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nichuuu · 2 months

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Scatterbrain

Word count: 18k+

They say it takes a village to raise a child.

To raise a girl as fine as Jang Wonyoung, you’d probably need 3 whole villages.

Two of those three villages would be used to train the way she walks because it’s perfect: classy, poised, elegant. The other one would have to work on her outfits because god would she need those. Hopefully the village doesn’t operate a Shein style manufacturing line. She’d hate that.

Her face is the definition of “striking the gene pool lottery”, and so is the rest of her body. Lanky arms and legs; toned, slim tummy; big, bright eyes that glimmer under the flashing lights. Personally, you like her “you’re on camera” smile the most. She knows this, and she always makes it a point to shoot it your way as she struts towards you. She stops half way to get a flute of Champagne, make that two actually, then grabs another. Those long legs can cover one hell of a distance, and they bring her right to you in a matter of seconds.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” she hands you the Champagne flute in her left hand, and the rings on it shine in the light, “cause it’s starting to feel like you’re just stalking me now.”

Of course, it’s the snarky remarks that open the conversation. Jang Wonyoung, airheaded as ever m’lady, and you sip on the Bubbly that she’s very nicely delivered to you. Wonyoung is, of course, a little bit of an airhead in your books (only because she believes that you’re always there for her, nothing else), and it’s never not hilarious to watch her draw her lips into a thin line. It’s not the first time she’s hearing this from you; it certainly won’t be the last. You can’t control where you’re posted to, but you know for a fact that you’ll see her again a couple months down the road.

Cause your meetings with Jang Wonyoung are through pure serendipity really, and you certainly will start calling it that after you read that one story. You know: the one where this guy cheats on his idol girlfriend, who he has a tense relationship with, with another idol that he happens to meet just about everywhere. There’s 0 communication between the two of you when these types of events come around, and neither of you know if either of you will be there or not. Actually, it’s just you really; neither of you know if you will be there.

“Here for Kwon Eunbi again? Or are you finding someone else?” This question of her’s is customary at this point. Never once has it been perfunctory.

“Well, I was actually here to try and catch an interview with Jo Yuri, but I guess you’ll do,” you reply. Wonyoung scoffs—so I’m second place then?—and you have to assuage her oh-so-damaged ego, “you’re making this inference on your own Princess. I never said anything remotely close to that.”

And it’s that smile on her face that makes you want to kiss her really. It’s gorgeous, it’s cute, it’s beautiful. She’s given you that damned smile so many times that you could probably draw it from memory, though you’d definitely butcher it. The dress is certainly doing it justice, and you watch it brush against the skin of her legs as she shifts her weight to the other foot. I’ve never been that good at inferences. You’re far better than me, Prince, and she’s playing with her hair: twirling and untwirling it around her finger. That ribbon atop her head… Her stylist certainly knows their stuff.

“Think I’ll win an award this year?” Her question draws you away from your thorough examination of her. You take a moment to think, and you have to say, it depends, but I think you could definitely get something in some category. She gives you this inscrutable look, and she’s chuckling to herself as she looks at the crowd and sips on her champagne. You can guess what she’s about to say next: quite the crowd today, huh? And you’d reply, “Don’t think that they’re all here for you”, and that would prompt her to shoot back with, “Then who are they here for? You?”.

But of course, when do things ever go according to plan?

“Have you thought about my offer?” she asks, and you’re caught off guard.

Cause here’s the history between you two: Middle school best friends, always kind of inseparable. She was the beauty queen, it girl, and she still is; you were the writer, head of the school magazine, and you’re pretty much writing for the rest of your life. Wherever you went with her, rumours followed—Are they dating? I think they’re just friends. Maybe she’s trying to be the front of the magazine?—but you never thought much of it. It was just a simple friendship to you, nothing more.

Then the kiss she gave you in high school changed it all.

It was a party, hosted by one of your mutual friends. She kissed you, and no, it wasn’t a Spin The Bottle forfeit, nor was it a dare of any sort; it was a sincere, tender kiss in the garden—unprompted, and away from any prying eyes and soft like silk chiffon. You have to admit, the sensation had your brain mired for a minute or so. But when you came back to your senses, you kissed her right back, and things got complicated after that.

No one knew of it; it was your little secret. Wonyoung became closer than ever, and next thing you know, she declares the two of you “exclusive” but not dating. It’s because her agency has that funky dating ban thing, and Wonyoung was desperate to find a loophole, albeit a little complex. Of course, you’re willing to stay “exclusive” with Wonyoung in secret, but you started to worry that it can’t stay this way for long after the two of you get out of high school.

But as fate would have it, your career paths meet at the crossroads, and now you see her every other month or so. You still text her when you can, and the “exclusive” relationship has sustained. Now that she’s an adult and she’s bringing in mad bucks for the agency, she’s informed you of some changes in her contact. From there, the offer was birthed, and you have left it unchecked for the past four months or so, “grey ticked” as she liked to call it.

“You haven’t texted in a while, thought you died,” she continues, leaning on her elbows against the table. “Thank god you’re alive, huh?”

You hoped that she’d just forget about it, but she’s more of a mnemonist than you give her credit for. An award show is the last place you expected to be caught off guard by Jang Wonyoung, but she’s definitely a master of surprise. I uh… I haven’t really thought about it, is a lie you tell her and yourself. She smiles enigmatically, downs the rest of her Champagne.

“Let’s talk about it tonight,” she touches your chest, and it’s soft like silk chiffon, “you know where to find me, Prince.”

She struts off to join the rest of her members, stops halfway to return her Champagne flute, then looks back at you over her shoulder to give you a small wave. You sip on your Champagne as the silk brushes against her skin.

It’s a heavy breath that leaves your mouth, and it’s the rest of the Champagne that goes in.

302.

Gold lettering, black plaque. It’s grand, pretty elegant. Suits her well.

Then the door opens.

In her bathrobe, Jang Wonyoung shoots her “you’re on camera” smile. You’re earlier than expected—she lets you in—Matter of fact, I thought you might not show at all.

And it’s a must to quip back, “thought you’d be asleep by now you big baby.”

When the door closes, it’s straight to work, and here’s how that normally goes: kissing, undressing, foreplay, then finally—fucking. Not that it has to follow that order or anything, but it’s the unspoken schedule that Wonyoung’s written up. God forbid anyone goes against what the princess is comfortable with, not that you’d ever try to either way. Your voice is barely a mumble past her lips—aren’t we supposed to talk about something?—and Wonyoung’s quick to dismiss any queries, “later. There’s always time for it later”.

So it’s the kiss that’s pulling you back into her. Her front teeth capture your bottom lip, pull, drags it back a little like she’s trying to unwrap you like a present. You hold her waist, and with gentle hands, you push her back against the wall. It’s not that you’re trying to get control or anything; you’re just attempting to give her something to work with, a place to rest as she starts to work on the buttons of your shirt.

“Are you already naked underneath that?” you whisper, though it’s more of a drawl than a whisper. In response, she momentarily stops with your buttons to slide a section of her bathrobe away, giving you a good look at a column of her naked, milky skin.

In short: Yes, she is very much naked under that robe.

“Don’t get distracted, my prince. Eyes up here.”

“You’re the one that made me look, princess.”

She’s evidently struggling with the last button of your shirt, and you have to let go of her for a moment to help her get it done. Then it’s off with the shirt, and she flings it against the door for convenience sake. Your belt’s next, and that’s taken care of before you can even say, let me undress you Princess. It does make her hesitate at the clasp of your trousers for a bit. Just for a bit.

“I’d like,” her fingers are moving again, and they’re awfully quick at unfastening your pants, “for you to unwrap me on the bed instead.”

How raunchy of her. Makes you want to try her on.

Your pants fall. Your hand slithers into the bathrobe. Her jaw drops. Wonyoung my darling, and your fingers have captured one of those perky breasts, the right one to be exact. How do you ever—it’s light pressure to the nipple for you; it’s mind melting for her—get away with being such a big slut? Look at you, I’m barely even squeezing here. You’d like to save that face she makes in a supercut of her other memorable faces: eyes wide, mouth agape and her chin tucked into her neck. Frame it up, take a step back, admire it. It’s the face of someone who’s pent up, the expression of a needy girl who’s been aching to get some dick. Maybe if you guys had met a little sooner, she wouldn’t be this sensitive. But now? A twist of your forefinger and thumb is all it takes to draw a cry out of her, a little more pressure is enough to rain hellfire upon her. What a crazy-hot mess she is; only god knows how to clean her up and get her sorted out.

Open mouth straight to your ear, Wonyoung lets out a breathy gasp. In your fingers, the stiff peak rolls between the pads—back, forth, back, forth: motions that make her weak in her knees. It’s with great effort that she pulls your face back to hers, captures you in her quivering lips. Elegance has long been thrown out the window by now, and it’s not going to be returning for quite some time, as if you ever need it at a time like this. She’s barely holding herself up at this point. Where did the prim proper Jang Wonyoung go?

The answer’s in her kiss—gone, dusted, she was here just a minute ago though. She’s grasping at whatever inch of your skin she can find, and her nails are definitely gonna be leaving marks on the sides of your neck. You let out a small, wry laugh as you silently observe her behaviour, watching her implore without speaking, badger without requesting. It’s an art form really, the form of expression for the horny and desperate and bratty. When her hands grip your face and her nails sink into your cheek, you pinch a little harder and relish the pleasant vibrations that are sent into your mouth as she gasps. Her palms press into your jaw, and they’d probably crush it if you press any harder. Her feet patter against the wood as she starts to direct you to the bed. You kick off your shoes together with your pants.

It’s definitely a sight to take in: Jang Wonyoung in a massive king size bed, a thin bathrobe being the only thing between you and that wonderful body being the bathrobe. Maybe if she wasn’t in this state she’s in, she’d gesture to you with a come hither motion, and invite you to remove the fabric from her body. Instead, she opts for a spine tingling mewl, and that’s your invitation to her body. It’s hardly an insinuation; the fact that she wants to be unwrapped like a present is undeniable, she used the word unwrap herself. The bunny knot holding the two pieces of fabric is symmetrical—has Wonyoung’s fingerprints all over it. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s watching you with a half-open mouth, maybe you’d compliment her on her efforts a little, maybe even call her “princess” a couple more times before you properly ruin her.

(But she’s already ruined, ruined by a mere bit of pressure to the nipple. What else can make her tick now?)

Her body is at your mercy and it, quite literally, jerks as you start to pull at the knot, undoing it centimetre by centimetre, millimetre by millimetre, inch by inch. You want to see how long she can watch for, how long she can witness herself be undressed in a painfully slow fashion. Needy as she is, she’s patient as she watches one end of the rope grow longer.

Longer.

“Do you want me to speed this up, baby?” The smirk on your face would earn you a pout from her if her nerves weren’t in a bundle at the given moment.

“W-Whatever you want,” she answers, and her voice is brimming with breathy arousal. How are you getting away with all this? She’d grab your wrist and pull by now if she wasn’t so damn needy right now.

You give a dry laugh. “Then I’ll keep at this then.”

Longer.

“Fuck. Just pull it all the way already.” She looks you right in the eye as she begs you to hurry, and now you can see the need brimming in those large, round eyes, the ones that stare back at you with soft intensity, if that’s even possible. She’s good at mixing emotions into her stare.

“I thought you said—”

“Just fucking do it!”

Slack.

And the knot comes undone, and together with it, the robe falls off to the sides of her body—it’s beautiful. Never have you taken so much pleasure in undressing her, but you sure-as-hell have taken this much time to admire that wonderful, slender frame. From your standing view over her, you get down to her level to get a better look at her. It’s all part of the game of course: the way you look her in the eye, the way you touch her jaw ever so slightly to turn it towards you. The kiss is sickly sweet, and she’s starting to taste more and more like that cherry lipstick you gave her when you saw her some time ago at another event. Into your mouth, she lets out a sonorous moan. Your fingertips brush along her skin, slither down from her collarbone to her cleavage—down to that flushed pink region between her equally flushed thighs. Almost instantly, the tip of your digits are coated in slick fluids, and you raise an eyebrow at the girl on the bed.

“I literally touched you.” It’s amusement permeating your voice more than anything. In the sheets, she squirms in the slightest, eyes locked on your fingers that rest against that dripping heat and breath caught in her throat. You know that if you were to shift your finger in the slightest, you’d trigger a chain reaction that you have no power over. Her legs would clamp, her abdomen would tense, her eyes would roll. In the midst of it all, she’d maybe scream, or maybe she’d moan; either way goes. As far as you’re concerned, she’s needy as fuck at the moment, and she’s not going to let anything stop her from cumming.

“Yea, well… I can be sensitive.” Her defence is hardly a solid one, more of a perfunctory reply. Her head’s far from able to formulate a quip to throw back at you; that ability went out the window together with classy Wonyoung. “Put them in.”

You go against her request, and your fingers start to skirt the edges of that swollen, pink slit of hers. A crime—you’re going against the princess’ wishes, but realistically speaking: she can hardly be called a princess at the moment, so why comply?

A portion of the bathrobe is still clinging on to her breast. You use your other hand to push it away, and the split second of contact makes her flinch. “Jesus. You’re so fucking turned-on right now,” you can’t help but muse, all while your fingers retrace te outline of her swollen lips. She’s shivering, she isn’t breathing quite right. “Do you want to moan, baby? Do you want to moan like a good little slut for me?”

And she fixes you with a glare. “F-Fuck you… Put them in.”

No “please” this time. Shame. If she were more polite, you would’ve obliged; now you’ll just have some more fun with her.

Your thumb finds the swollen nub, and a little brush is all you need to get her straining like a psycho in a straitjacket. What will I ever do with you Wonyoung?—and she’s getting wetter by the second—You look so pretty when you’re so needy, you know that?—why would you ever, for a second, think that she’d be as refined as the last time? She doesn’t play with herself when she needs to get off; she waits till she sees you again to get off on your cock, your fingers, your mouth. Sexting was off the table, she wants you to be physically there, driving her insane as she lets herself come undone.

“You know,” and you’re almost laughing as you watch her face twist even further, “that I could do this forever right? I could just lie here, tease you for as long as I want… Or maybe that’s what you want?

She’s messy, so fucking messy. Juices are starting to soak the bed—you can feel it as your fingertips round the bottom of her slit. Housekeeping would certainly question the spot, and the two of you wouldn’t be there to reply anyway. Her cheeks are flushed, the veins of her throat are popping. It takes a considerable amount of effort to stay this composed, but you know that she’s breaking more and more. With each round your fingers make, cracks start to form along that perfectly sculpted face. The fine lines on her forehead begin to show as her brows start to furrow. Strained sounds are coming from her throat as the urge to moan is slowly winning the battle against her will. She wants control, but she can’t have it when she’s a wet, hot mess next to you. She’s being bratty for the sake of it. Your fingers are your leverage against her. It’s killing her. It’s delighting you.

And just like fine China thrown against concrete, her will shatters.

“Please! Put them in!”

And your fingers stop just at the top of her pussy. It feels like a long minute, but she isn't about to take another second of this. Her thighs clamp against your arm. Her fingers wrap around your wrist in desperation. She begs again. And again. And again. And again, again, again. The bed starts to creak as you start to move your fingers down her lips, down to the very end of her cunt.

God is she dripping.

“Will you moan for me?” you drawl huskily. A finger, two, three rest themselves against her heat.

“Yes.” There’s barely any of her original self left in there. “Please just—”

The fingers breach her opening. She screams, a high-pitched, keening cry. The noise makes your cock strain in your boxers, and you have to grit your teeth as her inner walls wrap tightly around your intruding digits. A moment of stillness comes, a moment where she’s just breathing raggedly, struggling to process this pleasure that’s racking her body faster than she can comprehend. She’s a ticking time bomb of nerves; the slightest movement in this state could send her into perdition, and she’ll barrel past that point of no return faster than both of you can imagine. God, she’s sensitive. God, she’s a mess.

The chuckle that departs from your mouth is one of perverse pleasure. “Baby,” you whisper, right into her ear as she struggles to catch her breath. She squeezes her eyes shut, and you watch with a grin as her chest rises and falls. The grip on your wrist is a vice, knuckle-white and unrelenting. She’s begging you, with her eyes, to start moving, and you have to tell her, “I can’t start till you let go of me, baby.”

And it’s with reluctance that she slips her hand off your wrist, but that hand won’t stay empty for long. You guide it to her own breast, and with a soft whisper, you tell her to squeeze. She’s servile. She complies without protest. Her eyes slowly open themselves, and you relish the way they’re lust-glazed appearance looks under warm light while her breaths level themselves out. For a moment, there’s calm. For a moment, it’s tender.

Then your fingers start to move. All hell breaks loose.

Everything she did to calm herself quickly becomes futile; it becomes undone as her back arches in a way that catches your breath in your throat. Your fingers graze her walls, pressed into each other as they slowly draw in and out of her. And mind you: you’re going slow, slow enough to make her feel every bit of your fingers brush against her insides. But it’s enough to make her curse, enough to get her mewling like a damn kitten while her hips start to rock, rubbing her clit against the base of your palm. There’s no way to describe how needy she looks; her want is beyond words, and you’ve barely even started. Three fingers is the most you’ve ever put inside her. Clearly, it’s working wonders for her.

And now you yourself have to admit: you’ve wanted her for some time now. Since the last time you saw her, you’ve fantasised about that slim tummy twitching, about holding that snatched waist once more, about those long legs wrapped around your neck while your tongue and fingers turn her into a pliant plaything. For weeks, you’ve wanted nothing more than pulling Jang Wonyoung apart, reduce her into a withering mess wherever you guys are and get her screaming till she’s sore. You can’t even begin to describe what you’ve done with her in your dreams, nor can you ever convey how it feels to desire her as much as you have. So, you put all of it into action, sordid sentiments channelled into your fingers that are making those cute features twist and contort in perverse pleasure. She’s rambunctious, and her juices are quite literally soaking your hand, spilling the strongest sillage of lust all over the bed.

“Why do you always have to be so fucking messy?” You’re really just trying to see how much you can get away with at this point, though the answer seems to be: just about everything. Your fingers start moving faster. You love the way her cheeks are starting to flush even more. “Are you always this wet? Or is it just for me?”

The squelching is lewder than you can ever imagine. The sound of her slick, wet heat being breached by your fingers is enthralling. Add the sounds she’s making into that and you have the ultimate erotica audio that can bless mankind. She’s panting, she’s moaning, she’s whining—she’s doing it all really, and you’re just using your fingers. God knows how she’ll react once you’re inside of her, rock hard meat stretching her out instead of a few fingers fiddling around in warm walls.

But hey, the sounds she’s making are ever so erotic, and she’s definitely making your blood flow to all the right places. She feels out of place; you can’t put your finger on what’s wrong in this whole thing. It’s probably a small detail, something you’d overlook over the sight of her chest heaving as air shoots out and gets sucked back into her mouth, her whole body straining and convulsing against the bed while you get a thumb on her clit and rub at a languid tempo. Probably something miniscule, not worth mentioning because all your attention is focused on the look on her face (you want to mess up the makeup so badly it’s almost frustrating). And no, you’re not trying to make her cum in five seconds; she’s just really riled up—bundle of nerves and trigger happy. Probably hasn’t been treated this way in a while, probably hasn’t had three fingers twisting around, sliding in and out of that tight wet hole slow enough to make her feel every bit of skin against her walls; fast enough to make her combust if you were to speed up, in, like, forever.

“I–I…” She’s quite literally mewling, and the sharpness in her voice is so cutting that it makes an incision in a bag inside you that’s keeping all the perverse thoughts at bay. The thoughts are leaking out now, and it’s almost impossible to stuff them back in. You want her against the glass: tits against the window and ass in your hands while you pump and pump and pump into that slick tight hole; you want nothing more but to pick her up and have her lock her legs around you, tight frame flushed against you while you nail her against one of these walls that surround you; you want to unhinge that jaw and watch that pretty mouth—now parted to let the stream of moans flow—take your cock in and out between those kiss-swollen lips and watch the drool leak out the corners of her mouth. Shit. It’s killing you. Jang Wonyoung, dolled up. She’s killing you.

(No way in hell are thighs meant to be this hot, and lips are not supposed to look this delicious. Yet Jang Wonyoung somehow goes against every fucking norm, fights it naturally and effortlessly and wins like a seasoned warrior. So just for her case: her thighs can be this hot and flushed, and her lips can look this fucking appetising. You kiss her; it’s sloppy, it’s lewd, it’s hot and everything in between. Mark her neck, mark that row of skin above her right collarbone, mark her everywhere. Cusses are flying—god forbid her agency finds out about the things hse says while she’s getting fingered. She's making a mess out of herself. She’s making a mess out of you.

Fingers, just fingers and she’s already looking like this: hair fanned out, frazzled, looking like she just went through a car wash and yet somehow has her make-up intact. Fuck. You want to watch the mascara run, watch it streak while she tears up as she’s choking down cum and she’s struggling to take in air. Pretty little princess, messy and glacially being turned into some improper slut. It’s hard to not smirk while you ruin her with the same fingers you use to type articles about her—fingers that sing praises and can also make her moan enough to make her throat hoarse.)

The rhythm of your hand makes her body roll. Her toes–painted over, fresh manicure—curl into the sheets. Doe-like eyes stare back at you, plump red lips part to gasp your name, throat muscles strain trying to curse and moan at the same time. The fingers are gliding in and out and in and out and she’s begging you to not stop (like hell you ever would) in those choke up little sobs while she’s—

Oh fuck baby I can’t I can’t I can’t — Anything. I’ll do anything. Please just let me cum. I’m so fucking close baby. Please just let me fucking cum. I’ll be a good girl. I-I promise I’ll be a good fucking girl for you just… Fuck!

—blue screening on your fingers: lost in the sauce or whatever. Pliant plaything, docile doll. You’re certain she hasn’t gotten off in at least a month if the way she’s taking it is any sort of yardstick. She’s far beyond drenched, far beyond salvation and way off the deep end of the “needy” pool—drowning herself in her own sea of sighs and gasps and moans and loose phonics that slip out of her mouth. Ostinato of your fingers squelching in her cunt; half time rhythm of the creaky bed; melody of the chorus of Jang Wonyoung’s voice—music to your ears.

And there’s lots to unpack from the moment you locate that soft spot at the top of her pussy. There’s a lot of cussing, a lot of jolting, a fair amount of whining and your name is thrown somewhere in that mix. You find her lips, she kisses back, one of her hands grabs your arm, nails dig in and stay there. Flurry of actions, filthy language—fucking hell, someone stop her.

Bottom line: lots of action. You find it congenial to start from the part where it quite literally ends her world. Once your digits curled up into that sensitive patch of flesh, it was all over for her.

You can pinpoint the exact moment where the orgasm rips through her body, the exact moment where her muscles seized so perfectly that her back arches. The pulse around your fingers is strong, walls tight around your digits and your thumb gently rubbing on her clit while the pleasure rolls through her body, molten iron libido converting the feeling between her thighs to electricity that makes her short circuit. The moan is breathy if anyone’s asking, and the look on her face—twisted, perverse satisfaction: superimposing need and want—has a whole foot over the line of pornographic. Wires are fraying in her head, her vocal cords are strained, she’s ruining the sheets with her juices; you’re complicit in every damn part of this, and guilt is the last thing on your mind.

Then her back falls back flat against the mattress, and the sheets ripple as her body makes a dense thump against the bed, punctuating the sigh she releases into the air. Nerves are unbundling themselves. She’s sweaty and panting. Your fingers are beyond soaked.

“Messy,” you muse, slowly drawing your juice slicked fingers out of her cunt. You bring them to her mouth. She languidly tastes herself, sweat-darkened sheets hugging the muscles of her shoulders and lining her ribs. She looks so tiny in the bed if you looked over the fact that her legs were dangling over the edge of the mattress, and that’s easy to do once you lean in for a kiss.

(It’s not hard to slip your tongue into her mouth, and there’s barely any fight left in her as you roll her nipple between your index finger and thumb. The sweat-matted hair sticking to her forehead adds a nice touch to her face.)

“Such a good girl.” Your tone is warm as you praise her, and a hand moves to cup her cheek in an act of tenderness. Her eyelids flutter shut. She puts the weight of her face into your palm.

“Do I get my reward now?” she whispers, and it’s more of a plea than a question really. You take a moment, not to think, but to drag out the suspense for a little more before you give her an answer. You take guilty pleasure in knowing that you could keep her on tenterhooks for the whole night—the only thing stopping you is the throbbing of your cock in your boxers and the look of sheer need on her face. If you could: you’d drag this out a little longer, maybe tease her a little and call her more names. You still could do that, but you’d much rather fuck her instead.

“Where do you want it?” your thumbs hook into the waistband of your boxers and hook them down. Your cock springs free from its cottons confines, and Wonyoung’s eyes instantly dart to it. She may be a little obsessed with your cock, but only a little when she’s depraved (which is right now). Before you can even react, she has your shaft in her hand, lanky fingers wrapped around it and pumping it with considerate strokes.

“I want a big load in my ass.” she requests, far from innocent and banking more towards improper, which seems to be a pretty big theme of hers tonight. “I’ve been wanting to feel daddy’s hot load leaking out of my ass for a long time…” The strokes delivered to your length grow firmer and firmer by the second. “Please?”

The spikes of pleasure her small hand delivers to your system is really making it hard to say no at the given moment. Of course, she’s well aware of it, and she’s definitely feeling so damn smug right now. And so with a very clouded mind, you nod. She smiles smugly, unaware that you’re about to fuck that smug little smirk rig of her pretty face. Conveniently, she’s already on her back—it’ll make the process so much easier.

“I take it that the lube is in your bag?” You raise. She grins and nods.

Sure enough, you find it in the exact same place as it usually is: side pocket, right next to her lipstick. You toss it towards her and move around her, slip her ankles over her shoulders. She lies still, unmoving and obedient as her left calf goes past her head, then her right. You lean forward, and she gasps as she's almost bent her completely in half. She’s flexible; this position won’t bring any harm to her, but it is congenial to ruin her asshole and leave her sore for the next day or so, which is exactly what she wants, but probably not how she imagined herself getting it. She cracks open the lube, and with precision, squirts a generous amount of it on the tight ring of her ass, making eye contact with you all the while as the clear liquid gathers at the puckered ring of muscle. The tube is discarded to a side when she’s done, and she uses her hands to spread her asscheeks for you, inviting you to take your liberties with her hole.

“Come on Daddy,” she urges you. “Come fuck this ass,” she continues, her hands spreading her ass cheeks even wider as you start to line yourself up with the tight ring. “Wreck this fucking hole Daddy, I can fucking take it.”

To hear her say those words was almost enough to have you cum right there and then. You press the tip of your cock at the open, gaping hole of her ass, swirling it around the entrance, collecting more of the copious amounts of lube around it. She was generous with the amount of lube she dispensed; you're about to be generous with the strokes you're gonna make inside that ass.

(She yelps when you slide inside her ass. God does it feel so fucking divine.)

She is so tight and wet and hot that you think you could’ve cum with your first thrust inside her. Her pussy was tight and hot, but her ass was even tighter and even hotter. Even though your cock was slick with lube, it did close to nothing to keep the sheer tightness of her asshole from clenching around you like it was a really small glove. It wasn’t the first time you’ve been inside her ass, but it sure as hell felt like a novelty every single time you entered that tight ring of muscle. Fuck. The heat, the tightness—sublime. You think you could cum in a matter of seconds if you didn’t have self control.

“Go!’ she hisses, through the pain and discomfort. “Fuck me. Fuck my ass!”

You would have been happy to stay there, buried balls deep in Wonyoung’s ass, but her own words goad you into moving—slowly at first, but with a steadily increasing pace, you begin to fuck Wonyoung’s ass with long, slow strokes. She hisses—part glee, part discomfort—as your shaft starts to pump itself in and out of her ass. You draw yourself out till only the base of you tip remains inside of her, and then you thrust back in, hard, hard enough to make her yelp out in pained pleasure while she grits her teeth and watches your rock hard shaft fill her ass. It's a perverse show for her, and it brings you a sort of dark satisfaction in knowing that past all that discomfort she’s feeling, she loves the way your cock stretches her out and fills her defenceless little hole.

With her ankles over your shoulders, you’re practically spearing yourself vertically into her ass, fucking her deep and making her feel every inch of your throbbing meat inside of that hot, tight hole. Every penetration is punctuated by a deep, guttural groan from Wonyoung, sometimes a curse, or something along the lines of: fuck. So fucking full. You know for a fact that the pained sounds you hear now will turn into airy gaps of pleasure once she gets used to the discomfort, and that she’d probably be a mewling mess by the time you reach the stage where she can take you in and out of her ass with only pleasure in her system and no pain. For now, you’ll settle with the pace you have—slow, long strokes in and out of her ass while she squeezes her eyes to block out all sensations distracting her from enjoying the sensation of her ass being filled with cock. You have to admit that she’s doing a great job at it, and your praise vocalises itself in the rather harsh form of, “what a good little slut.”

(And here’s something interesting you noted: never once in this whole thing did she ask you to stop, nor did you ever think about stopping to let her adjust. If this was anyone else, you would have given them a moment to breathe upon entering, and you certainly would be checking on their wellbeing throughout it all.

Thing is—the two of you know her too well to know that you could only dream of stopping once you got started with her, and it could only end in two ways. 1) You cum in her. 2) You cum on her. Edge her and you’ll never get the end of it, you would know. The last time you pulled a stunt on her like that, she left you tied to a chair with a vibrator taped to your cock till you were begging and a cummy mess. It wasn’t pretty. She could dominate if she wanted to, but she preferred to be a manipulative brat instead.)

It’s not long before she’s desensitised to the pain, and your slow pace is not enough, no, not for Wonyoung. Next thing you know it, she hissing for you to go faster, fuck her harder—I told you to fuck my ass Daddy. Don’t hold back on me now—and deeper. She swears, all three languages that she knew strung together shabbily like they were put together on some shitty production line and thrown out at random—and while you made little sense of the sounds coming out of her filthy mouth you knew what they meant.

Harder. Faster. Rougher.

Then you fuck her ass. Hard and fast.

You almost surprised yourself with the liberties you were taking, drilling in and out of her butt with the same speed and depth that you would use with her mouth and pussy.

“Yes!” she shouts—a loud, full shout. “Yes! Fuck me like this! Pound me, fuck me until you cum in my slutty little ass!”

You grunt in reply, because it was all you could do. The faculties of human language have long since abandoned your grasp and ability, and nothing else exists in your mind except the thought of filling her tight, hothole with warm, white semen. Her eyes lock with yours and you only find that they’re full of need, nothing else (not like she’s capable of displaying any other emotion at the moment). The rest of you, every fibre of your being, was focused on pounding Wonyoung’s tight little hole as hard and fast as you possibly could. Her ankles bounce helplessly behind your head, her knees press into her shoulders and her breath is ragged; sweat drips off your forehead and onto her tits, and your hot breath mixes with hers as you struggle to keep yourself propped up with your arms.

In short: the two of you are sweaty and messy (one more so than the other. Take a pick, not sure if there’s a prize for guessing right), victims of lust and slaves to pleasure. You blame Wonyoung just because you can.

For a few delicious moments, there is absolutely nothing in the world aside from the tight hot sheath of flesh around your cock, the warm flesh of her legs against your shoulders and the strands of sweat-slick hair that fly just about everywhere, all topped with the lewd, filthy, obscene words spilling from Wonyoung’s mouth. For a few delicious moments, she feels nothing but the feeling of her tight hole being stretched and used by the cock that turns her face into a wrought outlet of pleasure while she lets filthy words and exclamations spill from her lips.

Try as you might, you couldn’t have it last forever. Not when you were already so turned on from watching her writhe and twitch under your fingers. Not when the sheer, pure pleasure overwhelming you was more than enough to cause you to cum at any moment.

And when she orgasms for the second time, her ass tightening exponentially around you—there is little you or anyone else could have done to stop the inevitable.

“I’m gonna cum in your ass, Wonyoung,” you hiss through gritted teeth, your lust and pleasure-addled brain on the edge of losing all comprehension.

“Cum with me! Fill me!”

And so you do it, burying yourself hilt deep inside the quivering woman’s asshole before filling it with the last of your cum, giving her every last drop you had left in your body, leaving rope after rope inside her sore, well-used, cum-filled asshole. You almost black out, and you quite literally have to dig your nails into the sheets while Wonyoung’s own orgasm takes over her body, making her twitch and her ass contract—milking every last bit of cum from your throbbing, twitching length till it was nothing but a dry, hard rod inside of her creamy asshole.

There’s silence that is punctuated by both of your ragged breaths. She looks at you, you look at her. And the two of you can’t help but chuckle at the mess you’ve made of each other. You want to remember the way her nose wrinkles as she teases you, “you fucking animal”, and you want, so badly, to burn the image of a sweaty, weary Jang Wonyoung, folded in half beneath you like she was a piece of origami paper, panting and gasping as a fresh load of cum spills out of her ass.

It takes energy, but you bend down and kiss her, letting her sweaty calves slide off your equally sweaty shoulders as you do. She’s satisfied, for now, and she pulls you down next to her on the hotel bed with one hand and gathers the cum leaking out of her ass with the other.

“Look at this,” she whispers, and your eyes train themselves on the pearlescent, sticky, slimy, fluids that run down from her fingertips slowly. “You made such a big mess inside my ass,” she chides before bringing her fingers to her mouth and sucking your cum right off her fingers like it’s a delicacy. “Now I have to clean all of this up. You’re lucky I like the way your cum tastes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Um… Ew?”

Wonyoung smirks and gently nudges you with her left foot.

“It’s okay,” she tells you, all smug and everything. “I know you love the way I taste too.”

* In the dark, her small hand creeps around your torso and grasps yours.

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” She’s whispering right into your ear, and it’s a sensation you want to be able to hold on to for the rest of your life. “I know your eyes are open.” The feel of her small fingers rolling the knuckle of your index finger sticks itself in your head like a post-it. “ I can hear and feel you tossing, you know?”

Okay. No dodging.

The sheets stay still as your shoulders turn. You roll over, face her, and you really just want to capture the way the night lights paint her face: doe-like eyes reflecting glimmering pools of moonlight, warm yellow light painting her cute-yet-so-fucking-gorgeous face in a manner that not even Van Goh could copy, lips parted slightly as if in mid speak. She’s right there—you can kiss her if you really want to.

“Are you still mad at me?” She asks, tender with her tone. “I know that I fucked up, okay?” You can tell that she’s not even trying to look pitiful at the moment, but the way her face is sculpted really makes you want to just hold her to your chest and stroke her hair. Sincere are her words—heart heaved into her mouth. “I don’t blame you if you’re still mad. It’s your right. But… Just hear me out? Please?”

If you were mad, you wouldn’t have let her hold your hand the way she was now. If you were mad, you would’ve pretended to be fast asleep; ignore her pleas and just close your eyes and fall asleep. Alas, you can never stay mad at her for too long.

“I was… Never really angry, Wony.” Your tone is a lot softer than you would ever expect, but you know it’s because you probably needed this talk more than she did. “I... I’m sorry if it came across that way.”

And she studies you for a moment, lets the sound of your breathing fill the space as she furls her upper lip into her front teeth, and it’s a perfect moment for you to try and understand what’s happening in her head. She’s a complex creature really; understanding her is like finding a meaning that everyone can agree on when you look at abstract art.

Down below, you can still hear the cars moving through the street. Billboards and screens are still on, and from the window in your bedroom, multi-coloured lights filter into the room past the blinds like moonlight through bamboo leaves. The sheets you lie in are fresh, and they feel nice and smooth against your skin, and they smell like roses. The mattress creaks a little as Wonyoung shifts her weight, and you have to admit that you’re half-drunk on the scent of her shampoo.

“You must have been scared,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I got really emotional. I… I shouldn’t have walked out. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know how to reply to that. Not now at least. Maybe it’ll come to you the next morning.

You give her a sweet smile. You hug her to your chest. You want to remember how she feels in your arms.

The gentle trickle of water down the arch of her spine is really something—a steady stream flowing down her back, running over the muscles of her shoulders, the curve of her breasts and fraying at her plump ass. You can’t remember the last time you showered with her, but you certainly remember the view being this good.

In the shower of room 302, Jang Wonyoung lets the warm water hit her skin from the rain shower nozzle. Her hair—wet and freshly shampooed (and conditioned)—sticks to her back. Creamy skin glistens, small beads of water affix themselves to random parts of her body, stay there for one or two seconds, then roll down in streaks, almost as if they too were admiring Wonyoung’s well-sculpted figure.

Slim fingers grasp locks of hair. She lifts and looks over her shoulder, the whisper of a grin on her face as she shoots a beckoning wink. “Are you gonna help me soap my back? Or are you just gonna keep staring at my ass?”

“Don’t you have to, like, turn off the water first?” you ask, and you already know what she’s gonna say, but you just want to hear her say it. For memory sake.

“Mmmm.” Her humming as she ‘ponders’ reverberates in the shower, floating over the sound of water from the shower head falling to the floor like rain. “No… Adds to the atmosphere, don’t you think?”

Ah. There we go.

“Then could you at least step back?” you request. This shower is comically huge—long length, breadth about the same length as your arm span. In the space, she looks so tiny, but you know for a fact that she could probably walk to the other end of the shower in a stride. You’re not one to disregard the facts, but you do like to live with a bit of imagination.

Wonyoung chuckles, low and sonorous. She pushes her hair over her shoulder, then—painfully slowly—walks back till she’s out of the stream of water. Water wastage is the last thing on her mind. She stops when she feels your hands on her back, and she looks over her shoulder, expectant. You move your hands and the soap lathers as it’s spread. You start from the centre of her back, rubbing gently in the section where the muscles of her shoulders meet and working your way outwards and upward to her shoulders. Then it’s down from there, your palms moving in small circles and covering every inch of skin.

“You’re good at this,” she mutters, watching with intent as your hands start to trail to her lower back. “Maybe you should’ve been a masseuse instead of a writer.”

“Uh… Patronising much?” You chuckle, watching as her back muscles twitch a little when you apply gentle pressure. “The pay’s about the same,” the soap makes patterns across the area above her ass—spirals of foam that stick to her skin like styrofoam flowers. “The hours are probably the same… But I don’t think I can live on rubbing someone’s back really hard. I Think I’ll just save this service for you, but only for when we meet.”

Humored, Wonyoung offers a giggle, high pitched and cutting above the sound of water striking the floor tiles. She shifts her weight to her right foot, making her body slant a little. Her skin is soft under your palms. Your hands are going lower and lower, slowly spiralling towards the curve of her ass that’s literally just a centimetre away.

“You know…If you take up my offer, you can do this for me everyday.”

Your hands slow to a stop. You raise your head a little to find her searching for your gaze over her shoulder. “Oh?”

“Yea.” Her voice is low, like a mother trying to persuade her child to eat their vegetables. “Every night, we can be like this: you soaping my back, us chatting… Doesn’t it sound wonderful?”

Your lip furls behind your front teeth. “Yea… It really does.”

And in her gaze, you sense her sensing your apprehension. “What’s stopping you from taking it up then?”

(For context, here’s the deal proposed by her company: the two of you go public with the relationship, get clout for the company, and Starship will let you lead your lives together—no qualms, no disturbances. She can visit you whenever, live with you, appear outside together with you like it’s a regular Tuesday night; you get to date the girl you fell in love with all those years ago for real. Only issue: once you get the last stroke of your signature out on the contract, you practically agree to blurring the line between your private and public life. Press will be all over you like ants after you step on their nest, you probably won’t get to enjoy a cup of coffee in peace, everyone will suddenly want to curry favours with you… Was it worth the sacrifice?)

You find it hard to meet her eyes, and so your gaze affixes itself on your hands. It’s not like you don’t love her or anything, but your apprehension makes you feel like shit. It shouldn’t be this hard to say yes, yet the idea of selling your life of privacy to live a life with her makes you screech to a halt at the crossroads. Sometimes (in these moments), you wished that you didn’t always make decisions with your head and your heart.

As the shower continues to run, Wonyoung slowly turns around. One hand finds yours, the other gently takes you by the chin and raises your eyes up to her. She’s tall, and the two of you are staring eye to eye; same height, different trains of thought.

The hand on yours guides you to her breast. Eyes locked with yours, she lays your palm flat against her tit. The skin beneath your fingers is slippery, but it doesn’t remove any of the familiarity from the sensation. Then she squeezes, and the flesh spills out between your fingers like putty. She gasps—airy.

“Don’t you want me?” She whispers, and it’s raunchy more than anything. It isn’t aggressive, but it’s certainly blurring the line between demanding and caring. “Don’t you want to be able to fuck this pretty little pussy every night?”

She’s really far from home base. “Wony…”

“Don’t you love owning me?” She’s squeezing harder. Her knee twitches. Sopa’s spilling out of your fingers. You’re certain that you’re gonna mark her. She doesn’t care. “Don’t you want me all over you? Every night?”

“It’s not that Wonyoung.”

“Then what’s on your mind?” She’s not prodding for an answer, nor is she trying to demand a reason for your silence. She wants to understand you, to internalise what’s going on inside your head. You have no reason to lie.

“Will it all really be okay?” you ask sincerely. “My family, my life… Will… Will it all really be…”

She understands where you’re coming from (if the relieving of pressure around her own breast is any indication), and she’s starting to tune herself to the frequency of your worries. “If you’re wondering if you’re gonna be harassed—you won’t.”

“Yea but—”

“I promise you: I will do everything I can to make sure that you will be safe. You and your family–if so much as a finger is laid on any of you, I will quit.”

“Wonyo—”

“No one will intrude on you. You won’t have to live with the flashing lights. I give you my word: I will make sure that everyone who wants to invade your privacy will leave you alone. You and your family will all be left alone.”

If it’s possible for sincerity to ring clear, Jang Wonyoung has absolutely made it happen. Sweet like honey; she’s left you feeling like you had a spoonful of it. And just for good measure, she steps closer and repeats once more: “I promise.”

Considering that your hand was at the left side of her chest, this was really a “I swear. Hand to my heart” type of deal (whether it’s intended or not is purely up to your discretion).

And as you gaze into those eyes, you want to remember the way she gazes at you softly, gently, tenderly. If it weren’t for your hand on her tit, you would’ve considered this one of the more tender moments you’ve shared with her. Not that it’s not or anything… Just that it’s a little hard to call this a loving moment when you can literally feel her nipple poking into the flesh of your palm at all times of the conversation.

“Are you sure you won’t land yourself in trouble?” you ask her, and she’s quick to scoff.

“Of course. I make too much fucking money fo those higher up fuckers to not listen to me,” she reminds you.

Well… Then that settles about everything then.

“Okay,” you tell her. “Okay… I’ll do it.”

The corners of her lips play up in a smile. She leans in, kisses you—no tongue, closed mouth—and lets the hand keeping yours at her breast fall. Long arms wrap around your waist and she pulls you close, flushing her tight frame against your body. When lips part, she whispers a soft I love you, a sparkle in eyes that lingered for a moment.

But only for a moment.

Then—without you noticing—her hand snakes down and grips your rapidly hardening shaft, and she squeezes. This time, the line between demanding and caring is clear as day, and she’s chosen to play her ball to the court of demanding. With a gleam in her eye, she begins stroking with her closed fist, and she pumps your stiff length at a slow but steady rhythm, adding an occasional twisting motion to her wrist, corkscrewing her fingers around your cock, increasing the pleasurable shocks she was sending through your system with each pump of her hand. It was almost like she wasn’t the sweetest, loving girl in the whole world just two seconds ago.

“Jesus fucking…” You can’t even finish your sentence. Your teeth grit. Your fists clench. It’s hard to breathe. “Maybe… A little bit of a heads up next time?”

She smirks proudly, watching as you tilt your head back and let out a groan. “Where’s the fun in that?” And gently, she pushes against your chest, guides you to the wall. When your back presses against the cool tile, she presses herself against you. She leans in, hot breath on your skin, and then the feeling of her lips against your jaw almost makes you yelp. She kisses a path down your jaw, paves a way towards your neck to get cheeky: sucking, nibbling, licking the skin of your neck while she keeps the movement of her hands slow and considerate. The shower continues to run.

Do you know—she breaks contact with your skin for just a second—how fucking horny—her breath’s tickling your ear, sending shivers down your spine—you make me?—and she squeezes a little harder around your shaft, not enough for it to hurt, but enough to feel you throb in your hand and make you gulp a little. She starts going faster—jerking, fucking pumping your length in her closed fist, and it’s almost impossible to keep your eyes open; your eyelids flutter shut. Your head rests against the wall, a sigh slipping past your lips. It’s filthy really—down from the way she catches you off guard to the way she makes your skin sore after she’s done feasting. Almost every interaction with her in a private space is as X-rated as this; it’s hard not to get into a situation like this around her. You know: a situation where the two of you are naked and getting really touchy and actively trying to get each other as many times as humanly possible.

“Fuck yes baby…” you rasp, your nails starting to eat into your palms as she the sound of her hand sliding up and down your dick starts to cut above the steady stream of water. With each rise of her hand, the pad of her thumb plays with the head of your member, and when it sinks down, she twists her wrist in a screwing motion. Rinse and repeat; up and down and up and down and fuck. “You’re so fucking good at this.”

She hums in reply, and she has your earlobe between her teeth the next second, nicking you mischievously, sending small pricks of pain shooting through your system as she adjusts her grip on your cock without ever breaking her motion. Next thing you know, your tongue is inside your ear, and she’s leaning in so close that when you open your eyes, you’re practically looking over her shoulder, looking down the curve of her back that glistens with moisture and soap bubbles.

“I love this cock so fucking much,” she whispers, a bit of a hiss in her words as she takes the head of your cock between her forefinger and thumb and pinches lightly. “It stretches me out when I need it.” her fingers start to trail down your slipper shaft, letting the smoothness of her palm rub against your whole length, “fills me when I want it.” She’s milking the precum out of you, making you all leaky and squirmy as she starts pumping faster. “And it’s so fucking big that I can choke on it. You know how much I love being choked.”

She chooses that last bit to make eye contact with you, and she’s practically served you what she wants next on a silver platter. The next move is clear cut and simple; no words need be spoken. You were going to fuck her—and you mean properly fuck her—with a hand wrapped around that small throat. How you were gonna do it was still a mystery, but you figured that it’d slowly come to you, but it will definitely be related to the mirror and the sink outside and the mirror in front of it. At once, you reach over to the handle of the shower, and you turn it down to the handheld showerhead mode. Wonyoung bites her bottom lip, perverse glee painted all over her face as you use it to wash the soap off her back. She’s watching, waiting, probably drenched down there and aching to be stuffed full of cock.

She’s almost shaking with excitement as you finish washing all the soap off her body. You’d hardly consider her clean, but it won’t hurt to hop back into the shower again once you're done with her. The shower door swings open and you’re cupping her pussy, dripping wet while stumbling out with her, lips locked on hers and her hand on your cock as you push her against the sink of her hotel room. From the moment her mouth opens and let the moans pour out while you rub her clit to the moment her hand leaves your cock to cradle your face, she’s practically radiating need from the pores of her skin. You can’t help but playfully remark, “you’re such a fucking loser”, while your thumb thumps against her clit and sends pleasure tearing through her system. Weak in the knees, she holds on to you for support.

And the moans (those fucking hair-raising moans), they tumble out of those plump lips like marbles down a ramp, and they mix with the sound of your lips smacking against her skin as you start to leave a trail of kisses down her neck, doing to her what she did to you in the shower; you give her a taste of her own medicine, and the way she’s titling her head back to let you mark her freely makes it almost seem as if it’s the intended outcome of her actions. It’s like she knew that you would get back at her, and it wouldn’t come as a surprise if you ever find out that she gets off on knowing that she can manipulate you in her own bratty ways—get you wrapped around her finger and have you doing all the things she wants you to do without having to tell you. Not that you have something to gripe about it, but you’re just so amused (and that’s just one word to describe how you feel) by how she goes about her ways.

“Come on,” she manages to whisper, all while you’re busy sucking on the skin just below her collarbone till it’s sore. She has a lot of pride in her voice for someone who’s quite literally quivering. “You know you want to fuck me. Give me a good creampie again.”

You lift your head for a moment, and you take in the look of almost childlike excitement on her face as your hand finds its way to her throat. It’s perverse excitement, that lewd exhilaration of knowing that she was about to get what she wanted, and albeit a little messed up, it was pretty hot in its own way. When your fingers gently wrap themselves around her throat, you can feel every muscle in her body tense in anticipation, as if she didn’t get enough from the bedroom earlier.

“Up on the counter baby. Let me see how messy you are down there,” you whisper.

She knows what to do, and she has herself propped up on the counter and engaged in open mouth kissing. She doesn’t need you to tell her to spread her legs, and she definitely doesn’t need you to tell her how cute she sounds when your fingers slip inside of her, feeling around the mess you’ve made of her and coating your digits in her fluids. Your index and middle finger are slick with her juices when you retract them from inside her, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“Messy as ever,” you muse, making a show of sucking her juices clean off your fingers. She’s sweet and borderline tangy—a taste that you’re accustomed to, and you will never get tired of it. She’s biting down on her lower lip, the skin wrinkling under the pressure of her front teeth as she makes a sound that’s close to a purr.

“You made the mess.” She has her eyes locked on yours as you raise an eyebrow, prompting her to follow up after her first statement. Not that you didn’t know what was coming, but more that you wanted to gently coax it out of her, because it was so fucking hot to hear what she had to say next. “You clean it up.”

And you’re more than happy to oblige. She watches you with intent eyes as you sink down to your knees, waits with bated breath as you lower your face till the glistening, pink folds of her pussy are right in front of your face, flushed thighs around your ears. Her excitement is almost palpable, and you can hear the sharp inhale she takes when your palm finds its place on the inside of her left thigh, pushing gently to give you better access to her heat (you’re really just trying to drag out the tension if you were being completely honest with yourself). You lick your lips, lean forward till your mouth is hovering above her slit.

“You better moan for me this time,” you tell her, and you’re making sure to make your breath hit her slick as you speak. “You have such a wonderful voice. Put it to use.”

Praise mixed with the slight hint of authority—it’s enough to make her nod furiously and implore you with doe eyes to just get on with it. With a smirk, your lips find the swollen nub at the top of her entrance. You suck on it. Hard. And almost at once, her thighs clamp around your ears and her hand is on your head, like it’s some sort of natural instinct for her when you’re eating her out. Keeping to her word, she cries out—keening, whiny and ever so fucking bratty, and it’s the the holy grail of every wet dream. Nothing in the world could bring you more satisfaction than that shrill, airy cry she lets out when the pleasure ripples through her body, and you’re just getting started.

Your mouth opens and your tongue flattens itself against her folds, (She tastes so good. You want all of it, all of her) and you drag it up her folds, deliberately, painfully slow as you start to lick up that wet cunt. Her back arches; you can feel her struggling to keep a hold of your head; she throws her head back and lets out a gasp; her thighs clamp down a little harder around your head. The pleasure in her system builds up with the slow movement of your tongue, only rising and rising as you lick from the base of her slit to the mid section to the top. When the tip of your tongue flicks her clit, it's almost like an explosion, enough for her other hand to join its pair atop your head, enough to make her cry out in a perverse plea, “Daddy, please!”

(For the record: she’s wanted this from the moment you guys stepped into the shower. She’s willingly turned herself into some pliant little plaything, and she’s probably getting off so hard to it. Frankly, if she wanted to order you around, you’d be up to it, but this is what she prefers.)

And nothing else needs to be said really. You put your whole mouth on her—relishing the shiver that runs up from her thighs up to her body—and get right into making a wreck of her. You lick, you devour, you ravish her: working your mouth on her pussy, lapping up the juices that spill forth from flushed lips with broad, sharp strokes that make her body grow taut and her legs quiver. You tongue her clit, lick up sweet fluids, make her messy and needy and hot in all the right areas till she’s drilling her nails into the back of your scalp and pushing your face against her sweet slick. In half whispers, she tells you just how good you make her feel—oh Daddy I’m so fucking wet!—and you feel a dark part of yourself be fed by these lecherous words—Oh god oh fuck I’m gonna fucking cum if you keep… Fuck!—that leave her half-parted mouth and linger in the air, reminding you of just how wanton she is and how you’re the only person in the world she ever wants to fuck and be satisfied by. You’re hers; she’s yours—a relationship with Jang Wonyoung that any guy would kill for.

“Daddy—” she gaps, her voice a whole octave higher than it should be as her nails turn into claws at the back of your head. “Fuck I’m cumming. Daddy I’m cumming!”

The pulsing of her pusy against your tongue grows. You continue licking, lapping. One stroke, two strokes—three. She moans, blue screens. You hazard a look up.

Nothing else matters. Only: the sight of that back arching off the marble counter, her thighs around your head trembling and quaking as her hips roll and her mouth parts in a silent scream. You’re certain that there’s blood being drawn from the back of your head, but you're more certain that she’s got enough heat in her core to melt molten iron but a lack of breath that makes her gasp for air as you lick and lick and lick your way into her. You can feel her orgasm getting closer by the second, it’s in her breathing, and in the way her hips are practically thrusting her into your mouth.

And just like the bathrobe from earlier, she comes undone—falls apart and ceases to keep control of her body. She tenses, her thighs go rigid around your ears. Her breath is caught in her throat, her eyes are closed. You stop your work, admire the way she glows as her body twitches and her face twists. Pleasure rips its way through her muscles, her nerves—splits her very being in half as the orgasm rolls through her system. She’s beautiful, and she’s a messy work of art that you’ve created.

You rise to your feet as she winds down, and her hands leave your head to rest on the counter while her body struggles to process the aftermath of that orgasm. It’s not the first time she’s cum for the night, and it certainly won’t be the last. Her eyes open, and she instantly locs them on you as you brush back some of the hair that sticks to her sweat slicked face. You take her hand and give a gentle tug, and she slips off the counter obediently. You grip her jaw—tenderly but rough enough for her to like it—and tell her to turn around. Servile, she obeys, and in the reflection of the mirror, she watches as your hand snakes its way to her throat and grips it. You’re not squeezing, not yet.

“I’m gonna fuck this pretty little pussy now,” you drawl, gripping your shaft in your hand and slapping it against her slit. The contact makes her shudder, but she remains silent as you place a kiss on her cheek. “Your face is gonna be so pretty when I choke you and fill you.”

“Yes Daddy.” Her reply is a whisper, a borderline drawl that’s airy and raunchy and makes your hairs stand on their ends. She’s looking at you through the mirror, plump lips slightly parted and eyes glassy. “Own me. I’m yours, forever.”

And you’re all too happy to hear that from her.

You slip into her, hilt yourself inside her in one swift motion.

(Tight. Hot. Wet. So tight.)

She lets out a sigh, low and sonorous, harmonising with your own groan as you press her against the edge of the counter and make the fingers around her throat squeeze. The sound that leaves her throat is the sound of her sigh being truncated, and it delights that dark part of you. Being inside Wonyoung was otherworldly, as it always was, but here, in the bathroom of her hotel, on the night where you’ve agreed to seal a deal with her, she felt downright heavenly. She squeezes her walls around you, her body thankful for the sensation of being filled by cock, if the intense tightness and slick wetness were any indication; she looks over her shoulder and bites her bottom lip. And when she has your gaze, she mouths something.

Fill me.

The silence is deafening, but it’s all you need to hear.

When you withdraw your glistening shaft for the first time you relish in the feel of her walls gripping you, not wanting to release you—but just as quickly they welcome you back inside as you penetrate her again. Soon you are pumping in and out of her at a slow, steady pace, her soft gasps turning quickly into long, drawn out moans as she is fucked against the marble. Her hands steady her body against the counter, her back arched in a way that lets you get a wonderful top-down view of her breasts as they roll together with her body. It’s a concerted effort, but she makes it seem effortless.

“Be honest.” With the hand around her throat, her voice sounds a little hoarse. It’s hot. “Do you think about this, Daddy? About fucking me like a good little slut?”

“Wonyoung,” you reply, speaking through your gritted teeth. “You have no,” and you punctuate the sentence there with a deeper thrust into her tight slick, a thrust strong enough for her to let out a strained gasp. “fucking idea…”

(In the mirror, you watch as she curls her lips into her mouth and tilts her head back into your shoulder, like she’s submitting her whole being to you and letting you take liberties with her body. You take the invitation, and your free hand finds itself on one of her soft mounds and gives it a squeeze—rough but tender enough to elicit a low moan from her throat that makes your hand around it vibrate pleasantly.

At the given moment, she’s doing all she can to make herself a pretty little fuckdoll for you, doing her best to encourage you to treat her rough, treat her like you own her. She wants nothing more but to feel the rockhard meat penetrating her tight little cunt stretch her out and fill her the way she wants, all while she’s begging and pleading obsequiously while being obsessed with your cock. It’s a lot to take in for her for sure, but she gets off on it, and you get off on it too—the fact that she’s being all needy and pleading just so she can implicitly tell you to fuck her till she’s raw and can’t fucking walk the next morning. The fact that she’s actually in control while being such a bottom. Bratty manipulation.)

“Then fuck me Daddy,” she tells you, almost pleading. “Use this pretty little pussy. I want it. I fucking need it.”

With her invitation to do more with her body, you’re more than ready to do what you’ve intended to do from the very start. You increase your tempo, and before long you are truly fucking her, drilling in and out of the tight hot warmth of her body with quick, deep strokes. With each stroke you don’t pull out more than halfway—you concentrate instead on pumping hard and fast, getting as deep as you could inside her given your standing position. She takes it well, like she was made for this. In her world, this was what fucking looked like, and it was the only definition that she was going to live with and she’d take it to the grave. She indulges in the roughness, the almost animal-like way your cock fills her again and again and again, all while she encourages you with cries and moans and sighs that are music to your ears.

And a notion hits you: she’s going to make you fuck her till she’s the only thing you can possibly think about. She’s going to draw out every single primal urge within you, make you want her like she’s some form of drug and you’re the abuser, and then she’s going to get exactly what she wants—your cum in her pussy. You can’t let her win like that, you can’t. You can tell that to yourself now, but you’re not sure if you can remember it later, not when she practically reeks of the strongest possible sillage of sex.

Her pussy throbs around you, pulse strong and just a beat behind your thrusts as you thrust yourself in and out of her slick walls, filling her up and drawing yourself out before filling her up yet again. Pure filth spills from her mouth, expletives, sordid sighs and cries and any sound or word that comes to mind. She's a quivering and squirming mess, and from the mirror you enjoy the way she’s almost writhing in against the counter. Ample breasts bounce with each thrust that shocks her body, and it’s almost hypnotic if it weren’t for the fact that that pretty face was stealing the show. The face that was marvelled, the face that was the source of jealousy, the face that was on the face of so many magazines and posters and adored by millions, if not billions—scrunched up, improper and so fucking lewd that it looked like it belonged in a porno instead of an idols face, and you take pleasure in the fact that your cock is ruining the face of a princess, turning her dissolute and so fucking needy that she was as good as a fan begging her for an autograph. This side of her was reserved for you, and only you—her duality is reserved for your eyes only.

Her body is slick with sweat, rubbing against your own sweaty torso while her body rolls together with your thrusts. “Fuck—” you’re saying, but it comes out as more of a growl than anything given how hard yur teeth are clenching. Your fingers squeeze tighter around her throat. The slightly reduced airflow at her throat causes her pussy to clench even tighter around you—and the added tightness brings succulent pleasure to your mind that makes you think you’re going insane. You probably are at this rate. “This pussy. It’s so fucking good baby.”

Her reply is a strained gasp, but you get the gist of what she wants to say. She wants, so badly, to tell you how good your cock is making her feel, how well it fucks her, how well it fills her and stretches her and how it’s her favourite thing in the whole world. The squelch of your cock filling her pussy is loud, but not loud enough to drown out the smacking of skin against skin as you press more of your weight against her, pushing her a little more into the corner of the counter and a little more over the line of pathetic. She moans in response to your actions, and it’s telling you: fuck. Harder. It’s better when it hurts.

And you can feel her juices leaking down the back of her thighs, wetting your crotch and making the smack of skin against skin louder than ever, almost as if it was an announcement: I’m being fucked like a good little slut and I love it. She doesn’t know what she’s doing to you,and for clarity, it’s something along the lines of turning you absolutely feral with her moans and the divine tightness of her pussy that makes you want to cum on the spot. Okay,maybe she is cognizant of how crazy she makes you when you fuck her, but you barely have the capacity to think, let alone rationalise wether thai girl in your arms that your chocking and fucking feel smug in knowing that she’s driving you insane.

Oh and she loves it when you play with her tits. The way you fondle them is almost aggressive. Scratch that—it’s really fucking aggressive. You’re slapping her tits, leaving red marks all over the milky white skin and pinching and twisting the stiff nubs atop her breasts, all while she mewls and cries out in that strained voice that makes you throb even harder inside of her wet walls and makes you grit your teeth like your a dog waiting to chew on a bone.

“D-Daddy,” she pushes out, past the fingers that close her airways and past her groans and moans and sighs. “Harder.” And your thrusts are starting to cut her off, but she has more to say. When it comes out, each word that she spits out is punctuated by a thrust of cock into her pussy, and it’s the hottest thing you’ll ever hear.

Fuck.

You thrust deep inside her.

Me.

Your cock drives itself deep into her, slicking itself with her juices.

Harder.

And if words could linger in the air, hers certainly would.

You fuck her hard, and fast, and deep—hammering her into the counter, nailing her defenseless pussy with a pace that you would have thought was rough and callous were it not for the fact you knew this was exactly how she wanted it. All she can do is hang on, grasp onto the counter with a knuckle-white grip with her hands as you take your liberties with her body, fucking her as hard as you can, as deeply as she can take it. The cups on the counter shake, the toothbrush inside one of them shaking under the force. It’s loud, but you hear none of it. You hear only the sharp sighs of pleasure that leave Wonyoung’s lips, and the wet slap slap slap of your crotch as it hammers her cunt again and again and again, your cock drilling her, pounding her, making her yours if you weren’t already doing that.

It takes a little long, but the haze of lust parts for a moment for you to realise that you're getting closer and closer to getting what she wants out of you. While the thought of burying yourself inside of that quivering, pulsing pussy to let it milk every last drop of cum from you is ever so enticing, that small part of you that wants to own her pushes you to fight against the urges. Not that there’s any harm in giving her what she wants, but it’s just that you don’t want to reward her bratty, manipulative tactics. She knew for a fact that she could tie you up and ride you over and over till you were dry—she’d done it before. But instead, she’s chosen to fulfil her needs in a less direct manner, maybe for fun or maybe just because she felt like it.

“Yes,” Wonyoung hisses, spit flying into the mirror and her palms slipping on the counter. “Just like this Daddy.” And she’s making sure to make eye contact with you through the mirror, letting her eyes do most of the talking. If anyone’s curious, the look she gives you is saying, I’m your good little slut. Fuck me. Use me. Fill me. Please, and it's nothing short of hot and tethering far over the line of lewd. At this point, neither of you are in a state where you're capable of coherent thought, nor are you capable of thinking about anything else except each other’s bodies and the wet, lewd squelching of cock filling Wonyoung’s pussy. It goes on and on and on, a cycle of your hips hammering the back of her legs and your cock spearing deep into her cunt. She takes it so well, drinking you in hungrily, coiling around your shaft like a snake as if it was begging for you to stay in her forever. The sight is enough to make your balls tingle and your toes curl, and your hand around Wonyoung's throat tightens to the point where the only thing that can leave her lips is a groan as her airflow is reduced.

She’s tighter, hotter, wetter. Her pussy fits you like a glove, moulding around your cock as it pumps in and out of her at a pace that you had no idea you were capable of. The hand around her neck is nothing but an outlet of pleasure for you, and she’s loving it. “Such a good girl,” you mutter, watching from the mirror as her mouth slacks and opens while she’s being pumped full of cock. “You were made to take Daddy’s cock, weren’t you?”

Her equivalent of a yes is a sharp, strained groan—an amalgamation of phonics and whatever sounds the lack of air flowing to her throat permits her to make. She’s so fucking messy down there, and your cock is sliding in and out of her with ease, aided by her slick juices that coat your shaft and let it disappear and reappear from between her legs with ease. The motion is almost graceful if it weren’t for the fact that it was a sordid one, and you take a moment to admire the way your shaft glistens in the light of the bathroom while you fuck her the way she wants it: rough, hard and tethering over the edge of callous. If it weren’t for the hand around her throat, she’d be making herself hoarse with all the moaning she’d be doing.

And the hand around her throat is bringing her so much pleasure, if the way her pussy squeezes around you when you choke her is any indication. She wasn’t lying when she said she liked being choked. While she didn’t like gagging on your cock, she sure as hell loved it when your fingers clasped around the muscles and made her gasp. She liked the sensation of being deprived of air, be it when she was riding or when she has her kness buried into her shoulders and was being fucked into the bed like a slut. You were always afraid of hurting her, but when she shots you that look, the one that says, come on, you can do better, you know that she’s getting exactly what she wants, just the way she likes it. It was just a matter of how hard you squeeze around her throat before she either cums or passes out, though the latter has rarely happened before the former.

“Daddy!” she chokes, and you know exactly what she’s about to say next. So you release her throat from her grasp, bunch a lock of her hair in your closed fist and you pull back. Her eyes squeeze themselves shut. Her back arches deliciously, her voice now free to finish shat she’s aching to announce. “I’m fucking…”

You never expect her to finish her sentence. Wonyoung’s eyes open, and a gasp leaves her open lips. Her walls, already vice-like, tighten so hard around you that you think you might come there and then. You feel how close she is.

“Fucking cum for me, Wonyoung. Cum around my cock like a good little slut.”

Wonyoung does as she is told—and the quivering, trembling orgasm she experiences is almost frightening in the way it overwhelms her body, turning her into a wet, hot mess. Her pussy tightens and pulsates, her fingers claw against the marble counter, and her entire lower body shakes violently, as though she had lost control of her nerves and muscles. For a few beautiful seconds she is utterly overwhelmed by the sensations, until finally she slumps forward in your grasp, breathing heavily.

It's good. It's so good, but it's not quite enough to get you to your finish. Not yet.

(And if anyone’s asking: it’s not that the sex isn’t good. It’s mind blowing, amazing, and whatever word that can be used to describe “fucking incredible”. She’s hot, so tight and fucking soaked down there. You’re horny, throbbing and on the verge of filling her full of your seed. But you’ve said it before and you’ll say it again—you’re not rewarding bratty manipulation. As tempting as it would have been to simply pound her from behind until you gave her needy pussy the load of semen she so desperately wanted, you knew that there was something even better that you could do.)

You pull out of Wonyoung, your shaft glistening under the hotel light. Her eyes are wide with shock as you withdraw yourself from her body, pulling her away from the counter—but only enough to have her lean back against you and not stand up completely. Her mouth opens to say something, but she's interrupted when you turn her face to you and kiss her. She moans into your mouth, and you swallow it, your tongue slipping into her mouth and massaging her own, lapping at the roof of her mouth as her tongue swirled around your own. You bite her lower lip, and it's not rough, but enough to get her attention. When her eyes flutter open, you whisper, "I'm not finished."

She nods, and you relish the disappointment in her eyes. You turn her around, push down gently on her shoulders. She goes with the motion, and you're not sure if you can ever get over the image of Wonyoung on her knees with her pretty little face staring at you with anticipation. You think about fucking her face, letting your cock thrust into the back of her throat over and over and over till you finally bury yourself inside and cum down her throat, but that would just be a repeat telecast of every other night with her. Spice things up; give her the liberty of creativity with your cock.

And of course, Wonyoung perfectly understands what has to be done. You step up to her. She parts her lips and takes your cock right into her mouth. Grasping the base of your cock and pumping it with one hand while she gently cups and squeezes your balls with the other, Wonyoung quickly launches into a hard and fast blowjob, taking the top half of your cock in and out of her wet mouth with a rapid pace while her fingers work your shaft in a corkscrew motion, just like she did in the shower. The suction of her mouth is almost lethal, and the audacity she has to look up at you while she takes your cock in and out of her mouth is so exhilarating that it makes you weak in the knees. Your hand finds a clump of her sweaty hair, and you close your fingers around it, holding them in your fist. No, you weren’t going to push her head down onto your cock; you had to give her the space to work on her craft.

And of course, she exceeds every expectation out there. Your eyes shut involuntarily, your brain unable to handle any sensations beyond the wet, hot cavern of Wonyoung’s mouth sealed tightly around your shaft with tight, soft lips. With the first entry into her mouth her wet tongue is pressed tightly against the underside of your shaft, lathering it with her spit. With each subsequent entry her tongue becomes more adventurous, beginning with quick swipes left and right on your shaft with each entry and ending each exit with a swirl of the tip around the head of your cock. While she tastes herself on your cock, letting her juices mix with saliva, her hands work in perfect concert with her mouth, one joining her lips at your shaft and pumping up and down, a twisting motion to her wrist while her free hand works gently with your dangling balls, fondling them with considerate fingers. She plays with them softly yet hastily, her fingertips working their magic between the sacs with expert attention.

You are content to stand there with your eyes shut, simply enjoying the feel of your cock pumping in and out of her mouth at a fervent pace, but a small part of you knew that you had to see it happening in order to truly believe it was all real—and so with a not insignificant amount of self-control, you force eyes open to watch the spectacle unfolding between your legs. Black locks bob up and down frantically above your cock, doe-like eyes glazed with pure lust staring right up at you as her cheeks hollow and her jaw unhinges even more to accommodate your length.

It all becomes too much, and it hits you all at once—having her pump your shaft in the shower, eating her out then fucking her—and you quickly find yourself nearing that inevitable peak.

“Fuck, Wony—” is all you manage to say before your orgasm overtakes your world.

Wonyoung releases your cock from her mouth a split second before you erupt, shooting long, thick strands of hot semen all over her pretty little face. Her face glazes over in pleasure and you are all too happy to watch as strand after strand of cum lands on her cheeks, her pretty little nose, and finally her open mouth and jaw. You watch, through half-lidded eyes drunk with pleasure, as the thick streams of cum flow down her face, dripping onto her upper chest and those perfect breasts of hers. Her face is flushed and her mouth open, as though she herself was on the verge of orgasm (she probably was, and she was going to make it your problem as soon as she got your cum off her face).

You want to remember the way she wipes your cum off her face with the back of her hand, how she licks it all up like a cat licking its own paw before moving to clean the stray strands of cum off the tip and sides of your cock. You want to remember how she rises so gracefully even though she was a sweaty mess, and how she gently takes your hand and guides you back into the shower for another clean up.

And back under warm water, you want to remember how she kisses you, and how she whispers, “next time, I want that big load in my pussy.”

“What?”

And it’s hard to meet Wonyoung’s eyes as you set down the papers from the doctor. You can feel her confusion, her frustration, her rage from across the dining table in your apartment. It isn’t pretty. Nothing about this situation is.

“It’s a neurological disease,” you tell her, all while you’re looking at the MRI that’s in the middle of the table. You’re really just regurgitating what the doctor told you—it’s the only thing you have the capacity to do right now. “They ran their tests. They told me what I suspected. I’m losing my ability to read and write, to understand language. In 2 years—give or take —I won’t be able to express my thoughts. I’ll be spouting gibberish. What people say, what I see — on pages, street signs, everywhere — they’ll all be unintelligible to me.” She’s silent, and it unnerves you in every way possible. You haven’t even gotten to the worst part of it all. “My mental competence will deteriorate. I’ll have to live off a tube cause I’ll forget how to eat and drink. Dementia will follow shortly.”

Now would be a great time for her to say something, anything to break this silence. But she is silent, unmoving and reticent in her seat from across you. You have no choice but to gulp and deliver, in your personal opinion, the worst part of it all, “By the time I forget how to breathe I… I would’ve lost all my memories by then.”

She chooses the moment after the last word leaves your mouth to pick up the MRI scan and look at it.

“So… Everything we’ve built up till now will just… Disappear?” she whispers. She sounds hurt, scared and everything in between. You bite your lower lip.

“Yes.” There’s no point sugarcoating it, it’s inevitable anyway. Face it now, sulk later… You think that’s the best way to deal with this piece of news. You hope that the matter-of-fact tone of voice that you’ve chosen doesn't betray how frightened you are by the prospect of losing everything you know. “We can’t stop it. It’s in my genes.”

She sets down the scan, and when you look up, you see the tears flowing down her cheeks and it makes you want to cry as well.

She stands up, shoulders her handbag and walks towards the front door.

“Where are you—” you begin. “I’m going somewhere else to think,” she interjects.

When she slams the door behind her, you feel like you’ve let her down in so many ways. There’s a burning in your chest that you can’t describe. The first hot tear rolls down your cheek, and you let the rest that well in your eyes flow down without resistance.

You don’t want to remember what it feels like to be helpless—the emptiness, the rage, the sadness, the confusion is all so overwhelming. But you figure that you’ll have to feel it again at some point down the road.

Might as well figure out how to cope with it now, when Wonyoung isn't there and you're all alone with your thoughts.

When you awaken later that night in your bed in the apartment, it takes you a few moments to determine whether the soft, slim body climbing atop you is real or part of some wonderful dream—but the familiar warmth of your girlfriend, and the soft, pleasant smell of her hair, convinces you that this was all real.

Wonyoung places soft kisses on your neck and jawline, before moving to your mouth and kissing your lips softly. You are still only half awake, but your senses and instincts take over, and you find your mouth welcoming her kiss and returning it with one of your own, your hands moving to either side of her hips and finding, to your surprise, that there was only bare skin there and no clothing.

“Wony…” you begin, as she deepens her kiss, her lips pressing more firmly against yours.

“Shhh,” she answers, “please. I need this. I need you, right now. Please.”

She’s suddenly reappeared after walking out on you, and you have yet to process the slew of emotions that have come your way. Part of you wants to stop her, to talk things out with her so that you could: a) figure out if she was still mad at you and; b) verify that she wasn’t drunk. But the part of you that formed the majority of your conscience knew that she needed comfort as much as you did, and that she needed something to assuage her and make her feel like everything would turn out alright. So you find yourself relaxing underneath her, letting her scent fill your nostrils as her tongue dances with yours.

She straddles you, and your hands begin to run up her naked body, up from her slim thighs to her chest where the ample mounds sat proudly, her nipples erect and stiff. She isn’t wearing any underwear, and your fingers brushing against the slick of her pussy is enough to verify that for you. She’s naked atop of you, kissing you like you just confessed your love to her or like you’re about to go on some mission and never return. It’s not lustful, but it’s full off passion and aims to soothe not stir.

She breaks the kiss. Her eyes flutter open. In the dark that is pierced by the street lights of the city, you want to remember the way her eyes glimmer and shimmer as she breathes heavily. There’s no alcohol on her breath, and from the way she’s cradling your face, you can infer that she’s not mad at you in the slightest.

“You okay?” she whispers, and her tone is soft and warm, like that time she spoke in the shower of her hotel about signing that contract with her company so that the two of you could officially start dating. It’s been some time after that, but you still hang on to the way her words made their way to your heart. “I didn’t mean to startle you if I did.”

You respond by nodding, and it’s enough to convey: I’m alright. You brush away the hair that falls in front of her eyes, and you really want to remember how silky smooth her hair feels in your hands.

“What are you doing?” you ask her, making sure to keep your tone as warm as her own. She blinks, goes silent for a moment, then answers, “I’m making amends.”

She holds your gaze, you hold hers. The staring contest ends when you gently pull her in for another kiss, and you want to remember how she softly moans into your mouth while her thumb, smooth and tender, caresses your cheek.

When the kiss breaks again, her hands snake their way down to your sweats. You assist her in removing your shorts—a very clumsy affair: tangled hands and arms and lots of chuckling. But your cock does finally spring out from your boxers, the ones that have been discarded in the corner of the bed, together with her clothes. When it’s all done, you have the pleasure of witnessing the sight of her slim frame straddling you once more, long legs surrounding you on either side of your thighs while she peppers kisses on your chest.

“I’m sorry I left you to deal with… Everything. Alone.” she begins, “I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that… I’m sorry. I hope you aren’t angry”

And from your lying position, you lift a hand to cup her cheek. “We can talk later.”

She gets the message, but bends down and kisses you nonetheless. You’d probably have trouble falling asleep later in the night, and she’d wake up and you’d have this same conversation again. You’d rather have it later than now, not when the wound is still fresh.

Wonyoung lets a soft smile play on her lips. You are slightly aware of her raising her hips, her right hand finding its way between your bodies to grasp your wet, erect shaft, and line it up with her entrance. She breaks the kiss for the third time that night, searches your eyes for approval to continue with this. Was it make up sex? You didn;t know if it was for sure, but it sure as hell felt like it. What you do no for certain is: you’d like to experience this now, and you want to etch this in your memory for as long as you can before it fades with the rest of your mind.

You give her the slightest of nods, and you feel the head of your cock press against her wet, tight opening. Slowly, carefully, Wonyoung lowers herself down onto your shaft, your cockhead parting her tight lips to impale her pussy. She gasps loudly as she impales herself fully, and she opens her eyes slightly to match your gaze. You brush stray locks of hair away to reveal her face fully, and you bring her mouth back to yours to kiss her deeply. As your tongues duel, she begins to raise her hips, drawing your shaft out of her body before lowering it once more, and soon she has found a soft, slow rhythm as she rides you, grinding her warm, tight body against yours.

She raises herself upright and lets her hands rest on top of your chest. You’d like to save that face she makes in a supercut of her other memorable faces: eyes closed, lips slightly parted and the wisp of a smile on her lips as she rocks her hips. From where you lie, you watch as Wonyoung takes you in and out of her body with soft grinding motions, riding you slowly, enjoying every entry and exit of your shaft as it fills her over and over in slow, tender strokes that make her shiver. You watch as your shaft appears for a split second or so before driving back into her, each disappearance accompanied by a soft spike of pleasure. As always, she’s letting moans and sighs and gasps tumble freely from half-parted lips as she takes you in and out of her slowly, rocking her hips with innate grace and elegance. All you do is let your hands rest on her thighs, moaning softly to encourage her as she rides you lovingly, tenderly, a far cry from what you’re used to when it comes down to sex with Jang Wonyoung.

Through the night, your cock glides in and out of that perfect pussy, elicits moans and gasp and sighs and cute little cusses when you hilt yourself deep inside of her and tug a little at her hair. Her hands were always active, sometimes caressing your chest, sometimes on your jaw, sometimes behind your head as she snaked an arm behind your head to keep you locked where you were just so she could sneak in a kiss. You came in her mouth, her ass, her pussy. She came on your fingers, your cock, your mouth. She cussed a lot, almost passed out once or twice. You cussed a lot two, and you caught her when she almost rolled off the bed (the two of you laughed for a minute about that situation before you ended up spooning on the floor, her leg in the air and your cock pumping in and out of her while she had your back to you and your face in her right hand).

Bottom line: it was wonderful, wonderful make up sex that ended with both of you sweaty and panting and wanting more from each other but you guys just don’t have that energy to keep going. It was a novelty for both of you, and you wanted to remember just how special she could make you feel, even in the impurest of acts.

The flash of the polaroid camera is almost blinding, but you power through and keep your eyes open. Like a child that’s seeing snow for the first time, Jang Wonyoung watches excitedly as the polaroid emerges from the slot in the camera, and she’s all too eager to grab it and lay it face down on the coffee table in your apartment.

“I thought you’re supposed to shake it?” you ask, watch as she fiddles with the camera for a little bit before she snaps a selfie with her newest purchase. She gives you a look that basically translates to, “uh, are you dumb?” and waits for the next polaroid to emerge from the slot before she launches into her lecture.

“Shaking the polaroid to make it develop faster is a myth,” the way she sounds so official and everything is so cute. You can’t help but smile a little as she sets the other polaroid down. “It shifts the pigments and blurs the photo, but an idiot like you would need a genius like me to tell that to you.”

The remark is clearly meant to be biting, but it’s nothing short of hilarious to you. “When did you become a camera nerd?”

“Ever since I got this,” she lifts the polaroid camera up and hits you with that you’re on camera smile. “Maybe I should do an ad for this brand. Increase their sales, you know?”

She leaves you to think on that and retrieves the first polaroid she took: a picture of you and her on the couch of your apartment. Not the grandest first photo, but hey, a memory is a memory, and you really are just focusing on cherishing those at the moment. As she leaves the couch to clip the polaroid onto the photo rack (a bunch of metal wires on a metal frame with wooden clips to hold photos) she just set up, you grab your journal next to you and flip it to the page you wrote on a few hours before. With your pen (that you now carry around just about everywhere with your journal), you scribble down a new part of today that you want to remember. It was her idea to journal down everything you wanted to remember.

The entry goes right under the one about Wonyoung’s new camera.

She looks so happy with that new camera. Bet she’s going to go back to the dorm and show it off to all of her members because she’s a fucking child. I hope that…

And you trail off in your writing, What you wanted to say was just on the tip of your tongue just a second ago. Why can’t you remember it? It was literally just in your head a minute ago…

No.

You shut the journal. It makes a soft yet substantial thud as the leather cover slaps against pages. You place your pen in your pocket, set the journal back down on the couch and stand up to walk towards your girlfriend, who is currently adjusting the angle that the wooden clip holds the polaroid at. She senses you walking up to her, steps aside and makes a space for you to watch her struggle. You would offer help, but you know that it removes half the fun for her when you do something for her.

She fiddles around a little more, makes a couple of grunting sounds under her breath, curses a little, and next thing you know, she exclaims, “tada!” while pointing at the first occupant of the photo rack. You roll your eyes, throw an arm over her shoulder and look at the slightly blurry photo within the white frame.

“With the camera,” she tells you, her tone soft and warm like… Like… Fuck. “I hope that we can help our memories live on. Sounds pretty deep huh?”

You can’t help but chuckle in agreement. You take a moment to stare at the two faces that occupy the space in the polaroid, and you hope to God that they will never, ever look foreign to you. It’s a futile prayer, you know, but a glass-half-full mentality is the best chance you have at not spiralling out of control.

Wonyoung lays her head on your shoulder, silent and all sentimental as she closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath. She lets out a shuddering sigh, and you know that she’s trying not to cry, cause in this situation she’s the one that will end up hurt at the end of it all. You’ll forget the pain of forgetting; she’ll remember the pain of being forgotten. It sucks, but it’s just the way it is. You hug her, hold her close and stroke her hair. You don’t want to forget what she means to you, what you mean to her.

How many more polaroids left till it all ceases to matter?

____________________

Hello! Hope you guys enjoyed this fic. I'm a bit rusty so this one might be a bit funny, but hopefully the style of storytelling I chose didn't fuck you up too bad. Non-linear storytelling will be the death of me. Also: I kinda didn't edit this one too much. My bad hehe.

This was really more of a PSA to cherish the ones you hold close to you, because you never know when they will just disappear. Love the people close to you, cherish them forever.

~Lots of love Nichuuu

#jang wonyoung #wonyoung smut #ive smut #ive wonyoung #kpop #fanfic #writing #smut #nichuuu #ansgt

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branded-rose · 9 days

Text

Adam bolted upright in bed, a shout on his lips that dropped off as his wings shot out, smacking his lieutenant in the head and nearly pushing her off the mattress.

Lute met the rude awakening with all the urgency it deserved, springing up and drawing her fists in front of her defensively as Adam let loose a string of profanity.

She quickly drew up the blind to let light into the room before she darted around the bed; her eyes scanning the room quickly for signs of danger even if she knew there shouldn’t be anything.

It was Heaven. What threats would there realistically be?

When she was satisfied she returned to the bed, about to ask her superior officer what sick joke he was pulling when she stopped.

Adam was pale, his hands trembling as he brought them up to wipe cold sweat from his brow. A string of curses still fell from his lips, albeit strained.

She tentatively reached a hand out, placing it gently on his shoulder.

“Uh… Sir?”

Adam flinched, turning his head to meet Lute’s concerned expression. He forced a smile and shrugged, trying his very best to play the whole thing off.

“What? Just a nightmare. Geez you’re acting like we’re being attacked or something. Relax.” He forced a laugh and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

“I don’t get nightmares, Sir. When you wake up screaming, what else am I supposed to think?”

“Heh… right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his shoulders dropping as he exhaled and looked up at the ceiling.

“You’re lucky then. Cause they SUCK.”

Lute fell silent a moment, examining Adam closely. It wasn’t often she saw him so… uncertain. So shaken. Even in times he was unsure of himself he covered it up with bravado.

She scooted closer, pushing on his shoulder to encourage him to turn so she could realign some of the golden feathers in his wing that had dislodged when he’d struck her.

“What was it about?” Her fingers very delicately and precisely moved over the wing, sliding the feathers back into place and easing any discomfort. Something that was visible as she watched Adam’s posture relax.

“Just human stuff. You wouldn’t get it.” He ran a hand through his messy hair.

“You haven’t been a human in over a millennia.”

“Yeah well-“ He rubbed the back of his neck. “-that stuff stuck with me. I guess.” He shrugged, waving his hand.

Silence fell between them, Lute uncertain how to respond and Adam lost in his thoughts.

The former finished straightening up his wings, noticing how Adam’s eyes were beginning to droop as he stared into space.

She got up and closed the blinds, allowing the room to fall back into darkness before returning to her spot. Her chin brushed against his shoulder.

“You should go back to sleep.”

“Hmm? Oh… yeah.” He waited for her to get comfortable before he drew close, his arms and wings wrapping around her small frame, almost protectively.

Possessively.

Lute settled into the embrace, familiar and warm as it was. She couldn’t help but smirk softly as she rested her chin on top of his head, his ear against her chest.

“Hey… Lute. You… won’t betray me or whatever, right?” He muttered softly, his tone laced with an uncertainty that was atypical of him.

Lute’s brows furrowed slightly, confused by the suddenness of the question.

“Of course not, Sir.” Her grip on him tightened ever so slightly, a small smile on her lips.

“…I’ll always be by your side.”

-------------------------

Idea/prompt from the amazing @kimik0hippie! Seriously, their stuff singlehandedly inspired me to come out of my 800000 year hiatus and actually do illustrations again. So please go check their art out. ;D

Adam & Lute © Vivziepop/A24

Artwork © Branded-Rose

#my art #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel adam #guitarspear #adam x lute #brandedroseart #my headcanon is that exorcists are heaven born so they wouldn't get nightmares really.

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corrodedcorpses · 1 year

Text

Boys on Film

Pairing: PS!Steve x PS!Eddie x Virgin!reader

Summary: Eddie and Steve have been your best friends for years. Although they've never done or said anything to make you feel bad, you can't help but feel inadequate to them when it comes to sexual experience. After they star in their first Threesome together, some weird emotions arise.

Warnings: Smut (18+), light angst, Masturbation (female), Voyeurism, Oral sex (m & F), Double penetration, watching porn (?)

Word count: 5.7k

a/n: I know I said I was going to post part 2 of this on my Ao3 but I think this account has finally revived itself! So part 2 will be up on here and Ao3 in a couple of days!

Also thank you to everyone for sticking around while my account was doomed, ily 🖤

Part 2 // Part 3

Eddie and Steve have been your closest friends for years.

Your friendship with Eddie started out your first week of highschool and the first week of Eddie’s third year. Eddie had seen you wandering the crowded halls, head down and gripping the strap of your worn backpack, trying to draw as little attention to yourself as possible.

There was something about you, your shyness and innocence that Eddie seemed drawn to. He had thought about approaching you but couldn’t work up the courage or a good enough excuse to talk to you.

Everytime your eyes met for a brief second you quickly looked away and Eddie saw, what he assumed, was fear in your eyes everytime you did. He was honestly surprised how fast his reputation spread, even to the newer students, but he was used to it by now.

Luckily for him, as you sped through the halls at the end of school one day, head down low and staring at the floor, you had unknowingly stepped right into his path… and smashed right into his chest.

You looked up at him with wide, shocked eyes and he offered you a kind smile back. He expected you to just run away, no one else bothered to apologise when they ran into him, but instead you stammered out a tiny “S-sorry, I didn’t see you, there’s just um, so many people”.

Eddie was shocked for a second, his cold heart melting slightly at your tiny voice, but quickly regained his confidence and reassured you that “It’s totally fine, gets pretty crazy here at the end of the day”.

“Yeah,” you’d replied with a sigh, “It’s gonna take some getting used to that’s for sure. People don’t just create a path for me when I’m coming.” you’d said with the slightest, still nervous chuckle, attempting to lightheartedly tease him.

Eddie’s chest ached at the sound. “Well stick with me little one,” Eddie assured, throwing an arm around your shoulders and changing his original direction to walk with you, “I’ll protect you.”

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics but couldn’t help looking up at him with awe in your eyes, blushing when he winked and smirked at you. “Now, where are we headed?”

After that it seemed Eddie had decided that you were (somehow) worthy of his friendship and affection. You still don’t know why he had decided to be so nice to you that day but you were more than thankful. You’d both been inseparable ever since and although it had never progressed to anything more than friendship, you loved him dearly.

4 years later at the end of your (Eddie’s third) senior year, he introduced you to the “now super metal” Steve Harrington.

At first you were apprehensive of Steve after hearing the rumours of “King Steve” and being no stranger to insults being thrown your way from Tommy H, Carol and the rest of the basketball team, even after Steve had graduated.

Just like Eddie.

Which is why you were so confused when he insisted on you giving Steve a chance and that he was sure you’d actually like him. You’d also heard the kids from Hellfire (especially Dustin) also gush over Steve, so eventually, with a lot of convincing, you decided that maybe he deserved a chance.

Your first time meeting Steve properly was over at Eddie’s trailer, he’d insisted that the best way to break the ice was to all get high together, a habit you’d picked up thanks to the metalhead himself. You weren’t surprised that Steve also smoked, having heard about his infamous parties.

Eddie had given you a ride home from school that day and you thankfully had a few hours with just him before Steve arrived after work. You were hoping that hanging out with Eddie would calm your nerves at spending time with Steve but unfortunately you spent the whole time practically pacing around the whole trailer, while Eddie watched you from the couch.

Eddie found it amusing (and a little bit cute) how nervous you were but did his best to try and reassure you.

“Don’t you remember that awful rumour that Carol spread around school about me?”

“You’ll have to be more specific sweetheart, which one?” He teased with a chuckle. Not helping.

You glared back at him. “My point exactly. And Steve just stood there as they all laughed at me, at us practically the whole way through highschool!” You were almost yelling now.

“Yeah but Steve didn’t do any of the actual bullying,” Eddie tried.

You gave him a look of come on and he just shrugged in return.

Luckily, before you could completely spiral, you both heard a knock on the door. You froze in your current pacing spot and looked at Eddie with fear in your eyes, realising you were closest to the door.

You quickly ran and sat down on the other side of the couch before Eddie could even think about suggesting you get the door. Eddie looked at you confused while standing up, mumbling a don't worry, i'll get it with a fond shake of his head.

He’d never admit it to you but he loves how shy you are, more specifically loves how shy you are around everyone but him and how you seem to always look at him to protect you when your nerves get the better of you. He liked feeling needed and trusted so much by you.

Eddie had quickly opened the door, surprising you by pulling Steve into a quick friendly embrace. While Steve, even more to your surprise, gladly returned the hug. Eddie then stepped to the side to let Steve come in. Steve went straight to the kitchen, placing the two white bags on the counter and saying something about bringing reinforcements.

It was only then that Steve seemed to notice you on the couch as you sat awkwardly fiddling with the hem of your skirt.

“Where are my manners?” He asked rhetorically, striding over to the couch with his hand outstretched. You stood, timidly taking his hand to shake.

“Hey I’m Steve, Steve Harrington”

“Hey, y-yeah, I know” we went to the same school dumbass, “I’m y’n”.

“Right,” he says, placing his other hand on top of yours, “Eddie didn’t tell me his “best friend” that I’d be meeting was so pretty.”

You blushed hard at that. Hating his cheesy one liner and hating how much you wanted to like it. You shot Eddie a glance that said a mix between seriously? This guy? And please save me.

Eddie gave you a look back that said play nice but asked Steve to help him grab some stuff from his room. You sunk back into the couch relieved as they walked away, how were you supposed to survive a whole night of Steve Harrington?

As Eddie and Steve got to the room you heard Eddie whisper “Seriously Man?” way too loudly.

“What?” Steve had whispered way too loudly back.

“You’re coming on way too strong.”

“What? No I’m not, she's a total babe!” you rolled your eyes at that, there's no way Steve had changed as much as Eddie thought.

“Yeah yeah, I know,” Eddie replied, “just chill out with the flirting, you’re gonna scare her off”.

I know? Eddie knows that you’re a babe?

You did not have time to fully process what he meant when both boys returned from Eddie’s room with his trusty black lunchbox.

You were relieved when Eddie sat next to you on the couch and Steve took the recliner. It was awkward at first, you were easily getting lost in the conversations with both of their big personalities but they made sure to ask you specific things and let you have enough room to talk.

After you had all passed a few joints around it got even easier. You were surprised to find that Steve obviously cared a lot about Eddie, even remembering small details of the latest D&D campaign Eddie had been working on and making sure his favourite snack was in his plastic “reinforcement” bags.

You also, despite yourself, started having fun and actually laughing with Steve Harrington for once and not at the expense of others as you’d seen him do too often in highschool.

You were also surprised to see that maybe he wasn’t as confident and sure of himself as he used to be. He was still certainly confident but not in the same intimidating and arrogant way.

Also, much to your detest, you started to find his lame flirting actually quite endearing. Eventually, you had no choice but to agree with Eddie that Steve Harrington was a really good dude now.

Ever since, the three of you have been inseparable.

They were your shoulders to cry on, someone to pick you up after a bad day, someone to tell all your secrets and dreams to. All three of you supported each other through every failed and successful endeavour.

Especially Eddie who, after finally graduating, realised he really didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. He started out at a shitty music store straight out of highschool but he soon grew tired of it, never one to settle for the mundane. He wanted something more.

Although his ultimate goal is still to be a “rockstar” and the band is doing pretty well, Eddie soon realised that there was something else (other than guitar and Dungeon Master-ing) that he was extremely good at: sex.

You’re still not sure how he got into it, if he’d decided himself one day or if he’d been approached by someone but somehow Eddie Munson finds himself as a semi successful pornstar.

When Eddie had first told you and Steve that he’d stared in a porno, neither of you believed him. You really thought he was playing some weird joke on you both as it wasn’t unlike him to. So, in order to prove to you both that he was in fact, telling the truth, he got a copy of the film.

You were completely shocked when the tape started playing on Steve’s TV. The obscene images and sounds like a slap to the face, something you never thought you’d get to see or hear from your best friend. But, you had to admit, Eddie was good and he looked hot.

You tried to ignore the growing ache between your legs as you and Steve had grilled Eddie all about it for the rest of the night, asking if it was good or awkward, how much money he made, did he think he would do more? How did he even get in this situation in the first place?

He answered all your questions about how it was a little awkward at first but ultimately good and a lot of fun. He didn’t give specifics of how much he made but assured that it was definitely more than he made at the music store. He also was adamant that he definitely wanted to do it again.

He wouldn’t go into specifics, and still won’t, about how he started up, always saying something along the lines of “being chosen by the sex gods” or “it just seemed a shame to not share my talents with the world”. Each time he was rewarded by a massive eye roll from you and Steve but neither if you decided to pry more than that.

You were especially surprised by the interest Steve seemed to have in it, asking more about the technicalities of how it all worked. Steve, like Eddie, really didn’t have much of a plan after High School. You knew that although he enjoyed his current job, he didn’t want to work there forever. So it didn’t come as a total shock when Steve had asked Eddie a couple of months later if he could help Steve land a role in one of the films.

That was about a year ago now.

Although you loved your two friends dearly and although they have never done or said anything to make you feel inferior to them, you couldn’t help when those ugly feelings rose in your chest. It wasn’t easy being friends with two very confident, very attractive men.

Being pushed aside by girls who shamelessly threw themselves at them or worse the ugly looks you’d get when they’d casually throw a friendly arm around you while you were out or the fact that you were hopelessly sexually inept compared to them.

Especially seeing as those two men literally had sex for a living and well… you were still a virgin.

It wasn’t for your lack of trying though, you’d just never seen yourself as an overly sexual person, having not even really touched yourself that much. Besides, most of the time when you try to, you can hardly ever make yourself finish.

You’d never understood when your friends would talk about their sexual experiences or toys they’d tried. You just didn’t get the interest but it was something you were definitely insecure about. Almost convinced something must be wrong with you.

It also didn’t help that there were never any guys during High School that peaked your interest, other than maybe Eddie. But you were sure he didn’t feel the same way and didn’t want to risk ruining your friendship over a silly crush.

So, in the past year, while Eddie and Steve were becoming more popular, staring in a bunch of different films and having a heap of different sexual experiences, you’d only found yourself in a brief relationship with a total dick.

He was nice enough at first but had pressured you a bit more than you would have liked to do things you probably weren’t ready for. You’d eventually given in and tried to give him a blowjob but he was way too pushy and forceful and you didn’t enjoy it at all. He’d said afterwards that he’d return the favour, but after about 2 minutes kept asking over and over again if you were getting close yet. Eventually you’d just faked it for him to stop, not really feeling anything the whole time he had.

After that the relationship kind of dwindled and he’d broken up with you. There were many issues with your comparability, but he’d made a point to mention that you weren’t sexual enough. That part had really ruined your confidence to ever try anything again with someone else.

You’d of course told Eddie and Steve about your relationship and how much of a douche he was when it all ended. They’d done their best to cheer you up and reassure you that you should never have to do anything with someone just because you’re in a relationship with them and that there was no shame in having little to no experience.

You appreciated their words but can’t help but feel insecure in the fact that their job is to have sex and make other people feel good and you can barely even make yourself cum.

****

It’s Thursday night, a night reserved for your weekly (when your busy schedules allowed) dinners with Eddie and Steve. They were always at your house too as you were the only one that lived alone.

You didn’t mind though, you liked being in your little space that you had created and having the two people you loved the most inside it.

You were especially excited for tonight as it had been about a month since you’d all be free enough to finally have dinner and you had missed them both.

You all spoke on the phone regularly but it was different than actually being with them, missing how your body seemed to instantly relax the minute you saw them.

Eddie must have picked up Steve as you heard the familiar sounds of his van approaching and two sets of people jump out.

You immediately ran to the door to greet them, excitement practically bubbling out of you. They both shared your excitement, quickly pulling you into tight hugs.

They’d picked up some food on the way and you’d already set the table, so you all sat and ate straight away.

“So,” you say with a mouthful of food, “what did I miss in the lives of my two sex gods”. You giggle as you say the last part overly dramatic and teasing. Eddie smirks at your use of the nickname he’d given himself on many occasions as Steve just rolls his eyes at you.

“Oh you know, same old stuff,” Eddie replied casually.

“We’ve both just been doing a couple of different films, trying new stuff,” Steve expanded. They never seem to give you much detail, which you think you're thankful for.

“Dazzling the world with our tallent,” Eddie not so subtly added. “Oh! And we did a threesome together the other day.”

You almost choked on the food in your mouth as you felt your eyes practically fall out of your head. “You what?”

“Yeah, well I’ve been doing more threesomes lately and we needed another guy for one and they’d asked if I knew anyone,” Eddie explained like it was the most casual thing “and I of course immediately thought of Stevie, especially because I know he’s been keen to try one.”

You took a second to process all of this new information. Your two best friends, had a threesome, together, for Steve’s first threesome.

You tried to figure out the weird emotions you were feeling at knowing this, more thankful now than ever that they usually didn’t tell you details about their job.

Steve and Eddie exchanged a confused look at the unreadable expression on your face, they certainly hadn’t expected this reaction. They actually weren’t sure what reaction they had expected but it certainly wasn't this.

“Hey,” Steve tried, “it’s not like a big deal or anything, I mean it’s just work.” Steve didn’t really know why he’d said that, you knew it was work and you’d always been supportive of them both. And it’s not like you’d be jealous or anything but he needed you to say something.

“Ouch Harrington,” Eddie teased, “not a big deal? You mean to tell me it wasn’t earth shattering, that I haven’t changed your life forever?”

Steve just rolled his eyes and shook his head at Eddie but could help himself but laugh at him. You found yourself laughing too, finally coming back to your senses.

“Right,” you said finally, “sorry, I mean it’s fine obviously I just guess I was kind of shocked?”

“Yeah we get that,” Steve assured you.

“Wait- Steve, since when do you swing that way?” you asked

Steve just shrugged in response. He didn’t really know what way he swung these days, he didn’t really care as long as he was having fun and besides, Eddie is hot and he definitely knows what he’s doing. So of course anyone would jump at the opportunity to star in a Threesome with him, right?

“He only swings that way for me,” Eddie teased while grabbing Steve’s hand from across the table and quickly brushing his lips against his knuckles, “isn’t that right?”

You giggle at Eddie’s usual overly dramatic, complete disregard of personal space flirting but don’t miss the fact that Steve doesn't pull away. You feel a pang of jealousy at how they seem closer now, they’ve shared an experience with each other that you’d never get to share with them. You’re confused as to why that hurts so much but you start to feel even more inadequate at your lack of experience.

“You’re full of shit Munson,” Steve replies, luckily bringing you out of your thoughts as he pulls his hand away finally. You don’t miss how much he’s blushing though, and neither does Eddie.

“Wait, you guys said threesome right?” They both nod. “So… I'm assuming that means the third person was a girl?” You’re not really sure why you asked, something inside you just compelled you to dig deeper about the whole situation.

“Yeah, a pretty little thing,” Eddie replies.

“Mmm, she was sweet,” Steve comments.

“Oh and so good,” Eddie expands as you feel bitterness rise in your throat.

“Mmm”, Steve agrees through a mouthful of food.

Of course she was good, that’s her job, you try to reason with yourself. But god you wish you could also be good at something like that.

Your dinner continues with no other world altering revelations thankfully but you keep coming back to the fact that they’ve done a threesome together.

You keep asking them how it was. Good.

Had they done stuff together or just to her at the same time?

Together and to her at the same time. (You tried to ignore the ache between your legs when they’d mentioned they’d touched each other and not just her).

And many, many questions about her and what she was like and what she was good at.

They’d kept their answers brief but from what you could decipher she was amazing. Some of the things and positions they’d mentioned seemed impossible. The fact that they had fucked her throat and practically bent her in half and both fucked her at the same time one in each hole? It seemed crazy to you.

Every time you asked a new question you felt worse and worse about yourself but you couldn’t stop. You both needed to know everything and needed them to never talk about it again.

Thankfully, you thought it seemed as though they hadn’t picked up on how awful you felt by the end of the night.

But Eddie had, we’ll sort of. He knew you better than anyone and could tell you were feeling a bit insecure but mainly took your interest as being curious about the technicalities of it all. Which was also true, you couldn’t imagine much about sex with one person, let alone two.

This gave him a wicked idea…

*****

The next day you get home from work exhausted. All day you’d been messing up everything. You were completely exhausted, distracted and just not yourself, your mind constantly wandering to Steve and Eddie.

You’d tossed and turned all last night after they’d left, the ache between your legs growing unbearable but again, you’d tried and failed to relieve it.

You felt the weirdest mix of jealousy and arousal. You knew Eddie and Steve were hot but you’d tried your best to never think of them like that knowing you couldn’t have them.

But after knowing someone had had both of them together you couldn’t help but think about what they would be like and about all of the times you could’ve had that.

Maybe if you’d been more sexual your late night smoke sessions or the nights when you’d all stumbled home from the bars or from Eddie’s shows could’ve led to more.

But every time you thought about that and let yourself fantasise about them, and their bodies and their lips and how they would feel all over your skin and their hands roaming all over you… you felt guilt.

These were your best friends and you knew that thinking about this stuff would only lead to heartache. You weren’t sexual and you honestly didn’t know if you ever would be, they wouldn’t want you. Especially not now.

Now they were more out of your league than ever.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts of them again you don’t see it on your kitchen counter until you almost squish it with your bag: a tape.

You pick it up to inspect it, almost certain you didn’t leave one here this morning and find a note taped to it.

Seeing as you were so interested.

Sprawled out in Eddie’s handwriting, complete with a winky face.

You gasp and quickly put the tape back on the counter as you realise what’s on it. As if the tape itself was as dirty as the contents were sure to be.

You stare at it for a moment, this is the tape. With video proof of your best friend’s threesome. You shake your head and huff off to your bedroom. Trust Eddie to do something like this.

He was messing with you, there’s no way he’d actually want you to see it! I mean you did see another tape that one other time he showed you and Steve… but that was only to prove he’d done it!!

God, did Steve even know Eddie dropped the tape off? Surely… right? Eddie wouldn’t drop it off if Steve didn’t know.

You weren’t even sure why you cared that he’d given it to you; it wasn't like you were actually going to watch it. It’s not like you’d been fantasising about nothing but the contents of the tape for the last 24 hours…

I mean… if you just watched it at least you wouldn’t have to fantasise about what could be on it anymore right?

God what am I thinking? You scold yourself. There’s no way you’re considering this.

You get changed and start your nightly chores around the house as well as making dinner. But more times than you’d like to admit you find yourself picking up that damn tape to put it back down again.

Eventually you find yourself sitting at the table staring at it, dinner long finished and the house completely spotless. Your leg is bouncing uncontrollably as you bite the skin around your nails, there's no way you’re considering this. But, what’s the worst that could happen?

Fuck it.

They, or at least Eddie, left it here for me. And I’m sure heaps of other people have already watched it so why would it be weird for me to?

You rush to the living room and pop the tape in the player, sitting on the carpet in front of your tv.

You sit nervously as the tape starts, opening with all three of them making out and touching each other on a bed. It was surreal to see Eddie and Steve on your tv and even more surreal to see them like this.

You watch as they all slowly got undressed, your eyes bulged as you see both of their cocks spring free, heat shooting directly to your core.

You watch as the girl sat back and started to touch herself as they both watched, fisting their cocks slowly.

She looked so confident, you thought. So sure of herself and her body. The moans she was making were intense to say the least but it seemed like both of the boys were enjoying it.

You felt that ugly feeling of jealousy rise in your chest once again. Oh how you wished you could be that confident, how you wished they were looking at you like that.

You shook your head and turned off the tape quickly. That was a mistake, you don’t even want Eddie and Steve, why would you care how they were looking at her? You didn’t care.

But the tear that slipped down your cheek betrayed you. You quickly wipe it away, annoyed at yourself.

You decide that you’ve obviously just had a long and stressful day and that it is definitely time for bed.

You shower quickly, doing your best to stop more tears from slipping and to try and get the images of your two best friends out of your head.

You pick out some fresh comfy pjs and slide into bed, hoping sleep will take you quickly.

It doesn’t.

You toss and turn for what feels like hours, you can’t get comfy and you can’t get rid of the damn aching between your legs.

You can’t stop thinking of them… of their bodies. How big they both are. The lustful look on their faces as they watched her in awe. Would they look at you the same if you were her? God, how their muscles tensed as they stroked themselves…

Oh fuck this.

You throw the blankets off yourself, suddenly overheating and plunge your fingers straight into your soaking hole, as you always do.

Your head is filled with nothing but thoughts of Eddie, of Steve, of Eddie and Steve of them, them, them.

You think of their toned bodies, Steve’s slightly tanned and hairy, Eddie’s pale and littered with dark ink, some you didn’t even know he had.

You think of the lust blown looks on their faces and their laboured breaths as they touched themselves. Pretending it’s you they’re looking at like that.

You think of their cocks, so hard and throbbing in their hands. How Steve’s was big and gloriously thick where Eddie’s was thinner but oh so long.

You feel the coil start to tighten in your stomach but just as you think it’s about to snap it disappears. Again.

You groan in frustration as you throw yourself out of bed. Body moving before your brain can keep up.

You find yourself sat in front of the tv again as you start the tape where you’d turned it off just hours before. You lean back on one of your hands as the other snakes between your legs once again. Your legs bent and spread in front of you.

You watch as they move towards her, no longer watching her touch herself. Eddie bends down and buries his head between her legs as she cries out in pleasure. He must be good.

Steve kneels beside her and kisses her while playing with her nipples. You feel another pang of jealousy at watching Steve kiss her like that but your arousal overtakes the feeling as you continue to watch and finger yourself.

You watch intently as they change positions. The girl is now on all fours on the bed as Steve comes to stand in front of her and Eddie behind her kneeling on the bed. The girl starts to suck Steve’s dick, taking it so deep from the start. He lets out a guttural moan which shoots straight to your core, coating you in more slick.

Eddie starts massaging her ass before shoving two fingers inside her. This causes her to slightly gags around Steve’s cock but this only makes Steve moan louder.

You move your fingers faster as Steve’s moans increase, god his sounds fucking filthy.

Eddie then lines himself up with her hole and slowly pushes all the way in till he bottoms out inside her with a deep groan. He sets a brutal pace from the start, letting out even louder moans than Steve.

Of course he’s still loud when he fucks.

You feel more jealousy and more arousal build in a weird mix in your stomach as they continue to fuck her. Both letting out dirty praises and sounds that you wish were directed towards you.

Eddie then snakes his hand around to rub at her clit. You watch in awe as her legs start to shake, you’ve never been able to make your legs do that.

She must cum then as both Steve and Eddie praise her for being such a good girl and Eddie tells her how good she feels squeezing his cock.

Shit, you wanna be their good girl so bad.

They both pull out then as the girl sits back on the bed panting. Much to your surprise Eddie moves over to Steve and captures his lips in a sloppy kiss. The sight alone is enough to get you so close.

Then Steve mumbles something about wanting to have a taste of her too while shooting her a ink, you think he’s about to have a turn at eating her out but instead he drops to his knees.

Eddie looks slightly surprised but quickly recovers and laces his hands in Steve’s golden brown hair.

Steve licks a broad stripe from Eddie’s balls to the tip before taking the red tip in his mouth. He starts to bob his head enthusiastically and Eddie lets out a loud, almost high pitched moan. It sounds different to the other moans, more real.

You don’t miss the look on Eddie’s face as he watches Steve, he looks almost proud and so turned on.

This definitely isn’t the first time Steve’s done this but he still isn’t quite as good as the girl was. He gags a lot more but everytime he does Eddie tips his head back with a groan, so it must feel good.

This sight alone has you moaning out loud, head tipping back and eyes screwing shut as you feel your orgasm finally approaching.

They must change positions again because you hear the girl moaning too, but you’re too close to open your eyes again, too focused.

You hear Eddie and Steve praising again, moaning out that’s it, good girl and look at you, taking us so well. Also some dirtier ones like you like that, you filthy slut and taking both our cocks so well in your dirty fucking holes. You didn’t expect it but you like those ones just as much as the nicer ones.

You finger yourself faster as you pretend it’s you they’re talking to and finally, finally you feel the coil snap in your stomach.

You cum hard around your fingers with a high pitched gasp. Your head swimming with thoughts of Eddie and Steve.

You see stars as you have easily the most intense one you’ve ever had, granted, that wasn’t too hard.

Your orgasm lasts for what feels like hours but finally you start to come down from your high, head feeling dizzy and cloudy. Fingers falling from your abused hole.

You finally open your eyes and take note of what’s happening on the screen. You’re shocked to find a close up of Eddie and Steve’s cocks fucking both her pussy and asshole.

This snaps you out of your post-orgasm haze and you quickly jump up and turn the tape off at the sight. All previous grey morals from arousal gone.

You slump back on the ground and rub your face as you realise what you’ve just done. You feel ashamed but also don’t? You stand on shaky legs, making your way back to your bed.

You slump down, suddenly exhausted. Tonight has been weird and has revealed some weird emotions you’re still not sure of. There’s one thought and feeling in particular that won't leave your mind though:

You really want to fuck your best friends.

____________________________________________________ Tagging some mutuals that may be interested: @andvys @pxrxcxa @wroteclassicaly @eddiemunsonfuxks @usedtobecooler @corrodedhawkins @prettyboyeddiemunson

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iamnotoriginalphil · 5 months

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Your Secret (Melissa Schemmenti x f!Reader)

Synopsis: You and Melissa desperately try to keep your secret during Development Day

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: mentions of marking

“Where’d you get that sweatshirt?”

You looked down at your body, the familiar grey material soft against your skin. Your thumb ran over the worn cuff, the scent clinging to it helping to calm your heart. The faded design on the front was barely visible any longer, the years wearing it away.

“Why?” you asked, looking back to Janine, “I don’t think it’s going to salvage your outfit.”

“Hey,” she protested.

You lent over, hand extended. Melissa’s slapped against yours, the move practiced to the point where neither of you had to look at one another. The slide of her palm against yours still sent warmth up your arm, her touch familiar and still so enticing. Her eyes flickered up to you, then down your body before returning to the work in front of her.

“No really, it looks familiar,” Janine said, interrupting your thoughts.

You froze, Melissa doing the same in your periphery.

“Well, it’s not the only one in existence,” you replied, keeping your voice level.

There was no need for her to know exactly where you got it from. No one else needed to know the memory of gentle hands gently zipping you up into it that morning, or the soft kiss you’d received before leaving, hands tugging on the pockets until a warm body brushed against yours. No one had to know the whispered words in your ear or the promises made about wearing your girlfriend’s clothes. No one had to know how you buried your nose in the collar, just to smell her when she wasn’t there.

“I’m sure plenty of people have those,” Melissa said.

“I suppose,” she said, “maybe I’ve just seen you wear it before.”

“Maybe,” you said.

Your eyes flicked up, finding Melissa’s before you both looked away.

“Oh the sweatshirt?” you asked later while filming an interview for the camera crew, “it’s just a sweatshirt. Nothing special about it.”

The director raised an eyebrow.

“I just like it,” was all you could say.

A hand shot out of a classroom as you passed by, grasping you by the wrist and pulling you in. The door slammed shut, echoing down the hall in the least subtle manner you’d seen. Which was saying a lot given you knew Janine. The hold around you wrist tightened, tugging you forward against a warm body.

“You need to take this off,” Melissa growled, tugging on the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

“I could do that but there’s going to be a lot more questions if I do,” you replied, “hence why you lent it to me.”

Fingers played with the zipper, pulling it down just low enough for her to see the dark bruises on your skin. You shivered as she traced one, smirking down at your chest. Reaching out, you rested your hands on her hips, sliding around until your hands found their way into the back pockets of her jeans.

“Do you really want me to take it off?” you asked.

“Not unless you have something to replace it with,” she said, still staring down at your chest.

“I don’t but tonight, when we’re done here and we go back to your place,” you murmured, drawing closer to her, “I’ll take off anything you want me to.”

“I’ll take that deal,” she said before kissing you.

You’d never grow tired of her kissing you.

“Now you get that sexy ass outta here before Janine begins asking any more questions.”

Her fingers were slow as she zipped up the sweatshirt again, fingers ghosting over your skin. You pressed another kiss to her lips, a promise of later caught between you. You slipped out of her classroom, inhaling the scent of her on the collar of her sweatshirt.

Pulling your hair into a ponytail, you got to work cleaning up your own classroom on the second floor. Rearranging desks and hanging up posters, you pushed the sleeves up your arms. Then you paused, remembering Melissa doing that exact action in that exact sweatshirt. The grin on your face was all your own.

“Hey, nice sweatshirt.”

You spun, finding Jacob in your doorway.

“Yeah, it’s the talk of development day, apparently,” you replied, hoping that would be the end of it.

“Have you worn it here before?” he asked, “only it looks so familiar.”

“Maybe,” you said.

“Looks good,” he said.

“Thanks.”

You turned away from him, going back to the work he’d interrupted. That had to be the end of it. It had to be. It was just a sweatshirt. And you didn’t have an alternate option to cover the skin exposed by your tank top.

Hours later, the phone in your pocket vibrated. You pulled it out, the group chat calling you away to join the gang in the staff room. You sighed, rolling your eyes. Someone had let Janine back in, probably Gregory.

Shoving your hands into the pockets of the hoodie, you sauntered a few doors down. People were gathered around a table. Your eyes immediately found Melissa, warmth spreading through your chest at the sight of her.

“What’s the emergency?” you asked.

“They’ve found old photos of past development days,” Melissa replied.

You gasped, “we can see young Barbra?”

Melissa nudged your shoulder as you came to stand beside her, flashing you one of those fond smiles you’d grown drunk on over the summer. The brush of her arm against yours was thrilling, even after all the months you’d been with her. Touching her in a room full of people when they didn’t know, it was a heady combination.

“Melissa, is this you?” Janine was pointing at a faded photo from the early 2000s.

“You that bad at recognising faces?” she asked, crossing her arms and pursing her lips.

“Oooo I want to see baby Melissa,” you said, reaching out for the photo.

You plucked it out of Janine’s hand, eyes scanning for the familiar red head. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you tried to contain your grin, seeing her there with the others, so familiar and yet like a whole other person.

“Aw, look at you,” you said, showing her the picture, “this woman looks like she’s fun.”

“I don’t look like I’m fun?” She cocked her hip, eyebrow raising.

“You’re very fun,” you replied, patting her shoulder.

She looked over your shoulder at the photo again. Your own eyes turned down to it before they widened. You were slow to look at her, finding her own eyes already on you. She snatched it out of your hand.

“What is it?” Janine asked, looking between you and her.

“None of your business,” Melissa snapped.

The photo was snatched out of her hand. Your mouth fell open, Jacob seemingly shocked at his own daring, shoving it at Janine. She looked down at it, then back at you. Gregory looked over his shoulder, face growing blank as he looked up at you too, gaze lingering on your top.

“Isn’t this the same sweatshirt you’re wearing?” Janine asked.

“Is it?” Jacob snatched the picture back from her.

His head swivelled from it to you to Melissa.

“I must have borrowed it from her,” you said, looking at her.

“Melissa doesn’t share clothes,” Janine said.

“Not with people she doesn’t like,” you replied, “she likes me.”

“And I know she won’t make anything I lend her look terrible,” Melissa said.

“Didn’t you recognise it when I asked you earlier?” she asked.

“Whaddaya mean?” she asked in return.

“Earlier, I said the sweatshirt looked familiar and you both said it was something other people owned too. Didn’t you recognise it?” she said.

“Maybe I didn’t want you prying into my business,” she replied.

There was a moment of silence.

“You’ve let her wear your leather jacket before too,” Gregory said.

“What?” Melissa whipped towards him

“More than once,” Jacob said.

“You won’t even let me touch it,” Janine said.

You turned to look at her, finding her eyes turning to you too. She gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of her head. You curled your arms around your body, pressing the soft material to your skin, the second best thing to her touch. You tilted your head, raising both your eyebrows at her.

A sharp intake of breath had both of your heads snapping around. Janine was looking between to the two of you, eyes widening, a grin spreading over her face. You opened your mouth before a warm hand slapped over it. Melissa was glaring across the table at the young woman, not acknowledging the way your lips brushed her palm.

“You two are-“ Janine tried to say before Melissa interrupted.

“We’re friends.”

You saw Jacob’s eyes widening and your shoulders slumped. Grasping her wrist, you were gentle to take her hand from your mouth.

“Mel,” you whispered, “I think the game is up.”

Her eyes flashed to yours before softening. You threaded your fingers through hers, giving her a small smile, slightly sad and yet there was a bit of relief.

“We’ve been together for almost a year,” you said, turning to look at the assembled group.

Janine was grinning so wide.

“And that’s all we’re telling youse about it,” Melissa said.

“This is great. This is so great. Who else knows? Do we have to keep it a secret?” she shot at the two of you.

“You figure it out,” Melissa said.

She dragged you out of the room by your joined hands. You guided her to your classroom, closing the door quietly. Seating her on one of your desks, you stood between her legs, hands sliding up her thighs to hold her hips.

“So they know,” you prompted.

“I don’t like it,” she growled.

“I know,” you said, “I know we wanted it to keep it quiet. But we couldn’t keep it a secret forever.”

“Couldn’t we?” she asked, the anger still bubbling below the surface.

“Honey.” You tucked some hair behind her ear, “when we get married I don’t want to keep that a secret. I’ll want to be showing off that I bagged the hottest woman in Philly.”

“When we get married?”

You chuckled, leaning forward until your forehead was pressed against hers. Her breath puffed over your lips, arms winding around your neck.

“I want you forever, Melissa Schemmenti. I want you to be mine in every way possible,” you murmured.

When she kissed you, it was like sunshine was being poured directly into your heart. You melted against her, pulling her closer, never wanting any space between the two of you. The way she sighed into your mouth told you she wanted the same thing.

“See? I told you.”

You stepped out of the way, watching Melissa grit her teeth as she hopped off the table. She strode to the door, Janine already running away.

“I’ll meet you at home later?” you called after her.

She raised her hand in acknowledgement, following in the receding footsteps of Janine. Yeah, you were going to marry that woman one day.

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti imagine #melissa schemmenti

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7ndipity · 5 months

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He Forgets Your Birthday

Jin x Reader

Summary: Jin just wants to make your birthday memorable, but what happens when life gets too hectic and makes him forget?

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: angst, swearing

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! Sorry it took me a little bit to get to.

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Life moved quickly with Jin, in multiple ways.

The first time you ever met, he asked for your number, fearing you wouldn’t cross paths again and he might not get another chance. You both said ‘I love you’ less than two months into dating, after he accidentally let it slip out during one of your first nights together, you even ended up moving in with him after less than a year when the apartment you were subletting fell through(or more accurately, flooded through, but whatever)

Things also moved quickly because of your careers. Sometimes days would flick by without your realizing, a week would turn into two before either of you noticed, and then suddenly it’s been nearly two months since your last technical date.

Despite your reassurances that you understood, Jin felt guilty at times for the two of you missing out on special occasions like holidays or anniversaries with each other, but one day he promised he wouldn’t let slip past was your birthday.

You weren't exactly a fan of making a big fuss for your birthday, but Jin wanted to make it special for you.

“I’ll cook,” He’d promised you. “I’ll make all your favorites, as well as traditional seaweed soup for good luck, and then we’ll do whatever you want for the rest of the day.”

“What if I don’t want to do anything?” You’d asked, raising a brow as you sat on his lap.

“Then we’ll do nothing together,” He’d replied, pulling you closer. “And have a wonderful time doing it.”

It’d been an easy promise to make when your birthday was still almost a month away, but as the days and weeks passed, things became increasingly hectic. Comeback season was drawing close, and with it came the pressure and chaos of constant rehearsals, video shoots, and promotional activities, leaving Jin little time to think about much else. Half the time you were already asleep before he got home at night, tiredly wrapping himself around you for a few precious hours before starting the cycle all over again.

He didn’t even know what day of the week it was until Jimin spoke up as they slumped against the wall, trying to catch their breath during rehearsals.

“Oh, how’s Y/n? Did they like their gift?” Jimin asked. “I haven't heard from them since I texted happy birthday this morning.”

Jin felt his heart screech to a stop as he looked over at the younger man, hoping he had misheard. “What?”

“The flowers you helped us pick out? I figured they would’ve-” Jimin’s voice trailed off as he noticed the growing look of horror on Jin’s face. “Tell me you didn’t forget?”

Jin’s whole body felt cold as he fumbled for his phone, stomach dropping as he read the date, and then the numerous text notifications from you.

His hands shook as he read your words, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

‘You left this morning before I got to say it, but love you💖’

‘Do you know what time you’ll be home?’

'Ngl, I'm kinda excited for tonight, it's been ages since I had your cooking😋'

‘Jinnie? Is everything okay?’

‘You’re not coming, are you?’

‘You could at least answer your phone so I know you’re okay.’

Shit.

Sparing no time explaining to the others, he grabbed his things and bolted out the door, nearly sprinting for the elevators.

He couldn’t believe how badly he’d fucked up, you must’ve been so upset with him. How would he even explain himself to you? Would you even talk to him when he got home? He wouldn’t blame you if the answer was no.

“Y/n?” He called as he opened the door but the house was silent, all the lights off, the stillness seeming to loom over him as he kicked off his shoes.

Tip-toeing through the house, he caught sight of the bouquet of flowers the guys had sent you sitting proudly in the center of the dining table, their cheery brightness almost mocking him now.

As he neared your shared bedroom, he caught sight of a sliver of light slipping out into the hall from the crack in the door.

Peeking in, he found you curled up on your side of the bed, sound asleep, but he could tell by the puffiness around your eyes that you’d been crying, shattering his heart completely.

He slowly sank down on the bed next to you, gently brushing your hair out of your face.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.” He choked, tears blurring your image in front of him. He felt like the worst boyfriend in the world, how could he have forgotten something like this?! He had promised you!

He’d always tried so hard to live up to his commitments and responsibilities in your relationship, no matter how small, but in the moment when it mattered the most, he’d failed you.

“Jinnie?” Your cracked, sleep laden voice snapped his attention back up to you, meeting your tired eyes.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry.” He said, crying in earnest now.

“ ‘s okay.” You said drowsily, too tired to fight with him.

“It’s not. I made you a promise, and I fucked up.” He said, wiping his face.

You didn’t speak, sitting up slowly and pulling him into a hug. As upset as you might’ve been, you couldn’t stand to see him cry.

You wouldn’t lie, you were deeply hurt, but it wasn’t just for you. You’d seen how hard he’d been working lately, coming home late sore and exhausted, bags under his eyes from fatigue. You hated seeing him so tired all the time, so stressed and not able to do anything about it. You knew that under normal circumstances, he would’ve never forgotten, but your lives weren’t normal.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He cried into your neck. “I’ll find a way.”

“Jinnie, I don’t care about the dinner,” You said, trying not to start crying again yourself as you pulled back to look at him. “All I really wanted was to be with you.”

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“Just come hold me, please.” You half dragged him under the covers with you, winding your limbs around each other tightly.

Neither of you spoke much as you slowly drifted off to sleep, clinging to each other desperately, needing to feel each other to be sure you were both still there.

When you opened your eyes the next morning, you found his side of the bed empty.

Sitting up slowly, you glanced around, questions only just beginning to form in your mind before you heard a faint noise from somewhere in the house, the scent of one of your favorite dishes drifting through the open bedroom door.

Still groggy, you climbed out of bed and followed the smell to your kitchen, where you found your missing boyfriend, his back to you as he stood over the stove, fussing at something he was stirring.

“Why are you so salty? I didn’t even add that much.”

“Maybe it’s just in a bad mood.”

He turned at the sound of your voice, eyes softening as they found you in the doorway, messy hair and sleep clouded eyes, wearing one of his pajama tops as a sleepshirt.

“I thought you were still asleep.” He said softly.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“Fulfilling my promise to you.” He said, turning back to the stove for a moment as he spoke. “It’s not quite all of your favorites, but it’s a start. Plus, we’ve got the whole day to do whatever else you want to do.”

“I have work.” You said, not unkindly.

“No, you don’t.” He responded. “I left them a message saying you were sick and couldn’t come in today.”

“Sick with what?” You asked.

“Bad boyfriend-itis,” He said, coming over to hook his arms round your waist. “It’s a very serious condition, it requires a lot of rest and care to recover from.”

“You’re not a bad boyfriend.” You said quietly, fiddling with his shirt collar.

“I’m not so sure about that.” He said, frowning.

“Well, I am.” You pushed up on your toes to press your lips to his softly, making him melt instantly. You let your hands slowly trail up and around his neck, earning a slight shiver from him before you pulled away to look at him. “What about rehearsals?”

“I told them the same thing as your work.” He said with a slightly dazed grin.

“You have boyfriend-itis too?” You raised a brow at him questioningly.

“Are you kidding? I’m patient zero.” He replied, earning a giggle from you, making his heart swell as he smiled down at you.

“Go back to bed,” He said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“I don’t wanna go back to bed.” You said, wrapping your arms around his waist, looking up at him seriously. “I told you last night, I just want to be with you.”

“Alright then.” He hooked his hands under your thighs, boosting you up to sit on the counter with a surprised squeak from you. “You can sit here and be my lovely assistant.”

“I don’t even know what you’re making.” You giggled again.

“Doesn’t matter, just follow my lead and make yummy noises when I show you something.”

The two of you talked as he continued cooking, stopping each time he passed by you to leave a kiss on your waiting lips. Once everything was ready, you moved to the table, sitting close enough that you could reach over and grab his hand as he settled next to you.

He glanced up at you. “What is it?”

“Just thank you.” You said.

He tilted his head. “For what?”

“Being you. Being here.”

Jin felt the familiar twisting in his chest as he leaned over to press another kiss to your lips.

“Always.” He promised.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake again, he swore to himself, he would be there for you, no matter what else was going on. You were his world, his heart, and he would make sure you knew that from now on.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan

#seokjin angst #seokjin scenarios #seokjin drabble #seokjin x reader #seokjin x y/n #seokjin fluff #bts one shot #bts x y/n #bts x reader #bts drabble #bts angst #bts requests #7ndipity

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pursuitseternal · 5 months

Text

“A Yuletide Miracle:” Spawn!Astarion learns the (nsfw) meaning of the season, finding 🔥heat in the cold❄️

Spawn!Astarion x Reader | E | 3.4K

Part 1: “Yuletide in Faerûn”

Summary: A very “Grinchy,” cantankerous Astarion walks with you home on the eve of Yuletide, loathing the sights of celebration. Little does he know the surprise you have planned to make his heart grow three sizes that night, and well… other part of his undead anatomy…

Slightly inspired by “The Grinch” 🌟

CW: Cranky, festivity-hating Vampire Spawn, a Yuletide surprise that warms his undead heart, and helps him learn the true meaning of the season.

Read on Ao3 | Astarion fic Masterlist

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“I do not get it,” Astarion grumbles as you walk towards your flat in the lower city. Baldur’s Gate, blanketed in snow, crisp and pure and crunching under your boots as you return from your shopping. Night has fallen, the stars are bright. Voices fill the air with music from taverns and the scent of spices wafts on the breezes. It’s beautiful, this time of year. But the enterally handsome Vampire Spawn at your side couldn’t be more glower and glum. “I mean, I have every right to be merry and filled with cheer this time of year. The nights are longer, the days are darkened, it’s a Vampire Spawn’s paradise. But the rest of this… mirth…” he grimaces as you stroll, arm and arm, past a group of carolers serenading outside of the Elfsong. “They have no right or reason to be so chipper in the dark and cold.”

You give him a tug on his arm, a good-humored and disparaging glance from the side of your eye. “Come now, music and parties and warmth and gifts…. It’s Yuletide, my love. Surely even you would love to have people thinking about you and buying you gifts upon gifts?”

He falls silent. Tense. As you make the last turn towards your little home, you walk in the silence. Just a flat, but it’s yours. Yours for the last few months since your victory over the Netherbrain. This little gift from Wyll, new Duke of Baldur’s Gate, it’s your safe haven from the sun while you both settle yourselves to find him a cure… and while you fuck each others brains out like you’re still about to maybe die tomorrow.

Old habits die hard.

But as the winds whip around you, bitter and cold, you hide your frame behind his broad shoulders. He may be chilling to the touch and undead, but at least he can block the ice of winter. And it makes him scoff. “Really? Truly, you use me as a shield? Some partner, some selfless merry cheer you spread.”

You clutch your sack and the precious contents tighter against your body, keeping it warm and safe. “I told you, my little surprise for you can’t freeze. Else, our trip to the shops will all be for naught and you’ll get nothing for Yuletide, my love.”

You draw to a stop, huddled behind his back at your doorstep. You barely hear him mutter to himself over the icy wind and the snap of the key in the lock, “So like every other year…”

Words not meant for you to hear. But they pierce your heart more than the cold and ice.

You pause inside the door, shaking off your cloak from the piles of snow that have accumulated. “Why don’t you start the fire in the study? I’ll be in, just in a moment….”

He turns, leaving his own damp cloak a pile on the ground. Like always. Messy thing. “So you can finish readying your…” he scowls, bitterness behind those crimson eyes, “…surprise? Gods, I hope it’s not some cheesy Yuletide gift.”

“Would it be so unthoughtful of me to give my lover a little something tonight?” You smirk, hiding the little satchel behind your back. “It is the eve of Yule, after all.”

He sniffs in abject derision. “If you insist on wasting our gold on something so frivolous, who am I to stop you.” He closes in on you, making you retreat against the wall of the foyer. “Just don’t expect anything grand in return… well, unless you think what I give you on a nightly basis is grand enough.” He flashes those fangs at you, smirking with all that lust and seduction that makes your legs weak to feel him between your thighs.

You cough, clearing your voice and forcing a pout on your trembling lips. “You could at least put a bow on it?” You tease, making that hungry smirk widen.

“Cliché, but if that’s what gets you going this evening, who am I to judge?” he shrugs slowly, languorously, letting his hand slide from the wall beside your head, the other cupping around your chin to bring you in for a slow and tantalizing kiss.

You hold your breath, trying hard to remember to not drop your precious cargo. He departs, one last suck of your bottom lip between his until it releases with a pop. “Don’t you fret, I’ll get the study nice and warm for you… and your,” a frown turns at the corner of his mouth, “… supposed surprise.”

“Don’t you worry, I won’t overwhelm you with too much joy or peace or love,” you comment, interjecting as he opens his mouth, “and I’ll keep the costumes and singing to a minimum.”

His mouth snaps shut, disgusted beyond measure like he swallowed bile, “Gods… I swear… I am not in the mood… Keep your festivities to a minimum, and as for costumes, I’ll have you naked, preferably…”

He trods into the study. Grumpy, disgruntled. So easy to tease. But you keep it soft. Light hearted. Knowing there was more to his cold and cranky demeanor than just selfishness.

Your mind races… would a spawn of Cazador have even had anything for Yuletide?

You busy yourself, prepping your gift, tenderly setting it on a table. The little plant seems so unassuming, it makes you smile, knowing just what it will mean to him. At least you hope.

He’s been so sour about this time of year, and your heart aches, that one little moment, that clue as to why he might just hate Yuletide.

You ready the bottle from the Apothecary; the shining golden liquid inside warm to the touch as you carry both across the hall and into the study.

He waits, the fire cheerily roaring in the grate, but he stands across the room, in the shadows. His back towards you, you can feel his tension rolling off those bunching and lean muscles as he gazes out the window into the winter night. Arms folded neatly over his chest, you see him shift as he hears you enter, but he doesn’t turn.

You wait. You watch him shifting on his toes, eyes fixed into the dark distance. Until at last he speaks. “When I was… well, before…” he speaks quietly. Pressed. Careful not to mention any names, not that he needs to. “…Yuletide was just another night, another time sent out in our bodies for the bidding, another night spent luring victims, only one that smelled more like oranges and spice and smoke.” His shoulders hunched slightly, arms holding tighter as he hugged himself tighter. “I used to dream of gifts and punch and music. Instead I got only more shame and abuse and… loneliness…”

You move, setting your items down on the small end table before you hurry to his side, your arms wrapping around him tightly.

“Yuletide never came for me. I was always alone… and in darkness…”

“Yuletide doesn’t come in packages and ribbons and songs, Astarion,” you nuzzle your head into his chest. “And now you’ll never be alone again, my love,” you smile into the crushed softness of his doublet. “And… if you let me share my cliché gift with you… you might find yourself not in darkness any longer either…”

He eases in a split second. You look into his face, surprised and hopeful against his better judgment. “Really?” he stumbled on his words. “I -I mean I know about the not-lonely-anymore bit, thank you…”

He hesitates, crimson eyes darting to the corner of his gaze, wanting to see what you got him.

Then he sees it, turning. A little plant, leaves deepest green, a round, fleshy bud nestled in the verdant leaves. “Is that…?” he breathes.

“A Solaris,” you beam at him. “I had to pay that apothecary no small amount of coin to get it… not to mention I had to hustle his chief competitor a bit in order to really seal the deal.” You laugh at the way his face is just… innocent. Hopeful. Happy. “But for a flower that blooms with light and warmth like the sun, one day a year…”

You watch the corner of his mouth grin wistfully.

“…I figured it would make for a very merry Yule. So you could feel the light of the sun without… you know…”

“Roasting like a chestnut on an open fire?”

You giggle against the macabre image. “Yes, that.” You pick up the little vial, its golden glow pulsing. “Here,” you murmur, proffering the small glass bottle. “The key to unlocking your vampire-safe sunlight.” You reach it towards him, his palm opening, fingers unfurling for it.

“I…” he swallows. You watch his Adam's apple bob, emotional as he holds back so many feelings and words. “Thank you,” he finally relents, letting you place the vial in his cold and near-trembling palm. You watch his face, the little lines of his smile deepening as he holds the glass bottle, its warmth seeping into his chilled, undead skin.

“If it’s your first Yuletide gift in two-hundred years, I’m glad I can make it count,” you murmur, trying not to disturb the glow that seems to come from under his pale and lustrous skin.

“You’ve… found your way to… let me feel the sun again,” he smirks at you briefly, “if only for tonight.”

You simper, pouting your lips, catching his eyes with all the allure you can muster. “That’s the idea, my sweet vampire, to give you something because I love you.”

He closes the distance, eager, anxious. But you press the tips of your fingers on his lips. “Ah, ah,” you grin. “Don’t risk that elixir with one of your all-consuming, fang-filled kisses. Why don’t you… open your gift?”

For a moment, he looks nervous. Just the tip of his fang biting into his lower lip as he uncorks the glowing elixir. A slight, sweet scent fills your nose, it makes you thrill.

Almost as much as the childish smile dancing on his lips as he pours it at the base of the massive, rounded yellow bud.

Heat fills the air, a soft shimmering begins to stretch from the plant, until, petal by petal, it opens.

A ball of light perches in its center, pulsing and glowing and lighting up your study more than any fire ever could.

Light in the dark. The sun itself shining.

Astarion’s eyes are wide, his mouth open in shock. “It feels… so good,” he whispers, as if he is scared that the second he looks away, blinks his eyes, or moves it will disappear.

“It does, the sun itself for you to bask in for one day, my love…” you reply, crossing to close your window curtains, to keep the light for yourself. And because, your stomach flutters, you anticipate just what will come next. You turn, already undoing your own buttons of your tunic. Expecting him to already be naked, to be bathing his cold and pale skin in the light.

But he’s not.

He’s sitting on the settee, knees hugged tight into his chest. Just watching. Fixated on the swirling golden blossom on the table before him.

Grinning like a fool.

Still, you tug your shirt from over your head, and the Solaris’ light does warm your skin, feeling no different than the true sun. Slowly, you round to sit beside him, half naked and totally ignored in favor of your gift. But it doesn’t matter. You don’t mind. Not as you hear his little giggles in his throat, the little clenches of his body as he feels… giddy.

You scoot right beside him, the skin of your torso pressing into that linen shirt of his, and you feel him leaning back against you, his head tipping to rest on the top of yours.

His breath washes through your hair, that clean scent on his skin, always the same, always making your body hum with desire and awaken with love. Then you hear it, faintly, he hums a melody, the same carol you had heard outside the tavern. His voice is deep, sweet if imperfect. But it’s music to your ears. His arm reaches around you then, a slight jolt as he realizes he’s touching nothing but skin as he skates his fingers across your back and down your arm.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat, more sultry than surprised. “I do see you are taking full advantage of your own present, darling.”

“Maybe I’m just waiting for my own in exchange,” you simper and pout, your hand reaching to stroke up those sinews of his thigh.

His chuckle tickles the top of your head as he places a kiss there. “Well, if you don’t mind not having it wrapped in frills and ribbons, I suppose I could give it to you now, my love.”

“What need have I for ribbons when I can have you… taking me…. in the sunlight again?”

“Just like old times,” he purrs, a single hand reading around to slip into the band of your sensible breeches for winter. “It always was a pity I never got one last time with you, basking in the heat of your warm flesh and the light of the sun before that blessing of the tadpole disappeared.” He grins, fingers slipping down between your thighs, which you have already conveniently spread for him. “What a gift to share in it again, a true Yuletide miracle, my love.”

That cool touch pierces where you are hot and aching. Where you burn and blister with your own heat. A little moan escapes your lips, your hands shuffling off the thick material of your breeches, words pleading for more from Astarion. You stumble over your “P-please…” as you stand to let that fabric shuffle off your feet.

He’s just watching your writhe on his fingers, bathed in the light. Those crimson eyes unblinking and ravenous. “Feeling merry, are you?” he purrs. “Bursting with joy yet?” His voice is rife with that seduction and wicked bite that makes you instantly wetter.

“A little more effort, and I’m sure I’ll be louder than any of those drunken carolers,” you whimper, the brush of his hand unlacing his breeches presses against your mound and thigh, the pressure of his other fingers deep inside you, more numerous than before in your cunt, guiding you to straddle his lap.

You slide right over, hands braced on his shoulders, gripping into the decadently soft material of his tunic. It’s so calm, so bright, this magical sunlight on your bare back. Your hands ruck up his own shirt, an approving smirk dancing over his breathtaking face as you sweep it off his body in one pull.

The moan from his mouth, hanging slack as he feels the warmth and light on him again, it makes you quiver and thrill. “Gods,” he breathes, “to bask in the light again…” his voice is wet, thick with desire, with emotion. He shuts his eyes, head leaning back against the settee, hands finally tugging his breeches apart to let his cock free. You feel him, his hands lifting it from its confines, fingers silkenly stroking himself. A groan from your mouth, bemoaning that emptiness inside you, your own hand takes up the pressure he started to build.

“Tch,” he sucks his teeth, still reclining to savor the warmth of the light and the heat your folds on his lap, “you don’t lift a finger tonight for your own pleasure, my love.” He pulls your body flush against him, guiding his cock to run back and forth through your hot and dripping seam. Slowly, his hand presses at the top of your hip, letting your sink down just an inch or so over that blunt head. Then he sneaks you up, sliding away from your aching channel. “Perhaps I should have let you undo my laces, unwrap your present, as it were…” he shrugs, centering your body over that cool hard erection. “I can make it up to you in so many ways,” he growls happily into your lips, sucking them in to a long and tender kiss.

Your hands grip into his shoulders, his hold on your waist steadying you as he thrusts upwards. The fullness of him inside you at last, that stretching friction warms you more than the soft flow of light over your back. Eyes closing, you can almost imagine that little glad back in the Emerald Grove. That morning you woke, sore and tingling from the way you had joined for the first time.

That morning light that once warmed your bodies as you took in the sight of him completely, scars and all. That way your heart first went out to him…

But this, this is so much better. Melting as you bask not only in the heat that defies the dark and cold, but that thrumming seer of your love. His hands rock your hips, letting you shimmy and buck as he matches your every movement with those impeccable thrusts. His kiss dances with your lips, tongue taking yours in his hold, tangling and darting as you lose yourself in him.

Warm all over. Loved all over.

You feel his touch wandering, tracing to cup the swell of your ass, fingers gripping into your flesh with each ride you make on him.

And you know he is feeling that light, the same that caresses his face, illuminating those lines and freckles and ridges of cheekbone that steal your breath with their beauty every day. You break from his mouth to watch him, lips still twitching and slack as he pants and groans.

His eyelids lower, that veiled gaze watching the way your body bounces on his lap, his stare darting to watch where you take him all the way in. Where the increasingly wet slaps of your body echo to fill the little study. Where your own body burns like a furnace, fucked hard to scaling hot as your bliss blisters.

Back arching, hands clawing into the cool muscles of his shoulders, you let it all go, letting that heat on your back and the friction of his fucking wash through you, splitting you apart with your climax. His arms embrace you harder as you spasm, your hips rocking at random, your body bracing against his as your pleasure floods you and steals your every conscious thought. His muscles clench, his belly brushing against yours, his thighs beneath you hitching and tight. You feel him pulsing inside you, his voice resonating in one ear with his groans and sighs as he fills you. Your folds drenched with all the hot slick it can handle, pouring and puddling on his lap.

Vision blurring, you come to, bit by bit. Head resting on his shoulder, his own rasping, unsteady breath washing to cool the warm glow over your flesh, you nuzzle tightly against him.

And you realize, for once, his skin feels warm to the touch. Glowing and heated from the light before you and your love-making. The stillness breaks with a gentle sigh from his iron-wrought chest. Air whistles in your ear. “You win, darling,” he whispers as he places a kiss into the tumbled mess of your hair. “Yuletide can be… merry… blissful even,” he acknowledges, not a begrudging hint in his voice.

“Miracles happen, Yuletide magic in the air… I think your heart has grown three sizes tonight…” you giggle, raising your head, your cheeks flushed and body humming to feel him still inside you.

“I doubt it,” he smirks, rakish and mischievous, “but I do know of other bits of my anatomy that have had that benefit…” he grinds into you, dragging that still-throbbing cock of his around your walls. He gives you a rakish flash of his fangs before you swiftly find yourself laid out flat on your back, sprawled across the bed of the settee. The weight of his body crushes you into the soft velvet, and your body grows unbearable… hot, especially as he sucks your ear fully into his hungry mouth. He whispers, “And you say this Solaris blooms for a day… well then, darling.” He gives that wicked giggle, “you are about to have a night that is not so silent… if you know what I mean.”

“I count on it,” you purr back, lost in the brightness in his crimson eyes. “I want the most out of my gift, after all…”

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🕯️I hope I got all the tag requests, thank you all for the love. I can’t wait to see what you think, dear readers 💞

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nebulablakemurphy · 1 year

Text

Moves & Countermoves (Part 14)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

Sunlight seeps through the curtains of Y/N and Haymitch’s room at the tribute center. Katniss and Peeta are taken to suit up for the games.

Y/N does not want to leave this bed; she does not want to live this nightmare.

Haymitch startles himself awake with his own snoring. He had too much to drink last night, after Chaff refused his bangle and the alliance.

“No, Haymitch. Give those kids their best chance.”

They fought, then made up; the way brothers do. Still it is Finnick wearing Haymitch’s token into the arena.

Y/N turns over in Haymitch’s arms, resting her head against his chest, lulled by the steady rise and fall.

“I can hear you thinking.”

“Bullshit,” she calls it.

Haymitch huffs a laugh, “it’s true.”

“Fine. What am I thinking?”

He flicks her ear, playfully. “Never said I was a fucking mind reader.” I just know you.

“His leg.” Y/N confesses, “Peeta won’t be able to take the prosthetic off. It hurts when he leaves it on too long.”

Haymitch sighs, “the kid’s strong. He’ll pull through.”

“I won’t be able to live with myself if anything happens to them.”

“You’d be surprised by the things you can live with.” He knows first hand.

Y/N holds her tongue.

“I know it’s not fair and I know that it hurts you.” I hate that it hurts you. I hate that it hurts them. The damn kids that grew on him like warts.

She lifts her head from his chest, staring into those tired, blue eyes. Tracing the furrow between his brows, “it’s not your fault.”

“So you can read minds.”

“No, I just know that you hate yourself.”

At this Haymitch laughs, rumbling out from deep in his chest. “Hate is such a strong word.”

“I love you, Haymitch,” she tells him.

He half smiles, “now that is your own fault.”

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The viewing room is different this year, all sponsors have chosen tributes. The arena theme is unclear but the tropical setting will make for an interesting game.

Finnick will thrive there, which is good news for all of them.

Katniss is visibly shaken when she’s raised onto the pedestal. Peeta is placed strategically on the opposite side of the cornucopia.

“Let the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games begin. May the odds be ever in your favor. Ten, nine……”

“Something’s wrong.” Y/N covers her mouth with one hand.

“Eight.”

“Cashmere’s right there,” Haymitch points out. “She’s in a good spot.”

“Seven.”

“Brutus.” He’s on the opposite side, not really an enemy, certainly not a friend.

“Six.”

“Well there’s no perfect spot.” Peeta’s got Mags, and Parker. The male tribute from ten, without allegiance to the rebels or the Capitol.

“Five.”

People are going to die in the bloodbath, there’s no way around it.

“Four, three, two, one……” Cannon.

Katniss dives in, swimming toward the rocky pathway which leads to the cornucopia. Brutus comes up about the same time, hot on her trail for a moment, before jumping back into the water.

Gloss is keeping an eye on her as Cashmere reaches the weapons; securing her own, her brother’s and the bow. Gloss trips up, leaving Katniss alone when she finds Cashmere.

“Katniss,” the blonde says, gently. Extending the bow and arrows to her, with the arm sporting Y/N’s gold bracelet.

Katniss eyes the token. This is who Y/N’s chosen, above anyone else. After a moment she nods, accepting the weapon and drawing it quickly.

Gloss joins them, gathering his sword without a word. Prepared to defend them against the other victors. All three turn to Finnick, ready to strike.

“Good thing we’re allies, right?” He also flashes a bangle.

Leaving Katniss too stunned to speak.

“Duck.” Finnick warns, throwing his trident; it lands in district five’s male tribute. Cannon. “Don’t trust two. I’ll take this side, you three hold them off.”

“We need to find Peeta.” Cashmere says, shocking Katniss farther.

“I’m on it.” Finnick disappears, beyond the edge of the cornucopia.

A flicker of dark hair crosses the screen and Haymitch grabs Y/N’s face. Turning her away from the screen and holding her hostage as she bats at his hands.

“What are you doing?” She protests, continuing to push at him.

“Don’t look.”

A scream, the slash and stab. The blood that gushes out in its wake.

“Haymitch, please, who is it?” Y/N is panicking in earnest now.

Cannon. Her body tumbles into the water.

“Seeder.” Haymitch releases her, spared from the image forever ingrained in his mind.

“Mags found Peeta, he’s over here.” Finnick calls.

Peeta is grappling with Parker near his pedestal.

Katniss tries to line up a shot, but it’s impossible with the tangle of limbs. Eventually they both go down, under the water. Finnick dives in to assist but the cannon booms.

“Peeta?”

The viewing room is still, until that blonde head of hair pops out. Panting and disoriented, searching for Katniss. When he finds her there Peeta knows it is worth it. The bloodshed, the fight, the reason to keep on living is right here. “Katniss.”

“Peeta,” the archer reaches for him from the rocks.

Just that morning, Katniss told him she wanted no allies, only him. Luckily something seems to have swayed her. Cashmere, Gloss, Finnick and Mags have joined them. Together they set off into the forest for refuge, taking a moment to breathe about half a mile out.

The cannon sounds, five more times, in quick succession. “Guess we’re not holding hands anymore.” Finnick remarks.

“You think that’s funny?” Katniss sneers.

“Every time that cannon goes off is music to my ears.”

“Finnick,” Cashmere warns, with a shake of her head.

“Let’s keep moving,” Peeta insists.

The forest is deep, vines hanging in all directions. Peeta is at the forefront beside Gloss, hacking down the overgrowth to clear a path.

Katniss spots the shimmering ahead, something not quite right about the edge of her sightline. A forcefield. “Peeta, no!”

He rebounds off the electro current, knocking down the others. His body emitting hints of smoke.

“He’s not breathing.” Katniss cries, turning Peeta onto his back.

“Anybody know CPR?”

“I do,” Finnick takes over.

Katniss keeps a close eye, not sure that she trusts him.

Cashmere touches her back and the girl flinches, “it’s ok, Katniss.”

Haymitch watches intently, he does not turn Y/N away or even attempt to. Come on Finnick. Come on Peeta.

“Come on. Come on, Peeta.”

“Please, Peeta.”

The boy gasps, drawing fresh air into his lungs.

Y/N’s shoulders sag in relief, running a soothing hand over the lively child in her belly.

“Alright,” Haymitch huffs, resting a hand over hers. “Everybody calm down.” As if he himself hadn’t been in a state of unrest. He leans forward, addressing their child directly. “That means you too.”

There it is, the familiar brush of his lips against her stomach. Y/N realizes that she hasn’t felt it as frequently this time around. Perhaps she prevented it, she wasn’t ready and he knew it. She regrets that now.

————————————————————————-

After some investigation Katniss discovers that the arena is a dome.

“We’re safest with our backs protected, I say we set up camp here for the night.” Gloss says, eyes still scanning the area.

“I’ll take first watch,” Finnick volunteers.

“Not a chance,” Katniss grunts out.

“Honey, that thing I did back there for Peeta, that was called saving his life.” Finnick cocks his head to the side. “If I wanted to kill either one of you, I would’ve done it by now.”

“Enough,” Cashmere cuts in, they’re worse than a couple of kids.

“Just for a little bit, let’s get some rest.” Peeta squeezes Katniss’ arm as he passes. Tucking in comfortably, against one of the trees and falling asleep.

Finnick helps Mags get settled. Cashmere and Gloss break off in the opposite corner.

“We’ve gotta get them some water.” Y/N picks at her nails, anxiously.

“You want me to go?” Haymitch offers.

“I’ll go.” Sponsors this year are chomping at the bit to send essentials for their favorite tributes. All seated near the request booth. Y/N paints on a smile as she approaches them.

“Y/N,” a hand reaches out to grab her. “We’ve been waiting to help Katniss and the baby.” The Capitol woman coos.

“That is so kind, thank you.” She jerks her chin towards the desk. “Come with me?”

The woman squeals in delight, nearly leaving behind her pocketbook in haste.

“We’d like to send my tributes water.” Y/N tells the man working the booth.

“How many bottles?”

“Not bottles.” Y/N wracks her brain, “do you have any kind of filtration system?”

“Nothing portable.”

So they can’t use the salt water.

“Is this an arena without any fresh water?”

“There is water.” The man says, giving Y/N nothing to work with.

————————————————————————

Katniss can’t risk sleeping, so she sits up with Finnick as the sky grows dark.

“How’s Peeta?”

“He’s ok, I think.” Katniss croaks out. “Just dehydrated like the rest of us.”

The national anthem rings out over the arena, lighting up the sky with images of the fallen.

Katniss thinks of her mentors then. How many were their friends?

A chime finds their ears as the Horn of Plenty ends. A parachute. Water, Katniss hopes.

She moves for it, splitting open the metal container. No water, just a note and…

“What’s that?” Finnick wonders, looks painful to use.

“From Haymitch and Y/N, I think it’s a spile.”

“A what?” Finnick follows her to the nearest tree, watching as she hammers the sharp end in with a rock. The sound wakes Peeta.

For a moment there is nothing, Katniss slams her fist against the tree. She can survive without food, she’s done it before, but not without water.

“Why isn’t it working?” Y/N is fuming, ready to wring the man’s neck who sent the faulty tool. But then, by some miracle, a steady stream of water begins to flow.

Once everyone has had their fill, those not on watch return to sleeping.

“Well if you’re not going to sleep, I will.” Finnick decides.

“Go ahead,” Katniss nods, prepared to handle it on her own.

The viewing room begins to clear out, supply booths are closed and most sponsors have excused themselves. Y/N and Haymitch take the elevator up to their floor, switching on the projector as they ready for bed.

Cashmere comes to sit beside Katniss, noticing that she keeps dozing off. The blonde says nothing, just offers a soft smile before turning her gaze out to the forest.

Y/N dares to close her own eyes, wrapped up in Haymitch’s arms as he massages the back of her scalp.

“Ahhhhh!”

Y/N turns back to the games. Back to Katniss with blisters on her hand from the thick mist.

Haymitch hisses, “get outta there, sweetheart.”

“Run!” Katniss calls, rousing the rest. “Run! The fog is poison.”

Maybe this is part of Plutarch’s plan, make it believable.

Finnick has Mags on his back, bringing up the rear. Katniss and Peeta are between Gloss and Cashmere, offering whatever protection they can. But the fog is closing in from all sides, leaving no clear path.

Poison hits each of them in turn, Cashmere worse than Gloss, who doubles back for his sister. Peeta worse than Katniss when his foot gets caught on a root.

Finnick wails when the mist finds him. Mags is silent, though the pain is evident on her features, arms coming loose enough to topple them both over.

“Mags, please!” Finnick rushes her back on.

The six of them stumble over each other, fighting to clear the effected area which spans endless.

Peeta is down, unconscious.

“Peeta,” Katniss shakes him, patting at his face. “Peeta, we have to keep moving.”

“Shit,” Haymitch curses.

Y/N paces the small space beside the night stand, tethered by her husband’s hand.

Gloss has Cashmere tucked up under his arm, her skin a tapestry of raised blisters. “We need to get him up.”

Cashmere pants out. “I’m…it’s bad. Save Peeta.”

Finnick and Mags stop to assess the damage.

“Here,” Katniss approaches Cashmere, tossing one arm over her shoulder. “I’ll take her.”

Gloss does not argue, gathering Peeta and dragging him forward.

“We’re almost-”

“Katniss, you have to leave me.” Cashmere insists.

“No,” Katniss cuts her off.

In the end it is Mags who disappears into the fog, allowing Finnick to help the others. The cannon that follows is deafening, paired with Finnick’s agonized scream.

It hits Y/N square in the chest, her knees buckle, sinking back onto the bed. She does not cry. Allowing anger to fill the holes left by the games. It seeps into her blood, familiar and all consuming. Burning hot.

Haymitch can feel the shift, from grief to rage and he does not fault her for it.

Y/N blinks at the screen. “I can’t live with it.”

“I’ll help you.” Take it out on me, if you need to. Just let me make it better…at least let me try.

Part 15

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme @smuha2004 @sendhelplease @ninimackbrews @wittiestrain184 @r1dd1kulus @erenluvr69 @helpimhyperfixating @jackierose902109 @jellybear455 @dreammgc @dadbodfanatic-x @ftdtcmlovr

#haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch abernathy x y/n #thg haymitch #haymitch abernathy fanfic #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy #haymitch x y/n #haymitch fanfic #haymitch abernathy x yn #the hunger games fanfiction #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen

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starlightvivi · 5 months

Text

Soldier's Silent Love

Ghost x Reader

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Summary: Y/N and Ghost, comrades who once kept their feelings unspoken, find themselves reunited on a mission where a forced fake marriage unravels years of hidden emotions. Ghost, who concealed his affection when you were transferred away, now faces the challenge of maintaining the act while wrestling with a love that never truly faded. In the midst of duty and deception, their story unfolds, blurring the lines between soldier and lover.

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Mention of :- Romance, suspense, smut, (mdni 18+) some fluff, a lot of flirting, jealous ghost, fake married couple

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A/N:- The best one I have written so far Ig 😭 still has gotta improve, there are more parts to go in ☺️ this series. But there is no smutty in this part, just some romantic and fluff, kisses, and yup. Please do comment on how is it… it motives me and let me know if you liked it 🤧❤️

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On this mission, the charade demanded you play the role of a married couple, Ghost's arm linked with yours as you walked together. His words were a stern warning, "If you try anything stupid, don't think there *won't* be consequences," he emphasized, pulling you into the building.

"Be on your best behavior. I'm not playing around here," he whispered, his deep voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. Matching wedding rings adorned your fingers, a glittering facade under the party's strobe lights, a fake symbol of love that left a bitter taste in both of you.

"Yeah, like I'm the only one playing here" You give him an annoyed look.

He sighed, his mask of disinterest and annoyance disappearing when he looked down at you in annoyance. “Y/N, don’t make me regret picking you to be in this stupid mission.” His sharp words were met with a small smile under his mask, as if he thought you were funny but didn’t want to admit it.

"What if you regret it?" She looks at him and squeezes his arm tightly.

He made a noise underneath his mask, which you took as an amused huff. He squeezed your hand before it released his, as he looked forward again. “Don’t make this worse than it already is.”

"I didn't even do anything yet and you call this worse!?" She raised her eyebrows and disbelief, and her expression changed as the bartender approached you with drinks but Ghost gave him a headshake refusing the drinks as the bartender left.

He looks at you and rolls his eyes, leaning against a wall. “We’re supposed to pretend we’re *in love,* you know that right? That means playing into the role.” Ghost said, glancing at you. “So I guess we should start acting it.”

“Fine, I’ll play along.” She sighed and nodded but suddenly he leaned over, planting a kiss on your cheek.

You stood there, nonplussed and wide-eyed, as an unexpected kiss, you raised your eyebrows reflecting the surprise etched across your face.

With a tantalizing smile and confidence, you seized his tie, effortlessly drawing him closer until both of your eyes locked in an electric gaze, both your noses teasingly brushing. "I believe a second attempt is in order," you whispered, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.A lingering sense of mystery and desire trailing in you to awake.

He went still for a moment, before your words and boldness made his body heat rise. His eyes flickered with annoyance or something else, as he looked down at you. He didn’t respond, instead he grabbed your cheeks and kissed you on the lips.

You shut your eyes and hold onto his chest tightly, you hated to admit but you liked it and you missed him

He didn’t pull away as he closed his eyes, he felt the same as you do. Feeling you cling to him,and holding you even tighter than before.

As she delicately opened her eyes in the midst of their kiss, she swiftly located the target. With a mischievous twinkle, she broke the kiss, guiding his head to rest on her shoulder, and whispered into his ears, "The target's just to the left, accompanied by her friend." A surge of excitement and anticipation filled the air as they prepared for the next move in this lively game of intrigue.

With eyes closed, he savored the moment, his cheeks tinged with a flush of pleasure upon hearing your words. As he opened his eyes and followed the direction you pointed, Ghost glanced back at you, whispering, "Can we wrap this up? I must admit, I prefer this unexpected detour to our original plan." There was a shared sense of enjoyment and a hint of rebellion in the air as they contemplated abandoning the scripted path for something more thrilling.

Mid-mission, she couldn't suppress a smile, thinking, *Well, this is a first.* Playfully slapping his chest, she redirected their focus, saying, "As fun as this is, Ghost, we've got a mission to finish. Target's not going to wait forever." Laughter lingered as they seamlessly blended the unexpected with the mission's intensity.

He quickly glanced away and coughed, adjusting his tie. “yeah yeah.” He said quickly, glancing around before pointing in the target’s direction. “We should move, before we’re spotted.”

You gaze at him with admiration, a shy smile gracing your lips, as if the depth of your feelings was delicately revealed in that tender moment. "Sure............by the way"

He looked away quickly and his cheeks fluttered a bit. “Now come on, we gotta keep our captain happy.” He said, gripping your arm as he tugged at you.

"Can we have a drink before we go?" You ask, looking at him with an adorable expression. You delicately holds both of his hands, silently expressing a desire for a brief, intimate moment before embarking on the next adventure.

“Fine, fine.” Ghost said, walking over to the bar and ordering two drinks. The bartender gave him a look of disgust and confusion before he pushed both glasses over. Ghost grabbed them and walked back over to you. “Let’s see just how well the two of us can act.” He said, handing a glass over to you.

"Sure." A sly smirk curves on Y/N lips in response.

But suddenly guy make his way towards you and starts to have a conversation with you.

Ghost took a sip of his drink, watching as the guy chatted you up. He felt a small pang of jealousy and annoyance, but brushed it off quickly, wanting you to play your role.

The guy engaged You in conversation, posing questions with a nod towards Ghost.

The guy: "Is that your husband, or are you still single?"

His words echoed a bit too loudly, prompting Ghost and You to exchange a subtle glance, their eyes communicating a shared amusement at the unexpected turn in the act.

Ghost froze, looking over at you as his eyes widened underneath his mask. A small smile curled at his lips as he felt *real joy,* as if his feelings for you were more than fake. He cleared his throat and looked over at the other guy. “Er, yeah, that’s my wife right there.” He said, gesturing over towards you.

You flashed a sly smile at the guy, who prepared to move on in search of another person. However, he leaned in close, whispering something that sent shivers down your spine, coloring your cheeks with a deep blush. As he concluded, you gracefully made your way to sit beside Ghost, whose curiosity was piqued.

Ghost, full of concern, whispered,

"Y/N, what did he say to you?" His hand rested gently on your shoulder, a mix of worry, confusion, and protectiveness in his voice.

Blushing, you stammered, "He mentioned what we did was incredible hot and suggested trying it during a romantic movie." Now you hiding your face in your hand, you felt Ghost's gaze on you.

“Did you enjoy the kiss?” Ghost whispered, surprise and hope evident in his voice.

Startled, you looked away, processing the question, your face reflecting a mix of confusion and emotions.

“Y/N, look at me,” Ghost urged, his voice soft yet clear, seeking the truth.

Hesitant, you deflected, "Let me hear your thoughts first."

Ghost sighed, meeting your gaze. “I liked it. I felt happy when our lips touched,” he admitted, waiting for your response. The emojis mirrored a mixture of emotions, capturing the complex exchange of feelings in the air.

To be continued…

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starlightdreaming · 17 days

Text

Happy(?) Birthday! Pt.1/2

Lucifer x Reader!

Fandom: Hazbin hotel

Content Warning: Angst to comfort, Birthday blues, another vent fic! (mb) Neglected/Abandoned friendship. Also this fic takes place in like a Highschool AU? I guess.

Synopsis: It’s your birthday! Who could possibly forget that?

Further Note: ITS MY BIRTHDAY RAHHH (4/11)

(Insert bday art here idk lol im working on it)

You sighed as you stared out the window on the second floor, head resting under your hand as you leaned into your desk. You watched the birds chirping in the trees, neglecting your work assignment your teacher had given you twenty minutes ago. You never did your work in the first place anyways, you were always doodling or drawing on them, not feeling motivated to do much else.

You heard footsteps approaching you while you were daydreaming, you turn to see your teacher had placed your paperwork down onto your desk, not giving you a glance. You look down at the paper seeing the usual grade you always get, another ‘F’ like anything else. Usually you just don’t turn in any paperwork, you grab your paper from the desk and shoved it in your bag, it already being long forgotten.

You looked out the window again, gray clouds covering the sky, making the day feel all the more duller. Halfway through the day, the bell rang, signaling it was time for lunch. It was the only time you actually enjoyed throughout the day, all your friends and you would hangout together for the good hour of the school day, you grabbed your bag again, putting it against your back, standing up and leaving the classroom. Many kids your age had walked past you, talking to their friends, going to classes and hallways to meet and hang out, the same you were about to do.

You turned in the hallway towards the stairs, following down as the kids flooded every corner of the building. After escaping the staircase you walked down the long hall that passed by the principals office and school library, reaching the cafeteria that held kids as they shouted and ran. The school felt flawed on how many open windows there were, letting random public eyes stare through the schools windows, seeing the many children that were in the facility, it really did bother you but no one seemed to care at all. You put your bag down at one of the small tables in the cafeteria room, walking to the lunch line to get your ‘healthy nutritional meal’ the schools claims them to be.

You scrolled through your phone as you waited, feeling the anxiety gnawing at your body as if the whole school was staring at you. They weren’t obviously but it still felt that way no matter what you did. It was terrible. Your anxiety chipped away when you saw Lucifer walk in the cafeteria, placing his bag next to yours, he saw you waiting in line and waved at you with a cheery smile, you waved back, smiling as well shyly.

He hopped in line with you, not caring what others think. You craved his confidence, confidence that gave you the ability to express yourself without caring or feeling everyone’s judgment upon you. “Happy birthday, Y/n!” He chimed loudly, making your heart sink from the attention you were nothing gathering but you tried your best to brush it off as you tried to keep your focus on your best friend of three years. “Oh, thanks Lulu..” you say nervously, hugging your arm.

“I made you a little something for your birthday but I’ll show you after we get our lunch!” He says excitedly while you both stepped further in the line, grabbing trays and a small milk carton to drink and putting them on your trays, stepping further down the line, getting your meals next, “so what do you plan on doing today?” He asked, looking at you with his ruby red eyes and rosy red cheeks, making your face heat up, “oh, uh.. nothing really..” you say, saddening at the loss of what to do, you felt like it was just a day closer to death and it made you worry.

“Aw don’t worry,” he says nudging you a little, “we can think of something together!” He smiles at you, his fangs showing as he tilted his head. You smiled and looked away, your face feeling more hotter the longer he stared at you.

After you both had got your meals, you both sat down together at the small circular empty table, making you wonder, “where is everyone else?” You asked, looking at Lucifer while he dug in his bag after putting his food down, “oh they’re hanging out with other people today in clubs! Wanted to join em but I didn’t want to leave you here by yourself.” He says as he pulled out a paper, turning to you, “here, I made this for you!” He says, eagerly showing his gift, it was a drawing of you and a bunch of ducks… as if he doodled them out of boredom, “oh, thank you so much Lulu.” You smiled, taking the drawing from him and admiring it with a smile, “it’s really cute.” “yeah? I’m glad!” He says, zipping up his bag and putting it on his back, picking up his tray, “I got to hangout with someone today, we have to discuss our project together but I promise to come back!” He smiles at you comfortingly as your smile faltered, “oh, alright then.” You say as you bring your smile back on your face slightly, trusting he would keep his word.

He left the cafeteria, leaving you alone with no one else. When the year began, your lunch table would be full of your friends, filled with even your friend’s friends, then later over time, your friends started separating in different hang out spots, leaving you here now, alone at your table on your birthday. You sighed as you waited for Lucifer to return, those seconds turned into minutes as time went by, your lunch felt unbearably long as you sat there listening to the other kids around you laughing and smiling, enjoying each others company as they conversed, making you feel all the more lonely. You felt too anxious to try and look for him, wandering the halls while people even gave you a glance in the halls was the last thing you wanted. You wish you could have just been invisible, you think it’s all the better to avoid everyone. Well, it’s not like the opposite is happening to you currently, who would want to even talk to you? You poked at your food, not feeling hungry and definitely not eating whatever the school serves.. it doesn’t even look nutritious or healthy.

You decided to throw your meal away, seeing as Lucifer hadn’t come back yet and lunch was almost over, you still expected him to come, even if he was a little late. He promised. You decided to go on your phone, distracting yourself with the little time there was and not before long; the bell rang.

It seemed like he did forget, even though he promised.

You sighed sadly, slightly betrayed by the trust of that promise, you were going to talk to him about it later.

You opened your bag and took out your binder before you left the cafeteria, staring down at your feet as you held the binder, hugging it. You avoided everyone’s and anyone’s gaze as you walked down the hall, your next class was upstairs, so you had walked up the crowded stairs, feeling your anxiety gnawing you as everyone pushed to go up the steps, when you made it out, you exhaled a breath quietly, not noticing you were holding it. You went to your next classroom door, waiting there as you held your binder, finding comfort in it as if it was like a shield from the world, it wasn’t long before you heard a familiar and loud laugh, you looked up and saw Lucifer with Lilith, he was smiling widely as he walked past you, not even acknowledging or noticing you, your heart sank, it further confirmed that he had actually forgotten about you and it hurt you. You raised your binder up to your face, hiding the tears forming from watching Lucifer happily spend time with someone else rather than you.

To you, Lucifer was your first. In a room full of people, you would choose Lucifer but as you watched Lucifer walk down the hall, looking at Lilith so attentively, you could tell he would never choose you. The thought made you go further into a rabbit hole, if Lucifer was the closest person to you in all the people you have had ever met.. does that mean no one would choose you as their first? You sucked in a breath, feeling your tears start to flow, you immediately wiped them away, your anxiety rising in you again, you were afraid someone would start asking questions or concerns and that would make your crying worse.

The teacher finally opened the door and you walked in first, looking down and using your hair to hide your tears, you sat at a desk that was at the corner of the wall, you turned to it, hiding your reddened face. You quietly sniffled as you used your sweaters sleeves to wipe and clean your face, you tried to distract yourself with something else, trying to stop the tears and thoughts, embarrassed to cry in public. You just wanted to go home and hide in your bed, hide away from the world.

You ignored the teacher as she began to ramble on with her lecture, you picked up your pencil and pulled out a paper from your binder, drawing and doodling to distract yourself. You felt completely blue, you didn’t feel like it was your birthday anymore after seeing Lucifer had forgotten or stopped caring about it anymore, you looked at the drawing he had made you and you were holding onto that sliver of hope that maybe he just didn’t notice you in the hallway and you were just being dramatic, thats all.

You lied to yourself, finding a sliver of comfort in it and that was the whole point. You always lied to comfort yourself, it was a coping mechanism at this point and it was the only comfort you could find in your life currently. When you pulled out the drawing Lucifer had made and saw yourself smiling on the paper, you wish you had felt the same way the drawing had did. You wanted to just have a birthday where you sat at the middle of the table, a cake in front of you lit in candles, you wanted all your friends and family to be surrounding you, singing and telling happy birthday with smiles on their faces, it’s all you wanted for your simple birthday.

Although you couldn’t see it being true to happen, you could just daydream and even draw it the scenario and thats what you did. You drew yourself and all those ‘friends’ you had, it was terribly made but it made you somewhat smile, you felt like you were in the drawing somewhat, like it actually happened and wasn’t just a doodle to cope, it felt surreal.

after one drawing, you drew another, indulging yourself in a fantasy with art, you kept drawing yourself in scenarios of you and characters you had made, blocking out the reality of your classes and school assignments as you were wallowed up in your own world, living in it now.

You had spent the entire day drawing, relieved school was now over for the day, you got the chance to finally look for Lucifer and talk to him, hoping he didn’t just completely forget you like everyone else had.

After going down the hallways, heading toward the front of the school for buses and car pick ups, you saw Lucifer talking with Lilith but that didn’t matter, what mattered was that he would go to your party - if he even remembered.

“Hey Lucifer, are you still going to my party?” you chimed, throwing your anxiety and intrusive thoughts out the window for a moment to ask him that question genuinely. You had spoke rather loudly, alerting people around you but you definitely caught Lucifers attention, when he turned to you, your smile faltered. Lucifer was looking at you and not in a pleasant way either, he looked at you with an estranged look, like as if you were a stranger and was confused as to why you were even inviting him to such an event. It made you step back in surprise from his expression, you looked around you and saw people staring at you, Lilith included and it made your heart sink, your anxiety spiking from the judgmental looks that surrounded you.

You began to panic, seeing all eyes were on you now, you waved at Lucifer, laughing nervously as you wanted to leave the situation quickly, “nevermind, i’ll figure it out!” You say awkwardly before walking out the building rather quickly. You hid at a corner of the school panting, you threw your bag to the side as you leaned against the wall and sat down, hugging yourself as you tried to calm your breathing, your tears falling down your face from the stress of the situation you were in a moment ago.

You wiped your face, hearing your phone in your pocket buzz. It was your mom, she texted you that she was here to pick you up, you felt rather relieved. You didn’t have to endure the bus ride home and you could avoid Lucifer too, you cleaned your face as quickly and perfectly as you could, grabbing your bag as you stood up to text your mom where you were specifically.

After a bit, your tears dried up and your mom drove to the lot, you walked to the car, getting in as you set your beg next to you, looking at your mom with a smile.

It was a comfortable drive, your mom had asked you what you had wanted for your birthday, a cake was included. As you spent time with your momma, you had gotten yourself a laptop, your mother agreeing to pay it for you, you were happy and rather excited to be able to use the new device for your school work (further art projects).

The way home was rather rejuvenating from the dreadful day you had to endure, feeling like no one had wanted to even or care about your day of your birth, your mom had made it all the more better, he sweet smile and a song chimed of your birthday, your family somewhat cared, they cared more than what you had expected, it was much but it was just enough for you to feel better about your day.

You had clicked and messed with your new laptop your mom had gifted you, not caring about the know at your door. You saw your mom was on her way to open it anyways so you didn’t bother as you kept typing in your notes and opening sites as you smiled only for time to stop when you heard a familiar male voice at the door, asking and calling for you, “Y/n is home right? I didn’t see her at the bus stop on the way home like we were supposed to.”

You stood up to go to the front door curiously, your mom smiled as she spoke, “yes, shes right here!” she chimed, turning to you and gesturing you to talk with your friend at the door, you saw the familiar blonde and immediately knew it was Lucifer, you wanted to just close the door but that would make your mom raise concerns you didn’t want her to worry about, “Happy Birthday Y/n.” Lucifer smiled at you, dressed somewhat formally, he was wearing something different than what he wore at school, you smiled nervously as you avoided his gaze, “thanks..” you say as you fiddled with the front door knob, kinda just wanting to hide away in your room now.

✧•✧•✧•✧•✧•✧•✧

cliffhanger and rushed, mb gang (just wanted to get this posted.)

#character x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer

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bubblergoespop · 4 months

Text

My Top Sam Quotes

i love me some cowboy ♡ yeehaw and all that

“You’re a werewolf, not a damn tank, what the hell were you thinking?”

“I want you comfortable. What that looks like, you tell me.”

“Oh god, don’t call the 90’s vintage, you’re gonna give me a complex.”

“Don’t you whistle like that at me you smartmouth, this ain’t anything you haven’t seen. I am not blushing. I don’t blush.”

“Mr. Shaw.”

“You’re a big softie under it all too. Boop.”

“You don’t have to keep the armor up tonight. The fighting’s done. You can just rest. I got you, Darlin.”

“You’re my heart, Darlin’.”

“Oh you hush, of course that got my heart speeding up again. Wiseass.”

“Have some popcorn, it’ll soothe you.”

“Matter of fact, yes, I do know how to get food delivered nowadays. Do you know what the inside of a grocery store looks like?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m a mother-hen, what else is new?”

“Don’t worry, if the shock takes you out, I’ll be sure to catch you.”

“You feel like home, Darlin’.”

“It’s a Vamp’s favorite season. Well, my actual favorite season’s Fall, but you get me.”

“That’s for strangers. We can be as mean to family as we damn-well please.”

“How do you wanna do this? You wanna ride your cowb- you little-“

“You feel like sunlight on an easy day. That warmth and that comfort. Gentle and all around.”

“You like that? You gonna be good for me?”

“Hey. Look at me. Please.”

“Yeah, you’re awful put-upon. Your mate’s a heartless old curmudgeon who wants his arm rest.”

“No. No, I’m not falling asleep. Couldn’t be me. I’d never do such a thing.”

“Your vampiric pillow awaits.”

“Hey. Jokes aside. You do make sense, Darlin. Just cause some people don’t wanna put in the work to understand why doesn’t mean you don’t.”

“What the hell do you have against flannel? It’s efficient.”

“Oh I’m sure. My big bad wolf certainly would never get tired after a completely understandably draining day,”

“Tell me how you look so damn good right after waking up. Bullshit. You look heavenly.”

“You know better than me that if you don’t answer that goofball he’s just gonna keep calling.”

“Man’s gotta point. [smack] Ow.”

“Make it two.”

“I’m an equal opportunist shit-stirrer once you make the mistake of getting close to me.”

“You keep that up and I'll buy a walker just so I can beat your ass with it.”

“I didn’t realize those were our names, I thought he was drawing pictures…”

“Who you calling an underdog, pup?”

“Oh, so I’m a flop now?”

“Want some chocolate? It might soothe you.”

“Darlin’ what the hell is an Igglybump?”

“Play nice. I know you can even if you don’t like to.”

“Being so good for me. Wait until I tell ya.”

“So what if I am soft for you? You deserve soft.”

“I am not charming. I’m a moody curmudgeon, and I like it that way, thank you very much.”

“When I’m with you, my brain takes up shop in the wrong head.”

“Keep his name out of your fucking mouth.”

“I’ve got you. Tears aren’t ‘stupid’, Darlin’. They’re human. You don’t have to hold back any part of yourself with me.“

“[punch] That’s for Frederick. [punch] That’s for his Progeny. [punch] And that’s for me.”

“The only thing that makes the two of you worse hellions than you already are is when you put your scheming heads together on something.”

“I’m practically a glorified backpack”

“I want you moving like this in a different position. Mmhmm. How did you put it back in the day? ‘Riding your cowboy’?”

“You’re so damn beautiful. You are.”

“My big bad wolf. I get to say that without getting hit nowadays? My, the times are a-changing.”

“Look. You can call me every version of ‘cowboy’ you want, but you keep ‘duke’ just locked up in that pretty head of yours, you got it?”

“It’s a fancy dick-swinging contest with a side of hors d’oeuvres.”

“Vincent. You’re my family, and I love you, so please don’t take this the wrong way, but four years ago when he was still around, you were just as much of a pain in the ass to be around most of the time.”

“What you and me got is stronger than any of this bullshit the world throws at us. Even if the world’s got a hell of an arm, lately.”

“Brown. My eyes were brown.”

“Where do you want these fangs, baby?”

#this one’s really long #even after cutting it down #i forgot how many more audios sam has than avior and porter #redacted sam #redacted darlin #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #bubbler’s top quotes

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redbootsindoriath · 11 months

Text

Okay so I, like most Silmarillion fanartists, draw the Fëanorian twins as looking like...well...kids. The book says they were the youngest in the family, and we all went, “Okay then they’re children.” Which...yeah, that’s fair. They really just seem to be chilling most of the time, which makes them seem a bit more innocent than the others. But rather early on in my time doing Silm fanart, I thought about how funny if would be if they looked way older than their brothers. But I never did anything with the idea.

Well, after finishing the Fëanorian Week drawings this year I was thinking about how I don’t really draw many Ñoldor due to not having headcanons about many of them. And you guys know by this time that I love a bit of good angst, so I looked at the twins and said, “...ooh goody” and gave them a big old revamp. (The drawing is of Amras and Maedhros, by the way. For one thing, I’ve said before that I don’t like drawing identical twins. And for another…we’ll get into that in a second.)

Real quick, for those who aren’t super familiar with the different pieces of source material we have from Tolkien: in the Silmarillion both twins survive most of the story until they die together in the same battle near the end of the book. However, in one lone version of the story, Amrod dies when the ships are burned at Losgar. Okay so. That’s what’s been published, from here on out it’s just headcanon territory.

I think Amrod did die when the ships were burned. Elves are spiritually a bit...different...so I expect twins have a particularly strong bond. Amras wasn’t really able to handle the death of his brother, and went a little bit weird in the head. He believed that half of his own soul died at Losgar, and half of Amrod’s still lived inside of him. For the rest of his life, he answered to Amrod’s names, his own names, and Ambarussa, and signed his name and managed accounts as any of them as well. He refused to acknowledge Amrod’s death and became irrational when any of his brothers mentioned it, so eventually they played along. The story spreads that there were two of Fëanor’s sons that guard East Beleriand, but they are unsocial and rarely seen together. People will report having seen one or the other of them but no one can tell the difference (in reality, this is because there is only one that is still alive.)

It’s uncertain who all knows about Amrod’s death, even among the Ñoldor that came with Fingolfin. Most of the Sindar and Silvan elves don’t know. Probably no humans know. Anyone who does know doesn’t talk about it, and all everybody else knows is what they're told, and this is why in most versions of the story they both survive until Sirion. For a while you’d see one or the other of them out hunting or going to war, and you just assumed the other was doing something else. But then after Sirion no one ever saw either one. Therefore, they obviously both died in the same battle.

Anyway, that’s just the version I came up with. I don’t know if I’ll keep it, but it makes Amras a much more interesting character. And that let me come up with a more visually interesting design, much older than I used to draw them. Whether this was always the way they looked or a change that Amras went through after arriving in Middle Earth I haven’t decided yet.

#amras #amrod #(mentioned)#maedhros #the man the myth the legends #three shinies #my trash #sometimes i overthink stuff #/end classification tags #and that concludes the art dump of the day with a bonus ramble #hopefully i didn't make any typos #or leave out anything major #i wrote this in a bit of a rush

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winchesterwild78 · 25 days

Text

Unexpected Hunter

Chapter Warnings: fear, injury, death, weapons, some fluff, mention of stalking,

18+ Minors DNI

*********************************************

You didn’t plan to be a hunter. Hell you didn’t even know this life existed until a few years ago. You were in the park on an unseasonably warm day in February when you were attacked. You woke up 3 days later in the hospital with bandages all over, pain coursing through your body and 2 very handsome FBI agents waiting to speak to you. The taller one noticed you were awake and approached your bed. He was tall, had long hair and kind eyes. The shorter one, even though he was tall, had short dirty blonde hair and piercing green eyes. “Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n I’m Agent Smith and this is my partner Agent Smith, no relation. We’d like to ask you some questions about your attack if you’re up for it.

You positioned yourself up and said “yeah of course. I don’t remember much, but I’ll help with what I can.” You told them you were in the park for a few hours sitting on the bench and then you got up to leave. As you walked past a section of trees you felt strong arms grab you and pull you into the tree line. You remember trying to scream but something was covering your mouth. The next thing you remember is a growl that sent chills down your spine and a set of razor sharp teeth bending down to bite your neck. “I’m sorry I don’t remember what happened next. I must have passed out.” You said as tears pricked your eyes. That’s when you noticed the shorter man hadn’t taken his eyes off you. You made eye contact with him and you didn’t look away. The tall man cleared his throat and placed a hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay Miss Y/L/N, we are going to do everything possible to help solve this. Do you recall if you were bitten?” “I don’t think so you” said with wide eyes. “Here’s our card if you think of anything else or need anything.” He said. “Y/n, please call me y/n” you whispered. The other agent stepped forward and for the first time he spoke “y/n, if you need anything even if it’s just to talk please call me.” He said stepping closer to you. You looked up meeting his green eyes and you noticed they looked softer than before.

“Thank you agents. I will” you said taking the card and watching them as they walked out.

“Dean I’m gonna head to the morgue to check on the other bodies.” Sam said as he walked down the hallway. That’s when he noticed Dean standing just staring at your hospital room door. “Dean, did you hear me?” Sam said stepping closer to his brother. “Huh, what. Oh yeah. That’s fine. I’m going back to the scene to see if I can figure this out. I think we are dealing with a werewolf.” Dean said as he walked away.

You sat on your hospital bed trying to remember what happened. A nurse came in to check on you and you asked about your wounds. “It seems like you put up a heck of a fight. Most of the wounds are defensive and not too deep. You’ve got a broken rib and bruising from the punches, but girl I’d hate to see the other person. You hit your head on a rock trying to get away so you’re going to have a headache for a few days. You should be able to go home tomorrow since you’re awake.” She said with a soft smile. “Thank you. I’m ready to go home” you said smiling back. “Get some rest and I’ll bring you some food soon. If you need anything just push the call button.” She said as she walked out.

You grabbed a paper you found on the stand beside the bed and a pen. You started to draw the person who attacked you. Maybe this would help the FBI. You sat drawing and when you stopped you looked at what you drew. A soft gasp left your lips at what you saw on the paper. What started out as a good intention turned into something that took your breath away. Staring back at you from the paper wasn’t what attacked you, it was the green eyed FBI agent. “What in the world y/n. Why did you draw him.” You whispered to yourself as you kept staring at the paper. Pulling you from your thoughts was a soft knock on the door. In walked the green eyed agent. You quickly turned the paper over not wanting him to see it. “Hello y/n, how are you feeling?” He asked as he crossed the room. “I’m good. I have a headache and I’m sore, but they say I might get to bust out of here tomorrow” You said with a smile. “How are you agent? Did you find anything out about my attacker” you asked him. “I’m good and not yet. I did however find this at the scene and wanted to know if it was yours.” He asked holding up a locket on a broken gold chain. “Oh my goodness. Yes, that was my mother’s. Thank you so much for finding it.” You said with tears in your eyes. You took it from him and as your hand brushed against his electricity shot through your body. A single tear slipped down your face as you looked at the locket. It’s been about 10 years since your mother died and you’ve worn her locket ever since. Without thinking Dean thumbed away the tear. Your eyes met and you whispered “thank you” again. Dean nodded and stepped back. He sat in the chair next to your bed. There was a silence that filled the room as you opened the locket looking at your mother’s picture. You were so thankful he found it. “Um Agent Smith, can I ask what’s your name” you asked softly. “My name is Dean” he said looking over at you. “Dean, thank you again for finding this. It’s my most prized possession.” You said reaching out for his hand. “You’re welcome sweetheart” he said.

The silence was broken by his phone ringing. “Hello. Yeah I’m in y/n’s room. I found something at the scene and wanted to see if it was hers. Yep, see you soon.” He said then hung up. “That was my partner we think we have a lead so I need to leave and follow up on it.” He said to you. “Oh yeah, of course. Please be careful.” You said without thinking. He nodded and smiled as he walked out the door. “Dean” you whispered to yourself. The nurse came in a few minutes later with some food and asked if you needed anything. “Do you think you could get me some paper or a notebook. I want to see if I can draw some memories from the attack” you said. “Oh of course I can. I’ll be back in a minute” she said as she left the room. A few minutes later she brought you a spiral notebook, pencils and pens. “Thank you” you said as you opened it to the first page.

You ate your food and then started drawing. Anything you could remember from the day of the attack. You closed your eyes and just let your mind drift back to the day. You don’t know how long you had been drawing but soon you had several pages filled with images. The last image took your breath away. It was him, the guy who attacked you. You realized you had seen him before the attack. He had been around your job, at some of the stores you had frequented. That’s when it hit you. This guy was your bosses son. Your breath caught in your throat and you picked up the phone. You called Dean hoping he would answer. “Hello, this is Agent Smith” you heard him say. “Dean it’s y/n. I know who attacked me. It’s my bosses son. I was drawing and it came to me. He had asked me out several times and I turned him down because something felt off. He’s been stalking me. Showing up at different places I’m at. Please Dean, I’m so scared. What if he comes here.” You said without taking a breath. “Calm down sweetheart, we are on our way.”

He hung up and threw the car in reverse. “Y/n knows her attacker. We’re going back to the hospital Sammy. I can’t lose her” Dean said without hesitation. “Dean, we aren’t going to lose her. She’s safe at the hospital and she’s tougher than she looks.” Sam said looking at his brother. He knew Dean had developed feelings for her already. “I can’t explain it Sammy, I need to protect her. From the moment I saw her that need became primal.” Dean said as he gripped the steering wheel and sped towards the hospital. “I know big brother, I know” Sam said resting a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

They pulled into the parking lot and Dean took off towards your room. Sam was not far behind him. As they approached the door Dean stopped and tried to compose himself. He knocked and opened the door. The minute you saw him tears streamed down your face and he wrapped you in a hug. He kissed the top of your head and ran his hands on your back. “Shhh it’s okay sweetheart. You’re safe. Sammy and I won’t let anyone hurt you” Dean said as he pulled you tight. Your notebook and paper dropped to the floor. Sam picked them up and looked at them. He smiled when he saw the picture you drew of Dean. He showed Dean the pictures you drew but left that one out. Sam called the local police to tell them you remembered your attacker. They went to arrest him but he got away. He knew you had remembered and he was going to find you and make you pay.

Dean stayed with you at the hospital and when it was time to be discharged he insisted you stay with them at their hotel. “No, Dean. I need to go home. I have all my stuff there and my dog. My neighbor has been taking care of her but I can’t just abandon her. If you’re that worried you come stay with me” you said as you pulled on your shoes. “If you’re sure. I can crash on the couch and Sam can crash on the floor.” He said while helping you up. “Nonsense, I have a guest room and the couch pulls out to a bed. Y’all can figure out who gets what. I just want to go home, shower and change.” You said as you both walked to the elevator. You climbed into his gorgeous car as he walked around to the driver’s seat. You both chatted on the drive, nothing too personal. Just some small talk. As he pulled in your driveway your beautiful light brown terrier mix came bounding out of the house. You dropped to your knees “Lexi” you said as the dog started jumping and smothering you in kisses. You laughed as she knocked you over. Dean laughed and bent down helping you up. Lexi came over and started jumping and licking Dean. “I’ve never seen her warm up instantly to someone” you said. He smiled and petted her head as you two walked to your house.

You walked in the house and thanked your neighbor for her help. She hugged you, looked at Dean and smiled. Once she left you closed and locked the door.

You showed Dean around and told him he was welcome to stay in the guest room if he wanted to. “Make yourself at home, I’m going to go take a shower and get this hospital smell off me. There is food and drinks in the fridge. Help yourself to whatever. I think there are a few beers in there if you’re off duty and can drink.” You said as you walked towards your room. You went in your bedroom and closed the door. You leaned against the door thinking about Dean. “Get yourself together girl. He’s going to be leaving soon. Don’t get attached.” You said to yourself. You got your stuff together and walked into your bathroom starting the shower.

Dean heard the water running and walked in the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and saw his favorite beer in the door and smiled. He grabbed one, popped the top off and sat on the couch. Lexi jumped up next to him and put her head on his lap. He petted her head and drank his beer. As he sat there his mind wandered to thoughts of you. Your smile, laugh, soft lips and your beautiful y/c eyes. He smiled at the thought of you. “Damn Dean, snap out of it. You’re leaving in a few days and you can’t be in a relationship with her.” He thought to himself. Sam called and told him he was a few minutes away and had their belongings from the hotel. When Dean saw Sam pull up in a cab he opened the door and helped him bring in their bags. After they came back inside Dean showed Sam around. Sam said he’d take the couch and set his stuff in the corner. “So where is y/n at?” Sam asked. “Shower” was all Dean said. The brothers were sitting in the living room when you came out. You saw Sam had arrived and you greeted him. He stood up and walked up to you asking how you were feeling. “I’m okay. I just want to feel safe again and I won’t completely until he’s caught. Thank you guys for coming here and staying. The idea of leaving Lexi broke my heart.” “No problem y/n my brother and I will keep you safe.” Dean’s eyes went big and you shot your head around. “Your brother?!?! You asked looking between the two of them. “I thought you were partners.” “Way to go Sammy” Dean said with a grumble. He saw the panic in your eyes. Sam shook his head. “Sorry y/n I thought Dean told you” he said looking a little sad. “No he didn’t. So are you really FBI” you asked with your voice catching in your throat.

They both shook their head no. You stood there for a minute before taking a seat. Panic started to creep up in your chest. You looked between the brothers with tears in your eyes. “I need you to tell me the truth because I’m about to kick you out of my house” you said looking directly at Dean. That’s when Dean explained everything about hunting, monsters and the family business. He also told you that you were attacked by a werewolf and damn lucky to be alive. “He must want you for another reason. Otherwise you’d be dead.” Dean said very bluntly. You shot him a look and Sam slapped his arm. “Way to soften the blow Dean. Damn scare her even more.”

You stood up, causing both men to stand. They towered over you. You didn’t lift your head up you just softly said “um, I need a minute” and walked to your room. You shut the door and leaned against it. You felt your legs give out as you collapsed to the floor. Sobs overwhelmed your body and your tears soaked your face. You felt so alone and so scared. What did this monster want with you if he didn’t want you dead. Then you realized he wanted YOU. To make you like he was, a monster. You felt sick. You ran to your bathroom and fell in front of the toilet throwing up what little you had in your stomach. Sobbing and vomiting over the toilet you felt a hand grab your hair and hold it back. A quiet shushing sound from behind you. “Dean” was the only thought in your head. Once you stopped getting sick you sat back against the tub. Dean grabbed a washcloth and ran cold water on it. He put it on the back of your neck helping calm you down.

“Thank you” was all you managed to whisper out. He sat on the floor in front of you and grabbed your hands. You slowly looked up at him and saw his green eyes soften. You wanted to look away but something stopped you. “Hey, I’m sorry sweetheart. Sometimes my mouth runs before my brain does. I never meant to upset you.” Silent tears fell from your eyes. You had no words or the strength to speak. You just sat there in the bathroom floor with Dean and cried. He pulled you into his arms and held you tight. You could smell him and he smelt like home. He smelled of a mixture of leather, wood, beer and mint. You inhaled deeply and with every breath you relaxed into him.

He placed a soft kiss on your head and you looked up. “Was that okay” he asked. You nodded yes. He swept your hair out of your face and kissed your forehead. You smiled slightly. You both stared at each other and he started to lean in and you stopped him. “Dean as much as I’d like to kiss you I did just get sick. Let me brush my teeth first” you said as you started to get off the floor. He helped you up and let you clean up. When you came out of your bathroom he was standing leaning against the wall. He didn’t give you time to say anything he crossed the room, cupped your face and kissed you. You melted into his kiss. His lips were soft and you felt his tongue swipe your lips asking for entry. You opened your mouth and he deepened the kiss. Your body felt like it was on fire. This man looked like a Greek God and could kiss like one too. You moaned into his mouth and he smiled. He pulled away and took a breath. “You okay y/n” he asked breathlessly. “Yes, Dean I’m okay.” You said looking at him.

As he was pulling you closer Sam yelled from the living room. “Dean, y/n get out here quick.” You could hear the slight panic in his voice and you instantly froze. Dean grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the room saying “I’ve got you sweetheart. I’ll keep you safe.” You swallowed your fear a little and held tightly to his hand. “What’s wrong Sammy?” Dean asked as we walked in the room. “I think we have company” Sam said nodding towards the front door. Dean whispered for you to stay put and he walked toward the window. He saw 2 men on the front porch and they were talking low. “Looks like she’s got company” one of them said. “Yeah I can smell them out here. They better not have touched my girl.” The one closest to the door said. Sam and Dean used hand gestures to talk and Sam grabbed your hand and pulled you to your bathroom. “Y/n stay in here. Lock the door and no matter what don’t open the door. You’ll be safe in here without windows. Here take this. It has silver bullets in it. Shoot whatever comes through this door. I mean it y/n. Whatever comes through.” All you could do is shake your head in acknowledgment. Sam shut the door and you locked it.

The next thing you knew you heard Sam and Dean yelling and there was growling. It sounded like your house was being torn apart. Banging and crashing is all you heard for a few minutes. Followed by muffled shouting. Then you heard gunshots and thuds. Your heart stopped and you listened. The gun Sam gave you aimed at the door. You heard your bedroom door open and footsteps come towards the bathroom. You held your breath. There was a knock and you heard Dean. “Hey sweetheart, you can open the door. It’s safe now.” You stood there for a minute still aiming the gun at the door. “Dean is that really you” you said so low even you couldn’t believe it was your voice. “Yeah darlin it’s me.” He said.

You opened the door and found Dean covered in cuts and blood. Some of which you’re sure wasn’t his. He grabbed the gun from you and put the safety on. You stood there trembling. Dean wrapped his arms around you and just held you. “It’s okay baby. I’ve got you. You’re safe now. Take a deep breath” he said holding you tight. He walked you out into the living room and you looked around. Your house was a wreck and so much was broken. Then you saw boots at the end of the couch. You walked over and saw your bosses son laying lifeless on the floor. You gasped. Sam came over and put his arm around you. “It’s okay y/n he was a monster. If we hadn’t been here he would have hurt you.” He said giving you a big hug.

Once everything was settled with the local police Dean and Sam told you they wanted you to come move in with them. They described the bunker and told you there was plenty of room for you and Lexi. You were sure you didn’t have a job anymore and your landlord was going to be pissed the house was destroyed. So you decided to go with them. They both saved your life and Sam was like a brother to you, Dean was something else. You desperately wanted more with him but you weren’t going to push it. So you grabbed what you could carry, loaded it in baby and climbed in the backseat. Dean and Sam climbed in the front and as Dean pulled away you looked back at your home and sighed. Lexi nuzzled you and you pet her head. “It’s okay girl, we are going to be just fine” you said looking into the rear view mirror you caught Dean’s eyes. He winked at you and you smiled. Settling back you and Lexi drifted off to sleep.

Part 2

#dean winchester #supernatural #family

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scara-hater · 1 year

Note

making out with al haitham, childe, dottore, capitano, or pantalone? 😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯ALSO HAPPY NEW YEARS

Iloveitiloveitiloveit- this is the best request. I’ll make a pt.2 with remaining characters soon!

Characters childe, pantalone, al haitham.

Warnings: childe being horny cuz he’s a loser. Literally making out. My writing.

Not proofread!

——

Needs when alone.

Childe

He's literally a virgin, yeah.

fresh out of his teenage years and throwing himself into harbinger work right after, there’s a lot of pent-up sexual frustration. As well as never having a partner before, his inexperience makes him quite.. desperate.

Both hands grab the sides of your face, he leans in to kiss your lips once.. twice.. then looks to see if he can continue. If yes, then he immediately pushes against you to pathetically satisfy his needs. I'm sorry, but he gets turned on too easy, heavily breathing and blushing just from hearing your voice call out his name

"Ajax." Oh.

He’s whining and trying to have you as much as possible. Hands now focused on your waist, his grip is tight. Lips moving in sync and whimpers emitting from the boy underneath you. You just feel so good against him.

“Did you just-“

"yes, but please, just focus on me, I’ll deal with it myself after this.” He latches onto you once again.

Yeah bro got hard

Pantalone

Please. He'll slide one hand to your face while the other grips your waist. Agonizingly slow hell kiss you, humming as his grasp on your face grows a little tighter.

What he wants is to leave your mind numb, and Pantalone will do all he can to achieve that.

Pulling you for your body to connect with his, he wants you to lose yourself by a simple kiss before you can get anything else. And when he opens his eyes to see your sweet gaze, he can no longer deny what both of you want. With lust filled hunger, he takes your lips once again. This time, fervently. Minimal movement but mouths never leaving each other, he revels in your in your smaller frame begging for more. Your hands wrinkling his shirt as they lay on his chest.

Oh how adorable you are.

Squishing your waist and pulling away, he looks at your jelly like state. Your breathing heavy and your face flushed. He wants all of you, and you gladly give it to him every time.

Al-haitham

Mf does he looks like he’s knows what he’s doing? I don’t think so.

In moments like these, his stoic expression is wiped clean. You’re taking the lead has his hands shakily rest on your hips, his taller frame leaning down as his face is bright red and eyes squeezed shut. Mouths messily moving together as you just arrived home. No matter how many times, this happens, which isn’t a lot, Alhaitham kinda goes stupid. His mind filled with you and your intoxicating lips, my guy is gone. No thoughts.

“Please, may I indulge in your touch more.” Drawing your lower body to his as he grows more needy.

Bottom energy.

#genshin impact #genshin x you #childe x reader #pantalone x reader #al haitam x reader #childe #pantalone #al haitham #HELP ME I’M SORRY FOR THIS HORRIDNESS

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separatist-apologist · 1 year

Text

Straight To My Head

I want to be where you are

Summary: All Nesta wants is to live outside of London in peace. She would like nothing more than days filled with books and quiet- a dream made impossible by the Scotsman determined to relive past battle glories on her front lawn

Big thanks to @dustjacketmusings who gave me the idea of LARP-ing Cassian, and @the-lonelybarricade for being my UK consultant once again.

Part 1/2: I Want To Be Where You Are | Read AO3

Six months before:

“Your Uncle Rupert has died.”

Nesta didn’t bother looking up from her book, despite how terribly rude it was to read at the dinner table. Beside her, Feyre was scrolling through her phone, a frown pinching her face. It left only Elain to set her spoon neatly against a folded napkin and ask, “Uncle Rupert?”

“He was your mothers uncle,” their father replied, drawing both Nesta and Feyre’s attention toward him. He looked absurd in his polo get up, an aging man trying desperately hard to fit in. He reminded her of the girls from school and their lack of personality outside of whatever the latest trend was. It was all terribly boring.

And so was he.

“Oh. How terribly tragic,” Elain, ever dutiful, waited to see if there was anything else expected of her. Nesta knew Elain well, and though she was far too polite to ever show it, she cared just as little as Feyre and Nesta did.

“He’s left you girls an inheritance,” their father continued, drawing a soft sigh of annoyance from Feyre.

“Oh?” Elain questioned, examining her immaculate nails that held the garishly ugly diamond Graysen had given her. Nesta was biding her time, certain her younger sister would realize was a dull, preening asshole he was and call it off…but just in case, Nesta also intended to throw Elain an intervention under the guise of a bachelorette party.

She had time. At least a year.

Maybe more, depending on what this inheritance was.

“Castles. Three castles—one for each of you.”

“Why would he do that?” Feyre asked bluntly, echoing both Nesta and Elain’s thoughts. Their father only shrugged.

“Perhaps he was hoping to elevate the three of you.”

Nesta scoffed. Of course their father would think so. All he cared about was more. More money, more power—more than they could ever need, could ever use. Nesta wanted no part of it.

“Where are these castles, exactly?” Nesta asked, finally setting her book down to look him dead in the face.

“I think I’ll turn mine into a bed and breakfast,” Elain murmured, eyes shining as she mentally began planning.

“You don’t even know where it is,” Feyre interrupted. “What if it's crumbling? What if it’s in the middle of nowhere or what if it’s filled with ghosts. What if—”

“Feyre,” Elain interrupted, eyes wide. “It’ll be fine. I’m sure we weren’t given the crumbling wreckage of some haunted estate.”

Now:

Famous last words.

Nesta often thought of Elain’s certainty. While Feyre and Elain began remodeling, Nesta hadn’t needed to. Of the three, hers was in the best condition, though it needed a heating source outside of fireplaces, and she’d used the money their uncle had also left for renovations to revamp the electric.

After that, Nesta had wasted all of the rest of that obscene allowance on furniture and art, furnishings for the bedrooms, the bathrooms, the kitchen—and the library. Nesta had poured so much time and attention into her library that some nights she fell asleep in the oversized white chair just beside the window.

She’d never imagined herself anywhere but London.

Now she was certain she’d never go back. She’d fallen in love with the solitude, with the Scottish Highlands and the town that existed at the base of the hillside her castle had been built upon. It was as old as the stones themselves, and the people were far nicer than anyone in London on their best day.

Nesta would often walk down the steep pathway where she’d have lunch in the little tavern and buy a book at the shop, which was well-stocked with romance, before making her way to the loch where she’d fall asleep on a blanket, reading the new book she’d purchased.

It was exactly like one of her stories.

Save for him, of course.

All books needed a romantic hero. A man who was both handsome and interesting. Cassian MacDougall was certainly the first—at least six foot five and built like a warrior of old, with dark brown hair that hung against broad shoulders, and hazel eyes that were more brown than green.

Not that Nesta was paying that much attention. Not of the closely trimmed beard against the sharp cut of his jaw. Certainly not of his tattooed arms and chest, which were often bare, his golden brown skin gleaming with sweat given he so often forewent a shirt. He did wear a kilt—a red and blue plaid that offered a rather nice view of his muscled knees.

The problem with Cassian was his personality. Before she’d moved in, Cassian had taken to staging loud battles on her front lawn—it was, apparently, the sight of a very famous Scottish victory in some long forgotten battle against the English.

Nesta had merely asked him to stop doing it so close to her window. She wasn’t even unreasonable the first time.

Could you move further down the hill? She’d asked him, intimidated by his largeness, by how obscenely handsome he was.

He’d shot her a grin, and then turned to his friends. “Did ye hear that, lads?! The Englishwoman wants us to clear out!”Everyone had laughed, and Nesta had been humiliated.

Now it was a battle of the wills between them. The nearby town of Killin was swarmed with tourists during the Spring and Summer months, and Cassian made some of his money by taking tourists on a trip through Scottish history—or so Emerie, the woman who owned the local grocery store, had told Nesta. Spring had officially arrived just that morning, and Nesta was wholly unprepared for the sounds of violence wafting through the open windows.

She was going to kill him. It wasn’t even eight in the morning. Rising from her chair in the empty dining room table, Nesta marched through the quiet halls of her castle. Had her uncle known about this when he’d given her this cursed place? Had she angered him once when she’d been a child?

Nesta didn’t know how to reconcile her love of her home with her hatred of Cassian. He was just as willful, just as stubborn, and perhaps worst of all, determined to push her out.

She’d embarrass him right back. She swore she would. If he’d taken money from people and led them up here, she’d ruin his reputation on Yelp, too. She’d read them—just to know how best to ruin him—and everyone liked Cassian.

Everyone but her.

He was there, in his kilt and a sword and, mercifully, a breezy white shirt. He’d brought all his friends with him, some dressed in the stuffy red and white uniforms that had once belonged to the English. They had bayonets attached to guns, none of it sharp enough to wound, and somehow, someone had managed to roll a replica cannon onto the immaculate grass.

She froze, heart hammering at the sheer scale of what was happening—it was fake, and yet her brain and body reacted as though it were real. Not far from her, an Englishman fell to the ground with a groan, clutching at this chest before going utterly silent.

Nesta couldn’t take her eyes off him. Memories of her mothers death flooded through her, as vivid as the battle raging around her. No one else had been in the room when her mother took those last, rattling breaths but Nesta, who had been only eleven. Nesta had spent those six months caring for their mother while she fell victim to aggressive, incurable cancer. Back then, she hadn’t understood that it would take far more than her love and devotion to save her mother.

Elain and Feyre had been too young to take on that burden, and their father too buried and work and grief. It left only Nesta to witness death, to be there in the final last moments.

She’d refused to speak about it, and rarely allowed herself to even think about death. Something had solidified that day, had become hard and Nesta’s will was unbreakable.

And right then, in the early morning sun, she felt it fracture. Just a little, just enough to empty out her mind. Nesta forgot why she’d gone out in the first place, or what she was doing until warm, strong hands lifted her up in the air and began moving her.

A breath of fear wooshed out of her, palms slapping against a muscular back. Cassian—his shirt plastered to his sweat soaked skin—was carrying her across the grounds as he announced, “And we’d take any English lass for our own!”

Revulsion flooded through her.

“Put me down!” she ordered, afraid he was going to accidentally flash a crowd of tourists with her underwear.

Cassian did as he was told, grinning ear to ear. “Everyone applaud for Lady Nesta. She’s a good sport, playing the part of stuffy English broad.”

Tourists in fanny packs, Hawaiian shirts, and thick socks to their knees, offered her a round of polite clapping. She’d come here to humiliate him, and as he so often did, it was Cassian who’d gained the upper hand. Nesta tried to turn, to leave him there, but his hand shot around her waist, holding her firmly against him.

He rattled off battle facts for a solid ten minutes, fingers digging against the fabric of her blue maxi dress. It was only when he finished, and one of his friends began herding people toward the path that Cassian turned to face her.

Nesta’s heart raced. “What do ye think ye’re doing?” he demanded, dropping his hand as though she disgusted him.

“Me?” she replied, adopting an imperiously cold tone in order to mask her own fear. “This is my home, Cassian.”

He scoffed. “For how long, Nes?”

She hated when he called her that. Hated the familiar, intimate nickname of the fact he’d given her one at all. No one had ever dared.

“Excuse me?” she demanded.

He flinched as if she’d slapped him. “How long,” he repeated, enunciating his words with that faux British accent she hated. He was forever mocking her. “How long before you pack up and move out? Another couple months?”

“I’ll be here forever,” Nesta hissed, hoping he believed her. “I’ll be chasing your children off this lawn one day.”

Cassian’s laugh was humorless. “Oh, I believe ye will. I hope ye’re ready for that. I intend tae be prolific.”

“You’d have to find a willing woman, first,” she replied, holding his stare. “And from what I’ve seen, they don’t find you charming. I wonder why that is?”

“So concerned about my bedroom habits, are ye?”

She’d kill him. “What’s to be concerned about? A man in love with his hand is terribly common.”

Cassian took a step toward her, staring down his nose. He was terribly handsome, a brutal prince with that scar slashed over his thick eyebrow and those eyes that she swore saw right through her.

“If ye want to know what I’m like in bed, ye only have to ask.”

“I don’t fuck animals,” Nesta snapped, praying he couldn’t tell how quickly her heart was beating. She turned, not daring to continue this conversation. It was far too dangerous.

Nesta made it all of two steps before his fingers curled around her wrist, turning her so roughly she stumbled into his chest. Nesta inhaled without thinking, drinking the scent of snow capped wind and cedar and the way the sun smelled against the salt of his skin.

She reached with her free hand and slapped him as hard as she could, right against his jaw.

“Don’t ever touch me again,” she ordered. Cassian’s eyes widened, dropping her as he reached for the blooming mark of red against his skin.

Nesta marched off, though it hardly felt like victory. She was certain she’d lost far more than just her side of that argument. Cassian’s booming laughter chased her back in doors, where Nesta remained even after he returned that afternoon.

She couldn’t face him.

And she certainly couldn’t face herself—or her memories.

-*-

“I heard a rumor about ye,” Emerie called as Nesta browsed the shelves of her shop.

“Oh?” Nesta replied, putting a bag of pasta in her little shopping basket.

“I heard Cassian made ye part of his reenactment last week.”

A groan slipped from Nesta before she could stifle it. “Bragging, is he?”

Emerie’s laugh was a pretty sound. “Of course. He’s tae stupid to realize the reason ye bother him so much is because he has a crush on ye. Like a schoolboy tugging on yer braids.”

“Gross,” Nesta responded. Though, Emerie had grown up with Cassian. Surely she could shed light on why he was so…so…Cassian? “Why is he single?”

Emerie’s brown eyes danced with delight. “Thinking about him, tae?”

“Nope. Just curious, that’s all.”

“Of course. Who wouldn’t be curious? Maybe ye should ask him. I’m sure he’d tell ye all about it…maybe over candlelight and—”

“Okay, that’s quite enough,” Nesta grumbled to more laughter. She collected the rest of her groceries while Emerie filled her in on gossip that didn’t center around Cassian, before bidding her a good day. Nesta had never had true friends, and wasn’t sure if Emerie could even be counted as one. She might have, if Nesta could muster the courage to ask her to do something—anything.

But she couldn’t. So Nesta left knowing a little more about the people of Killin and the sense that some of her loneliness was self-imposed. She couldn’t even pretend it was her mothers death that had made her cold. Even as a child, no one had wanted to play with her. None of the other children liked her.

“Ah, mo chridhe,” Cassian called, jogging up the path that led from the edge of the village toward the castle. “I’ve been looking for ye.”

“I can’t see why,” Nesta sniffed, even as Cassian pulled her heavy canvas bag filled with her groceries and slung it over his broad shoulder. “Do you intend to hold my groceries hostage, too?”

“I’ve come to talk with ye,” he replied, one hand thrown up in defense. “About business.”

“I have no business with you.”

“C’mon, Nes,” he pleaded, drawing her attention toward him. “I’ve been staging battles at Killin Castle for five years now.”

“There is land all around you, Cassian. Surely you can move it.”

“Aye, I could, but the castle adds a certain majesty. And it allows me tae charge more—hold on, don’t look at me like that. I’ll give ye a percentage for your trouble.”

“Fifty percent.”

“Take my fucking balls too,” he grumbled. “Thirty.”

“Thirty percent of your total profits just so you can pretend to kill the English on my lawn?” Nesta asked, arching a brow.

“Forty if ye let me haul you off again.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Fine. Thirty it is, then. In exchange, ye’ll leave me be while I’m working—”

“And you’ll stay further away from the windows,” Nesta replied, pausing to both catch her breath and stare him down. Cassian didn’t seem winded at all, lovely beneath a waning sun.

“Fine.”

“And I want a schedule,” she said, hands on her hips.

“Anything else? My fucking cock and balls on a silver tray, tae?”

“You can keep those,” she sniffed, not wanting to think of either. Cassian didn’t protest, didn’t offer her a filthy remark. He was grinning, as if he’d gotten everything he wanted. Nesta hated to see him so happy.

“This is time limited, Cassian. Just until the summer is over. And then I want you gone. Out of my life.”

“It’s a small town, Nes,” he replied with mock solemnity. “I cannae leave.”

“You can avoid me.”

“What makes ye think I’d want that?”

Having reached the top of the hill, and the end of her patience, Nesta reached for her bag. Cassian pulled just out of reach, eyes searching her own. She didn’t like the look of contemplation on his face, or how serious he’d suddenly become.

“What about what I want, Cassian? Which is peace, and a moment free of the chaos you drag with you.”

“Ye might like it, mo chridhe.”

Nesta glared. “We could have had an amicable relationship months ago. This is all we have now, Cassian. Give me my things.”

He handed her the bag with a rueful smile. “It’s a pleasure working with ye.”

“If only I could say the same, Cassian.”

He merely grinned, which annoyed her more. She took off, daring only once to glance over her shoulder. Cassian remained at the top of the hill, his dark hair blowing around his face while he watched her. He raised a hand in a wave, one Nesta did not return. She didn’t trust this new, helpful Cassian.

Whatever angle he was working would only hurt her if she chose to believe it.

Nesta had learned that lesson with Tomas not a year before.

Nesta wasn’t going to learn it again.

-*-

The thing about Cassian, Nesta learned, was that he woke early. He scheduled his mock battles every day at nine am like clockwork. Nesta was rarely up that early and no matter how she tried, could not fall back asleep. He’d taped his schedule to her front door rather than knock and wake her up, which detailed a seven day schedule in which he reenacted two battles monday through friday, and four on saturday and sunday. It seemed brutal, and yet when he came by, sweaty and grinning that Sunday night with a check, Nesta stopped complaining.

If that was thirty percent, no wonder Cassian had been adamant about continuing. Nesta tucked it away, strangely uncomfortable with taking his money. All through spring, Cassian faithfully left money in the little mailbox, and from April to June, Nesta did her very best to avoid him entirely.

She was avoiding everyone. Even herself. Most days, Nesta left her phone uncharged so she didn’t have to see the incoming messages from Elain. Elain, planning her wedding and somehow managing to deal with what seemed like an incredibly irritable tenant of the castle she’d been left, still checked in. Still asked after her—still wanted to know what had happened to chase Nesta out of London so abruptly.

The joke about becoming a bog witch had never meant to shape her reality. Sometimes she wondered if Elain hadn’t heard. If she didn’t know about Tomas, what he’d said.

What he’d tried to do.

As the weather warmed, and more people flooded into the town, Nesta retreated further into the castle where no one could see her. The mere idea of going out filled Nesta with trembling fear. There was too much left to chance, too much chaos and in response, Nesta found herself practically eating in the library. It was the only place that felt safe anymore.

That. And somehow, Cassian, who’d begun knocking on the front door to offer her up money.

She made her way through the open grand hall, eyeing cobwebs clinging to the overhead chandelier. She needed to find someone who could do some cleaning for her.

Nesta pulled open the old, iron handle to find Cassian, his hair half pulled off his head in a messy bun. He was in his kilt, a stable given how often he played the battle warrior, though it was paired with a plain black t-shirt that showed off both his bulging biceps and his collarbone, teased by the little vee just in the front.

“For ye,” he said, holding out an envelope. As she reached for it, Cassian ducked around her, stepping onto the stone floor. He whistled with appreciation.

“I’ve always wondered what this place looked like.” “It looks like a castle,” Nesta replied, the door still open. “Get out.”

Cassian looked her over. “Are ye eating up here?”

“How is that any of your concern?” she asked, hating how her cheeks warmed under his appraisal.

“Emerie said ye aren’t coming down as often. She’s worried about ye, asked me tae check in. I’m checking, Nes. You look tired.”

“You wake me up early,” she replied, though they both knew that wasn’t it.

Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “Did something happen?”

“Nope. I’m perfectly fine. I’ll see Emerie—”

“Why not let me buy ye something tae eat?” he suggested. “At tae Ensnaring Snake. A pint and something else? Whatever ye want.”

“I don’t need your charity, Cassian. I can have a drink without your leering presence.”

“Ah, but what fun would it be without me?” he asked, a roguish grin on his face. “Come down. Even if ye ignore me the entire time.”

There was no way.

“Unless,” he added casually, unaware of how her heart thudded in her throat. “Ye’re scared.”

“I’m not scared!” Nesta snapped. “Now get out, Cassian!”

“Anything, mo chridhe,” he replied, all but sauntering out. She might have believed his swaggering, male bravado, had he not turned to look at her with those worried eyes. It prompted her, once the door was slammed shut in his face, to go up to the bathroom. She supposed she had gotten a little thinner…and the circles beneath her eyes had become far more pronounced. She was paler, too, though she could blame that on avoiding the sun. Nesta couldn’t remember the last time she’d drank any water.

Or eaten a vegetable.

She showered, braiding her hair in a crown around her head like she so often did. Her hands shook as she buttoned up a pale purple dress and laced up her shoes. She couldn’t bring herself to put on make-up, or do anything else that might draw attention to herself.

You’re so fuckint hot, Nesta. You know it, don’t you, with those eyes—those tits—

Nesta wanted to scream. Hand frozen on the handle, she almost turned around. Tomas’s voice, the feel of him pressed against her, how he’d—no. She took a breath, cleared her throat, and marched out into the waning sunlight. There was no way Nesta would let Cassian think she was afraid of going outside.

Even if he was right.

It wasn’t the outdoors that made her nervous. It was all the people, it was the things she couldn’t control.

By the time she made it down the hill and into the center of the village, Emerie had closed up for the day. A little handwritten note told Nesta exactly where she was.

The Ensnaring Snake.

It had Cassian written all over it. Still, despite how it made her palms sweat, Nesta very carefully made her way toward the tavern she’d once enjoyed eating in. Back when there was no one but familiar faces and the streets were mostly empty.

Now it was packed. Nesta pushed the door open just enough to see Cassian at the far end of he room, head thrown back with laughter at something someone at the table had said. His hair was loose, and he’d foregone the kilt for a pair of regular jeans. He looked so normal—and of course he had friends. She didn’t know why that surprised her. She didn’t know why the sight of a rather pretty blonde running her finger over his bare arm made Nesta back out of the doorway.

Why she suddenly felt so stupid. She hadn’t come for him.

She didn’t care about him.

“Hey!”

Nesta ignored the male voices behind her—and the jarring, American accents that seemed so wildly out of place. Arms wrapped around her body, she meant to trudge back home and pretend none of this had happened.

“Hey,” that voice called, dragging the sound of heavy steps over cobblestone with it. A moment later, a hand was on Nesta’s shoulder. She jumped nearly out of her skin, twisting to look at three unfamiliar faces. Each of them reeked of whiskey, and were likely looking for more fun than the village had to offer. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t touch me,” she ordered, earning snickering laughs.

“Or what?” the first, a bleach blonde with a pair of sunglasses clipped to his t-shirt, asked. “We’re just being nice.”

“Oh? Is this considered polite, where you’re from?”

More laughter. Nesta’s heart raced even as she told herself nothing was going to happen. They were having a laugh at her expense but they’d slink off when they realized they were getting nowhere.

“We could be much more polite,” that first step, lunging forward. Nesta stumbled back, falling to the ground and bashing her elbow against the rough cobblestone. Pain ricocheted through her while her eyes smarted. More humiliation, brought low by men she hated.

Nesta scrambled back to her feet, turning without looking at any of them.

“Aw, sweetheart, come back,” they called, laughing loudly. Nesta started to turn for the castle, thinking she’d race up the hill and lock herself up until morning came.

But they were still behind her, trailing after her while whistling and making other little sounds with their tongues and teeth. Cassian could crest that hill without breaking a sweat, but Nesta was slow—they’d catch her.

She sped up, trying to think of where she could go. Panic was making her clumsy, was making her stupid. She should have turned around and gone back into the tavern where anyone could see. Emerie was in there, she would have helped.

Instead, Nesta picked up her steps, hoping they’d get tired of following her when they realized she was heading out of the village. And when they didn’t—when they tried to get closer—Nesta took off running.

They followed, their shadows jumping ahead even as the sun vanished over the hillside. Nesta could only hear her pounding feet and her nervous heart. She was heading for the loch, the absolute worst place to be given there was unlikely to be anywhere out there. Just her, a body of water, and three very drunk tourists looking to have fun at her expense.

Nesta slowed, trying to figure out her next move.

“Tired, babe?” One of them called.

“I can think of something else that’ll tire her out,” another replied. Nesta was inching closer and closer to the dock, wondering if she could swim far enough out that they’d finally leave. Or if that was stupid, and they’d just jump in after her where she’d be well and truly fucked.

She couldn’t go past them. Glancing over her shoulder saw the three of them walking in a solid line. They’d catch her.

“Please stop,” one of them called, jogging after her. Nesta surged forward, her feet touching the dock before she felt those fingers on her arm again. “Why are you running?”

She wanted to die. “You’re chasing me.”

“You don’t have to run. We don’t want to hurt you,” he lied, his eyes absolutely betraying him. She’d seen that look before, had watched another man’s gaze dip below her chin, taking in her body, wondering what it would feel like to just have her, regardless of her own feelings on the matter.

“Take your hands off me.”

The other two laughed and laughed. “Or what?”

“Or—”

“Or I’ll kill ye,” came another, familiar voice. Nesta could have sobbed at the sound, had never been happier than she was just then to see Cassian strolling up, deceptively casual. He cocked his head, dark hair spilling around him as he waited.

That first man looked from Cassian to Nesta and then, with a smile that clearly said he thought Cassian was outmatched, replied, “Oh? She’s yours?”

Cassian didn’t smile. “Find out.”

Nesta was so busy watching Cassian that she’d stopped watching the others. She didn’t see that hand shove toward her, didn’t realize he’d decided to call Cassian’s bluff until she stumbled backwards.

She hit the water with a choked scream. She flailed for a moment, twisting around before pushing upward. The water was dark, was colder than she’d expected, though not so cold she couldn’t still think straight.

She broke the surface a moment before she heard a splash, and then felt him, arms around her.

“Don’t hit me,” Cassian warned breathlessly.

“Where did they go?” Nesta demanded, letting Cassian drag her back to the dock. He hoisted her up effortlessly before joining her. Water sluiced off him, though he hardly seemed to notice. His eyes burned, and when he reached for her, she saw his knuckles were bloody and had begun to swell and bruise.

“They’re gone,” he said tightly. He swallowed some unnamed emotion, looking her over.

“Unharmed,” she said, resisting the urge to draw her knees up to her chest. Instead, Nesta gingerly rose to her feet, weighed down by the heavy fabric of her dress and her wounded pride.

“I saw ye,” he said, following her up. “In the tavern. I saw ye come in and I—”

He’d followed her. Nesta might have asked him why another night. Might have berated him for thinking she’d want his attention. Instead, Nesta forced herself to take a breath.

“Will you walk me home?”

Cassian swallowed again. “Yeah. I—is this my fault, Nes?”

“No, Cassian,” she said, suddenly exhausted.

“I was trying to rile ye up. Get ye out of that castle. I feel like…”

“It’s not your fault,” she repeated.

It’s mine, she nearly added, though she kept it behind her teeth.

“Why didnae ye run home, mo chridhe? Why’d ye come out here?”

“The hill,” she whispered, trying so hard not to let him see how rattled she was. Cassian looked down, eyebrows raised with surprise.

“Can I show ye something?”

And right then, Nesta would have let Cassian do anything he liked so long as he didn’t leave her.

“Sure.”

“Cassian,” Nesta began when he opened the door to the Ensnaring Snake.

“Trust me,” he replied, placing a careful hand on her bruised elbow. Inside, music and laughter flooded Nesta’s senses, and for a moment she expected him to lead her back to his table. She almost wanted him to, though she was in no mood to make conversation. It might have been nice to hear him introduce her to his friends, to sit her down and buy her that pint like he’d promised.

He wove in and out of the tables, nodding when people called his name. His touch was light—careful. Like he knew better than to do any more.

Like he knew what she didn’t like about it.

There was no way to explain to him that his touch had never bothered her. She’d have to tell him that she noticed his eyes, how they stayed on her face. How even when he’d been surveying her that morning, he’d been looking with concern—not desire. Not lewd appreciation. And how even when Cassian was manhandling her, his hands never went anywhere inappropriate, though it would have been all too easy for him to cop a feel and play it off like an accident.

She wondered if he even realized it.

Cassian took her around the back of the bar, pulling open an old, wooden door that clearly led to a cellar.

“Cassian,” Nesta tried again.

“Trust me,” he repeated. Nesta opened her mouth to tell him she didn’t trust him at all. But she could see his swollen knuckles from the corner of her eye, and thought of how quick he must have been to hit them hard enough to hurt himself and jump into the water after her. He hadn’t had to do either. He could have left her. Could have walked away.

So Nesta followed him down into the musty dark, wishing she could grab his arm.

“I used tae come here when I was wee,” Cassian explained, leading her around packing boxes and crates toward another, sturdier door. “You’ll still have to go uphill, but it takes ye right to the castle.”

Nesta was still sopping wet, exhausted and wrung out. She looked up at him, wanting him to go with her. She couldn’t ask.

“Thank you,” she said instead, turning toward that dark.

“I’ll see ye up,” Cassian said gruffly.

And together, they plunged into that darkness.

-*-

“What do you mean, married?” Nesta demanded, phone to her ear as she stomped out of the bookshop. “How can she marry a fictional man?” “He’s not fictional,” came Elain’s patient voice. “I looked him up. Rhysand Campbell is a Duke. I guess that’s why she kept such a tight lid on him back home.”“A Duke? For Feyre?!” Nesta spluttered, trying to imagine wild, carefree Feyre marrying into ancient, outdated royalty. She’d always expected that of Elain, if anyone.

“I’m going to meet him next week, so I’ll let you know. But he seems very accomplished, and he’s quite handsome.”

“Is she sure?” Nesta asked, not thinking about her path until she was already on it. “Marriage is just so…”

She trailed off, remembering that Elain was engaged. Hell. She hadn’t meant to insult her, though the tense, following silence made Nesta think she had. “How er…how is that going?”

“I called it off,” Elain finally said, her voice strange and small. “Just yesterday.”

“Did he do something?” Nesta demanded, readjusting the blanket she was caring beneath her arm. “Because I’ll kill him—”

“It’s all handled,” Elain assured her quickly. “I don’t expect him to give me any trouble.”

“What does that mean? Handled how?” Nesta demanded. Elain was so nice it practically made her a doormat. Nesta didn’t believe for a single second that Elain had truly handled anything, and wondered if the engagement had been called off for infidelity. Graysen wouldn’t give her trouble because he’d already moved on.

“Drop it, Nesta,” Elain replied firmly.

“Fine. But if you need help—”

“I don’t. Everything here is fine. How are you doing? Did you ever get rid of that guy role playing on your lawn?”

Nesta started to say that she and Cassian had reached a truce of sorts, which wasn’t quite the truth and not exactly a lie, either. Instead, Nesta said, “Erm…let me call you back.” Because there, in the middle of the glittering water, stood a very shirtless, possibly naked Cassian. Gleaming in the sunlight, his head tipped back so the rays might warm his face. He didn’t look real and Nesta didn’t know what to do.

He wasn’t alone. Along the shore, children splashed and kicked up water while others floated around him, oblivious to what Nesta was seeing. She wondered what the whorling, inked tattoos on his shoulders and chest meant.

And as she wondered, her eyes drifted down the packed muscles against his ribs, toward the carved vee of his hips. Nesta could scarcely breathe, had forgotten what she was supposed to be doing until her eyes came back to his face.

He was looking at her, too. Shit eating grin etched over his handsome face, one hand raised upward to beckon her to join him.

Hell.

Nesta turned, embarrassed she’d been caught ogling him. She would not submit to any of his humiliating taunts or those burning eyes that promised far more than Nesta thought she wanted. Of course, Cassian couldn’t bask in his victory, of knowing some diseased part of her was attracted to him, despite their strange push-pull between animosity and friendship. He was behind her in a pair of bright red swim trunks and nothing else, jogging up the path while Nesta tried desperately to escape him.

“Why are ye leaving?” he asked, running a hand through his still wet hair. “Come swim.”

“No, thank you,” she replied. “I just remembered—”

“Oh, bullshit, mo chridhe,” he replied. “There is nothing to do but sit up at that miserable stack of rocks. Swim with me.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Okay, then do something else with me,” he replied.

“Why would I do that?” she asked, rounding on him. That was a mistake. Cassian was far closer than she thought, and when she stopped, he kept going. He kept her from tumbling backward, wrapping a slick around her and pressing her into his chest.

She hated how good it felt to touch him. To feel him hold her, to keep her close for a moment before he let her go.

“Why not?” he asked, strangely breathless. “Ye’ve been here half a year—don’t ye want friends?”

“Is that what we are?” she asked, distracted by how close he was, by how nearly naked he was. It took no effort to try and picture what the rest of him might be like…and it would have been a lie to say she wasn’t curious if all of him was large.

“Yes?” he asked, clearly frustrated. “I thought so.”

“I don’t want to swim,” she repeated, though in truth, Nesta didn’t want to do anything with him right now. It was too risky to be alone with him. She’d touch him, she’d get on her knees and do any number of terrible, filthy things to him. Nesta couldn’t breathe. She needed to escape him.

“Something else?” he asked, not moving an inch. His eyes were glazed over, staring right through her. Nesta blinked.

“I er…another day, Cass.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I should—” he turned abruptly. Had she upset him? Nesta watched him for a moment before she turned, too, unwilling to get caught staring at him again. Nesta didn’t allow herself to think of him at all. For the rest of the day, every time the image of him standing in the water, Nesta banished it quickly and busied herself in some other task.

Right up until night fell, and she could crawl into bed.

Only then did Nesta allow herself to think about Cassian.

-*-

“Rhysand is missing,” Elain whispered to Nesta. Nesta, still guarding the door where Feyre was speaking with a Duke, turned to look at her sister, eyes wide.

“I’ll kill him,” Nesta hissed, biting her bottom lip.

“His friends are here,” Elain said, running through a mental list of guests. “I’ll see if they know where he is. Don’t move,” Elain added, finger in the air.

“This whole thing is a disaster,” Nesta grumbled, hating the pitying look Elain threw her. Nesta knew, realistically, that Elain had done her best with the guest list and she was terrible at telling their father no. And Elain had called ahead of time to warn Nesta that the Mandray’s had secured an invitation.

Everyone wanted to see Feyre Archeron marry a Duke. Social parasites and other hanger-oners had flooded into the lovely castle all day, marveling over the architecture and hoping to rub elbows with real royalty.

Nesta didn’t think Elain had managed to get anyone but Duke Campbell, just as she didn’t think Feyre was aware her wedding had turned into the event of the year. Nesta was desperate to avoid the majority of London, and planned to catch a ride back with Elain in the morning. Just to the train station—she’d make the rest of the way back on her own, even if she had to walk.

There was no way she was spending a weekend with Tomas Mandray.

Elain returned, accompanied by a familiar, grinning face. “Well, well, well,” Cassian said, running his hand down a buttoned down, black shirt. He wore that red and blue kilt and black socks that came up over his knees, a sporran around his hips.

“Do you two know each other?” Elain asked.

“This is the gentleman roleplaying on my lawn,” Nesta said. The man beside him, dressed identically, though his kilt was primarily blue plaid.

“Role-playing, Cass?” he asked.

“This is Cassian?” Elain replied, eyebrows raised to the sky.

“Have ye been talking about me?” Cassian asked Nesta with a lopsided smile. “What else does she say?”

“That you’re exceptionally obnoxious,” Elain replied, earning a laugh from the other man.

“All true,” he murmured, before adding, “Azriel.”

They were given no more time for pleasantries before Feyre emerged, flushed and practically glowing. She didn’t seem concerned that her fiancé was missing—only annoyed. Elain ordered them to split up, which Azriel did without complaint—but Cassian did not.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said just as soon as Elain and Azriel were out of earshot. “I didnae know Feyre was yer sister. I should have guessed, I supposed, given what a hard time she’s given my brother.”

“Good for her,” Nesta replied before adding, “Brother?”

“Not in tae biblical sense. Rhys and I met when he was at a posh boarding school and trying to buy whiskey on the weekend.”

“Let me guess—you sold him the whiskey.”

“Ye know me so well, mo chridhe,” he said with a grin. “Been inseparable ever since.”

“Then why is he missing?” she demanded. Cassian pulled open a closet door, revealing a mop that fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

There was no humor on Cassian’s face as he knelt to pick it up. “He doesn’t think he’s worthy.”

Nesta didn’t know how to take that, how to possibly respond. She didn’t know any man that had ever put a woman above himself. The idea that Rhysand would have left because he thought her sister could do? better was an anomaly. Unheard of.

“I’ll bet they’re outside,” Nesta said after a moment. Cassian caught her by the arm, holding her still.

“Maybe they don’t want tae be found just yet,” he murmured, that burning back in his eyes.

“Cass—”

“Nesta?”

She wanted to die at the sound of that voice. Those brown eyes, that sharp, sneering face and that lean body pressed into an elegant suit. Cassian turned, looking Tomas up and down with such keen awareness on his face. She could read his every expression, the oh, I understand now.

But he didn’t.

Nesta started to inch closer to Cassian, who, of course, immediately noticed. He took her hand in his, raising it to his lips, and ghosted a kiss against her knuckles. It was so obviously a claiming and a threat, all at once.

“Hi, Tomas.”

“I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“For my sister's wedding?” she asked archly. “I’m surprised you’re here.”

Cassian raised his brows.

“Of course I am,” he replied, staring her down with those dead, soulless eyes. “Your father said I was the son he never had.”

Cassian started to take a step forward, stopped only by Nesta’s vicious squeeze of his hand.

“He’s still so terribly disappointed by how things happened. What, exactly, did you tell him?”

Nesta wanted to die. “Nothing,” she managed, her heart pounding in her throat. Cassian watched this power struggle—did he understand what was happening?

“We should get together the next time you’re in London,” Tomas said, eyes flicking to Cassian with distaste. As if Cassian couldn’t have broken him clean in two. As if Cassian was someone beneath him. “Carter.”

Cassian offered an edged smile. “Hackit.”

Nesta snorted, pressing her hand against her lips. Tomas narrowed his eyes, but kept moving without insulting her. Nesta imagined he, too, realized the danger Cassian presented. Even without those swollen, bloodied knuckles, Cassian looked like a man who could fight.

“Want tae tell me what that was about?” Cassian asked the second Tomas slipped down the hall.

“Of course not,” she snapped, wrenching her hand from his. “Don’t kiss me again.”

“No? Are ye sure about that? Because I saw ye at the loch—”

“You didn’t see anything,” Nesta insisted, heart hammering. Her two worlds were colliding unforgivably. Cassian and Tomas were not supposed to exist together, and seeing Cassian, in his kilt, call Tomas ugly in his suit, had managed to tie Nesta up in knots.

“Don’t go out there,” Cassian complained when Nesta stepped onto the lawn, still rain soaked from a recent storm. “Yer gonna ruin yer dress!”

“FEYRE!” she yelled, mostly to convince Cassian to stop talking.

“Ye cannae end every conversation ye don’t like by running off. I’m not going anywhere, mo chridhe come back—”

Cassian hauled Nesta up over his shoulder before she could take another step.

“Cassian! Put me down!”

“No,” he replied easily, walking her back to the house. “They’ll return when they’re ready.”

“Cassian,” she pleaded. He set her back to her feet, catching that note of desperation in her voice before she had to beg, though his body blocked her path further into the castle.

“What did he do to ye, Nes?” he asked, his fingers curling to fists at his side.

“Why do you care?” she demanded, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Of course I care!” Cassian hissed, stepping closer, until Nesta was pressed against the stone wall.

“I don’t understand you,” Nesta breathed, swallowing hard as he drew nearer.

“Trust me, I don’t either,” he whispered. “Will ye tell me what he did to ye?”

“Why? So you can hit him, too?”

“Oh, mo chridhe, I will do far, far worse,” he murmured, his eyes dropping to her mouth. Nesta had lost control of the situation, of this man who she didn’t even like. Who would go back to reenacting battles on her lawn, who was beloved by the town and the son of a Duke and—

“If ye won’t tell me that, tell me something else.”

Nesta’s eyes went back to his. More brown than green. “What?”

“Tell me the truth, Nesta Archeron. Tell me ye want me just as much as I want ye.”

“I—” he caught her lips before the lie could tumble out of them, kissing her softly. One hand cupped her cheek while the other braced the wall she was pressed against. His eyes fluttered shut but Nesta kept hers open, drinking him in. He looked so wrecked, like he’d been thinking about this for a long, long time and was finally realizing it was nothing like he imagined.

And so she kissed him back, hands at her sides while she waited for the inevitable disappointment. The realization that whatever he’d imagined didn’t live up to reality. One kiss became two, became a third and yet Cassian didn’t pull back like they so often did. He didn’t sharpen. If anything, he became softer, more desperate with each passing kiss between them. The softness of his closely trimmed beard brushed over her jaw while his thumb rubbed a soft circle over her cheek.

Give in, she swore she heard him say. Nesta wanted to—oh, she wanted to take everything he was offering so badly it made her legs shake. If he didn’t know now, he’d figure it out soon enough. Nesta was not the kind of woman men fell in love with. She’d never been that woman, and never would be. No matter how badly she wanted to be, no matter how much she wanted to believe Cassian could push through walls made of iron and find the trembling softness beneath, he was still a man.

And at some point, she’d become a game for him. Something to conquer, regardless of the tactics it took. It was that thought that convinced Nesta to finally pull back, hands planted on his chest as she shoved.

“That’s enough,” she said, another lie he immediately caught.

Cassian pressed a kiss to her cheek. “It’s not,” he rumbled, reaching for the back of her neck. “Ye want me to think yer made of ice, but I know better.”

“Oh? And what am I made of, Cassian?” she demanded in that hard, imperious tone. The sort that pissed men off, that sent them running.

His eyes flashes.

“Fire.”

When he kissed her again, Nesta’s eyes slammed shut before she even realized what she was doing. This time, Nesta’s fingers raked through his neat hair, pulling him closer. She wasn’t gentle, thinking it would push him off her. She misjudged him—Nesta pulled at the strands and Cassian groaned, pressing his body hard against her. He liked this.

Which was a fucking tragedy, because she did, too. Cassian moaned again, loud enough anyone with ears in the vicinity knew what was happening in the back hall, and Nesta, for just this once, did not care.

Her tongue swept into his mouth, tasting him like she’d wanted to the day at the loch. He tasted like whiskey and warmth and like she needed to get him out of his clothes as fast as she could, before she changed her mind.

“Slow down, slow down,” he breathed, catching her wrist when she trailed down his chest. “Have ye done this before?”

“Does it matter?” she replied, certain it didn’t.

He huffed out a soft breath. “Of course it fucking matters.”

“I—” He was going to ruin her. He was already making a mess of things. Nesta needed the upper hand, needed a way to get what she wanted without getting hurt. If that was even possible.

There was no way to have him and remain unscathed. The smart thing to do was walk away. “This can’t mean anything, Cassian.”

His brows furrowed. “Ye don’t mean that.”

“You don’t know me–”

“Because ye make it impossible!” he replied, raking his fingers through his hair. “People care about ye, and it’s like…”

“Like what?” she asked, her throat rough and dry. She never should have stopped kissing him. She shouldn’t have said anything at all. Cassian looked down the hall, sighing a breath.

“Like ye expect us all tae leave ye, so ye leave first.”

“You don’t like me,” she said. It was a question.

No one likes me. Why should you?

“At first,” he admitted. “I thought ye’d be like yer uncle. Stuffy…arrogant…and ye were, ye know ye were. I thought ye’d leave—hoped, I suppose. Until I started liking the sight of ye, storming out with yer braid and yer book. Fuming mad and all of it directed at me. I wanted to get tae know ye and I’ve been trying. And not just me. Emerie, tae. She thinks the world of ye. Yer sisters, tae, and probably everyone else if ye let them.”

Nesta shook her head, swallowing the wave of emotion rising. “This is all wrong. You hate me–”

“Hate,” he said, pressing both palms against the wall, caging her between his body, “is the last thing I feel for ye.”

“I wish you did,” she said.

“If all ye want is something unserious,” he began, eyes searching her own. She swore he could read her every word for the truth, that he didn’t need to hear her speak to know all the things wrong. All the secrets she held. “Then I’ll take what yer offering. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to fuck ye in the hall.”

“Cassian—”

“Ye said, ‘I don’t fuck animals,’” he began mimicking an absurd British accent. “And I believe ye. At least, for now.”

“This is a bad idea,” she whispered, certain she was going to be picking her shattered heart up off the floor by the time they were done. Cassian brushed his lips over her own.

“When it comes tae ye, mo chridhe, I have no defenses.”

#nesssian #nesta x cassian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian acotar #dont let part 1 fool you #like oh theyre going to talk about their feelings LOL youll see #also im in hell because i want to write elucien so bad and instead im just teasing it in the background

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