS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#I! NEED! THIS! MAN! LIKE! I! NEED! AIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#AWWOGA AWOOGAAAAA#LEO THIRSTING HOURS ARE BACK BAYBEEEEEEEEEEEE#GOT MYSELF FLUSTERED WITH THIS ONE
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Some of my best moments of healing came when I started to understand some of these snippets of wisdom from others:
People can only perceive what they know.
Comprehension is also a part of communication. If they can't comprehend what you're saying then there is no point in wearing yourself out.
There is a big difference in "listening to respond" vs "listening to be right" and most people do not understand this.
Most people on social media aren't looking to have healthy communication. They're looking to argue. Find other places for conversation outside of the comments section.
People cannot tell you how you're feeling. That is information only you have access to. They are projecting themselves onto you.
People often hide behind projection when theyre hurt. Don't take things personally.
Emotionally immature people cannot understand the difference between communicating vs reacting.
What's the difference?
Communicating = listening with intent to understand
Reacting = allowing the perceived threat to dominate the mood
Triggers can also show us parts of ourselves that are unhealed and in need of attention. Though it is never okay to force yourself to "work through them" if you do not relate.
"There is always more work to do" = this is a lifelong process. Don't try to rush it so hard.
Breaks are allowed and actually necessary in order to catch up.
"Trust in yourself & trust in the process" = you know what's best for you. Nobody else should be telling you how to live your life.
"Do something else" = your sanity is in danger if you don't learn how to step away from the stress. Don't ignore your mind & body asking for a break.
"Life is not a game" = take yourself and your health seriously.
It's normal to seek chaos while recovering. Sometimes we are hard wired for chaos due to the nature of our traumas. Healing can leave you feeling "boring" and that's normal.
Recovery can also be reflected in our outward appearances. "As I grew inward, my outward appearance changed too." The changes we make inside can have a very deep impact on the way we take care of ourselves and the way we project that outwardly through our appearance. Sometimes negatively, sometimes positively. It can fluctuate and change just like we do.
You're not alone. I guarantee you, whatever it is you're going through- there's a community out there for it.
Sometimes you will never know how to move forward. These are the moments that require the most kindness and compassion you can find.
There is such a huge awkward transitionary phase between "I'm stuck repeating old habits" vs "oh okay, I've learned enough to move on now, but I don't want to give up my old identity and now I'm even more panicked than I've ever been in my entire life what the fuck is happening please help me" and this is so fucking normal.
When that happens, just be as kind and patient as you can be. The old parts are in need of patience. They are clinging for a reason. Maybe the closure long forgotten? Maybe the underlying issues finally able to be spoken out loud and addressed? Give them the safety of knowing they are safe, well loved, and that you're still gonna be you in all that you are when they're ready to put those burdens down.
Change doesn't look good at first. At first it feels like ripping your skin off. There's a subtle power in allowing it to feel uncomfortable and doing it anyway. You can tap that power just by waking up and staying committed.
"You're stronger than you think, give yourself some kudos, you're worth the effort to heal." These are all words that others have said to me. Take the positive words that ppl give you and use them to your advantage. They're actually not bullshitting you. They actually really do want you to succeed. Draw on them to get you there.
In the same vein, ask trusted ppl what they think your strong points are. I've had ppl tell me "you're resourceful. You're strong in how you advocate for yourself." It can help to hear these types of things. It's okay to ask!
#recovery#ptsd#trauma#mental health#boundaries#healing#healing thoughts#recovery positivity#advice#life advice#growth#self awareness#projection#self esteem#self improvement#shadow work#self care#communication#communicating#relationships#interpersonal relationships
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I'm taking the plunge because why not:
What are some headcanons regarding small, silly things that happened during the 3 year trips on the Golden Yard and Meteor?
oh lets go i love this sort of ask. no meteor crew stuff sorry im kinda tired but
on the prospitian ship:
the crocodiles are never recovering from that shit bro. un-stonks
alchemizing sessions. probably with mundane household devices like toothbrushes or something. patterned toilet paper. davesprite absolutely remakes the sbahjifier for himself but i think he also likes to hand draw them from time to time. also john and jade alchemizing bathing suits and going swimming on lolar and hanging with the turtles. casey can come too. floaties on casey
the sbahj canon diverges. so many sbahj in-jokes exclusive to the prospitian ship. unfortunately the retcon make it so none of this ever happens :(
he’d never say it but davesprite likes it when john and jade fall asleep on him doing whatever, it makes his presence feel wanted and appreciated by the people he sacrificed his self and humanhood for good for. sorry for immediately going into davesprite but good god is he tragic. oh yeah heres more. he’s still part dave and shares the same history with john and jade that alpha timeline dave does. john gave him his shades on his 13th birthday in december 2008, he sent john the con air bunny and jade a physical copy of sbahj as furries in the mail. he is identical to alpha dave in relation to his friends before the timeline splits off. dont forget that 4/13/2009 was also his first time meeting his online friends john and jade in person, even after 4 months chronologically of sburb grinding—nearly a year with all the time shenanigans—and going back to day 1, since john and jade were dead in his timeline
tries not to cry cries anyway but only when he knows theyre asleep. pov when the weight of everything suddenly hits you (you are an emotionally repressed 14 year old)
also because he’s fucking fluffy and absolutely knows it and probably thinks to himself “yeah this is the best possible use for these otherwise pointless breast feathers” and yall already know he craves cloth mother plus probably has nesting instincts
(source)
adding on to that also i think people forget sprites are actually fucking LONG and his wingspan is fucking huge he could be a pillow and a blanket at the same time
i wrote davesprite jade cuddles and john thinking about mushrooms and davesprite thinking about how they contribute to the ecnonony
^ john toked too hard on the lowas mushrooms by accident one time
it feels like pajama parties would be a common occurence just the vibes im getting. literally jade is seen sitting on a pile of squiddles and theres plushies fucking everywhere you know they got up to plushie mayhem. do you think they ever alchemized them. look how lived in that room is they all contributed something
jade resumes gardening :) but theres no sun :( but she alchemizes some plastic plants :D but its not the same :(
canonically the imps in johns house just gave up tormenting him and started hanging out and having snacks on movie night
PENIS!
imagine looking up into the sky and seeing a giant casey the size of a planet sleep. jade resizes stuff for fun like this just to introduce some novelty to their lives
this is something
davesprite has beavis and butthead do america (1996) in his collection somewhere in his apartment on lohac
yall theyre watching johns fuckin spongebob dvd box collection. you KNOW john owns the spongebob squarepants movie (2004). and the best thing is it brings all of them together without any of them objecting. they all love spongebob
when the episode jellyfish jam comes on johns like “wow, pretty much this exact scenario happened to me with the imps.” (arthur flashback sfx)
DAVESPRITE: yeah well you didnt have a giant sound system did you
jade warps dave’s bro’s sound system from lohac and sizes it up. they put on stadium rave and the entire fucking house shakes
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Did the loneliness die that night?
A Fear of God story : Series Masterlist
Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC
Summary: Birdie and Joel's first time.
Content Warnings: Unprotected sex; Creampie; Rough sex; Oral sex; Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Descriptions of medical procedures; Size difference; Size kink; Mutual pining; Emotionally constipated idiots
A/N: Title is from Pablo Neruda's Love Sonnet XVII
Rating: Explicit 18+
Word Count: 7.3K
Read on AO3
“You should head home now, honey. No point staying so late. I think we’re done for today.”
“I will, Connie – soon. Just gonna read for a bit.” He pauses the tidying up of his papers to turn and look at you with those milky, discerning eyes of his. He’s been complaining recently that his vision is getting worse – his eyes tired and weak earlier and earlier in the day. You know he’s getting ready to call it quits soon, leave you with the gargantuan responsibility of running the clinic and caring for the people of Jackson all on your own. Your mentor, your friend, your champion – ready to ditch you.
You don’t think you’re ready. You don’t think you’ll ever be ready. You also know it’s not fair to categorize it as that. He’s tired. He deserves to rest.
You also don’t think he’s going to give you much of a choice in the matter pretty soon.
“You felt alright today?” He likes to check in on your confidence levels every now and then, knows you like to second guess yourself behind his back.
“Yeah… good. The surgery went well – I thought.”
“Yes, you were excellent. I have no doubt that our patient will recover beautifully.” He winks at you, slips his coat over his frail shoulders. You let a small smile unfold across your face, excellent, yeah, okay. If you could count on anything it was Connie as your number one hype man.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, my dear. I might be in a little later in the afternoon,” he warns, and you roll your eyes into your book where he can’t catch you.
“Sure thing.”
You sort of lose track of time into the night. Mainly because a large part of you is loath to go back to your quiet and lonely house.
Sometimes it feels a little as if you’d spat out your heart in the woods where your sister was killed before you found Jackson, pieces of your memories. And this continuation of whatever it is that you’re doing now, building a life, living, going on, fucking bullshit, is a play act you’re putting on for yourself, for the people you take care of now, Connie who counts on you and relies on you and has been planting the seeds of his future and that of his patients in the soil of your mind. Too many responsibilities for a half girl living a half life.
What was in that framework of a carved out house, that carcass of that fake life you pretend at when the sun’s high in the sky? Archeological remnants of a person you aren’t anymore, bones of a girl that, in too many ways, had died out there with her sister.
Too morose. Too morose. Unnecessarily dramatic.
You have a good thing here, this you know. A second chance, a place to do good. Those things are important. But what else? Nothing but stagnation and the waiting shoes of a great man who expects the world of you, and who you’re more afraid of than anything that you’ll be able to do nothing more than disappoint. Connie expects much from you. His past repeated in bright, shining colors in a world gone to rot. An impossible feat. How to make the most intelligent, most amazing person you’ve ever known, that expects the world of you, understand that all you have to give is little more than nothing?
But besides all that? Besides the crushing weight of expectation and inevitable failure and the certainty that you’ll never be able to be good enough for a world categorized in the before – what else is there for you here?
You stare blindly out the warped glass pane of the window. The house the clinic’s been accommodated to is old. Old, sturdy bones. Reliable. Like the house could weather any sort of storm. Remain standing and provide refuge to any of those who’d seek shelter here. This is what you need to make yourself into.
But what else is there for you besides this?
The question rings screaming in your mind. That terribly fraught, agonizingly selfish, humiliatingly ungrateful thought – when yes, you already have so much, but wait, there’s still something, something missing – that whispers that you still want one more thing, something else to fill that hollow ache inside of you.
You wish someone would just tell you – set the answer before you, feed it to you by hand. Tell me, tell me how to fill the ache, and I’ll do it. You’ve always been good at following orders, doing what you’re told. You like to be told. You like the comfort and security of it.
And then the bell above the front door chimes – it’s late – and there he is, stepping through your office door.
“Joel–”
“Went by your house – what’re you still doin’ here? It’s late.” Sometimes it’s like he can read minds. Strange, mercurial wonder of a man.
You take him in. “Your hand–”
He lifts up his bloody palm, dried rivulets of rust snake up his forearm and down his fingers. “Yeah… got caught on an old nail.” He shakes his head, looks back at you with a grumpy frown, “It’s late, sweetheart. You should be home.”
“I got distracted reading,” you say offhandedly, already up and moving around to collect the supplies you’ll need to patch him up. He really focuses on the most inconsequential details at the most inopportune times. “Come here–” you start dragging a chair over from Connie’s desk towards your own, a murmured, let me, from him, trying to pull the thing from your grasp. You shoo him away, “Sit,” you order, settling the chair in front of your own and pulling your desk lamp to the edge. Stubborn man.
He falls heavily into the chair, an exhausted sigh following in his wake. “Always getting yourself into messes you shouldn’t be,” you say with a small smile, shaking your head at him. He only grunts.
“You alright?” he asks gently.
“Yep, I’m okay. You too? Well…besides this.”
“Yeah, I’m alright, sweetheart.” You can’t stand it when he calls you sweetheart, it makes you all soft and desperate and wet. He’s quiet for a beat, and then, as if he can’t help himself, he asks, “Seen Ellie recently?” She doesn’t speak to him, and you don’t know why or what the extent of their relationship is, but you know something isn’t right, that there’s history, and that it hurts him. You know he worries for her because he always asks how she’s doing since you and she had become friends.
“She came in this afternoon – she’s good,” you say quickly, seeing him sit up slightly at hearing she’d been in the clinic, “She just dropped by to say hi… she’s fine, don’t worry.”
He settles back in the chair. “Ain’t worryin’” he grumbles, another grumpy frown. He’s quiet for another long moment while he watches you set your needle in your forcep, gather the antibacterial to sterilize the wound. “Nancy in?”
The old nurse who helped you and Connie out with the clinic and lived upstairs was a true wild child at heart. “She’s out with her girlfriend.”
“It’s almost midnight… isn’t she like seventy?”
“Seventy-four, but she has a young spirit, and love has no age,” you give him a pointed look.
“Jesus,” he sighs. You grip the thick bones of his wrist in a firm grasp, drag the tips of your fingers over his palm, down the lengths of his fingers so that he’ll uncurl them. You think you hear what might be the resonance of something deep and rumbling coming from his chest that has your insides going hot and wet and soft. You want to tell him to not make sounds like that when you’re trying to focus, but you hold your tongue and begin to clean out the gash in slow, methodical strokes.
He tilts his head back when you start to drag the needle through his skin with a murmured, here goes. His neck is so thick, strong, the muscles and tendons popping starkly with his exhale, and okay, focus, focus, it’s time to focus now. You start to close the wide gash in his palm with a neat percutaneous closure, a simple interrupted suture with your safely guarded and jealously hoarded Vicryl – Connie has a contact that re-supplies you every few months.
“Your hands are cold.”
You pause your sewing to peek up at him. “Sorry.”
A shake of his head, “Should get the heat workin’ better in here.”
“It’s fine,” the drag of the suture through his flesh.
“S’not if you’re cold.”
“I’m fine, Joel.” He hums a displeased sound.
You can feel his gaze searing into the skin of your face. Your cheeks are burning hot, the backs of your knees sweating. You hate it when he looks at you like this, have caught him several times, more and more frequently, and it fills you with a belly full of fizz and nerves, head dizzy and light. You’re certain that if he were to keep his eyes on you long enough you might get so lightheaded you’d do something really dramatic like faint or throw yourself at him and tell him he’s the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your entire life.
“Got the longest lashes I’ve ever seen,” he says after a beat, so softly, and you feel your blush burn fever bright and self-respect-meltingly hot. A spearing twist of embarrassment and lust and the deepest sort of yearning you’ve ever experienced in your life boils through you so intensely that you even feel your eyes smart at his words. A tick starts up in your left eyelid from how nervous he makes you. All your anxiety and adrenaline being channeled to that one tiny, singular nerve to keep your hands steady while you sew his skin closed.
“Th– thank you,” you stutter, stupid, you should say something more, something better. What you’d really like to tell him is that he’s beautiful – rough and rugged and beautiful and that you see it, despite how hard he tries to hide it behind his eternal frown. You see him. He hums, and you register the tilt of his head out of your periphery as he settles in to inspect you. You’ve got both your knees tucked between his parted thighs, and as he settles in his chair deeper, he spreads them even wider, pushing his hips forward to slouch low, and fuck, you know you shouldn’t be looking, but you can even make out the thick weight of his cock beneath his jeans. So inappropriate, you chastise yourself, you’re the man’s physician, you’re tending to his wounds, he’s come to you in a vulnerable state, you shouldn’t be ogling and objectifying him. But on the back end of that thought is the whisper that there is absolutely fuck all about this man that is even the slightest bit vulnerable. For Christ’s sake, just look at him, so fucking thick and broad and strong and handsome, with the cockiest air of slight menace you’ve ever come across. You think that there is very little that could make a creature such as this vulnerable. You press your thighs together, pressing one foot on top of the other to squeeze yourself as small and tight as you can, cunt a twisting, wet ache.
You’d wanted him from the first moment you’d laid eyes on him. It had been something almost intrinsic, instinctual. You’d seen him and all your brain and your body had been able to scream at you was that one, that one, we want that one. So perhaps you do have an answer for that screaming question that wants for more. Sometimes it feels like the two of you have been circling each other like blood in the water all this time. Like you both know, even if you can’t admit it just yet, that it’s just a matter of time until this strange, tense dance the two of you’ve been caught in comes to a head; cracks and splinters like a fault line and swallows you whole.
“When was the last time you had a tetanus shot?”
“Twenty years ago.”
You roll your eyes. “We’ll get you one of those then.”
A soft, uncaring grunt. “What were ya readin’?” Really, the most inconsequential things…
“Boring stuff.”
“Tell me.”
You pause again to look up at him, his gaze entirely sincere and demanding. “Foye’s Principles of Medicinal Chemistry, it’s the two thousand and two edition. Last one that came out before…” you shrug, “It’s a text Connie values highly. I’ve probably read it a dozen times front to back at this point,” you laugh as you work slowly. One of the things you admire most about the way Connie practices medicine is how precise and methodical he is in all his movements and decisions. He works with intention and care and a measuredness that’s something you’ve tried very hard to emulate as best as you can.
“Hell, sweetheart… you do really’ve got a mind that amazes me.” And his voice is so soft, so contemplative as he says it. As if he too possesses that great depth of ability to be as methodical and patient and precise as you’d like to be. The cadence of him is so profound, almost vibrational, as if the words are carried on a frequency that only he exists on. You pause your sewing once again to glance up at him, and the way he’s looking at you… distracting. You are a weak girl, never one for much bravery or outlandishness, content to always follow the path laid out before you by other more exacting hands, but the way he looks at you, the fire in that gaze, you feel like you could do anything, be anything, and he’d take it in stride, be able to handle it. His gaze makes you want to be brave and reckless.
You turn your eyes back to his hand, almost done now. “Ah, well… not so amazing, I don’t think. I was always just well suited to books and studying, and in a world like this… wasn’t so useful, I suppose. My father wanted me to do this, he was a physician – a real one–”
He cuts you off, “Hey, you’re a real doctor too. Don’t diminish what you do here, it’s fuckin’ amazing.” He knocks his knee into yours.
“Don’t jostle me, or I’ll stick you,” you scrunch your nose at him.
-
You’re fucking flirting with him, provoking him, that little scrunch of your nose that always makes him feel like he’s two paces away from death, the lilt of your words ending in an upwards flutter like you’re singing at him, beguiling him. He feels utterly beguiled in this moment. He wasn’t lying when he’d said you’ve got the longest lashes he’s ever seen in his whole life. Long and thick and fanned out so that they cast shadows across the planes of your skin. You look like you’ve got the softest skin ever spun together, weaved on a loom just to come here and bring him to heel, and he wants to taste you so fucking badly, to sink his teeth into the back of your neck like prey and force you to your knees – utterly deranged thoughts that you seem to force out of him with those eyes and those lips and that voice. Your hair is long and shinning and he can smell you, sweet and soft like the evening after a summer rain. It makes him hard.
The first time he’d laid eyes on you, he’d been shocked into stillness, speechlessness, thoughtlessness. So pretty and soft and then when he’d spoken to you, your mind, you’re so fucking smart, the sound of your voice, the pure, utter goodness you constantly exude. He wants to be let inside. He wants to be allowed to feel all that goodness and sweetness from the inside out.
He’d forced himself to turn away from you then, to run the other way like a goddamn coward with his hair on fire. That was how much his initial reaction to you had scared the living hell out of him.
He watches you work slowly now, that plush lip pulled between the edges of your teeth. The feel of the needle sliding through his skin is almost erotic, and he knows that he’ll remember this only as a gift afterwards. The slight sting of the laceration secondary to the blissful agony it is to have your hands on his skin. He wants to kiss you. He wonders if you’d let him. He wants to own you, even if for a moment, to feel like you belong to him, like you’re his. To hold something as beautiful and good as you in his hands. You should be in his arms right now, impaled on his cock. Christ, he can feel himself thickening in his jeans. He feels even hungrier now than before he got here. Seeking you out, going to your house to ask you for help even though he knew he shouldn’t. He’s been so clumsy lately, uncharacteristically so. He wonders if it hasn’t been his subconscious’s way of getting him into situations where he’d need mending, just as an excuse to get himself close to you. He thinks this must surely be the case, entirely transparent and desperate and pathetic.
You finish the sutures in his palm, and he can’t even feel the hurt at this point, so hypnotized is he by the look of you deep in concentration, trying to mend him. You obviously can’t see that there’s no mending a man like him – not in any real way. But there’s a tiny voice at the back of his mind that whispers that if anyone could, it’d be you.
You tie off the line of stitches in a tiny little square knot, and reach for a roll of Curlex to wrap his hand in. You’re so small compared to his brutish size, your knees tucked between his spread legs. You’re not wearing shoes, just some thick knit socks pulled over your feet, slouchy and scrunched around your ankles. The size of your thigh compared to his has his mouth going dry. Delicate and built so finely – like a little bird. He wonders if your bones might be hollow like a sparrow’s too, if you’d fly away from him if he dared touch you, and at that thought, that dazed thought, he can’t help himself. He is a weak man, after all, when faced with something so fine, and as you wrap his hand in the bandage he sets two of his fingers over the curve of your knee, rests them there. You jolt slightly, and he stares, hypnotized, at the point of contact. He feels you pause your wrapping for one second, the burn of your gaze on his face, and then you resume your work. No comment, no admonishment. No… he doesn’t think you’d let anything distract you from your work, from what you’ve set your mind to. You seem like the type of person who once your mind has been fixed on something, you see it through to the end, no matter what. He admires that about you.
You reach for a vial of something, a syringe, a softly murmured, undo your shirt, but Joel is shocked frozen. His eyes glued to the place where he’s making contact with you. He hears the soft exhalation of your breath through your nostrils, and then you’re reaching forward to undo the top few buttons of his shirt. He looks up at you then, eyes focused on your task, brow scrunched, you drag your fingers over the skin of his chest, through the hair there, along his collarbone and over the thick hill of his shoulder as you push the fabric covering him back. You do not look up at him, but he thinks he might be able to feel the heat of your blood thrumming beneath your skin. He sits there and lets you do with him what you will.
When you bring the syringe to the hard muscle of his upper arm, a murmured, small poke, he does not feel it. The needle sinking into his flesh is secondary to the texture of your knee beneath his two fingers. With only his index finger and thumb he circles the joint of your knee, sliding slowly over your soft leggings. You’re so warm here, it feels like the heat of you is singing the tips of his fingers. Good, you should always be warm, always be comfortable. Perhaps the heat in the house isn’t so bad after all. He thinks, for one fleeting moment, that perhaps he should take the burn as a flare of warning, do not touch, something this good and beautiful, is not for the likes of you. But if he’s honest, he couldn’t give a fuck. After all, Joel’s never been very good. He’s always been a little on this side of too violent, too angry, too fractured, too hungry. And now that he’s got his hands on you he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop. The thought of that, the truth he can feel in it, makes his bones hurt, but he is hypnotized. He grips you more firmly in his hand, squeezes gently to feel the soft give of you. You finish with your stabbing of him, fuss with the bandage some more, and he flexes his injured hand once, still watching the place where he’s touching you, feels the tightness of the stitching, but nothing hurts right now. It couldn’t. It feels like his very bones are on fire, flaming within the confines of his skin, but it still doesn’t hurt. You bring your hands to rest in your lap when you’re finally finished. It’s his turn now, and he slides his hand further up your thigh, squeezing gently as he goes until he reaches your arm and grips the bend of your elbow, mumbles your name softly, cups the sharp angle of it in his palm, slides down the underside of your forearm to your wrist where he drags his thumb over the lacework of blue-hued veins there, beneath the fragile membrane keeping you held together. He thinks that the inside of your wrist might just be the softest thing he’s ever felt in his whole life.
He can sense the cadence of your breathing ricochet up to a hitched, nervous little stutter, and he finally looks up at you, his thumb still strumming that gentle stroke over the staccato of your pulse. He can feel the beat of your heart in your wrist and he wants to feel it against his tongue, wants to feel you pulse around his cock. Your gaze is fevered, manic, full of fire and a shout that sings, finally, finally, finally, you’re touching me, I’ve wanted this just as long as you have. He can see it in your gaze, and an understanding filled with a juxtaposing poignancy he can’t quite comprehend washes over him suddenly. He thinks he might’ve always understood you, from that first moment, that first sighting. There was something in you that called to him, and he’d tried to resist, as of yet, but he is about to fail spectacularly, to fall into you gloriously.
He wraps his other hand around your opposite knee and brings it up and over the wide expanse of his thigh, and then pulls you bodily into his lap. You let out a soft, perfect little gasp, and then you’re there, straddling him. Both of you pause for a second, taking each other in. Your eyes are so wide, a little wet, he thinks you might be a little overwhelmed by him, hopefully as overwhelmed as he is by you. The feel of your lush ass sitting over his cock has him going almost lightheaded for a second. It’s been a long time since he’s touched a woman, and for him to now make his return to physical intimacy with you, he needs to tread very, very carefully.
You bring one soft, small palm up to his face and cup his cheek, and he thinks he says your name again, but he isn’t entirely sure. His mind’s gone away from him a little bit. He can see each individual, ridiculously long lash up close like this, the strange amalgamation of colors in your eyes, deep and swimming with wanting him – fucking Christ – he might unman himself right here and now, at that look in your eyes, the peeling, dryness of your soft, plush lips where you’ve chewed on the flesh in concentration. You cup his jaw, drag your short nails gently over the stubble on his cheek and through the thick of his beard. He listens to the soft thwick, thwick of your nails catching on his whiskers, and the both of you shudder at the feel in tandem. You have a way of shaking yourself, as if to loosen your muscles, and he thinks, yes, yes, he wants to be let in, this is his chance. He brings his hand up to cup your own jaw, the hollow architecture of the fine bones, his other hand slides down the slope of your spine to curve over the softness of your ass. “Open up, little thing. Let me kiss you,” he says, his voice is almost unrecognizable to himself, low and gravely. He’s sure you can hear the want in it.
You give a short, wide-eyed nod, and he presses his mouth to yours – watches the flutter of those long lashes shut, he can feel them ghost against his cheeks as he kisses you. Like a bird’s wings.
He takes your mouth in long, slow, wet sweeps; licks his tongue into you and tastes the sweet inside of your mouth, runs his tongue over the surface of yours.
I’m inside, I’m inside, I’m inside.
His hand on your jaw slides to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, tugs your head back to open you to him, to deepen the kiss, to take you and taste you as deeply as possible, and you moan, drawn out and whining and for him. Your moans, like your words, end on a little lilt that sing to him, and at that sound he loses himself. He thinks you take him away from himself because he is suddenly made ravenous and of only tenuous control. He groans low in his own chest, his hand on your ass pressing you more firmly into his hard cock, grinds the searing heat between your legs into himself. “W– wanted this for so – for so long,” he presses wet kisses into the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the slope of your neck, pulls the neck of your flannel to the side to lick into the dip of your clavicle. He undoes the first two buttons of your shirt, the tops of your breasts, the flawless skin, the soft contours of you – “Too beautiful for your own damn good,” he growls, pulls you tighter against himself, you’re not going fucking anywhere.
He wants to keep you.
He lifts to his feet then, suddenly, taking you with him, gripping you beneath your thighs to wrap you around his waist, and with one brash hand, he sweeps the papers and books off your desk, hears the clatter of your instruments hit the ground, and plants your ass down on the edge of your desk, grips your jaw to hunch over you and eat at your mouth. Your fingers tug at his hair and beard and open shirt, trying to pull him closer to you, your knees hiking up on either side of his waist to press the heels of your socked feet into the base of his spine.
“Me too, Joel. Me too. Thought it’d never– never happen,” you pant into his mouth, claw harder at him.
And fuck, to hear that you’ve been waiting for this, waiting for him to come and take you for himself. If he was not already a thing made of thrumming, uncontrolled energy, then he most certainly is now. You pause to look up at him then, a momentary respite of your frantic clawing, and you give him the sweetest curve of a small smile, the moment so private, so acutely intimate, it makes his knees shake.
You move to reach for his belt, but he holds you at bay, taking both your wrists in his grasp and pressing your hands back to the desk, forcing you to lean backwards so that he can kiss at your neck, taste your skin, he nudges his nose beneath the collar of your shirt to get at your clavicle, bites the strap of your bra between his teeth to drag it over your shoulder. “Baby, if you touch me now, this’ll be over before it’s even began.” He bites into the thin muscles of your neck, and you keen for him, sucks a mark into your skin he hopes you’ll wear for days. He wants you marked and branded by him. Your knees hitch higher at his sides and you press your heels into the small of his back, grinding yourself against the line of his cock. You let out a breathy, urgent sort of noise, rolling your little cunt as best as you can against him with your hands restrained as he’s got you. “You want that?” he grunts, giving you more pressure with his hips. Please, please, please, you’re full of the most delicious sort of supplications, and you’re so pretty and so desperate for his cock, and he must handle you with care.
“M’gonna eat your cunt, sweet girl.” You whine low. He pulls back to take you in, glassy eyes and a deep flush starting at your chest and sneaking up the column of your throat. He tucks his fingers into the cups of your bra and scoops your breasts out. Fuckin’ gorgeous, bends his head to suck one perfect nipple into his mouth and pulls hard on it, enjoys the song of your mewling. He nips gently at the sensitive bud, gives the other one the same adoring attention, and then drops to his haunches before you. The look in your eyes is slightly manic, maybe a little apprehensive. “It’s alright, don’t be scared. Gotta get you ready for me.” All you do is nod. He hooks his fingers under your waist band and starts to slowly drag your leggings and panties down your legs, pulling one foot out, not bothering with the other. One of his hands slides slowly up the back of your calf, the other pulling your leg over his shoulder and spreads you wide by the bend of your knee. Exposing you to him completely. He groans low in his throat, “Knew you’d be beautiful, but I didn’t expect this.” He looks up at you.
“Joel–”
“Yeah…” He leans forward and presses his tongue into your slit, dragging slowly up towards your clit. He thinks he must growl like some sort of animal because you let out a breathy little hiccup, nervous and stuttered and try and press your knee in his grip closed. Nuh uh, he mumbles into your skin, grips you more tightly. He focuses on your clit, kissing and petting at it with his tongue, brings his other hand up to press gently at your entrance. You’re fucking small here, he begins to push a single finger inside and you start to really unravel at that, fucking tight too. He can’t wait to shove his cock into this tight, wet heat. He gives you his entire finger to the knuckle, drinking down your slick, holds there for a moment, and then begins to add a second finger, pumping them slowly, making room for himself inside of you. He scissors his fingers, twisting his wrist slightly from side to side, stretching you in new ways with each careful thrust. Slow and methodical and precise, ever aware that he is handling a delicate thing right now. He watches your face, your eyes flutter closed, your hips tilting to welcome his hand as he fucks you open. All the while he continues to lick and kiss your clit. His fingers find that spongy, sensitive spot inside of you, and you keen as he starts to pet at it, hooking his fingers and beckoning your orgasm forth. He feels your muscles begin to quicken, your head falling back on your neck as your flushed tits heave, trussed up as they are in your bra, and you're so slick, you’re melting down his fingers and into his palm, sweet and salty and musky. And you start to come for him, whining low and needy, your knee hitching up by his ear to press your little foot into the meat of his shoulder, trying to push him away and sit on his face at the same time. You tilt your hips further and roll your pulsing cunt onto his face. Goddamn, you’re fucking beautiful. He is mesmerized. His eyes never leaving your face as your gush all over his face and open mouth. He drinks it all up, licking and sucking and kissing, all while his fingers continue to work you through the contractions of your orgasm.
Joel, Joel, Joel, you sing his name for him like a little bird.
When the throbbing pulses have finally gentled he surges to his feet, licking his palm clean of your slick before he presses his mouth to yours and lets you taste yourself on his tongue. He undoes his belt and frees himself. Thick, brutish cock, the swollen head is an angry shade of red verging on purple, precum leaking from the slit. The fat head of it compared to your tiny, fluttering hole is obscene. The threads of his control snap in slow motion, one by one by one, and when you look down to take him in, the size of him, your eyes go big and round and that little foot is back, toeing at him to futilely press yourself away from him. He circles his fist around the thick length as he presses the head to your swollen clit, starts to slide the underside slowly through your wet cleft.
“No, no, no, no, Joel. That– it isn’t going to fit. No– it’s too big.”
“It’ll fit. I’ll be gentle, don’t worry.” He presses the head into your clit again, hard, and you whimper. “Have you done this before, sweet girl?” Your blush flames even brighter if possible, and he watches the fluttering of those long lashes as you say quietly, “Once,” looking down at where the two of you make contact. One of your small hands has snaked up to grip at his shirt and anchor yourself to him.
He slides one hand under your thigh to lift you while he lines himself up with the other, and then slowly starts to press inside. And fuck, so, so tight, your walls still slightly fluttering and trembling from your orgasm, hot as sin– “Jesus Christ–” he grits. He holds for one second, only halfway in, but no, no, it’s too much. “Shit, baby. This– This isn’t going to last very long, I’m sorry,” and then grips your ass and shoves all the way inside, hard, almost brutally, all the way to the end of you. You keen high and breathless, clawing at his shirt and skin as he feels you pulse and struggle around him, your muscles working to accommodate his size inside of you. He feels his tip bump your cervix, and he grinds there for a moment. Fucking Christ.
“It’s too much, it’s too much, please, Joel – I can’t.” There are tears in your eyes. His cock makes you fucking cry, and he likes it, and he wants more.
“You’re alright, you can take it,” he soothes, pulls out and then shoves back in. You’re impossibly wet, the slick, sucking sound of your pussy trying to keep him inside resounds in the quiet office. He starts to fuck you hard, in even measured strokes. You have to come on his cock. You have to, he has to feel it. “Easy now, settle. Yeah… just like that. Good girl.” Your wet eyes glisten with tears and your mouth hangs open, panting. You’re trembling, the much smaller body trying to force itself to take something so much bigger and remain intact, but he bends his knees and angles his thrusts up to fuck into your g-spot, and he starts to feel the fluttering of your overwhelmed muscles begin to quicken for him again.
“Christ, you’re huge,” you squeeze your eyes shut, head falling back on your neck, and a single tear rolls down the smooth slope of your cheek. He bends forward to lick it up, fucking animal, and then licks into your mouth, tasting all that glorious desperation. When he pulls back he watches the fat base of his cock stretching you, red cunt, swollen and split down the middle obscenely. He’s sure your little hole is gonna gape for him once he’s done with it. The sight is so fucking pornographic he begins to feel his heavy balls tighten, a searing heat pooling at the base of his spine.
“You’ve gotta fuckin’ come for me.” He bends to bite the swinging weight of your tit, sucks hard at your nipple as he starts to thrum at your engorged clit. Your hand twists in his hair, the other supporting your weight behind you. You start to roll into his thrusts, and he can’t hold it anymore, he can’t. He wraps a hand around your throat, stiffens and shoves hard and deep, an animal sound ripping from his throat as he feels you clamp down on him, his fist coming down hard on the desk beside you as he growls the start of your name between clenched teeth that turns into a guttural wordless snarl. He doesn’t even try to stop himself when he feels his balls pull up, almost painfully, and he starts to fill the wet heat of your cunt with his come, marking you as his. Fucking his.
Your contracting muscles pull his spend deep into your womb, and you sing breathy, little sighs of gratitude right into the shell of his ear, heaving tits pressed up against his chest. He dips his chin to lick at the soft mounds and pulls out to spurt the last thick stream of come over your swollen folds. He rubs the spend into your clit with his thumb, pushes the little white trickle into your fluttering hole – he was right, it is gaping for him. His head feels trapped underwater and there’s a rushing noise in his ears. And then a terrible sort of bliss ruining realization settles over him, fuck, how careless can he be, filling you up like this.
-
His limbs seem to snap with horrified realization. “Shit,” he spits, pulls away from your grasping fingers so quickly you’re forced to catch yourself on the edge of the desk without his support. “I– I’m sorry– I shoulda asked before. I shoulda pulled out, I’m sorry.” He turns slightly to tuck his wet cock back into his jeans, do up the buttons of his open shirt, and you slide off the edge of the desk onto shaky legs, bracing yourself on your chair to keep upright. Your knees knock together pathetically.
“It’s– it’s okay. My period’s in a few days. We’re okay.” We. You flinch slightly at the word. There is no we in this situation between the two of you. The look on his face is making that painfully obvious. There’s a light in his eye that gleams peculiarly of anger – of fury. That seems to demand: how dare you make me feel like this, how dare you tempt me like this, how dare this thing we’ve both wanted for so long feel so good. Because it had, it had felt so, so good.
The awareness of the emptiness he’s left in his wake at his withdrawal is almost painful. You feel stretched thin and filled to the brim at the same time. He’d filled you impossibly full, ramming up against your cervix, and then somehow seemingly pressing even deeper. You’re going to be sore for days. Your flannel is long, reaches mid thigh, hiding the vulnerable sight of your used sex from his eyes, but you can feel his come start to slowly seep out of you.
He runs his hand through his unruly curls, over his mouth and beard. He’s facing slightly away from you, as if he can’t bear to look at you, and the sight of him like this, fucking coward, almost regretful or embarrassed makes a small pinch of hurt and anger curdle in your gut.
“Are you– was that okay?” he asks softly. You push your leggings and panties off your ankle with your other foot, wrap your arms around yourself. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” you say quietly. You think you almost see him flinch at the sound of your words.
“Alright… okay–” he swallows. “Okay. That– that was the only time. Alright? That– that can’t happen again. I can’t – I’m not lookin’ to start anything up.”
“Okay.” What else is there to say? You can lie to yourself and say that once will be enough. That you can survive on only one time. You’ve always been very good at lying to yourself.
He nods once. He’s so uncomfortable, and it makes you angry, nods again, “Alright. Good. I’m sorry again… and thank you,” he lifts up his wrapped hand.
“Sure, Joel.” He turns and stalks towards the door, but pauses when he reaches it, seems to shuffle back and forth, weighing his options – the risk – and then turns, stalks back to you and takes you in hand. He wraps one large palm around your face, from your cheek to cup the curve of your jaw. The tip of his index finger presses into the outer curve of your orbital bone, his thumb on the edge of your mandible to angle your face up towards him, the other at the small of your back to press you up and into him, “Lemme just… I just want to–” he mumbles and takes your mouth with is. He licks into you, a soft groan of appreciation, of hunger, rumbling out of him. He likes the taste of you, he likes the feel of you, you know he does, even if he wants to pretend at recalcitrance.
He is a thrumming effigy under your hands. There is something immensely sad and vital simmering just underneath the surface of his skin, and you think: he is so important. You know it now, right now, perhaps, since the first moment you’d set eyes on him. It feels like he owns you – already, in this instant – like he always has, and he’s just been biding his time, an apex predator toying with its food before he decides to gorge himself. You moan into his kiss, let yourself go soft and pliant, sceding all control, all of your will to him. He pulls back, tucks his thumb beneath the cleft of your chin to tilt your head back and peer into your eyes.
“Sure…” he murmurs. He goes after that, out into the dark night. You stand at your window and watch the span of his broad back as he walks away, the wet feel of him sliding down the insides of your thighs, and you think that you might become quite a monstrous thing under the guiding hand of this desperate want, this terrifying loneliness that seems to abate only in his presence.
-
He’s on your front porch two nights later, that was the only time, yeah, sure, urging you backwards as soon as you’ve got the door open, his hands in your hair and his tongue in your mouth with a rumbled, just one more time. Taking you for himself, once again.
Netherfeildren's Masterlist
#FoG fic#Joel Miller#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller x female oc#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller smut#joel miller angst#joel miller imagine#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic
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AITA for slowly ghosting a fwb instead of confronting him when I found out he's been stalking people again?
He (twenties, M) and I (twenties, X) knew each other from college. He's genuinely a fun guy. Also, a cis person being into you as a nonbinary person (as your gender, not despite it) in a non-fetishy way is frankly too powerful. So yeah, we started talking more some time after graduation, and it turned into a digital-only friends-with-benefits situation.
I was wary of him in college, but willing to give him a second chance. It was an open secret among our friend group that he'd stalked a couple of people he was into in college -- resulting in court ordered therapy and a restraining order and everything. I was still mentally/emotionally recovering from an abusive relationship years prior that the ex stalked me after for a few years. So you can see why it was a big deal that I gave this distant friend another chance, willing to get as close to him as I did. I guess I thought that like, the therapy had worked?
Well, fast forward to us being close after college. He doesn't know that I know about his previous two times getting nearly expelled for stalking people. I have not told him anything about my years-ago abusive relationship, but it's possible he has some awareness of it due to mutual friends. I kept firm with a boundary that he will have no more specific geographic information about me than my city, and he's certainly never learning my address. He has no way to know about my more "personal" social media like Tumblr. I am protecting myself.
But a few months into us being fwb and having fun and me repeatedly asserting my boundaries regarding irl interaction. He complains to me that someone is claiming that he's stalking them. I casually ask about the situation, assert that yeah what he's doing is shitty, he should stop, and it does sound like stalking (even though he insists it isn't). We never talk about it again.
He started showing up in my trauma nightmares, and suddenly the second chance I gave him seems like a terrible idea. So, over the next few months, I make a planned retreat. I respond less frequently, less promptly, and with less emotion. I planned out my strategy by the week to look like a natural loss of interest, or a natural "got busy with other stuff."
My logic is that he clearly has not learned to stop stalking people. I am not willing to continue exposing myself to that personal risk. But I am also not willing to say "I refuse to remain friends with an unrepentant stalker." I'm afraid that if I do that, he will get the wrong lesson: that he needs to never admit to any other friend what he's done, or else he'll lose them. The right lesson obviously would be: don't follow people to their houses after they've cut contact and don't send them letters asking whether they're living alone again yet, what the fuck. I am afraid that if I tell him why I'm ghosting, he will simply never talk about this pattern ever again, thus removing the ability of future friends like me to make informed decisions about who they're spending their time with.
We're now one year into when I fully ended contact. I did not block him. I still get two texts a week from him -- sometimes "are you okay" sometimes life updates, usually just "hey". He has made no indications that he has visited the city where I live, thank god. I have not explained to any of our mutual friends what I did. I have not talked to anyone, not my therapist not my spouse, about what I did. I am not going to speak to him again, but I am not going to block him, because I need my cutting contact to look natural.
So yeah. AITA for not making a bigger deal of his continued stalking of other people? In my mind I'm protecting myself, and reducing the likelihood he'll start hiding his nature from future friends, so this way they can be informed and protect themselves as needed. But AITA for lowkey ghosting him instead of having a serious conversation about his behavior? I know he sucks. I just don't know if I also suck.
What are these acronyms?
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For the ask game: Dean/Lisa?
What made you ship it? It isn't 3.02 or 3.10. It's that when Dean shows up on her doorstep utterly distraught in 5.17 and 5.22, and both times, she's willing to take him in. She offers him a place to just BREATHE for a moment in a season where literally nobody affords him a moment to just BREATHE. She has no idea what's going on, and they don't actually know each other very well! She doesn't require that at that moment. She sees someone she knows who is in pain and she reacts. It speaks to the potential that exists, which is then cultivated between seasons 5 and 6.
What are your favorite things about the ship? 6.01 when Dean wakes up sad, and Lisa just senses it immediately, and she is so SOFT with him in a way people are never really soft with Dean ever. How understanding Lisa is. How caring she is. How she creates a safe place for Dean to just BREATHE for once in his life, and she doesn't begrudge him his trauma that very much does not go away and she doesn't treat it as a burden or tell him to grow up. I firmly believe Lisa is the number one reason Dean actually recovers at all from the trauma of season 4 and 5. Dean's family certainly didn't support him emotionally. Let's be fucking real about it. And it ISN'T a one-sided relationship where only Dean gains. He isn't some kind of leech (despite many fans trying to frame it that way for their own purposes, insisting she never should have allowed Dean to darken her doorway). Dean supports her too!!! He is an active participant in the household!! He makes sure the house is safe, he works to supplement income, he cooks for them, he watches out for Ben!!! Lisa says he's AMAZING with Ben!!! And as it all starts to go to shit, Dean begins to guilt himself over having been a burden the entire time and Lisa rejects that—she calls it the best year of her life—says she wouldn't take it back for anything.
Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship? THAT I LIKE IT. FUCK ALL Y'ALL.
Ask game
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Worm Fanfic Recs
No rankings at play here, just my favorite fics that I think other are really good. There are fics I like that aren't listed because I have a bad memory, but everything here is something I really really enjoyed. I have biases obviously, this isn't objective.
The Fics
Our Private Crises - A nailbiting murder mystery with unique and well done POVs from a different character each chapter. The mystery and reveal at the end were stellar, and it got me attached to characters I never thought I'd care for. 29k words. Complete.
It's Cold Out There Every Day - Missy is trapped in a time loop on her birthday. Genuinely stellar characterization, it has the best Missy and Aisha I've ever read and its such a creative and well executed premise. 41k words. Complete.
Tilt - Unpowered homeless girl Taylor fakes a thinker power to get in the Wards and secure housing. She's even more self destructive and self deprecating than in canon. 10/10 characterization for a slew of POV characters including Taylor, every ward but especially Sophia, Rachel, Lisa, and a ton of other characters. Despite not going through all of what canon Taylor went through, this fic nails her character better than pretty much any others. 220k words at time of posting. Updating consistently.
Tear Apart, Stitch Together - Taylor triggers with Shatterbird's power and kills thousands. Short and sweet, everything that's there is great and it wraps up well I think. 13k words. Complete
Memories of a Simurgh Victim - The Simurgh attacks Brockton Bay. Has two storylines, one following Taylor and one following Amy and Vicky. Among the most fucked up things this fandom has to offer, a terrifying showcase of the Simurgh and her power. 62k words. Taylor's story is incomplete but the Amy and Victoria story is done.
Desperate Times Call For Desperate Pleasures - Cherish altpower Taylor tries to consensually fix Amy's incest fetish. A trainwreck I can't look away from, the worlds first psychological horror romcom. It's so fucked up and so amazingly funny, and has good well written characters. I don't like Pillbug and I'm not a big fan of altpowers, but this fic is still one of my favorites because it's so damn compelling so definitely check it out if you actually like either of those things. 211k words at time of posting. Updating consistently.
Roots - The Slaughterhouse Nine attack a small town with a roster of OC capes, but something is very off about the place. POV shifts every chapter, and the OCs are interesting and unique. The S9 are also wonderfully characterized here, I've never had a fic make me sad for Crawler of all people. 67k words at time of posting. Ongoing. Criminally underrated.
Roma Fade - Ciara and Fortuna both try to grow past who they were as capes and find themselves as people in a small town post Gold Morning, having found common ground posing as moms to a recovering Taylor. I'm sure fake dating would never end in real attraction, that would be absurd. Incredibly gay, incredible characterization for everyone, the best post-GM fic around in my opinion. 87k words at time of posting. Ongoing but currently on hiatus.
Case - Lisa and the Simurgh start a detective agency. It's just great humor and a lovely story and wonderful despite being short and deceased. 14k words. Dead.
Silence is not Consent - Taylor intervenes and saves Victoria from Amy and gives her a place to stay, Victoria massively struggles dealing with what happened. Amazing characterization, Victoria's POV is unique and incredibly well done, and her seeing Taylor from an outside perspective is interesting. Be warned that this is a very heavy fic emotionally, but it's really fucking good. 212k words at time of posting. Updating consistently.
A Word - Altpower Taylor is obsessed with writing a story. I don''t know how to describe this fic honestly it's hard to do justice, but it has perhaps the best conclusion to Gold Morning I've seen in a fanfic. 11k words. Complete.
Scarab - A fantasy AU where powers are thought to be magic, and the Faerie Queen takes an interest in Taylor. Filled to the brim with creativity and passion, this fic is teeming with fresh ideas and interesting depictions of canon characters. The worldbuilding is great as well, no other fic on this list has a map, so this is clearly a cut above the rest. 139k words at time of posting. Updating consistently.
Swallowtail - Ok I lied this one has a map too. Taylor with an incredibly interesting stranger power joins Faultline's crew. There is a truly astounding amount of AU elements and alternate powers for canon characters, it feels like a new world while still being recognizable and distinctly Worm. Has a large amount of alternate POVs and the first arc can be rough, but it's creative and amazing. 360k words. Ongoing but currently on haitus.
Soliloquy - Ex-Slaughterhouse 9 Taylor is in prison, bitter at the world and herself and especially her clone who saved the multiverse. A heavy fic about someone slowly recovering and becoming a better person when they're convinced it can't be done. Made me cry. 71k words. Complete.
TWNY - Post-GM Taylor finds herself in the world of RWBY with a pair of moth antennae. Multiple POVs, all very interesting despite me knowing nothing of RWBY. Probably the best characterization of Taylor in any post-GM crossover fic, she's heartbreaking in the recent arc, and it feels like the fic has barely scratched the surface of what it'll eventually cover. Also it's very gay. 136k words. Ongoing.
The Great Escape - Eidolon is struggling after his reputation is destroyed and Cauldron is revealed, and then the Birdcage opens. Amazing use of seldom seen characters, great POV with Eidolon, well done and interesting fights, has String Theory. 107k words. Ongoing but currently on haitus.
Happiness Is Inevitable - NSFW. The only damn erotic mind control Simurgh smut in the fandom somehow. Besides the porn (which is a lot of the fic, who woulda thunk it) the story itself is actually pretty interesting and has a lot of creative parts, and it has better characterization than most fics. 29k words. Ongoing?
Oneshots
Break me so that I can be whole - This accursed fandom is tragically bereft of QA / Taylor fics, but this one shot is great, love an eldritch take on shards. Probably fucked up but I'm not actually a good judge of that so be warned. 1.8k words.
Book Worm - Dragon helps teach Taylor how to read and speak and understand language post-GM. Bittersweet and lovely. 2.5k words.
Defiant Didn't Dox Saint For Nothing! - Taylor goes back in time and the first thing she does is kill Saint because he sucks. Cracky but I like it, fun little oneshot. 1.6k words.
Ruling Ash - Glory Girl flees Brockton Bay during the Slaughterhouse Nine and ends up living with Damsel of Distress. Cute, and Starsong before Ward is very interesting. 2.8k words.
My Sunshine - Leviathan goes worse and Brockton Bay is destroyed. Taylor and Victoria survive. Very somber, but well executed. 3.4k words.
Cherry on Top - A character study of Cherie Vasil, showing how she went from running away from Heartbreaker to joining the Nine. Extremely well written, absolutely incredible depiction of her character. It depicts abuse and actions typical of Heartbreaker and Cherie, so be careful reading. It's a lot emotionally. 12.7k words.
Devil in a New Dress - NSFW. Shatterbird / Reader, I'm not explaining myself on this one. Neat Shatterbird characterization, hot, pretty fucked up so be warned. 1.7k words.
#worm#parahumans#wormfic#idk why I spent two hours on this but I don't regret it#all my opinions are OBJECTIVE FACT#i have NO biases or preferences#I am simpley correct#made this because im so fucking sick of sifting through anime altpowers and woobified characters and the infinite period guy#so i might as well make it easier for others who may be sick of that#hope yall enjoy and maybe find a new fic from this#also full transparency#im behind on a few of the updating fics#but I loved what i read enough to rec them
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I literally just finished The Magnus Archives Season 5, in fact, im actually still crying while writing this. I’m not going to go into detail but my god i will never emotionally recover from this. I havent been listening to the podcast as long as others, i wasnt there when it came out, but in a strange way this podcast has done more good for me than any other piece of media I have cared about. Without going into detail, my mental health has sucked in the time I listened to it, alot of identity problems and this series has really brought me on a weird self discovery journey in a way. Although this post won’t be seen by many, let alone those who worked on the podcast, I want to thank them for its existence and creating what will now be easily my favourite piece of media. What incredible story, characters and writing. Every part of it was brilliant. I doubt i will ever find something that has struck a cord with me in the way this series has ever again. So my final verdict on the magnus archives?
11/10
I fucking love The Magnus Archives.
#the magnus archives#tma#rusty quill tma#first time listening#magnus archives#magnus archives season 5#the magnus archives season 5#the magnus pod#tma podcast
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peter parker
(going off the tom holland vr! this is going to be a very long ramble about the character) i cant get over how genuinely hauntingly sad peter parker is, when the idea of peter parker was created, (to be different incomparsion of other characters), because you have a teenager superhero - it's such a good concept mind you - but god? having somebody so young have such a large role on their shoulders is insane, and it's so interesting because just the change in age literally completely fundamentally changes his characters actions and future, he'll have more impulsive decisions, extreme mental issues (which is unavoidable in his situation), and simply a very difficult time trying to navigate.
his level of severe childhood trauma (which quite literally gives you a form of brain damage) will ultimately affect his entire future and actions, he saw his uncle die at what 14? maybe younger? that itself even without the spider-man part is horrid, he never had the chance to even grieve because he was thrown into the most life changing event of his life, he also had no parents either, he has a very significant lack of figures in his life that is so hard to change how they impacted him. what happened in homecoming was the least terrifying experience he probably went through which says alot when a whole warehouse fell upon him and he was just /inches/ way from dying near the end from the vulture.
then infinity war happens next, his fight's and experiences horribly scary situations that nobody could probably even digest at such an age, or even older. and when he 'dusted' its obvious it takes a toll on him before it even happens, he could feel it, and god isn't that scary to think of? the unstoppable force of death? then fucking endgame happens, which i honestly can't even believe the fact that if i said it wasn't the worst thing that happened to him i'd be right, even though he saw somebody who he considered a 'father' figure die in his hands.
excluding that even if tony never died peter would have never recovered mentally so normally, seeing how he was beat up to hell holding that gauntlet was so fucking terrifying. he was tossed around so much and he quite literally held the most dangerous and world altering item in his hands, and if he lost it he'd have the entire world's blame on him. thats so much responsibility a newly(?) sixteen year old should never have, you cannot possibly tell me that it wouldnt literally alter his brain from the terror.
far from home is one of my favorite movie's ever but never fails to make me cry. he didn't even get the time to grieve tony, or the fact that his entire world changed in the matter of days, or the experience it was to endure the endgame fight, how can you casually go back to school after witnessing and /participating/ in the fight that could have possibly entered in the doom of the world again or bring it all back. then mysterio happens, which in my opinion is one of the absolute worst villains that peter's fought, because he was just so human. he ruined peters life completely, and he was just another human. wouldn't that make somebody so bitter? that no your life wasn't completely thrown away to shit by the big evil purple alien, but by another full human. absolutely nothing special to him power wise, not possessed, no weird voices, he did it with pure manipulation and thats one of the worst possible things i could have imagined somebody doing to him.
because peter at the end of the day was just a complete kid, mysterio made him believe he could trust him and peter did, he just lost so much in his life that somebody who could finally understand him was all he needed to feel assured, its why the significance of that one talk they both had after fury was being a dick to peter was so important, mysterio decided to go for such an emotionally devastating route it's unbelievable. but seemingly manipulating his trust wasn't enough, he just had to fuck him up so bad with that illusion scene, putting everything he loved against him and god the stark part was so fucking cruel, but after it all the part that hurt so much to watch was when happy got to him, peter questioning if he was real is so cruel. making this poor kid unable to trust his surroundings (after also being hit by a fucking train!), when he already had so much psychological issues going on is literally the cruelest fate he could have given him at the time.
and lastly no way home, and his future at that. mysterio exposing peters identity was such an irreversible decision that i honestly believe no matter what peter did, there was nothing that could give him or his loved ones the life he wanted unless if he did try to make everybody forget him. like if he originally went to the lady to re-persuade her to let his friends in it wouldnt have worked, and it also showed that much before peter ended up saving the lady in the car, all their fates were fucked and frankly there was no good way to get out of it, he was so absolutely doomed.
may parkers death was the worst of it all i think, i believe from everything that's happened to him, that absolutely nothing would affect him the way she died did. every other death of a loved one that had happened he couldn't truly take the blame for, but knowing how everything lead up to him is the most excruciatingly important detail. he canonically blames himself and i dont believe that feeling will ever end up going away. there's just no way it could, the fact he was the last person who ever saw her alive, the last person she spoke too, he quite literally saw the life drain out of her, there's no way to recover after seeing the person who's been with you for longer than you can remember die in your hands, and in the hands of your accidental actions.
i dont think there was a world were he could have escaped that death coming, peters identity being out as spider-man would have definitely done something in the future, and the problem is everything in no-way home happened in the smallest time stamp ever, i could be wrong but i believe it all went down in a few days at most, there was no way to even comprehend the absolute mental load and overwhelming amount of information being handed to him, nor do i think he'll manage to get over it easily later on either. the idea of different versions of him existing is so much to chew on, the idea of other versions of him living the happier life he could have, ones that never have the people he loves in them, ones where the people he loved are still alive, or some of them even. he even directly saw worlds where their peter parkers arent forced to be forgotten.
this version of peter lost so much that its impossible to cope with, all the peters lost alot already, like all of them didn't have parents iirc, all lost uncle ben, but the tobey and andrew spider-man had a living aunt may, then tobey's lost harry (?), and andrew lost gwen.
this version of peter parker lost both uncle and aunts, parents (of course), and tony stark. this is all just by death, he also lost his best friends, and girlfriend. they stay forever out of reach which is so tauntingly cruel. because he starts at 13/15 (pre homecoming) and by 17 (nwh) he's at the same point of all the other spider-man's started where theyre practically completely alone, or just experienced such a stark change to their lives.
my boy....... he deserves better..... sorry this is so long i had alot to say and i dont get the chance to talk about peter much and ive been recently hyperfixated on him since early feb and i love him so much and cant stop thinking or crying about him . also do tell me if i got any info wrong cause' ive only watched the tom holland trilogy, so im a bit uninformed there but did try to do some research!
#peter parker#spiderman tom holland#spiderman#marvel mcu#mysterio#tony stark#okay thats all i think...
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Damn Your Love, Damn Your Lies has been updated! A snippet is below~
~
Eddie was…an idiot. A moron, a fool, maybe even a simpleton. He was always self-aware enough to know that he had a habit of making terrible choices. But he thought that he had gotten better about it. That’s how it was supposed to work right? He had the shitty childhood, the rise and fall of fame, experienced drug-fueled self-destruction, got sober, got his career and life back on track. All of that should have meant that he was a more emotionally mature person. An adult who was capable of creating long-lasting relationships built on trust.
Clearly, he had underestimated just how inept at life he really was. Because somehow, against all odds, he finally found someone he wanted to be with. Someone who didn’t care about his fame or his money, someone who wanted to be around him just because Eddie was who he was. Not to mention someone who was…so beautiful. Inside and out. Someone who deserved so much better than Eddie Munson. He had actually managed to find someone who felt perfect for him. And he had already fucked everything up. Ruined it before it could even start. Because Eddie was having a very, very hard time trying to figure out ways to recover from his own bullshit.
He thought about it all the time, finally coming clean and accepting the consequences of his own lies. He’d thought about sitting Steve down for it, making it a big open and honest conversation about his feelings and fears or whatever the fuck. Or he could just casually put it out there. Maybe if he just acted like it was no big deal then he could magically convince Steve of the same.
Hey babe? Do you remember how I said I live in the city and do tattoos for a living? Well, actually, I don’t live here. Or even in this state. And I’m one of those rich and famous psychos you hate. I just started renting this place because I met you and proceeded to become obsessed after our first date. Just wanted to let you know. You want to get some ice cream or something?
Or…maybe not.
Eddie knew what the right thing to do was. But Eddie didn’t get to where he was today by being an altruistic and self-sacrificing person. He had no intentions of giving what they had up. Not yet. Not when he had never felt like this before. As ironic as it was, lying about his identity made Eddie feel more like himself than he had in years. When he was with Steve he was just… Eddie. No performances, no personas. He wasn’t worrying about his image or saying the wrong thing. He just got to be him. Or as much of him as he could be while hiding major facets of his life.
This whole thing was such a mess. His first plan of a one night-stand immediately fell to shit. Then his genius second one of just waiting for things to fizzle away turned out to be just as fucking stupid. So now here he was, desperately trying to think of what to do next.
He knew that he was a coward for keeping the whole charade going. He was a bad person for it. He knew that. But he also knew that he loved waking up next to Steve in the mornings. He loved making them both coffee and watching him do his hair, always ready to reassure him that yes, sweetheart. It looks fine in the back.
He knew that Steve’s smile was enough to make his day, that a single phone call from him could set Eddie off into a sickeningly sweet mood for hours.He knew that he loved making him laugh, that he was willing to do a variety of embarrassing things just to hear that bright sound. He knew that he loved fighting with him over music in the car, and every other mundane thing about life that Steve managed to suddenly make interesting.
But most of all, he knew that he didn’t want any of it to end. Ever. Not if he could help it. All Eddie wanted was to take care of Steve. To make him happy, to be the man that Steve thought Eddie was. And the very thought of losing all of that was enough to make his eyes water.
So now here he was. On to plan three. Pray to the gods above that Steve would fall for him just as hard as he was. Or at least enough for him to stay around when Eddie finally came clean. Eddie… wanted Steve to need him. In the same way that Eddie felt like he needed Steve. He wanted him to not be able to imagine his life without him, for it to get bad enough for his lies to seem insignificant in the face of their connection. If Eddie could manage that, then he would tell him.
He just needed some reassurance. Some kind of guarantee that this wouldn’t all end in fire and brimstone when he finally opened his mouth. Which, again, was very, very stupid. But Eddie was a stupid, delusional, lovesick man these days. It fits.
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No, no please ramble on, i have many a bone to pick with the way this was recieved. And i honestly didn't expect a certain part of the fandom to have any correct takes about this as they rebuke anything that even remotely points to Buck and Eddie being anything but good ol' bros, but the amount of shippers who retroactively decided that actually, nothing means anything is kinda disappointing. This is a pretty interesting (genius even) way to illustrate Bucks perception of home, romantic relationships and his agency in them after all.
I think Buck and his metaphorical connection to "belonging" and his home space, apartments/loft, couch, etc have been a Thing™️ since his introduction in season 1.
Season 1- he's uncomfortable in a shared house with a bunch of frat guys (including *cough*Connor) that he only came to LA with because of a delusion of creating a "family" with them. Then he meets Abby, he feels like she "sees" him, he moves into her place and doesn't leave until halfway through season 2 even though the relationship has been dead for longer than it's been alive.
Season 2- He meets Ali, and she's the one who convinces him to get his own place, the entire loft is ALI'S doing, harkening back to Buck's passivity in relationships and his tendency to lose himself in them. Ali is the one who gives the iconic "You're like a perpetual roommate, even in your own place" and she hit the fucking nail on the head.
Season 3- the meat of Buck with the Diaz boys starts. "This is Eddie's house, I'm not really a guest". Strong establishment of Buck is at his most comfortable with Eddie and Chris.
Season 4- First we got Chim invading Buck's space, then Albert, then Veronica. His space is still never safe because anyone at anytime can come in and make it there's and he just lets them. Buck retreats to the Diaz house even more for safety. Introduction of "everyone needs a safe space where they can be themselves" by Dr. Copeland. Then in the finale, Buck is the one at the Diaz house, sleeping on their COUCH, taking care of Christopher emotionally and physically, while Eddie recovers from the shooting.
Season 5- Taylor moves into the loft, encroaching on Buck's supposed "safe space", getting rid of his couch in favor of her own (putting her needs above Buck's), and she only moves in because Buck asked her after panicking that she might leave him after he kissed Lucy (both trauma responses). OBVIOUS cracks in the relationship that only gets WORSE when they move in together. They break up, and she takes her couch with her leaving more obvious holes in Buck's loft.
Season 6- the birth of the couch metaphor. Of Buck textually connecting his couch ie. his home with his romantic life. His distant yet overbearing mother forces a couch on him as a way to make up for 30 years of emotional neglect, he hates it and is uncomfortable with it, he only finds solace and rest on the Diaz couch, Kameron INVADES his home in 6b and demands more of him than he ever agreed to. She destroys his couch with her birth fluid. The couch is gone, and Buck asks Natalia if she wants to go couch shopping, incredibly soon after she walked out on him for being "too much".
Buck searching for his true home, his safe space, his family being connected to his physical home has been and will likely continue to be a huge part of his character arc. Who was it I saw who was waiting for Buck's loft to burn down since season 4? Y'all are where it's at, honestly. Who knows, maybe the "Buck's loft should burn down" truthers can combine with the "couch theory" truthers and the "buck breakdown s7" truthers, and make season 7 the best season yet.
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Unrelated to this episode but as a twin, everytime I remember Lark had an affair with Sparrow’s wife, I’m just… in disbelief. Like, I hate when people ogle at my twin and I, and are like “WHAT’S IT LIKE BEING A TWIN!” “I WISH I WAS A TWIN!” “WOW! HAVING A TWIN IS HAVING A BUILT IN BESTFRIEND!” However, weird objectification aside, they’re not wrong. I DO have a close bond with twin that I don’t with anyone else. For most of my life (and all my childhood), we were on the same wavelength emotionally speaking. Obviously we had put diffrences, but the way we viewed the world and reacted to things emotionally was almost the same. In middle school, we both were struggling mentally, but we understood each other, she felt like the only irl person who truly understood what I was going through, because she was going through it too. To me, our relationship is taken for granted. No matter what happens, how much we fight or bicker, I have never once in my life doubted whether she loved me or not. Her love has always been, and still is, the strongest constant in my life. And even though the way we view the world and act emotionally is no longer exactly the same, she is still the one person I feel understands me the most.
And that’s why, I can’t wrap my head around the fact that Lark did that. How could he have done that. I could NEVER, see myself betray my sister like that. And yes I’m young, and ace (and on the aro spec), so you could argue it’s not the same but like, even if I were allo, I just, can not see myself having an affair WITH MY TWIN’S S.O.! (also I just hate the idea that cheating is just a thing that happens sometimes like, I’m sure there are relationships that recover from that, but come one, seriously it’s so easy to not cheat) The worst part is that I still think Lark loves Sparrow. Scratch that, I know he still loves Sparrow. I’m not good at wording it, but the best example I can think of, is Lark pretending to be Sparrow so that he could fix Sparrow’s relationship with Normal, so that Sparrow doesn’t have a bad relationship with their son. I’m thinking of that person who made a post about how Lark shows love and I wish I could remember so that can point to that, but it mentioned Lark sewing bulletproof into Normal’s suit. Anyway, Lark LOVES Sparrow, and they are each other’s world. The problem is that they’re codependent with each other, which can make them enable their worst attributes, or let them brush things off that shouldn’t be brushed off.
I can’t imagine doing what Lark did to Sparrow, to my sister. Idk how my sister could EVER forgive such a betrayal. I know some romantic couples can genuinely work together to overcome an affair, so I guess that can be applied to platonic and familial situations as well. But still, Sparrow TRUSTED Lark more than anyone else in his life, for Lark to break that that trust, it just… idk. Also, I definitely understand why Sparrow forgave Lark, they can’t lose their only family left. They are each other’s world. Especially after everything they’ve gone through. Tho I will say, I don’t think Sparrow’s just completely over it either. His wife and brother had a fucking affair together. That has to hurt. Plus, there are little lines when referring to Normal that Sparrow’s said that leads me to believe that Sparrow has some unprocessed feelings about the affair pushed deep, deep down to keep peace.
I wonder how much thought Anthony put into to that plot point. Most of the times it’s played as joke but if you think about it for 2 seconds it’s so fucked. But Anthony cares too much about the kiddads for me to believe it was just a joke, like the Hermie’s dads situation. I wonder what made him think this is a thing Lark would do.
This isn’t supposed to be an “I HATE LARK” post. I think he’s a very interesting character, the way he’s reacting and processing to everything that happened in S1 and S2 is fascinating. And just to reiterate, I know he still loves Sparrow. But still, I keep thinking about how do you betray the person who’s your whole world, who you arguably love the most. Or guess, my real question is WHY. What has going on in his head that led him to doing that. Even from a more selfish standpoint, I don’t think Sparrow currently trusts, or will ever trust Lark the way he did pre-affair. And I don’t think Lark is stupid enough to believe having an affair with Sparrow’s wife wouldn’t irrevocably change their relationship.
I wish I could be more eloquent, but I always forget and every time I remember what he did I just don’t know how to feel about it. Idk, I just keep thinking about them. I can’t help it, I’m a latino twin, they were handcrafted for me.
If you have any thoughts on this, PLEASE DO SHARE THEM WITH THEM WITH ME. (also idk if this conversation’s already been had but I haven’t engaged)
Ps: something, something Lark hates himself so much he tries to ruin his relationship with Sparrow because he feels like he doesn’t deserve love, not even from Sparrow. Yah started thinking about it outside my perspective. I can see that being his reasoning, but still…I just, I can’t image actual doing that. But yah, I think I’m satisfied with that reasoning.
#dndads#dndads spoilers#dndads s2#lark oak garcia#lark oak#sparrow oak#sparrow oak garcia#dungeons and daddies#lark and sparrow#dndads oak twins#oak twins#oak twins dndads#my post#sol talks#<- biggest understatement#I don’t follow character tags#has this convo already been had#welp! here’s my take on it!#this is a whole ass essay#I’m sure this was discussed when it was first revealed but I either I hadn’t listened to dndads yet or was engaging with the fandom atm#*wasn’t engaging
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Joel x Tess x Reader Drabble - Just a Happy Crush
You and a friend sat down outside on a nice day in Jackson, peeling some veggies for the communal dinner later. You were both chatting happily as you did your chore, and soon enough, Joel and Tess Miller became the topic of discussion.
"What do you think of the Millers?" Your friend asked.
"Oh, they've always been super nice to me!"
As luck would have it, Joel and Tess were walking up behind you right as you spoke.
"Everybody thinks they're pretty mean and ruthless, which I don't disagree with... but we also have to admit— they’re both hot as fuck."
As you rambled on about your little crush on the Millers, Tess and Joel smirked behind you as they eavesdropped on the whole conversation.
"I can definitely take them, but not in a fight, if you know what I mean~" you giggled, but your friend was dead silent, as the currently-smirking Millers in question were standing right behind you, as you kept peeling your veggies.
“Ah, imagine how embarrassing it’d be if they were with me right now. The first time I ever admit to having crushes, and the crushes in question heard all about it! A cruel twist of fate. I would personally never emotionally recover from that.” You giggled.
"Well that's one way to find out that someone has a lil’ crush on us. Seems we’ve still got it, huh Joel?” Tess chuckles. Joel is trying to not crack up.
Your heart was caught in your throat. "Was that an auditory hallucination… or are they right behind me?" You looked to your friend, who was silent... And tilted their head in the Millers' direction. A bright blush was creeping up on your cheeks.
Joel chuckles. "That's right, just keep doing what you're doing. No need to worry about the old couple right behind you here, huh?" He can't help himself and breaks out laughing.
You turn around slowly as if you were in a horror movie, and the killers were right behind you. "H.... Heeyyyy guyyysss...
Your friend just high-tailed it out of there as you turned your attention to the Millers, without a second thought.
“Hey, where the hell are you going?! You’re gonna owe me for skipping out on your chores, ya bastard!” You scolded, as they almost tripped when they ran away. You sat back down, and you felt a finger trace the nape of your neck, sending a shiver up your spine. You turned back around, and found the couple mischievously smirking down at you.
They thought the way the tips of your ears turned red was real cute… Tess and Joel began to wonder... How much more can they tease you if your reactions are this interesting, from just the slightest contact from either of them? They silently agreed… they were gonna have some fun with you today.
#TESS AND JOEL ARE SO FINE I WANT TO SCREAM IT FROM THE ROOFTOPS#joel miller x reader#joel tlou#joel miller#tess servopoulos x reader#joel miller x tess servopoulos x reader#tess servopoulos x joel miller x reader#tess tlou#the last of us#deivl postingz#trans male reader#x male reader#joel miller x male reader#gn reader#fem reader#x reader#the last of us game#the last of us tv show#tlou
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