#this was prompted by the fact that they probably don’t really see one another after the events of ruin and rising | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

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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theemporium · 3 months

Note

Werewolf landoscar request: both boys being clingy bc you’ve had to be away for a while (maybe in heat?)

Chuffed you’re in your Oscar era xx

-🥀

we don't talk about my oscar era🤠thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

It wasn’t your fault you couldn’t join them on the race weekend, it was your work’s fault.

Your boss seemed to have it out for you the day she made the rota and, despite the time off you vividly remember requesting and being approved, your name was on the schedule all weekend with no hope of you switching shifts with one of your colleagues.

The boys had been upset when you told them. Oscar had suggested showing the approved time-off form to your boss in a meeting. Lando had suggested quitting your job and letting them take care of you. You had taken neither boy up on their suggestions because you knew how each option would work out—and it didn’t seem worth the hassle.

However, between work projects and an overbearing boss, you hadn’t really noticed the shift in the boys’ behaviour on the calls.

It seemed normal whenever you managed to call them after your shifts, when they were curled up in bed and ready to go to sleep but stayed up to catch up with you. Lando would ramble away, taking over most of the conversation whilst Oscar was happy to just nod along and pipe in every few minutes. They could fight over who held the phone, who was taking up more of the screen, who got to say goodbye last.

It seemed normal because your boys were always clingy, so the amped up neediness wasn’t easy to spot through a screen.

But when they were back home? It was a whole other story.

You knew they had a late flight out after the race on Sunday. You knew they would be landing early in the morning, that they would probably be home when you woke up. You were looking forward to spending your day off with them after a week of missing your boys.

What you weren’t expecting to wake up in the middle of the night, the first cracks of daylight breaking through the horizon as you heard two voices whispering away to each other.

“Mate, you’re gonna wake her up.”

“Did you just ‘mate’ me?”

“Yeah, dude.”

“Oh my god.”

You blinked a few times, letting your eyes adjust to the darkness in the room before you saw both boys standing at the end of the bed. Their bags were nowhere to be seen—most likely abandoned by the door—and they were dressed in their plane clothes. They both looked exhausted, beyond the kind that you were used to seeing on their faces after races.

This was something else entirely.

“Too late, I’m already awake,” you grumbled, catching both boys’ attention as their heads snapped towards you.

In all honesty, you expected it to play out the way your reunions usually did. Lando would make some snarky comment about how lonely it must have been without them. Oscar would tell you how much he missed you, which would prompt Lando to do the same before he complained about the way Oscar moved too much in his sleep and you weren’t there to ground him like you usually did. And then they would crawl into bed, muttering away promises that they would shower in the morning when you scrunched your nose at the fact they hadn’t even changed.

However, instead of your usual routine, pitiful whines—ones that almost sounded pained—filled the room before both boys were crawling into bed next to you. You barely had a chance to say a word before the heat of two extremely warm bodies were pressed up on either side of you.

Oscar’s hands had already slipped beneath your shirt, pressing against your bare skin before he pulled you closer. Lando’s curls tickled your chin as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, another whine leaving his lips as he tangled his legs between yours.

“Jesus,” you murmured, shifting a little but quickly freezing when both boys whined again. “What’s up with you two?”

“Just missed you,” Oscar mumbled, his lips grazing against your arm as he nuzzled himself closer into your side. “Don’t like it when we’re away from you.”

“And Oscar said no to shifting in the hotel,” Lando added, something like frustration in his voice because you knew his shifted form was a comfort when he was in one of his moods.

“Because you ripped the sheets and pillows last time,” Oscar retorted with a huff, and something about it made you smile as he pressed a kiss to your wrist between his words. “You aren’t careful.”

“Whatever,” Lando grumbled, because he knew Oscar was right.

“You can shift in the morning,” you promised because having them in human form where they already felt like furnaces was bad enough, you couldn’t imagine having a huge wolf curled into your side right now. “Get some sleep first, okay?”

“M’kay,” Lando muttered, already sounding half asleep as he snuggled further into your embrace.

“Love you,” Oscar whispered, quiet and a little doubtful as he tensed beside you. Like he needed to hear it before he could fall asleep.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, letting your hand reach down for his to intertwine your fingers. “Love you both.”

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nyrandrea · 7 months

Note

You have very good writing and I think you really do comfort fics well! So I was wondering if you could write a fic with Astarion where the Tav he is trying to seduce has like major self esteem issues. Like they kind laugh at his attempts to compliment them. But at first it seems like a joke until he realizes that Tav isn't joking about it and he tries to help them see they are beautiful. (this is one of my fav prompts to give people ngl)

Thank you so much! This is a lovely prompt and I hope I did it some justice! :)

Word Count - 2k

Enjoy!

xxx

As the storm clouds gathered ominously on the horizon, you and your party found yourselves on a desolate, rain-soaked road in the middle of nowhere. The relentless downpour had turned the earth into a sea of mud, and the wind howled like a vengeful spirit.

Your clothes were soaked through, and faces were etched with exhaustion and desperation. With each step, your boots sank into the muck, making the journey even more arduous. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a menacing reminder that you had to find shelter soon.

“Ugh, there’s probably some saying about rainbows after the storm and whatnot,” Astarion said, holding a rucksack over his head in a failing attempt to save his hair. “But I’d much rather not be out in the middle of one.”

“Ah, it’s not so bad, just think of it as a long overdue shower,” Gale said. “And the saying is ‘Don’t fear the storm, for the rainbow is never far behind!’”

“Oh yes, that’s the one,” the vampire drawled. “I’ll rest so much better now that you have enlightened me.”

Amid the pelting rain, you spotted a faint glimmer of light in the distance. With newfound hope, you quickened your pace and beckoned the others to follow. As you trudged closer, the light revealed itself to be a cozy inn, nestled among ancient trees that shielded it from the worst of the storm.

“Thank the Gods,” Karlach breathed. “If I got any more drenched, my engine would have snuffed out.”

“Wouldn’t that solve your problem, then?” Lae’zel snidely chimed in, only to hiss when you elbowed her.

The inn's windows emitted a warm, inviting glow, and the scent of wood smoke and hearty meals wafted through the air. Your tired body yearned for a meal and a warm bed, mindflayer tadpoles be damned.

“Have we got enough gold to stay here? I mean, for everyone to have a room?” Shadowheart asked.

“We should do,” you said, pulling out the team’s shared coin pouch. “I sold that egg we uh... found.”

“You mean the one we stole after we killed its mother?” Wyll asked, clear disdain lacing his voice.

“It’s not technically stealing if the target is dead,” Astarion cheerfully chimed in. “Besides, we rescued the other one, didn’t we? One good turn deserves another.”

Wyll grimaced. “Your idea of virtue is a damn twisted one.”

“Aw, you love me really,” the vampire teased back.

“Here we are!” you announced as you reached the inn's doorstep, you were greeted by the innkeeper, whose eyes twinkled with the knowledge that you had nowhere else to go for the night. After taking payment, he ushers you inside, where a crackling fireplace cast a comforting light over the room, he takes your belongings up to your rooms with the help of Wyll and a begrudging Astarion.

Finding a long wooden table in the corner of the room, the group sat together, their spirits lifted by the fact that they were safe from the fury of the storm outside, at least for one night. The innkeeper, his apron stained with years of hospitality, served you a hearty meal of roasted meats, fresh bread, and stew.

You listened to the rain's rhythmic drumming on the inn's thatched roof, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for having found refuge in this little hidden haven. With a deep, contended sigh, you tucked into your meal, savouring every bite.

At least, you were trying to.

“You better eat up,” Astarion teased, lacing his fingers together as he rested his chin upon them to watch you. “Because I plan on doing just that very soon.”

“Crap,” you mumbled between mouthfuls. “Are you hungry? Why didn’t you say so?”

“Oh, am I hungry,” he smirked. “Just not for blood.”

You almost choked, but you masked it well with a nervous chuckle. He wasn’t... flirting with you, was he? You had always been bad at picking up signals, not that you received them often.

‘Nah,’ you thought. He couldn’t be, not when there were so many other better-looking people, at this table alone, that he could choose from.

“Well, I know you’re not craving my charming banter.”

“Oh no, something far better.”

Now you really were at a loss.

“Do you... need to borrow my hair comb again?”

“I mean sex, darling.”

This time you couldn’t hide the choke, but you were more afraid of dying from embarrassment than anything else.

“What?”

The deafening silence that had befallen the table was broken by a low whistle from Karlach.

“The direct approach, I can respect that, mate.”

“Direct? I’ve been trying to drop hints for weeks now but perhaps a little more serenading is needed,” he looked you up and down with a knowing smile; he had hooked you, now it was time to reel you in.

“Darling,” Astarion began softly, his voice a gentle caress, “when I look into your eyes, I see galaxies of beauty and depth that defy description. It’s as if the universe itself painted them with the colours of a thousand sunsets.”

A faint blush tinged your cheeks as you lowered your eyes, unsure of where to look. Astarion reached out and gently lifted your chin, so your eyes met once more.

“And your smile,” he continued, “it’s like a radiant sunbeam on even the cloudiest day. It has the power to brighten my world in an instant.”

“Ooh, that’s a good one,” Karlach said, fanning herself. “You’re even making me blush!”

“Careful, we wouldn’t want you burning any hotter now,” Gale smiled, though it was strained. He looked almost as uncomfortable as you felt.

“Your kindness,” Astarion went on, “it knows no bounds. You have a heart that’s more expansive than the ocean, and it’s a privilege to be the one you’ve chosen to share it with.”

“Bah!” Lae’zel practically spat. “These nonsensical attempts at beguiling are a waste of time, why waste your energy talking when you can claim and dominate each other instead?”

You were hard-pressed to agree with Lae’zel on this one. Well, except maybe for that last part.

“Alright, you can stop now,” you said.

“Not until you’re convinced,” Astarion replied, a sly smirk forming on his lips. “How about this? You are a masterpiece in a world of art,” The vampire flamboyantly declared, his gaze unwavering. “Your uniqueness, your quirks, your imperfections – they all make you the incredible person I fell in love with. You’re not just enough; you’re more than I ever dreamed of.”

You roll your eyes. “Gods, you know you don’t have to keep practising the fancy fake flattery on me, right? I know it’s all like a big joke to you but enough is enough, eh?”

Astarion finally pulls back and frowns at you, not in that puppy-pout way when he didn’t get what he wanted, but in a way that he looked genuinely offended.

“You think I’m joking?”

“I... uh,” you stutter, suddenly flustered.

“My compliments aren’t fake, darling. Decorative, perhaps, but you do know I mean every word, don’t you?”

“Pfft,” you try to wave him off nonchalantly, but your quivering voice betrays you. “No, you don’t. It’s... it’s all just a bit of fun, r-right?”

“Perhaps I should be a bit blunter then,” Astarion said, leaning forward ever so slightly, his expression serious and scarlet eyes piercing into you. “You’re... beautiful.”

You swear you could feel something just break inside you in that moment.

A tentative smile, like a fragile flower pushing through the cracks of self-doubt, graced your lips, but it wilted in the harsh light of scrutiny. A tight knot formed within your throat as everyone stared at you in anticipation. What were you supposed to say? Thank you? That you were grateful for the shower of compliments from Astarion, this... gorgeous man, because you sure as hell didn’t deserve them?

“I’m a little tired,” you suddenly say, your chair scraping the floor with a shrill screech as you quickly stand up. “Excuse me.”

Leaving their concerned calls behind you, you made your way up the stairs of the tavern and into the hallway leading to the rooms. The innkeeper had allocated them, but he’d neglected to say which one was which, so you merely picked the first door you could get your hands on.

It wasn’t until you slammed the door shut and leaned your back against it that you realised that you picked the wrong bloody one.

The room was large and luxurious, the centrepiece was an ornate, four-poster bed adorned with rich, crimson drapes that seemed to dance with the flickering candlelight and crisp, white linens, neatly turned down. An old, familiar skull-faced tome laid face up, its amethyst eyes staring ominously at the ceiling.

It seemed that someone got first dibs on the rooms, and it didn’t take a genius to work out who.

‘Shit,’ you curse to yourself, scrambling for the doorknob. ‘Maybe I can get out before he-’

As soon as you open the door, Astarion is already right there, his hand raised into a fist.

“Knock-knock?” he says, giving you a tentative smile.

“S-sorry, must have gotten a little mixed-up.”

“That’s quite alright, dear,” his tone is too soft for your liking, as if he feared offending you in any way.

“Right, well,” you strain a smile and edge around him to get to the hallway. “Goodnight.”

“Wait,” he catches you by the arm. “Come back in, won’t you?”

You squint at him suspiciously.

“To talk, darling. Nothing else, not if you don’t want to.”

Gods know that you wanted to, you were just... surprised that he did.

As you re-enter the room, you notice a small, antique writing desk nestled by a leaded glass window. A vase of freshly picked wildflowers graced the wooden surface, infusing the room with their sweet fragrance.

Astarion caught your stare. “Ah, unfortunately I have run out of perfume to mask my er... musk. So, I had to improvise.”

“It’s nice,” you remark, the tight knot in your throat making it hard to speak.

“Well, I should hope so. They are your favourite after all, are they not?”

A surge of guilt jabbed through your chest, you had occasionally stopped on the road to admire the flowers; their colours, their scent was intoxicating to you. Had he been observing you even back then?

You didn’t know what to say, words were always tempered by hesitation, their resonance dulled by the fear of judgment. Each sentence was punctuated by apologies, as if you believed your very existence owed the world an explanation. Confidence always remained just beyond your reach, an oasis in the desert of your own mind.

Astarion sat on the bed and patted the empty spot next to him; you silently took the invitation.

“I would like to... apologise for earlier. Making you uncomfortable was never my intent, I...” he paused, his eyes flickering over you. “I just wasn’t sure how much clearer I could make it to you.”

“That you... like me?”

“Like you?” Astarion took your hands and squeezed them. “I adore you. Everything about you, all that you do is... nothing short of breathtaking.”

Tears welled in your eyes and spilled over your cheeks like the gentlest rain, your trembling shoulders burdened by the weight of your emotions

“I’m sorry if you don’t hear this enough but... I wish to change that. You really are, truly, beautiful.”

The tears flowed freely then, your sobs echoing in the stillness of the night. Astarion gathered you in his arms, a silent pillar of support. His hand, cool and reassuring, gently cradled your trembling one, his thumb grazing back and forth over your knuckles.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his words a gentle caress. “Let it out, darling.”

Astarion’s presence felt like a sanctuary, a safe haven in the storm of emotions. He didn’t offer empty platitudes or rushed advice. Instead, he listened, letting you pour your bottled emotions out, allowing it to find solace in his quiet understanding.

With each tear that fell, Astarion’s touch remained steady, unwavering.

As the night wore on, you found yourself nestled into his side as you lay together on top of the covers, your head tucked into his shoulder while he stared up at the ceiling. He turns his head briefly to kiss your forehead, and in that sacred space, amid the tears and whispered sorrows, you found solace, strength, and perhaps the willingness to accept that, in your own way, you are beautiful.

xxx

Links to my other Astarion works

Everything's Fine

Restless

Request - Astarion kills everyone in his path to get to you

Request - Astarion tries to rescue you from kidnappers

#astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion ancunin #my writing #fanfiction #request

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ficnation · 6 months

Text

Chapter 4: Bon Appétit

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,6k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings, 18+, SMUT A/n: I'm really putting off the inevitable here sksksksk. Enjoy and let me know your thoughts <3 Btw this is my first time writing explicit smut (unedited)

This is also another late piece to @the-slumberparty Bingo Card event (prompt: proposal) - > Events Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Hannibal Masterlist

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

When Will comes home that night after promising you he’ll only be gone for a few hours, he’s doing anything in his power not to look you in the eyes. He kept his word, coming back exactly three hours and twenty-six minutes later. You stare at him, intrigued. You don’t understand why he’s acting this way, but your mind screams at you that it can’t be anything good—it’s right, like always.

“I resumed my therapy with Doctor Hannibal Lecter,” he informs you after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. He still doesn’t look at you, as he takes off his jacket and boots.

“You did what?” You blink at him in confusion—utterly dumbfounded. The meaning of his words doesn’t even register in your brain.

“I’m going to keep on seeing Hannibal,” Will repeats in the same monotonous voice.

It hits you like a train, and your stomach churns at the thought of them sitting across from each other, talking about emotions and Will’s life. Your expression turns to one of disapproval as the man expected.

“After everything he’s done, after everything he put you through, why would you do that?”

Will doesn’t respond right away, and you can tell he’s struggling with his words. “There are things I need to learn about myself,” he says finally. “About what it’s like to be me.”

You stare at him, burning invisible holes in his head, trying to decipher what is truly happening here. The guilt that emanates from his person, the fact that he still can’t meet your gaze—it’s more than suspicious. The realization hits you even harder than the fact he wants to be anywhere near Hannibal Lecter.

“Why are you lying to me?” you ask, voice on the verge of breaking. You hate yourself for ever thinking that he trusts you completely after all those years apart. The tears gathering in your eyes are more angry than sorrowful.

For a moment, Will goes silent. The silence is thick, full of tension as the two of you remain in your positions—you watching him, and him with his back turned to you.

Then, he closes his eyes tightly, as if fighting against a headache. He finally speaks, but only after turning slowly to face you. You immediately notice the pained expression on his face, the guilt that drips from his very skin.

“I have to keep seeing him.”

You go to protest again, but the sound of your voice cracks, and no words emerge. Will doesn’t wish to ever hear this noise from you again. It feels criminal—being the one who caused it. His heart breaks in a way it never did before—it stings like someone delivered it one thousand cuts.

You both remain silent for what feels like an eternity. Will doesn’t look away from you, and your eyes are locked on him, on that misery and pain staring right at you. No one moves, no one blinks, no one probably even breathes. Everything is still, except for your heart which aches even worse than it did before. The silence gets so thick you can almost feel it—touch it. For the life of you, you don’t want to be the one to break it.

You want to speak, beg, convince him to stop these mind games, to give you an explanation you could understand. But you choose to keep your mouth shut, slumping further into the cushions of the armchair.

Will’s eyes don’t leave you. They remain fixed on you as if willing you to speak, to tell him something that would make all of this suddenly go away. Anything.

He wants you to read his mind, and understand his pleas, but you can’t— and even if you could, you wouldn’t. You don’t do anything, don’t even move a muscle and after a few moments of waiting, Will finally breaks the silence.

“I don’t want him to do this to anyone else,” he says. His words are soft and quiet, but they carry a weight that you feel in your chest.

“Yet you didn’t start with that. You chose to lie.”

Will sighs. He looks exhausted as if you’ve been here asking him questions for hours, even though it’s been twenty minutes at most.

“I didn’t want you to stop me. There, I said it,” he says. “It was hard. Harder than anything I’ve ever done. Can you just cut me some slack over here?”

You don’t answer right away. You don’t know what to think or what to say about this whole situation. It seems absurd, and you have to remind yourself that you might’ve paused your story with Will Graham, but for him time has passed, things have changed.

You’re not proud of the words that leave you next. God, you wish you could just catch them in the air before they have a chance to reach his ears and put them back in your mouth.

“Change your fucking tone, Will.”

You’re shocked with your own words, but Will doesn’t seem annoyed or offended, not like most people would. He’s still staring at you, but you notice the slightest hint of amusement in his expression as if this new side of you intrigued him rather than annoyed him.

“You don’t like me speaking to you like that, my dear?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He makes no attempts to sound serious—just enough to make you laugh, but his words carry weight. He’s genuinely curious.

Will Graham just called you “my dear” and your whole face warms up at this term of endearment as you observe him fall to one knee in front of your person.

“What are you doing?” you choke out, confused, butterflies fluttering wildly in your chest.

Will takes his time to reply, his eyes scanning you and your reactions. He seems to enjoy the sight of you flustered, barely keeping up with what’s happening right in front of your face. His heart skips a beat more than twice in the span of a few seconds.

“I’m proposing.”

The words seem so absurd that you half expect him to break the tension with a quick joke, but he doesn’t. His gaze is glued to you, his words as serious as they can be. You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to react. Your mind is frozen.

“What the fuck, Will?”

Will grins at that and shakes his head as if he’d expected your reaction to be no different. He keeps his stance, one knee on the floor, as he stares at you affectionately—with so much love you’re surprised he doesn’t explode from it. The man is enjoying your confusion and the fact that he managed to pull it out of you. He’s not ashamed to admit it, either.

“That’s the kind of reaction I was hoping for,” he says quietly and in a matter of time, his hand is on your thigh, tracing invisible circles on the soft fabric of your pajama pants. “You were always going to say no for the first time.”

You blink at him, trying to coax out words from within you, but you don’t find any. That only makes you even more confused, and your expression turns to a frown. Is he really… asking you to marry him?

“I know, I’m quite the romantic.” He pauses, trying to stifle his chuckle. “Do you want me to ask you the usual way?”

“Will, are you serious?” you ask, your voice so gentle the words barely sound like they’re yours. Will only nods his head. “I don’t want you to ask at all. I want us to get married as soon as possible.”

He reaches down to grab your hands in his. “I never believed in marriage. I’m not sure if I do now either,” he admits awkwardly, playing with your fingers. “But I really want to hear people call you Mrs. Graham.”

Your heart jumps as he speaks as if you’d been waiting for him to admit those words for years. The words sink in slowly and your eyes become distant, as if you’d been taken back in time. A warm feeling spreads across your chest like you just swallowed a whole bottle of wine in one ginormous gulp.

“You know I can’t say no.” Your words are quiet and soft. He pulls you down onto his lap, his hands still around your fingers as he brings them to his chest. “Can I call you mine too?”

“Always,” Will replies, his voice low and quiet, but full of love and emotion. “It’s been you all along.”

A soft smile rests on your face as you look down at him. Your head is right above his, but you decide to close the tiny distance between you by leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. You feel your heart race as you do so.

“Did you come up with this to distract me?” Your voice is playful, but the air around you is thick and humid.

Will leans forward and wraps his arms snugly around your waist, hugging you tight. Your fingers play with his curls, his head back on your chest. The whole weight of him hangs onto you like all the sins in the world, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Maybe,” he replies, a smile tugging at his lips, even though he seems serious.

You can feel his body shift, and suddenly Will presses you firmly against the growing hardness inside his jeans. The whimper that pushes past your lips as you feel it through the thin layer of your pajama pants is downright desperate. You both can’t hide the fact that your breaths are becoming more irregular, muscles tensing under each other’s hands.

“I like being distracted like this,” you whisper, your nose nuzzling against his temple.

A low growl comes from the man’s chest. You’re close enough to the source of the sound to feel the vibration against your body. He presses his face to your neck, taking in the scent of your skin like he’s oxygen-deprived.

“Should I distract you too, Will?” you ask him quietly, tugging at his tousled hair.

“You’ve done enough, dear. I’m already distracted.” His voice is soft, and his words catch in his throat. Will doesn’t seem to have a single rational thought going through his head. It’s like all he can process is his need for you, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say this was a spell cast on him. “I want you.” His hand moves to your hip, and he presses into you harder, your breath catching in your throat. “Please.”

And who are you to deny him of anything his soul could ever want or need? You don’t wait for more encouragement as your fingers start working on hastily unbuttoning his shirt. They trace the smooth lines of his chest, the scars that mark his skin, and every little detail of him—every part of his history that he once saw as a defect. It’s not. It’s who he is, who he’s always been—his past is a part of what made him the Will you know and love.

Your fingers slowly make their way down to his belt and unclasp it too in one go. You graze over his hardness on accident, already feeling its heat through the thin layer. You let out a whimper and your whole brain starts to short-circuit.

“Slowly.” Will’s voice is hoarse and raw, his fingers digging deeply into the skin of your hip. “I want to see you.”

The man doesn’t waste any time in waiting for your reaction as his hand moves up to your face. His touch is gentle as it pushes back your hair, his fingertips rubbing against the skin behind your ear before they start pursuing the shape of your neck—every muscle and tendon.

“Slowly,” he repeats, and you can’t help but groan.

Nevertheless, you obey, letting your hands explore every surface of his flesh again like he’s the perfect puzzle that you need to solve. His own mirror yours, sliding below the thin layer of your t-shirt, grazing over your navel, and pushing upwards.

Every move you make leaves its mark, causing his body to tremble even more. His breath becomes so uneven, you think he might fall apart at any moment. The mere sound sends shivers down your spine.

“Yes, like that,” he mumbles, and his lips are right next to your ear as he whispers these words. His hand moves again and starts to tug at your shirt.

You help him remove it in one go, left in only your plaid pajama bottoms. Will’s touch is familiar, one you could never forget—not like the dozen strangers through the past few years, you never even remembered their faces come tomorrow morning. But his touch sets you ablaze—burns and soothes at the same time, it’s unforgettable.

Will reaches up to pull your head against his so that you’re staring straight at one another. His touch is gentle, but there’s an intensity to it that you can’t mistake. His lips slowly approach yours with such an intense need that you can read it in his gaze. Even though he doesn’t say it, you feel that this kiss is more than just desire—it’s a need to be as close to you as possible, to never let you go again. His tongue delves inside your mouth, and you sigh into it.

The feeling of your skin pressed against his leaves Will desperate, his mind so overwhelmed and in a haze, he can’t even form the words to describe the sensation. His hand keeps moving as if your flesh were an addiction. The sound that leaves from his throat is something so close to a purr—he’s almost embarrassed.

You feel his body tensing, his muscles flexing against yours, and your skin feels hot and all too sensitive. He’s taking advantage of this moment to touch you anywhere he can reach. His fingers leave no inch of your skin unexplored as he slowly begins to lower your pajama bottoms.

“God, you’re beautiful.” The sound of your voice draws Will’s eyes closed as he inhales deeply.

Will’s fingers glide down toward your legs, and he looks as if all his dreams are coming true at once. You see his eyes flicker open, and he looks at you with such intensity, such concentration, that it’s hard to breathe as you’re pulled along by an invisible force. He finally lets go of your chin so that he can drag your pajamas down further until they’re thrown across the room.

You take his hands in yours, placing them over your breasts. And it’s only when his teeth drag across your neck, from just above your collarbone down to the crook of your shoulder, that he loses it completely.

There’s no being slow or gentle when he pushes you away, standing up and pulling you to your feet. You take hurried steps back as he nudges you toward the bed. Soon enough, your calves hit the mattress and you fall back onto the blue duvet. You don’t even have a chance to take a breath, Will is hovering over you, elbows on each side of your head.

“You’re gorgeous,” he mumbles, looking deep into your eyes—so deep you’re afraid he can see the broken soul behind them.

You help him push his jeans and boxers down the length of his legs. The second they’re no longer an obstacle, Will’s fingers delve between your thighs, circling your clit teasingly with the gentlest of touches. Your lips part in a gasp, hands falling onto the covers to clench them in your fists.

“Will, please,” you plead between whimpers. He was the only one who could ever bring you to the point of begging, and you hope he knows it somewhere deep within.

The man faces you with glassy eyes, swiping the tip of his tongue over his bottom lips. He doesn’t need you to say anything more, he just nods feverishly and lets your fingers guide him inside. The sensation of your heat gripping him tightly makes him groan, lips falling agape. You wrap your legs around his hips, crossing them behind his back, and pull him even closer.

“Will,” you moan his name against his lips.

It spurs him on, makes him even more eager to please you. He draws back almost completely, then buries himself inside you again in one smooth motion. Your thighs tremble visibly, and it almost makes him smile. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, fingers tugging on his curls.

Will rocks into you deep and steady, one of his hands digging into the meat of your thigh with so much force it hurts—but goddamn, you love this kind of pain. And he makes it feel even more heavenly when his thumb begins to trace circles over your clit.

It doesn’t take him long to take you over the edge—hard and fast—turning you into a mindless, hot, whimpering mess. You mumble his name over and over again as your heat pulses around his length, making him come just a few moments after you. He claims your mouth with his, making you taste your name on his lips. God, does it taste heavenly.

Night came quicker than you realized, covering the sky with bright stars and a full moon. Despite it, it’s not pitch black outside. The shimmering snow reflects the shining lights, fighting off the darkness well enough. It doesn’t make you feel any less threatened, even though it should.

You’re wrapped only in the blue duvet that covered the bed, as you lie on your side, facing Will, who’s already asleep. His bare thigh is right against yours, and the heat of his skin is almost impossible to resist. You let your eyes wander across his body, his physique—he looks like a sculpture, a masterpiece of flesh and bone.

Your body still aches from his touch, and you feel like you’re a puddle of emotions with the sole mission of holding love, affection, and desire for him. You’re about as far away from being “fine” as possible. You didn’t even get a chance to tell him you’ll be working together from now on. He doesn’t know he’s allowed back in BAU, and you wonder if you should leave him unknowing for as long as possible. It’s not your greatest idea, but the idea of him breaking beyond repair terrifies you.

You try to calm your heart as it races and skips a beat every time his body shifts—the smallest movement seems like it could wake him up. But as you lie there in the darkness, his hand reaches out and finds its rightful place on your thigh again, his fingers barely grazing your skin. The sensation makes you almost jump out of your skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Why are you awake?” he asks with half-closed eyes.

“Can’t sleep,” you reply softly, wanting to touch him back, but not sure if you should.

“I figured,” he murmurs. “You didn’t sleep much yesterday either.”

You sigh sadly, you didn’t think he’d noticed. His hand moves up your thigh, almost instinctively, until it touches you just below your hip. It stops there, and your eyelashes flutter at its warmth against your skin.

“You can touch me.” Will’s voice is so quiet it’s almost inaudible, and you don’t have to be told twice.

Your fingers slip under the duvet, so the fabric doesn’t block your touch, and you begin to trace the outline of his leg with the tips of your fingers. Will’s eyes finally open, and he looks almost nervous at the intimate touch—until you find the spot where he’s ticklish. He lets out an adorable whimper, so naturally, you laugh and keep going.

“No, no, please stop,” Will moans, trying to fight back his chuckles, squirming as he tries to get away from your touch. The whole time he’s half-smiling, his fingers digging into the duvet for stability. He tries to grab your hands, but it only makes you laugh harder.

You find another ticklish spot on the side of his torso and continue to tease him. Eventually, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much as you watch Will scoot back, out of your reach. Your sour mood from before is gone in an instant.

Will moves up so that he’s sitting up against the wall, practically on the edge of the bed, and he looks almost offended by your reaction. Your gaze shifts, so you can get a fuller view of him.

“I’m not as ticklish as you think,” he says, his tone serious, though you can still hear a tremble in his voice. “If you wanted to see me squirm,” he adds, “you could’ve found a different method.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and you immediately pull the sheets up to cover the bottom part of your face, trying to hide your flustered reaction from his eyes.

“You’re so cute,” he says, his voice just a whisper, almost as if he was afraid that anything above a murmur could wake the dogs sleeping by the fireplace. “So adorable.”

Will’s hand rests on your head, his fingers playing with the strands of hair that cover your ears. You can feel him studying you—how your nose twitches and your eyes almost close as you wait for his next words. Something about it feels intimate as if he’s taking in every detail of your expression one by one. It’s been a while since he’s done that, you didn’t even realize how much you missed it.

“You can pull it down, you know,” he says playfully, his hand still in your hair. “This must be suffocating.”

“I know,” you say quietly, as you pull the sheets down from your face.

Will’s fingers interlace with yours, and you can feel his thumb circling your wrist.

“And yes, it is a bit suffocating.” You pull the sheets down to your collarbones, and a chill runs through your body as the cold air touches your arms. “Maybe you can warm me up.”

Will smiles—a small, sweet smile, with a bit of mischief thrown in. “Maybe I can,” his tone is playful as he pulls you close, your cheek finding a home on his chest, right above his heart.

After a few long minutes of silence and listening to the steady drum of his heartbeat, you turn to face him, resting your chin above his pec.

“We’re back on the team, you know?” you mumble almost mindlessly.

Will looks down at you, his expression gentle as he caresses your hair.

“I know.”

His gaze trails down your face and lingers on your lips for a brief moment before it shifts again. There are so many things Will wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to do it—he fears it would ruin these quiet, peaceful moments between you two.

You don’t question how he already knows that, choosing instead to voice your other thoughts—ones that’ve been on your mind almost the whole day. “What did Alana want from you?”

Will’s hand pauses against your face when you bring up her name, and for a moment he seems speechless, which is rare a thing for him.

“I…” He trails off but then speaks again as if he’s found the courage to say the words. “Alana wants me to stay away from Hannibal,” he says quietly, his fingers moving on your cheeks, your brows, your chin, as if his hand isn’t allowed to stay still for a second without touching the flesh it can. “She’s sleeping with him.”

“Why does she want you to stay away?”

“Because I tried to kill him.”

You don’t even blink at his confession, there’s no fear in your gaze—no ounce of surprise. There was a time in your life when this revelation would’ve shocked you, broken you in half, but after your father’s death, when you’re faced with it, it’s… easy to handle. Will expected this kind of indifference, he knew you well enough to know you wouldn’t judge nor be afraid.

“How?”

Will lets your question hang in the air for a long minute before he speaks. He takes a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Not by my hand—not like that,” he starts. “Hannibal has a lot of… a lot of hold over me,” he pauses again, “he made me want to do it.” It’s probably the most vulnerable, the most genuine explanation Will has given anyone. He’s speaking to you from the heart and in pure honesty. “An opportunity fell on my lap to send someone after him, so I took it.”

You nod your head in acknowledgment—it makes sense to you. “It’s a shame it didn’t work out.”

A hint of a smile appears on Will’s face. He moves his fingers to the nape of your neck and to caress the lines of your ear—it’s something he always used to do when he was thinking and you were nearby. “Alana’s very upset with me.”

Will’s other hand slides over your thigh, his fingers teasing the skin, almost as if he was trying to test it, like a cat with a piece of string. He’s still thinking when his hand starts to move upwards, closer to your hip.

“Don’t take it to heart,” you advise him, leaving a soothing peck on his jaw. It was the best you could do.

“I’m trying.” He laughs in a low rumble, his hand moving between your legs and your whole body tenses. “I’m trying,” he says again.

The touch is so soft and gentle—almost teasing, yet your body seems to be craving it. It makes him nervous, but also excited, and when he closes his eyes his head just falls back to rest against the wall, his teeth showing as he breathes in deeply.

“Would you have done this if I…” his words trail off into silence as the man doesn’t seem certain about how to finish his sentence. He looks at you, his face revealing all the questions that he doesn’t dare to ask.

You grasp his jaw between your hands, encouraging him to speak his mind, but being unconditionally patient at the same time. He tries to say something again, then changes his mind. It’s as if he’s playing a constant game with you, trying to reach into your mind without opening his mouth like most people do.

“If you…”

“If I was still the same,” he mumbles out finally.

“Will, you are still the same person. Perhaps a little more broken than before, but it’s still you.”

Will stays silent and still for a minute with his eyes closed, his hand still between your legs. The tips of his fingers keep barely touching you, almost a caress, although a bit harsher than before. His lids flutter open, so you can see his face as it’s lit by the moonlight.

“There’s something I’d like you to promise,” he says cautiously as if every word is carefully thought out before he speaks it aloud. “Promise me that you’ll keep trusting in me... even if you don’t understand.”

Will’s hand moves up from between your legs so that he can touch your waist and hold you in place. The fingers of his other hand stroke your face down to the side of your neck, and you can feel how your heart starts to beat faster and faster with each touch.

“I will always trust you, Will. Just never lie to me again, have a little faith in me too.”

Will lets his eyes fall down to your lips again, and he can’t help but bite his own in response. As if he was trying to hold himself together but the urge to kiss you was almost too strong, the way his gaze kept shifting.

When his lips touch yours—it’s a long, slow kiss, deep and gentle at the same time. He holds you in place, your hips pressed against his as if he doesn’t want you to move, even a centimeter. And you don’t dream of being anywhere else but here—by his side.

“I love you, Will.”

#eat your heart out #smut #mdni #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #hannibal lecter x will graham #hannibal lecter #hannibal #hannigram #will graham x reader #will graham x hannibal lecter #will graham

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chrollohearttags · 9 months

Note

prompt #6

toxic armin! nd reader are arguing nd when reader talks her shit armin gets turned on nd pulls his dick out nd tells her to “suck on it” making her forget all the shit he did(once again)

and I was JUST thinking about him omg 😫😫 y’all have no idea how much I love toxic!armin. He does sum to meee.

cw: oral, spit play, fingers in the mouth, reader threatening armin bc it’s all he deserves

frustrated. the one word that came to mind when trying to express your emotions right now. You couldn’t think straight, couldn’t articulate your words properly, let alone get your point across without becoming completely irate. That’s what happened when you dealt with the likes of armin artlert. A known playboy with a reputation that preceded him. But with all the information you heard from the streets about him dogging all his women, being a cheater and a dumbass, you decided to give him a chance. Under the premise that his ass was gone the second he acted the fool. Unfortunately, things weren’t so simple with him! You could never truly be free of him..whether physically from the fact that no man fucked you quite like he did. Or mentally because he’d blow your phone up and play mind games until you let him back in for a thousandth chance.

“Please…please give me one good reason why I shouldn’t bust you in your shit, Armin. Please give me one.”

“I already told you, angel. I don’t even know that girl…she probably has me confused with somebody else..”

another Saturday night wasted down the drain..where you could put partying with your girls, finding a man worth of a damn, it was being spent pacing the floor of your two bedroom apartment you shared together. Arguing and fussing about a potential side piece as he sat on the edge of the bed. Sprawled out shirtless with nothing but black sweats on. Shaggy blonde hair going everywhere and tattoos on his chest and forearm still vibrant from the lotion he applied after he showered. Despite how fine your man was, you were solely focused on ripping him apart. Pissed off that he had yet again embarrassed you. “So that bitch asked you to suck your dick and she got you confused with somebody else? Nah nigga, the only thing you and her both got..is me fucked up.”

ramping and raving like a mad woman as you poked his forehead with your long acrylics. Folded arms and puffed out jaws like a petulant child and all he could do was stare in adoration for how cute you were. He didn’t want to admit it but the sight of you putting him in his place really got Armin stirred up. Hearing you cuss him for everything he was worth..clapping your hands..he loved seeing you in this aggressive state. Even if it wasn’t healthy. “Playing in my motherfuckin’ face…I’m not one of these other bitches, Armin.” He heard you, loud and crystal clear but he couldn’t be vexed to care. He never did. He never gave a damn about his actions affected you or anyone else. But he’d pretend, so as long as he could get his own gratification..

“I know, baby..they’re nothing like you. That’s why I told you, I don’t even know her ass. You know how many of them are jealous of you? Seriously, who wouldn’t be? Look at you..”

his half assed attempt of mulling over the situation was bombing, until he resorted to desperate measures that is..leaning back, he’d open his legs a bit more and suck his teeth, flashing you a shit eating smirk. One that would undeniably get him his way! Extending an arm out, he’d grasp for your hand and pull you towards him, intertwining those fingers together and placing kisses on the knuckles.

“..shit, I mean…if I’m being honest, you got me thinking about you right now, baby. They can’t do any of the things you can. Can’t love me the way you can, not as beautiful as you are…and damn sure can’t fuck on me the way you do.”

you knew he was only trying to soften you up. Stop you from being angry and as always, that smooth charm and slick demeanor done its job. As he had your eyes adverted to his face, tugging you down gently to your knees for a kiss, his other hand was working to free his erection from its confines. Stiff and seeping with precum, he wanted nothing more than shove it between those pretty, gloss stained lips. But first, he’d shove two fingers between them, letting you suck them and coo to you as he always done. Swiping a finger across your cheek, he knew you were exactly where he wanted you. “Go ahead, baby..suck on it.”

prompting as he guided your head down into his lap. In a matter of seconds, he had those fingers wrapped around his shaft and that tip stuck in your mouth, sloppily sucking on it as you always did. Drumming up strings of saliva in the process and making you drool all over him.

“There you go…good girl. Only you can make me feel like this. Do what these bitches can’t.”

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jayjj7 · 3 months

Text

chapter 17. realization

prev. | next | masterlist

after receiving the news from haerin about your whereabouts, you get off the bed you’re on.

“shit!” the first step you take is into a bucket, your second step you take to try and balance yourself is supposed to be the floor but you step into another bucket knocking it over. this unbalance causes you to trip onto the floor with a loud crashing noise due to the…5..? buckets around the bed..?

you groan from the pain and that’s when you notice the throbbing headache you have but before you can get up from the floor, the door swings open.

“y/n?” danielle walks in with a first aid kit in hand. a panicked look is on her face as she expected you to be on her bed but instead are on the floor.

“oh my god y/n! are you okay? do you feel like throwing up? are you too hot? too cold? do you want-“ danielle rambles as she squats down to your height to help you lift yourself up from the floor. this is when you notice you’re not wearing your scrubs, you’re wearing a grey hoodie with black sweatpants. as hard as you try to remember, you don’t remember changing out of your scrubs. the last thing you can remember is being in danielle’s car.

“what? no dani i’m fine, seriously” you look up at danielle to see subtle eye bags on her face.

out of instinct you grab her face, tracing your thumb underneath her eye. “you didn’t sleep did you?”

“no i was so worried about you. come i made you breakfast” she brushes off the fact she didn’t sleep much last night way too quickly as she grabbed your hand to lead you out of her room.

danielle had served you some warm stew and scorching hot ginger tea. it was at this moment you realized how…orange…her hands were..?

“thank you dani i really appreciate it, you didn’t have to do all this really” you thank as you blow on your soup to cool it down.

“this is all my fault y/n i have to fix it” her voice is sad, probably exhausted because of how little sleep she got. danielle sits down next to you on her dinner table, tired, one arm is posted up supporting her head.

“no it’s not, don’t beat yourself up for that please” you look at her with a smile to try and cheer her up but her expression is serious.

danielle can only sigh, “i made a doctors appointment for you. it’s in a couple hours” she avoids eye contact, fidgeting with the zipper of her sweater.

“you what?” you drop your spoon in your soup.

“dani is hate the doctors” you whine, covering your face.

“but y/n, you’re a doctor?” danielle has genuine confusion painted on her face.

“but not for people!”

yes you’re veterinarian but you were always scared when you had your bi-yearly checkups at the doctors. ironic you became a vet knowing how anxious being near a hospital made you. there wasn’t anything that prompted you to be so scared of the doctors or anything, no bad experience as a kid, just a phobia.

so there you were: sitting in the waiting room, awaiting your name being called, danielle next to you, trying to call you down with pictures on her phone, explaining the story behind each picture. danielle’s almost motherly demeanor helped you ease up a bit, laughing quietly every once in a while. leaning your head on her shoulder and closing your eyes helped you feel grounded. that was until your name was called by a doctor who had walked out.

“y/n?” the doctor calls out after looking down at her clipboard.

suddenly your calm state was erased and anxiety filled your body as you froze. heat rising in your body, unsure if you should run away or not. thankfully danielle was there to assist you. she was the first to stand up and help you up by holding your hand and rubbing your back. she treated you as if you were unable to move properly but in reality you were just scared shitless.

as you and danielle walk up to the doctor to follow behind her, she interrupts.

“oh sorry only relatives are allowed to be let in with the patient” the doctor holds her hand hand in front of danielle as a ‘stop’ motion.

panicked at being left alone, you say the first thing to pop in your head to counter this obstacle.

“she’s my s-“

“i’m her wife” danielle smiles as she rubs your back.

“my mistake, come on in” the doctor instructs as she lets you both in. your face heating up as you follow the doctor into a room, danielle taking a hold of your hand.

taglist : [ @modanisgf @greenniee @milfcr @idkwhatim-doinghere101 @urwyf3 @flolio @imahallucination11 @pandafuriosa60 @kaypanaq @nnewjeansstuff @haerinkisser @brocoliisscared @starrynini05 @l-e-e-woso @kimminjiswife @herlv3r ] taglist is open !! comment to be added !

#danielle x reader #kpop #kpop smau #kpop x reader #kpop gg #newjeans x reader #newjeans smau #newjeans hyein #newjeans danielle #newjeans haerin #newjeans minji #newjeans hanni #newjeans

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embrosegraves · 3 months

Text

ℂ𝕒𝕟 𝕀 𝔹𝕖 𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤?

(request) Paul Aron x Reader Paul and Reader are invited to a Birthday Sleepover “Kimi, look at us! We’re professional drivers and matchmakers!”

Paul was nervous. He hadn’t been to a sleepover since he was little. And here he was, 19 years old and nervous to ring the doorbell. Taking a deep breath, he pushes the button and thinks to himself. He probably wouldn’t be so nervous if he didn’t know you were going to be there. But he did know you were going to be there. In fact you were probably already inside setting up your sleeping area and chatting with everyone while he stood outside. The door swung open just before he could slip too far into his mind. Stood at the door was Dino. The birthday boy.

“Paul! Come on in.”

“Hey man!” Paul opened his arms and hugged Dino. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks,” Dino huffed out a laugh, “everyone’s still setting up their area.”

Paul followed Dino inside and started to greet everybody that was already there. Just as he thought, you were chatting with Kimi as you finished putting your pillow on your rolled out sleeping bag. Looking at you laughing with Kimi, Paul had to remind himself that Kimi was essentially like your little brother who followed you around PREMA like a lost duckling.

“She’d be laughing with you if you grew some balls and confessed, Aron.” Dino had been trying to convince Paul to confess to you for almost 2 years now. He had also been trying to get you to confess to Paul for almost 3 years. If Paul was helpless, you were a lost cause. “I’m telling you she likes you as well.”

“Not a chance.” Paul was convinced that there was no way that you liked him back. The possibility just didn’t exist. There was not a single chance on Earth that you liked Paul the way Paul liked you.

Dino scoffed but let him be. He had this whole night planned out and one way or another, he was going to get one of you to confess before morning.

“Regardless, the only open spot for you is next to her. So I’d go and say hello at the very least.”

Paul gently hit Dino on the shoulder as he made his way over to where you and Kimi were still talking. Seeing him approach, Kimi smiled and waved at him. You looked up and smiled.

“Hey Paul! How are you?” You asked.

“Hey guys. I’m doing good. Been really busy lately.” He said, waving back at Kimi. He didn’t want to leave the kid hanging.

“I’m glad.” You said, watching as he began to put his thing down next to your space. “Are you bunking here tonight?”

“Yeah.” Paul smiled sheepishly. He was nervous that you wouldn’t want him to sleep near you. He felt slightly less nervous when you smiled at him.

Later on that night, Paul found himself approaching Kimi just after you had left for the bathroom. Without you in the room, Kimi had gotten quieter. It wasn’t that he didn’t know everyone here, because he did, he just felt more comfortable with you around. Paul had begun walking over because a part of him didn’t want Kimi to feel left out, but mostly because he wanted to get to know your relationship with Kimi better.

“I don’t think I’ve seen her as happy with anyone but you.” Paul said.

Kimi just smiled and chuckled a little. “There is only one person she is happier with.”

This intrigued Paul. He hadn’t seen you with anyone other than Kimi so far. Sure you had hung around Dino for a bit, but it was his birthday of course you would.

“Who’s that?” Paul asked.

“You.” Kimi looked right at him as he spoke. “Unless the conversation calls for something else, you are the only thing she talks about.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Of course you didn’t. She made me promise not to tell, but she really likes you.” Paul didn’t need to know that Kimi and Dino were both in cahoots. “She’s basically my older sister, so don’t break her heart, okay?”

Paul’s voice was barely a whisper, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Eventually you had come back from the bathroom, prompting Dino to gather everyone for a few rounds of Uno and Cards Against Humanity.

By now it was nearly midnight and everyone was laying down in their sleeping bags, talking about everything and nothing. You and Paul had been talking about the upcoming F1 season when you had noticed some of the others getting quiet. You assumed that they were sleeping. Soon enough it was just you and Paul that were still talking.

There was a small lull in the conversation before the silence was broken by Paul.

“I don’t want this to change anything between us, but I need to tell you something.” Paul didn’t want to look at you, just in case. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he saw you look at him with disgust.

“Paul, you can tell me anything. I won’t judge you.” You whispered.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

Your hand reached out to grab his when he took a deep breath.

“I really like you. I have for years but I was too scared to tell you. I like being friends with you so much and sometimes I feel selfish for wanting to be more than friends. I don’t want to ruin our friendship because I am so lucky to be in your life, but sometimes I think about what it would be like if we weren’t just friends you know?”

There was silence. You had no idea that Paul felt the same. Unbeknownst to you both, everybody else was listening and waiting with baited breath to hear your response.

“Y/n?”

“I really like you too, Paul. For so long now.” You kept your voice at a whisper, but made sure to tighten your grip on his hand.

“Really?” His voice was so full of hope, it almost made you feel stupid for not confessing sooner.

“Mhmm. Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I like to think about us together. What we would do. What dates we would go on.” Shifting slightly closer to him, hand still in his, you wrapped your free arm around his and laid your head next to his shoulder. “Sometimes I even think so far into the future I can imagine a little girl. She looks just like you and she calls me Mama. For so long I thought ‘that could never happen. There’s no way.’”

Paul finally had enough courage to look at you. He turned his head and looked you in the eyes.

“Can I be yours? Please?”

“Only if I can be yours.”

“Fucking finally! Do you know how long Kimi and I have been waiting for this?” Dino’s voice was so loud compared to your whispering that your body jumped closer to Paul. Paul had been just as scared if his grip told you anything.

“Listen Dino, I’m just as excited as you are that they finally grew a pair of balls, but can the boasting wait until morning? I’m fucking tired.” Kimi groaned from where he was laying on your opposite side.

“Kimi, look at us! We’re professional drivers and matchmakers!”

This was a bit of a challenge I won't lie. But I liked writing it nonetheless!

I hope you enjoyed reading!

Likes, replies and reblogs are always appreciated!

MUAH <3

#paul aron #formula 2 #prema racing #paul aron x reader #paul aron x you #paul aron imagine #paul aron fic #paul aron fluff #f2 #formula 2 fic #f2 x you #f2 x reader #idk what else to tag

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river-lethe-tears · 1 year

Text

DC x DP Prompt

Sam gets Summoned

So instead of Danny being the one summoned, this time it’s Sam. Like, being possessed by Overgrowth (or whatever he’s name is stupid plant ghost :/ ) , made her get some cool plant powers and stuff.

So the cult is trying to summon Overgrowth to return Earth to its former green glory or whatever. But instead gets this small goth girl. Who is suddenly looking very pissed off and angry. And oh no. They try to be really respectful and stuff because what if this is Overgrowth putting them through a test? So they toss their sacrifices into the circle because of course the entity is not happy until it gets what it was promised.

The sacrifices are probably either Poison Ivy who they somehow got (most likely through threatening Harley than knocking them both out to use as sacrifices) or Red Hood since Jason was dead and all plus Lazarus Pits. (Or Batfamily if you’re more partial to that but I did not think of this prompt with them in mind as the sacrifices lol)

So Sam is really confused and pissed off cause she was in the middle of something with Danny and Tucker and both of those idiots are probably freaking out, so she needs to get back as soon as possible. So she just gives a nasty (burger) glare and just waves her hands. Plants start sprouting from the ground and knocking the cult out. Once Sam done she just rolls her eyes in all her goth glory and walks over to the sacrifices to untie them. Poison Ivy then just watches everything play out with amusement as Harley tries to cheer Sam on. If the sacrifices are Poison Ivy and Harley or Red Hood than they compliment Sam on her skills. If it’s anyone else it’s up to your imagination.

So yeah that happens. Depending on who the sacrifices are, after an undetermined time talking Sam just walks back to the summoning circle. She knows all about this stuff due to all the rants Danny goes on and on with about people being so inconsiderate when summoning him. So she just concentrates and taps into either her liminal status, powers due to Overgrowth, or ectoplasm residue in her system and reverse summons herself back to Amity.

The rest of the bats burst in just as Sam starts to reverse summon herself. And are freaking out or shocked before she is just gone. They only get a few glimpses at her and they can’t grasp the colours since the summoning circle starts to glow bright green. Poison Ivy and Harley won’t really tell them anything since they are amused at the bats frustration. (Bats knew to rescue them cause Selena told them that they were missing; Sirens are reformed(?) in this AU)

So the bats are trying to find out more information on this being the cult summoned and the Sirens aren’t really being that helpful. Selena finds it hilarious after Ivy and Harley inform her what happened.

Just imagine a few months later there’s a Wayne Gala going on and the Mansons were invited so of course they came and dragged Sam along. Who also ended up dragging Danny and Tucker along. And the bats casually freak out when they see this girl who looks kinda like the being they saw in that warehouse a few months ago. Oh gods above. Poison Ivy please pick up. Please don’t let this be another Gala being crashed. They can handle their rouges, not inter-dimensional beings they have no information about.

Danny and Tucker naturally finds this hilarious.

Until Tucker gets summoned a month later.

~~~ Please excuse the horrible everything. I am writing this very late, but I had to do a brain dump since this was haunting (haha) my brain. I literally had this idea pop up and not go away while trying to fall asleep. There are so many run off sentences, but I can’t bring myself to care anymore. Sleep waits for no man, woman, or in between before claiming their conscience for a few hours (or days). I might come back later to fix this up and fill plot holes. But that’s a huge maybe. Also I couldn’t be bothered to actually searched up Overgrowth’s real name lol or to fact check anything. My brain is gone. Into the wind. :p

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gigabyte-flare · 4 months

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🎄 I'll Be Home 🎄

[A Gigabyte Flare One Shot]

Summary: Christmas is just around the corner and your boyfriend, Leon Kennedy is away on a mission. You begin to accept the fact that you'll probably be spending the holiday alone, but Leon has other plans.

Word Count: 1.6k

Pairing: RE4!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: unprotected p in v, oral (m receiving), pet names, just really sexy fluff honestly

A/N: Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all those who celebrate! Divider by firefly-graphics

“You have no idea how terrible this makes me feel, sweetheart.”

Your boyfriend’s voice is coming through your landline handset, nestled in your v-neck shirt, supported by your cleavage as you put up ornaments on your Christmas tree you just picked out at the tree farm.

“Leon, I promise you, it’s fine. I know what I signed up for. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened,” you reassure him, putting up a vintage glass Santa ornament onto the tree, “we can celebrate when you get back; no matter how long it takes.”

You hear Leon let out a deep sigh, “It’s Christmas Eve, babe. I should be there with you. It might not be until a few weeks after the new year when I finally get home. Are you sure that’s ok with you?”

“Leon. What did I just say?”

Leon goes silent, yet you can almost hear the gears turning in that mind of his. You then hear him clear his throat after a few minutes.

“You are too good to me, I don’t deserve you.”

You scoff as you struggle to put the star on the tree, “on the contrary, I don’t deserve you.”

You hear Leon clear his throat and chuckle nervously, you can picture him smirking at you, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

“Hey… I gotta get going, just got to the hotel room. I’ll call you later, ok?”

“Alright, love you, Leon.”

“Love you, too.”

You pull the phone out from your cleavage and press the end call button, walking into your small kitchen to put the phone back on the receiver. You walk back into the living room, humming the tune of a classic Christmas song as you finish decorating the tree. Afterwards, you bring out your gifts for Leon, setting them under the tree to await his return.

Later that night…

You slowly wake up in the middle of the night, your bladder painfully full and your mouth drier than the Sahara Desert. You lazily toss your comforter off, swinging your legs over the side of the bed before standing up and going into the bathroom to relieve yourself. After you finish up in the bathroom, you go out to the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water to bring relief to your dry mouth.

Wearing only a thin white tank top and your underwear, you walk out into the kitchen, opening one of the cabinets to grab a glass before turning on the sink, putting the glass under the stream to fill it. Once you’re satisfied, you shut the sink off, bringing the glass to your lips and taking several gulps of the water. You let out a heavy sigh, turning the sink back on to top the glass back off, shutting it back off and bringing the glass back to your lips.

Before you can take another gulp of water, you hear something, a thud sound, come from the living room, causing you to freeze in place. Your heart begins to race and you grab the closest thing you can find to a weapon: a spatula. You grip it tightly in your right hand as you set the glass down onto the counter, turning to walk slowly into the living room. You peek around the corner to the living room, your eyes scanning the dimly lit room, your only source of light being the lights on the Christmas tree, the bottom which is obscured by the couch. You don’t see anything off at first, prompting you to step further into the living room.

Your eyes continue to scan the room, the spatula gripped firmly in your hands as your eyes settle to the bottom of the tree where you are greeted by the sight of a naked man laying on his side, his arm propped up to support his head. You scream, stumbling backwards as your eyes roam up and down the naked man’s body, his nether region covered by a large red bow and donning a Santa hat on his head. You realize quickly that you know this man, and let out a loud sigh of relief, bending forward and resting your hands on your thighs, taking deep breaths.

The naked man is Leon.

“Jesus Christ, Leon!” you breathe out, laughing in between breaths, “how long have you been laying there waiting?”

Leon bursts out laughing, standing up from the floor to approach you. His hands instinctively place themselves onto your waist, pulling you gently to him before he reaches up, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind one of your ears, his azure eyes looking down longingly at you.

“Like 20 minutes I think? I didn’t mean to scare the shit out of you, babe.”

“I almost threw the spatula at you,” you say, unable to contain your laughter as you set the spatula onto the coffee table.

“Oooohh scary!”

You playfully punch his shoulder, still giggling, “shut up!”

Leon smiles down at you, and you feel yourself practically turn into putty in his presence. He leans down, his lips sealing themselves over yours; it doesn’t take long for the kiss to deepen, for the two of you to begin devouring each other’s lips.

“So,” Leon says, breaking off the kiss, “aren’t you going to unwrap your present?”

Your eyes trail down his muscular form, settling on the large red bow that he somehow haphazardly attached to himself.

“Of course, go make yourself comfortable on the couch, love,” you tell him, motioning to the couch.

Smirking at you, Leon makes his way to the couch, sitting gently onto it. You step towards him, promptly getting onto your knees to position yourself between his legs. Gently grasping the end of the bow, you pull on it, watching it unravel. His hardened dick springs up once the bow is removed, the tip an angry red and drooling with pre-cum. You gently grasp his length in one hand, pumping gingerly while you bat your eyelashes at him. Your thumb presses into his slit, gathering his pre-cum and spreading it down the thick hard shaft.

Leon groans, shifting his hips and leaning back to get himself more comfortable. You stick out your tongue, pressing it against the base of his cock and licking upwards, flicking the tip with your tongue before wrapping your lips around it.

“Oh fuck…” Leon whispers, his hand grabbing the hair on the back of your head and gently guiding you to move your mouth up and down on his cock, his hips bucking upwards to fuck your mouth.

Your fingers dig into his powerful thighs for support as he continues to thrust into your mouth, his movements becoming more irregular as his release looms closer and closer. His hand that is buried in your hair on the back of your head abruptly yanks you off his throbbing member; he watches as your drool runs down your chin, a tired smile crossing your lips as you catch your breath.

“Wanna cum in that pretty pussy of yours,” Leon growls, his sapphire gaze full of lust.

You stand up, hooking your thumbs into the hem of your underwear, pulling them off and tossing them aside before climbing onto his lap. As soon as you’re on his lap, he takes hold of your tank top, pulling it off over your head and placing it onto the couch next to him. His large hands grasp both of your breasts, kneading them in his hands. You shift your hips, feeling the tip of his cock press against your entrance, your juices coating the tip. You settle your hips down onto his lap, his dick sinking into you, the feeling of him stretching you out euphoric.

You let out a soft moan upon feeling the tip kiss your throbbing cervix and you waste no time moving your hips in a grinding motion as you place your hands onto his shoulders for support.

“That’s it… you’re doing so good, babe. Taking me so fucking well,” Leon coos in your hear before placing gentle kisses along the side of your jawline; both of his hands resting on your hips to relish the motions of you grinding on him.

The feeling of him pressing against your cervix as you move is almost too much for you, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you let out a loud moan. In that moment, you feel Leon’s fingers dig into your hips; his hips once again bucking up into you, bouncing you on his lap. Each time, his dick presses into your g-spot, pushing you over the edge. Your juices flow from you, coating him and leaving a white ring at the base of his cock, the sounds of your soaked pussy along with both of your animalistic moans filling the living room.

“I’m… I’m gonna-- oh fuck I’m gonna fill this fucking cunt… shit!”

With a few more ragged thrusts, he pushes his hips upwards, pressing into you as deep as he can go as he paints your insides white with his cum. You relish in the warmth of him, crying out as his name as your nails dig into his shoulders, your pussy walls squeezing around him to milk every last drop of his cum. His softened dick slips out of you and you practically collapse onto him, your hips still straddling his lap. His strong arms wrap around you, his fingers running up and down your spine to comfort you.

He gives you another deep kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth for a moment. After a few minutes he breaks off the kiss, his blue eyes gazing into yours lovingly as he smiles at you.

“Merry Christmas, babe.”

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fluff #gigabyte writes #christmas smut

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cranberrymoons · 7 months

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i can take you higher

prompt: charm ✨ (@steddiemicrofic) word count: 548 rating: t tags: smoking, post S2, mild h/c, touch-starved steve title from seminal steve harrington identification song: "i'm on fire" by bruce springsteen

Behind Steve’s house is the woods, and behind that is a river, and on the other side of that there’s a quarry.

When he was sixteen years old, they pulled a body out of the lake that sits at the bottom of it. It’s not really a lake, and the body wasn’t really a body after all, but he thinks sometimes that everything in his life hinged on that moment. A boy he didn’t know, and a body that wasn’t a body, and the river behind his house emptying into a lake that wasn’t a lake.

“I just wish there was a way to go back to before,” he’s saying, laying on the shore of the lake that isn’t a lake, passing a joint back and forth with the town drug dealer because– why not. “Like some sort of spell, or– or charm that could zap me back to when everything was normal.”

Eddie Munson. What Eddie Munson says, squinting at him through the dark as he exhales a hazy cloud of smoke, is:

“You’re a weird dude, Harrington. Anyone ever tell you that?”

Steve sighs, sitting up on his elbows to accept the joint. “Yeah. A few times.”

“And you’re high as hell right now, and you’re not making any sense.”

Again, “Yeah.” He inhales, holds it in for a beat, blows smoke up toward the stars. “Sorry.”

He wonders if he’ll ever stop apologizing, and then he wonders why he seems to do it so often. To Nancy, to Dustin, to Jonathan, and now, of all people, to–

Eddie snorts. “Don’t be,” he says. “I’m the one who got you high, remember?”

Steve feels something run through him, but his brain is too foggy to figure it out. He drops back to lay down again, and when he does, his head lands on Eddie’s stomach. Eddie makes a quiet sound, breath sucking in sharp, but then his hand settles on Steve’s head, threading through his hair, and it’s been… days? weeks? since anyone has touched him without their hand curled into a fist.

The air is cool, and Eddie’s hands are warm, and Steve lets his eyes fall shut; if he were less high than he is, he’d probably be embarrassed by the fact that his throat goes a little tight.

“Anyway, I don’t think you need some sort of magic time travel spell,” Eddie says after a long moment, quiet voice cresting through the buzz in Steve’s brain. “Or– if you do, then so do I. But life doesn’t really work that way.”

Steve turns his head to stare up at him, and Eddie’s hand shifts with him, moving around to cradle the back of his skull. He smells good, too, like laundry and cigarettes and an underlying third thing that starts up an itch in the back of Steve’s skull and makes him want to reach out and taste, to see if his tongue can follow it over his skin and into his mouth.

“What do I need, then?” he asks, because the only other thing in his brain is hands and fingers and the warmth of another person’s body under his cheek.

Eddie blinks at him, frowning slightly. “Time?” he suggests. “Maybe you just need time, and someone who will get you high.”

[also on ao3]

#farah i consulted your map to make sure the quarry placement made sense; love u #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddiemicroficseptember #my fic #steddie fic #steddiemicrofic

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byeoltoyuki · 5 months

Text

[21:35]

↳ Pairing: Jisung x reader

❧ Genre : roommates to lovers / fluff / smut

❧ Words : +2k

❧ Warnings: oral (f), riding, (jisung being a menace)

❧ Summary : You loved your roommate. You really did. But sometimes, the urge to strangle him was strong.

Prompt: “On a scale from 1 to 10, how bad do you want to kill me right now?” “I’m hovering somewhere in the high thirties.”

A/N: This one was hiding in my notes for a while, I'm glad I'm finally done!

Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated :)

➺➺➺➺➺

You stared. And stared, for what seemed like eternity to Jisung, at the broken mug. You would think it was just a mug, nothing exceptional, not a big deal. Except it was, to you. The mug happened to be a present from one of your closest friends, a mug she had made especially for you. A mug she had made from scratch and painted all your favorite ghibli’s characters on it. A pretty, meaningful present. A mug that Jisung, your stupidly adorable roommate, also happened to love and borrow without asking. It wouldn’t have been a big deal if not for the fact that he was a clumsy mess, you knew one day an accident would happen.

And it did.

“On a scale from one to ten, how bad do you want to kill me right now?” Jisung asked, voice slightly shaking while laughing nervously. The two of you had been living together for the past two years and of course with time Jisung had discovered your marvelous temper. He knew it was about to get bad and the wish to run away was getting stronger with every passing, silent seconds. Except, he also couldn’t resist the urge to push at your buttons.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, trying desperately to keep your temper in check. You tried to tell yourself it was just a mug and that your friend would probably make another one if you asked, but you weren’t being particularly rational tonight.

Jisung took a few steps back, for safety reason, ready to sprint to his room. Just in case.

“I’m hovering somewhere in the high thirties.”

“Oh come on!” Jisung whined, “I’m sorry!”

With one look at Jisung and you knew he was genuine but it didn’t make you feel any better. In fact, your irritation only flared.

“I warned you, didn’t I?” You took a dangerous step towards him, your hands on your hips - your whole demeanor screaming danger which made Jisung gulp nervously and nod his head. “I told you something like this would happen, didn’t I?” And then another step and another nod from Jisung.

“Tell my mom I love her!” Jisung hurried to say before starting to run for his life.

“Come back here you little shit!” You yelled after him and ran.

Jisung, despite being half scared for his life, was actually laughing and squealing as you tried to catch him, cursing him in the process. He grabbed the closest cushion and threw it at you in an attempt at slowing you. You dodged it easily.

“Come on, Y/N!” Jisung laughed, “You can do better than that.”

Someone had definitely a death wish. “You’re dead.”

“Only if you catch me.” He answered proudly and stuck his tongue which only riled you up some more. For someone who was scared of your outburst not longer than a minute, he was acting all brave and daring but maybe because seeing you in this state also amused him. He couldn’t help him.

You lunged for him and sadly missed. He dodged your arms with ease, moved behind you and playfully, someone was being bold tonight, slapped your ass.

“Han Jisung!”

“That’s me.”

“Don’t move and I promise you a nice and painless death.” You proposed, just in case.

Jisung in response chuckled and shook his head. “Catch me if you can then, darling.” And he winked.

The little shit. You tried to reach him, once more, confident and yet he dodged you again – you groaned, growing frustrated with your failures. Jisung was getting closer to his room and you knew, it was now or never. You gave it all and jumped right onto his back, making him fall on the floor, you with him.

“Fuck.” He groaned, “I think I’m going to die.”

“Such a drama queen.” You teased and leaned over to poke his adorable cheek.

“Please, have mercy.” He begged dramatically, trying to wriggle from under you to free himself but you pressed yourself only harder on his back.

As your hands were getting dangerously closer to his waist, he guessed right away what you were about to do: tickle him to death. There was no way he would let you do it. Not without a fight at least.

Jisung flipped you over with too much ease. You knew the boy had been spending some time at the gym with his friends, but you didn’t expect him to get so strong in such a short amount of time. You blinked, confused as he had your wrists pinned above your head, looking proud and smug as hell. Suddenly, you weren’t so angry anymore; quite the opposite. His proximity, the heat radiating from his body made you realize just how dangerous the situation you got yourself in was.

“Now, I guess, you should be the one begging for your life.” His smirk only grew as he leaned closer. Just a little more and his lips would be on yours and deep inside you couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like.

It wasn’t a first for the two of you to play with fire, it happened too many times for the past few months. You didn’t know when things changed between you but it was slowly getting out of hand.

“You know I never beg.” You huffed in response, pretending not to be affected by his closeness.

If you thought your indifference would deter him, you were wrong. Jisung chuckled, unbothered. “Sure about that?”

Despite his words, Jisung let go of your wrists and pulled back to stare at you. You couldn’t help but wonder what was going through the pretty head of his. Was he just playing around? Or was he hesitating to do something else? Something that could potentially change your relationship. It made you pause; did you want it to change? As you looked at his pretty face, you found your answer.

“Ji?” Gently, you touched his face which made his body jolt in surprise. “If you don’t kiss me right now, we’re going to have a problem.”

It was a wild guess. Maybe you misunderstood his intentions but you couldn’t resist the temptation any longer.

Jisung blinked slowly, once, twice, slowly proceeding your words and then, the next thing you knew he had his lips on yours.

“Fucking finally.” He growled against your lips, going absolutely feral with the taste of your lips. He had been dying to have a taste, to finally have you in his arms. “Do you know how long I have been waiting for this to happen?”

“And whose fault is that?” You bit playfully his lower lip and smiled.

Jisung pulled back and feigned offense. “Excuse me but you never showed any interest in me!”

No matter how much you wanted to defend yourself, Jisung was perfectly right. You could have showed more but you were scared. Jisung was a playful and touchy spirit by nature, whether it was with you or with others. You had seen him being close to many women before which only made you unsecure – you didn’t want to ruin your friendship. Until recently.

“Should we talk about it or are you going to fuck me?” You asked instead. Not that you didn’t want to talk about your feelings, but right now you wanted to feel all of him.

“We should talk.” Jisung, to your biggest surprise, said looking perfectly serious.

You gasped, scandalized and incredibly frustrated. He pulled back from you and got back on his feet. He outstretched his hand to help you to stand. Annoyed, you slapped his hand, refusing his help, because yes, you were that petty. There was no way you could have a normal talk while being so horny.

You ignored him and started walking towards your room, needing a moment to calm down. Jisung, however, had other plans for you. You barely stepped inside your room, he had you pinned against your door, looking smug.

“Damn baby, I didn’t know you could be so snappy when horny.” He teased.

The urge to kick him was strong but you stopped yourself on time. Instead, you glared angrily at him. Sadly, Jisung wasn’t fazed. He pecked the tip of your nose and laughed.

“I was joking. Of course I’m going to fuck you.” If it wasn’t for his hand slowly sliding along your body, you wouldn’t have believed him, not when he was messing with you.

Jisung didn’t hesitate. He slid on the floor, on his knees, his eyes still on you – you held your breath, unable to avert your eyes. He looked so good, on his knees just for you. How did you get so lucky, you still wondered.

He gently slid your short along with your panties, helping you to step out of it. The sight of your exposed pussy took his breath away. He licked his lips, thinking about all the ways he could have fun with you.

“Are you just going to stare or?” You mocked him and playfully nudge him with your knee.

In return, Jisung bit your knee, making you squeal in surprise. “Let the man enjoy the view!” That being said, he stopped holding back. The first lick of his tongue was hesitant, slow, just to have a taste – enough to make you close your eyes and throw your head back.

“Shit,” Jisung growled and grabbed your thighs tightly as he pushed his face even closer. “Just so you know, I’m going to spend hours head buried between your thighs.” And you wouldn’t complain.

Jisung was feasting on you, moaning in satisfaction. Your pretty moans were only pushing him to lick more, to suck harder – it wasn’t enough. He was already addicted and it was only the beginning.

“Fuck Ji.” You moaned and grabbed his hair, pushing his face as close as you could, wanting so badly to feel more of his tongue.

With every stroke of his sinful tongue, you felt the heat inside you getting more and more intense; you were burning with both need for a release and need for him to wreck you. The moment Jisung pressed his fingers inside you, you were a goner. No thoughts, only pleasure and Jisung.

“I can’t wait to be inside you, babe.” Jisung watched you from between your legs, absolutely loving how lost in pleasure you looked. Loving, memorizing how you moaned his name, how you pushed your hips, how you arched your back. You were just so beautiful and his. “Come for me, love. Pretty please.”

His begging was all it took for you to come apart, a silent scream leaving your lips.

Jisung pulled out his fingers and got back on his feet. Without breaking the eye contact, he licked his fingers, moaning at your taste. The sight was so sinful, so sexy, you could come again. You grabbed him by his t-shirt and pulled him into a bruising and needy kiss.

You broke the kiss only to push him gently towards your bed. Without a word you got rid of your last piece of clothes and for a moment Jisung stopped moving, his eyes on you. You would have felt shy if not for the way he was looking at you, biting on his lips – Jisung loved the view.

“All yours.” You told him.

Jisung took off his clothes and completely disregarded them somewhere on the floor before getting on the bed. You smiled proudly at him and admired his perfect body. Jisung was beautiful, whether it was his mind, his heart or his body.

“I really like you.” You confessed

Jisung only smiled at you, fondly. “All yours.” He repeated your own words.

Without hesitation, you joined him on the bed, straddling him.

“Gladly.” Your hands splayed across his chest, you slowly eased yourself down onto him, letting him stretch you, feeling every inch of him deep inside you. You both sighed in relief. It took you a moment to adjust before finally starting to move, slowly, enjoying the slow drag of his cock against your walls, enjoying Jisung’s soft groan as you moved.

“Fuck.” His curse a whisper. Jisung placed his hands on your hips; his grip strong and firm as he helped you to move.

“You feel so good.” You moaned

If at first Jisung accepted your slow and gentle rhythm, his needs got the best of him. He flipped you over with ease making you gasp in surprise and plunged back inside you. He set his own rhythm; fast and frantic. His thrusts were strong, reaching all the right spots that made you toes curl in delight.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He cursed, “You’re just so perfect, so good to me.”

“Ji,” You mewled, “Don’t stop.”

As if he could. He kissed you and you held him tightly against you, fingers digging into his back with so much strength you were sure it would leave marks and this thought alone made you convulse uncontrollably around him.

Jisung kept pounding into you, seeking his own release. He was close and yet he tried to resist, wanting to savor more of the moment, wanting to feel your walls around him. He just couldn’t have enough.

“Come for me, Ji.” You begged

Jisung exploded inside you will a groan, body shaking.

He pulled out slowly and you whined, still sensitive from your orgasm. He rolled to the side and instantly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against him. You stayed like this for a while, enjoying each other’s presence, your warmth.

“Do you think your friend can make us two mugs?” Jisung finally asked, smiling sheepishly at you.

You chuckled in response before planting a kiss on his chest. “If you beg her.” And smiled mischievously at him. “But first she’s going to beat the shit out of you.”

“Lovely.”

#stray kids #han #han jisung #stray kids smut #han smut #stray kids x reader #han x reader

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4ce-of-2pades · 1 month

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Imagine a Heroes of Olympus AU where, due to the empathy link, Hera can’t snatch Percy and wipe his memories without also messing with Grover’s mind. (That or she’s just worried Grover would use the link to find Percy before the time is right, so she gets him out of the picture too.) Maybe she sends both of them to the Wolf House together, but more likely she doesn’t think Grover is very important and just drops him in the wilderness somewhere.

So Percy’s following Lupa’s instructions and heading to Camp Jupiter, fighting every single monster within a five mile radius along the way, and the whole time he’s got this feeling like he’s getting close to something. He assumes it means he’s getting close to camp, but meanwhile Grover has been traveling towards him, following that same unidentified feeling like a compass, as the only lead he has to go on with no memory. After like a full week(?) of fighting weird monsters that want to kill him, Percy encounters some guy with horns and goat legs and probably attempts to slay him on sight to get things over with. Grover of course yells “I surrender! Don’t kill me!” and they get to talking. Percy is mildly suspicious, but takes Grover’s word that not all animal hybrid creatures are out for his blood. So they set off for Camp Jupiter together.

When they get there, none of the Romans are too happy to welcome another “good for nothing” faun onto their territory, but Juno gave Percy her endorsement, and Percy gave Grover his endorsement, so if the Romans want to follow Juno’s instructions and make sure the son of Neptune sticks around, they’ve got to let the faun tag along. Grover is uncomfortable with being so utterly disliked on first sight by so many people—and he can read emotions, so the message is coming through loud and clear. Before he encounters the fauns of Camp Jupiter, he probably just assumes he’s a random monster on par with the gorgons, and that’s why he’s so hated. Monster or no, though, Percy is already unwaveringly loyal towards his new friend. Grover is the first person he’s met who hasn’t wanted anything from him but his companionship. No harsh training to survive, no fighting to the death. Just traveling and talking and making stupid jokes together to make everything seem less scary. The way they clicked, it was as if they had been friends for far longer than a few days. In fact, Percy can practically feel Grover’s fear and shame at the Romans’ reactions as if they were his own emotions, and it only makes him more defensive of his friend.

Eventually Grover and Percy encounter Don the Faun, prompting Hazel to explain that fauns, collectively, aren’t much more than beggars, thieves, and freeloaders. Of course, she probably phrases it just a smidge more tactfully, given that Grover is, y’know, standing right there. He now understands the dismissive way he’s been treated. A faun welcomed right into camp and given the “New Legionnaire” tour alongside Juno’s chosen hero. What a joke. He almost wishes he really was a monster instead. Evil or no, at least monsters are powerful and impressive, not… useless. He sees what Don is like, what all fauns are like, apparently, and he feels ashamed of himself. Percy tries to cheer him up, tries to remind him that the Lares keep calling him a Greek. An enemy. Nevermind how Neptune and his children are apparently barely respected here. If Percy and Grover are outcasts at Camp Jupiter, then they’ll be outcasts together.

That makes Grover feel a little bit better. But not much.

Grover certainly doesn’t want to seek out the other fauns. Even if it is off-putting that no one cares they’re all basically homeless, Grover still finds those that he’s met to be unfocused and irritating. He feels different from them. Grover sticks close to Percy, because Percy is pretty much the only person in the Legion who acknowledges his existence. Grover is not invited to join the Legion with Percy. Not that he particularly wants to sign up for ten years of army, but at least it would have given him a place to belong. Grover also isn’t invited to join the War Games, but no one stops him from coming either. They don’t seem to think he’d make a difference one way or the other, so if he wants to go charging in to his death, why stop him? Hazel and Frank have interacted with Grover enough, by way of interacting with Percy, to know that he’s at least a little different from other fauns, so they don’t mind having his help. And besides, the Fifth Cohort knows what it’s like to be the underdogs. How much worse could one faun make things?

When the Fifth Cohort takes the War Games by storm, and Hazel, Frank, and Percy prove their abilities, Grover is right there alongside them, using nature magic as a crucial part of their plan. Through this shared victory, Hazel and Frank and the rest of the Fifth gain respect for Grover as an individual, and the rest of the Legion at least has to notice that he’s there.

When it comes time for the quest, of course Percy wants Grover to come with him and Frank and Hazel, even if three is the usual quest limit. (I don’t remember if it is with Romans.) Whether three is the limit or not, though, the Romans aren’t too keen on letting a faun join a quest. Best case scenario, they think, Grover wouldn’t take it seriously, and would run away at the nearest sign of trouble. A waste of a choice for a companion. Fauns aren’t heroes. They’re just nuisances. Percy is clearly angry and about to argue, but Grover stops him, instead speaking calmly for himself, and putting to use his skill for convincing people of things. (You’d think he could charmspeak, honestly.) Grover swallows his pride and recommends himself as more of an assistant than an actual member of the quest. Someone to carry the equipment, set up camp, get groceries now and then, etc. A servant, practically, for the real heroes.

“You know you’re not getting paid for this,” Reyna points out.

Grover has to bite his tongue to keep his temper. “Yes. I know.”

In the end, Grover is allowed to join Percy and the others on the principle that, again, his presence shouldn’t make that much of a difference one way or the other. And besides, if he’s not technically part of the quest or the Legion, they can’t stop him from happening to travel to the exact same places at the exact same time, can they? If the questers don’t have an issue with it, then sure. Let the faun go on a quest.

Grover is laughed out of the Senate House. He tries not to get too upset. He got what he wanted, after all. But at the cost of humiliation.

Percy asks Grover why he would even want to come on a dangerous quest when he doesn’t have to, especially when the Romans made it as hard as they did for him to be allowed. Grover says he wanted to help Percy because they’re friends, and because Percy is the only person who’s ever stuck up for him.

Percy says, “I appreciate that, but we’ve only been friends for the better part of a week. Is this really worth the risk, for someone you barely know?”

“Even if it wasn’t,” Grover replies, “I can’t stay here. I won’t stay somewhere I’m hated. I’d rather be out there with you, doing something useful, than get treated like I’m worthless.

“Besides,” he says, “I’m sick of people telling me what I can’t do.”

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #the son of neptune #pjo grover #grover underwood #pjo au

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hardly-an-escape · 2 months

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Fluffbruary Days 14-17

gonna try to do a little daily drabble just to get the creative juices going while I work on longer WIPs. no guarantees that it'll be every day.

Hob sighs and leans back in the hotel bathroom tub. At least it’s deep. He’s got a glass of whiskey, which tomorrow Hob will probably regret – not due to the alcohol, just the fact that it’s from the room minibar and costs three times what it’s actually worth – and he’s dumped what might be legally considered a ‘metric shitload’ of bubbles into the hot water, and he can finally, finally relax.

He likes these conferences; he honestly does. It’s refreshing, to connect with people in his field and both commiserate and be reminded why they do what they do.

They’re just also exhausting – even for an extrovert like Hob.

His limbs are feeling pleasantly warm and heavy and he’s halfway through his whiskey when the phone rings.

For some ungodly reason the hotel has put a phone in the bloody bathroom, so at least he doesn’t have to get up, just haul himself far enough out of the water to reach the counter.

“Hello?” he says irritably.

“Hob?” says the voice on the other end of the line. “I have a question about one of your citations in the paper you presented this morning. I was…”

“Morpheus?”

“Obviously. I was wondering about –”

“Morpheus, it’s –” Hob tries to break in.

“– about the research on Jonson that you cite in –”

“Morpheus, it’s after nine o’clock in the evening.”

There’s a long pause.

“Is it?” the other man says uncertainly.

“Yes, you absolute walnut.”

“I… was working. I must have lost track of time.”

“Why on earth are you still working? Don’t you have a flight in the morning?”

“I suppose I have. Nothing better to do.”

Hob doesn’t know Morpheus all that well; they see one another a few times a year, at seminars and conferences. They argue cheerfully about the merits of various Elizabethan playwrights, they – yes, fine, they flirt over cocktails at receptions, occasionally – but they don’t really talk. And yet he can see Morpheus, curled up in an uncomfortable desk chair at the cramped little hotel room desk, papers spread in front of him. The man has a memorable presence and a genius mind. And thin, elegant, fidgety fingers, which Hob imagines wrapped up in the phone cord.

And a dark, velvety voice, which is currently pouring into Hob’s ear.

“I apologize for disturbing your evening, Hob.”

“That’s alright. But you ought to find some way to relax tonight, for goodness’ sake.”

“Oh, ought I?” Morpheus sounds – amused? “And how would you suggest I do that?”

“Well, I for one am drinking a whiskey and having a very nice bubble bath.” Hob splashes deliberately. “And I can only recommend that course of action.”

“From an academic standpoint, Dr. Gadling?” Morpheus asks dryly.

Hob sinks a little deeper into the hot water. “Naturally, Dr. Murphy. From what other standpoint might I recommend it?”

Desire swells and pools in his belly. He can’t help it, with Morpheus’s voice in his ear bringing the man’s image so vividly to his mind’s eye. The sharp grey-blue eyes and even sharper cheekbones, which contrast soft lips.

“I’m sure I couldn’t even begin to guess.” Lord, but that voice is smoother than the whiskey Hob has just polished off.

“Perhaps sometime I’ll have the opportunity to enlighten you,” he says boldly.

“Perhaps.” Hob thinks he can hear a smile. “Good night, Hob.”

“Night, Morpheus.”

A click, and the line goes dead. Hob leans up to hang up his own handset and recedes back into the bubbles.

Morpheus would be a tactile lover, he’s sure of it. His hands prove it; that nervous, artistic elegance. Hob’s own hands drift lower, slip between his legs.

Perhaps sometime he’ll have an opportunity, indeed.

prompt list!

#my writing #dreamling #fluffbruary #fluffbruary 2024 #the sandman #oh my god it's a human au where they're both academics HOW REVOLUTIONARY lol #be the fanfic you want to see in the world

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moumouton4 · 8 months

Text

Three Is Not A Crowd || Eijiro Kirishima x fem!reader

Mention of Denki Kaminari and Katsuki Bakugo

A/n : Prompt 12 of the Smutember 2023 ( I've never tried to write something like this so just like the last prompt it's going to be less smutty than usual. But don't worry the spice is coming back )

The list of promps is HERE

Smutember 2023 Masterlist ⚜

Warnings : mention of : mirror sex, slight exhibitionism, roleplays, porn, rough sex, sex with multiple partners, Eijiro is such a sweetheart and wants you to be comfortable, 18+ READERS ONLY and wrap it before you tap it

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Word count : 1196

You and Eijiro have always been a rather curious and adventurous couple. You've always enjoyed trying new things. You were both in tune with each other and had a fairly liberated sexuality. So after 2 and a half years together, you're experiencing countless fantasies and kinks. In front of a mirror, in unlikely places - on the academy roof was very arousing - during roleplay or even in fanciful positions, but nothing seemed able to quench your thirst for discovery and novelty.

Eijiro, always the optimist, did his best to come up with new ideas for things you could both try out. Searching, for example, Internet sites or porn. And that's how he came across something he'd never considered before. An act with multiple partners. He found the idea rather interesting, he wasn't particularly jealous and it's true that the idea of seeing you experience pleasure with another man might seem interesting. Especially if he himself might find himself busy with someone else.

Two weeks had passed since the idea had germinated in his mind. He couldn't stop thinking about people who might be interested in the idea, and who wouldn't be afraid of a challenge. You'll also have to feel at ease with them. He also didn't want any jealousy to come between you, so it would make sense to take people who wouldn't arouse that feeling in you. Boys would probably do, and he wasn't going to lie about the fact that he himself was curious about sharing his intimacy with one or more boys. So the questions remained the same : Would you accept ? And who would you choose for the moment ?

Eventually, he managed to find a quiet moment with you, despite the hectic days you were having. Always thinking of your comfort, he prepared a small plate of cookies and juice in case you got hungry and thirsty. You sit down next to each other on his bed and watch for a moment as he speaks. You talked briefly about your day, Eijiro making it a point of honor to make sure your day went off without a hitch. Then he took a breath "You know, I've been thinking about that little something that might spice things up when we... well, you know. And after a bit of searching I came across something interesting" he paused, looking into your eyes to see if you were really interested for him to continue.

And seeing the depth of your gaze, he immediately understood that he had piqued your interest. So he continued "Why don't we try a multi-party plan ?" his eyes sparkled, and he himself was very excited by the idea "It might bring that famous kick we need to spice things up a bit"

You took a cookie and bit into it before asking "I see. And do you have any idea who you'll be including ?"

"Does that mean you'll accept ?!?" he almost shouted, stars in his eyes.

"That depends on who you propose Eijiro" you smirked, your fingers playing with his spiky hair a little anxiously.

Eijiro forced his brain to work at full power, he had a good idea of who he'd be asking. In his mind, he was sure he'd propose to people he already trusted rather than strangers. A name quickly came to mind : Denki Kaminari. He knew that his yellow-haired friend had repeatedly said that he found you beautiful, so it was time to do something about this. Besides, he was sure that Denki would accept, as he had a weakness for girls, all of whom he found beautiful and seductive.

His second choice was a more surprising one : Katsuki Bakugo, his best friend. The reason was quite simple, his relationship with Katsuki, though purely friendly, was based on great mutual respect and trust.

He knew things about Katsuki that many didn't, and one of those things was that Katsuki had a lot of energy to spare in this area. Never one to back down from a challenge, he was sure to say yes, but I was more certain than Denki "Well," he scratched the back of his head, where the red dye was starting to show his ebony hair "why not Denki and Katsuki. Denki's always eager to fool around with girls and Katsuki could use a break. Besides, I'm sure you'd love his more bestial side" he said smirking, he knew you'd love it when he himself went hard with you, but in reality he was more comfortable with something passionate rather than rough. You choked on your cookie "What ?!?" You clearly hadn't expected him to suggest two people - from your group of friends - for your potential first time with someone else. Eijiro clapped you on the back to help you pass your snack. But your surprise remained the same "2 people ?!? And with you in addition, that's going to be a whole crowd of people on me !"

He laughed, a cheerful, bon vivant laugh, because he knew you hadn't shut the door completely "Y/N three is not a crowd"

"Well three dicks for one pussy is a crowd" you said with a laugh. He pulled you closer to his chest, encircling your shoulder with his arm, and pulled you towards him.

"Who says we're only going to use one hole ? I know at least three, but we can always be inventive" he tried to sound confident as usual but he couldn't stop the red that was slowly rising in his cheeks, at the same time as in yours "A-and did you ask them yet ? What was their answer ?" you couldn't hide from him - even with simple questions - that you were incredibly interested.

He kissed one side of your head as you remained on his shoulder "Denki will probably say yes. As for Katuki, I'll have to be persuasive, but I'm sure it'll get his attention" his hand lovingly caressed your arm. He was trying as hard as he could to make you feel comfortable with every step you took towards this new experience.

"So what do you say ?" his gaze met yours, and you saw a spark of excitement run through them.

"I say... yes. I can't wait" you admitted with a slight blush. A big smile came to your boyfriend's lips "Well, I can't wait either. It's going to be great" he said, his voice brimming with excitement. Your eyes locked and you couldn't helo but jumps on each others' mouth, as you kissed hungrily.

Needless to say, that evening you made love to relieve all that tension, in preparation for this new experience you'll soon be sharing with two of your closest friends. And if you only knew how eagerly Denki was going to accept and with what surprising gusto Katsuki gave the go-ahead. You may have thought that three was a crowd, but once those three pretty dicks had taken care of you, your way of thinking would change radically... especially after 6 or 7 orgasms in one evening. Hopefully the next day will be a day of rest because you won't be able to walk and Eijiro will have to carry you around wherever you want to go. Damn he is so manly.

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liannelara-dracula · 4 months

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Yuma Mukami NSFW Alphabet Hcs

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Prompt

Requests are open

Rules

Warning:

nsfw

Links;;;

Azusa

Kanato

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Aftercare—What does he do?

Something he has gotten better about.

Once he learns about his partner enough, he’ll know how far he needs to go.

He’s not very big on aftercare in general, though.

He really won’t say much after either so not much pillow talk other than the fact that you might now be having his kids.

He teases a little bit, but he’s really just ready to do some other activity like gardening since he’s sure you’ll just fall asleep.

He has so much energy.

“Guess I wore you out huh?” He’d smirk, causing you to look away and not give an answer as you laid down on the bed, he hovered over.

“What’s the matter, cat caught your tongue?”

“S-shut up. Ahh!” You’d scream due to his hand yanking you by the ankle towards him.

Or even convos like:

“Hey, Lil Pig.” He’d say, laying beside you in the bed.

“Yeah?”

“So how many little pigs do you think that makes?” He’d smirk causing you to turn red.

“Yuma!” You’d scold, throwing a pillow at him.

Mostly he’s lying down beside you for a little and then decides to shower with you.

Although if you can’t walk or prefer a bath he’ll get one going, but he’s going to join.

He’ll help wash your hair though and he’s really good at soothing your scalp.

And he usually helps you wash, but he’s rather rough. And with Yuma, you can best bet it gets sexual.

Possibly gets to another round.

“I could go for another.” He’d smirk, nibbling your ear while gripping your hips.

Anal—Is he into it?

Yes. But he would only carry this out if his partner consented and if everything went exactly as he thought.

Also since this isn’t carried out as much as it is fantasized he probably won’t do it.

But the thinks about it.

Boobs or Butt—What does he prefer?

Ass, all the way.

Like boobs could be there he’ll take ‘em but it’s the butt that matters.

Bc he wants something he can grab.

Like all it takes is for you to bend down and he’s already getting horny af.

No, honestly, you don’t need to bend down just walk by him.

He tries not to think about it, but not even two seconds later he’s hovering over you.

He clutches your ass often and slaps it a lot.

I mean, you have butt bruises if not his own handprint on your ass.

Though when he gives your ass a firm and tight squeeze, it means he’s really in the mood.

Something he loves to see is seeing different underwear on your butt too.

He likes the ones with all the straps.

Like, as long as it’s sexy he’s all for it.

He will make an excuse just to clutch your ass.

He loves any form-fitting clothes too so he can see and admire those curves you got.

You can expect that when you sleep beside him his hand will be on your ass.

Even if you’re just in the kitchen his way of greeting is grabbing your ass with his hands.

His hands are really big, so he grabs your ass without a problem.

If you are insecure or think you’re butt is big, he’ll tell you it's not even that big.

He’ll tell you he wants it bigger.

“What you got here ain’t enough.”

Body part—Favorite body part?

If it’s not your ass, then thighs bc they go hand in hand, but really it’s your ass.

He loves grabbing it and never gets enough.

It always gets him.

He loves your thighs too bc he can grab them.

Oh yes, he would bite your hips too.

Boner—What got him to this?

Your butt, just by it being perky in pants or highlighted in an outfit.

Or by bending down or having it near him in some way.

Especially if it touches him, like if you rub against him he gets really turned on.

You getting angry works for some reason. Like a lot.

Oh, if you sit in his lap and move a lot he is going to get hard.

If you don’t want him to rail you it’s best to not be around him lol.

Even by just you being around him he can get horny.

Sometiems he’s literally ripped your clothes off because he wants to fuck and because of that he gets turned on especially when you try to cover yourself.

If you whimper, oh god he is really fucking horny and literally will throw you all around the room.

Like a simple whine or complain from you is enough to get him hard.

Especially if he is trying to give you a back massage and you start to moan accidentally and tense up.

He’ll find it very suggestive, “there’s another way to massage your whole body, babe.”

if you just back hug him, that can get him hard, especially if your chest presses into his back since he can feel it.

And I think if you’re just shy or embarrassed about something he’ll find it hella amusing which leads him to get aroused.

Cum—Things relating cum

He has a lot to offer and more than enough to give you babies.

He tries to get you to come first but even if he cums first doesn’t mean he will stop.

He won’t stop until you want to stop.

Yuma makes sure he really gets his time out of this.

He does appreciate it if you cum a lot during sex with him.

Preferably at least 3 times.

If you do like 5 or more he really likes that. He feels like he’s done his job or something.

Plus he loves to tease you about it.

“You worn out, Lil Pig?” He’d chuckled, seeing you catch your breath.

Contraceptives—Any protection?”

It's mainly up to you.

He would most likely just use a condom but is okay with you using the pill as well if you want.

To have sex with you, he’s really into you, so I think he wouldn’t mind a baby since he also has a breeding kink anyway (even though that kink doesn’t necessarily mean that).

“I’m always ready to make mini pigs with my lil pig.” He’d smirk, causing you to hit his arm playfully in response to his teasing.

“Yuma.” You’d whine, wanting him to stop.

“What? You don’t want my seed to make little pumpkins?” He’d tease.

“Stop saying it like that!” You’d laugh and hit his arm playfully.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s gross!”

“No, it ain’t, it’s the truth.”

Duration—How long is one session itself? Are there rounds?

Long, like 9 or 13 minutes. And yes, there are rounds, he has too much energy.

It just wears you out.

He has like four rounds at least, if they last longer, he has fewer rounds if they are shorter, he will have more rounds.

Although sometimes he just goes many rounds and each for a long time so you spend maybe over 30 mins in the bedroom with him.

Especially if you two are looking to have kids.

He will just continue to bug you.

Probably like, even a couple times out of the day.

Denial/dirty secret—Something they won’t admit or a sexual fantasy they won’t share?

It might be the anal idea I mentioned it sorta depends on what his girl is like.

If she is more shy in nature, he may not mention it to her, so that way she won’t shy away.

If she is shy and maybe submissive, he doesn’t like to admit that he actually finds it cute and isn’t annoyed by it.

He usually will just smirk because it turns him on to be in charge.

Another secret: If you say you’re done/tired, he respects it and won’t bother her for another round even though he’s still pretty horny, he just wouldn't tell her because he knows she has like no energy left. This is in the beginning but the more he’s with you, he realizes he can voice his thoughts and that you’ll listen.

Yuma doesn’t normally keep secrets in the bedroom at all; he is quite open even if you're not.

He’s so open you tell him TMI sometimes, mainly because he can get graphic and embarrass you.

“But babe, I want you to know everything.”

“Yeah, but it’s embarrassing.” You’d say, averting your eyes.

“It ain’t embarrassing. You look good as hell naked, and I happen to know what you look like really well.”

“Yeah, but you don’t need to describe what it looks like!”

“I thought you like all them poets. I’m just looking at art.” He’d smirk, spreading your legs apart further.

“Yuma, please, it’s embarrassing.” You’d complain, covering your blushing face with your hands as you tried to close your legs together as well.

He probably has thought about role play but wouldn’t pursue but does think about it.

He has no shame tbh so not really any secrets.

Degradation/Dirty talk—Into either one or both? How is this done?

Maybe I feel like he doesn’t understand it that much.

Like he knows what it is but I don’t think he would degrade a woman he loves.

However, if he doesn't consider her anything, then he may use it.

Dirty talk, yes, but to some degree. I don’t think it would be cringing. He’s kinda creative about it.

Like it’s not the basic “you like that?”

It’s more like he’s teasing you about something. It always makes you blush or have your eyes go wide, which he loves.

“You look nice on me.”

Or “You fit perfectly.”

Experience—Have they done it before?

No, he hasn't canonically, which makes no sense to me.

Rejet is lying to us.

But honestly, he doesn't mind that he is, and he’d tell you about it without feeling weird.

You'd probably be way too shocked to hear this because he doesn't come off as a virgin to you.

"Well, babe, I'm virgin.” He’d grin looking at you which caused you to smile and shake your head.

You'd laugh, thinking he was joking, "Stop lying."

“Babe, I'm serious.”

"Yuma, you can't be a virgin. It doesn't make sense."

Although after a thorough explanation, it turns out he wasn't joking. You were shocked since he didn’t seem to act like it at all.

“I’ve been saving it for a while now, but now I won't be.” He smirked, causing you to blush.

“Yuma!”

He’d also want you to know what your first was like if you’ve done it too.

“I’m not sharing who I had my first time with that’s embarrassing!” You’d argue, looking at Yuma as you weren’t on agreement with this conversation.

“But babe, it don’t matter. I won’t judge.”

“It was with one of my ex’s.” You’d say ignoring the subject.

“Damn, girl you don’t want to give no details. Alright, that’s fine. My performance will be better, though.” He’d smirk, giving you a wink as he pulled you in.

“Stop!!” You’d complain but with a smile as you couldn’t put up with his jokes.

Fingering—Will they do it? How often? How many fingers?

Oh yes, he’s all for it.

It's very often if not all the time.

Sometimes he just likes to finger if he can’t do everything at that given moment since you two are in a time crunch.

His hands are really large, so it would not surprise me if you thought he stuck in two fingers instead of one.

Yuma will probably only use two fingers when he feels like testing you but normally it's one since it's usually what you can put up with.

He has tried to do three but you always push his hand away to stop him. He does it mainly to see your reflexes kick in.

“Don't even think about it, Yuma. We've been over this."

Apart from this he loves surprising you with this and always gets a reaction out of you.

Mostly cause he never tells you anything, he just slips his finger in without a thought.

So he's able to hear you gasp which really gets him going.

Plus the view of your body as well as your facial expressions really get him.

“You squirming so much, hold still!”

“I can’t!” You’d exclaim.

After seeing that you move a lot, he holds you in place. Obviously it can’t be hard for him to do. And then ever since then there usually isn’t a problem. Except for when you can’t take much more of it.

Fangs—Does he bite you? How often does he use it? Where else does he use his teeth?

Yes, he will bite you for sure during any session. And I do not mean the playful bite.

Sure, he definitely adds that in as he likes to playfully bite your ear and stuff.

But he also bites you for blood because he wants more energy.

“Yuma, you just had some.” You’d complain.

“It ain’t enough. Besides, I need the energy if we gonna make lil ones.” He’d smirk, biting into your neck without thought.

He bites you a lot for energy but to be playful he loves biting your ear, neck, lip, hips, and thighs.

Generosity—Are they a giver or a receiver? Or both? Why?

He’s a big-time giver and does not enjoy receiving as he does with giving.

Yuma once told you he likes giving because he feels he’s receiving by tasting you.

To which your face grew hot as you pushed his face away with your hand, “Shut up!”

He is the one in charge, and he’s all over it, so he’s a big giver.

“I’m generous to my girl.” He’d smirk, making you laugh.

“Don’t say that!”

Of course, he never listens and only continues to embarrass you to the core. "I’m so generous, I spoil you.”

Hair—How well groomed? Is he okay with body hair?

He probably is decent but probably not much maintenance but it’s also because he doesn’t mind it if you don't shave either.

Even leg hair, he’s fine with it.

“I like my women natural.”

So yes, he’d fuck you with your leg hair. He doesn’t give a damn.

Hickies—Where does he leave marks? Is he okay with being marked?

Neck, back, stomach, HIPS, thighs.

He loves putting them all over

And his hickeys are pretty good-size

He doesn’t mind having them either, mostly because he can tease you about it.

“Man, you just couldn’t help yourself, but that’s alright.”

“Yuma!”

"What? This shows you into me. And that’s good; it means I’m doing my job right.”

Intimate—Is it rough, dirty or sweet?

Rough and dirty.

Do you know how messy the sheets get?

He just doesn't care, and the whole room is a mess; your clothes are all over the room, and so are his.

And the bed sheets are coming off.

The headboard has nail imprints and scratches.

And the bed has really been broken into.

The bed frame has been repaired too sometimes, and Yuma fixes it in the garage. So Ruki has seen him fix it countless times, he doesn’t ask because he already knows what's going on.

It gets so rough you’ve even fallen off the bed.

By now Yuma catches you before that happens.

But don’t think he won’t laugh if you fall off and get hurt.

He did the first time and couldn't help but tease you.

“What happened? Can’t keep up, lil pig?”

Ignorant—Are they able to tell if their partner is giving signals?

Yes, all the time.

In fact, he does more than what you hoped/asked for.

He also will misread and think you're in the mood.

"Oh, I see how it is, you've been waiting for me.” He'd smirk, pulling you in by your waist.

"No, that’s not what I’m asking" You'd sigh.

"There ain't no need to be shy, girl. I’m all for it.” He'd chuckle picking you up and throwing you onto the bed playfully.

"Ah-Yuma!" You'd yelp as you didn't expect it.

Jerk off—Are they the type?

No, he tells you you're the key.

Doesn’t really enjoy nor find much use to it.

“I don’t enjoy it like I enjoy you, babe.”

He may try it if he's desperate but even then, he’ll just wait.

He has done it, but he stops halfway through because it's just boring to him.

When this happens, he will bug you to have sex with him.

"Yuma, I'm a little busy."

“Five minutes, little pig."

“You never take five minutes.” You’d say with your arms crossed.

“Alright, I’ll be honest, I at least need ten.” He’d admit with a grin making you roll your eyes at him.

Kinks—What are some main kinks they have?

No warning--Pushing himself in without a second thought. (Of course, he has your consent, but he does catch you off guard because he doesn’t ease his way in after doing this so many times with you.)

Size kink--This is a big one. He loves it so much that you are shorter and just smaller than him.

Even though he doesn’t talk about it much, he really likes it.

But he does get off to you being tiny compared to him, and he is just manhandling you.

Hair pulling -- When you do it to him and vice versa.

Spanking -- He just likes to leave a mark but its not excessive.

Biting -- Bite his lip that will keep him.

And he will literally embarrass you about it afterward because he loves it that much.

Dominating him/riding him -- He also really likes it when you push him down if you top him. Seeing his girl in charge turns him on.

Mysterious -- He's also into the fact if you try to hide your emotions a bit and keep things a mystery with him.

Ropes & Bondage -- You are tied up, not him. Probably just your wrists with some rope, and if you are croquette girly he’d even use some of the ribbons you have.

Blood Play -- Actually likes getting a drink from his partner because he says it gives him energy. So you might feel his fangs a couple of times.

Vocal — especially loves it when you whine and how you moan or gasp at something unexpected.

Lighting—Lights or no lights?

Whatever you want.

But maybe none because he likes to find you in the dark.

Sometimes he wants to see you completely so the lights are on.

Cause I mean, he does have sex during the day with you because with Yuma, there is no time.

He'll especially want to try it during sunrise or sunset.

Location—Have a post right here

Motivation—Turn-ons

Form-fitting clothes. If your ass is in a tight skirt, he is instantly turned on.

If you say something that could be mistaken for something that's dirty then he'll immediately tease you for it and get horny about it.

You being mad at him gets him turned on.

Sitting on his lap, especially if you shift on him a lot.

You bend down in front of him.

If your bodies are really close together that gets him.

If you bite his lip, no joking, you have invited this man to have sex with you. Don’t do this unless you mean it!

Facial expressions, if he does something to you and you give a reaction he is going to get worked up.

If you are prone to tripping and accidentally touch him, he really loves that.

Nudes—Are they the type to send them/ask for them?

No. Doesn’t send them.

Wouldn't really ask for them; he only teases about it.

“Hey girl, you gotta keep me posted.”

But he’d love them as a gift or something.

He’d definitely be horny by it.

So as soon as you're home, you better realize what you’re in for.

No—Turn offs

Choking or hitting you.

The only thing he has ever slapped is your ass but nothing else.

He’s not into toys. May accept a vibrator for you from time to time.

Soft stuff that's just like super vanilla; it just bores him.

Orgasms—How often do they do it? Is it before or after their partner?

It's often and tends to be after you, given he's a vampire, but in general, he has a lot of stamina and strength.

Sometimes it's at the same time.

"Huh, guess we're in sync."

You do this more than he does, it's mostly cause he doesn't stop stimulating you.

He says his goal is to get you to do it 9 times in the same night.

Orgasm Denial/Overstimulation—Into it? If so, how often? Is it done to them or done to their s/o?

Yeah, he likes it but doesn't use it all the time. He uses it spontaneously, so you don't know when he'll use it because he doesn't have a pattern for sex. Something is always different.

It's often, but not too often.

And it's done to you, of course, that's where he finds the joy.

Doesn't like being edged because he says you deprive him enough by not having sex with him all the time.

Plus, he enjoys toying with you the most.

Oral—Giving or Receiving? How often?

He gives a lot, and he loves giving.

Doesn't mind the receiving, but he doesn’t get the same joy he does when he's eating you out, so he probably doesn't do it.

Eating you out was something he added later into the mix.

Ever since he tried it, he couldn't stop.

It was something so random that he thought of doing. It started with fingering you unexpectedly and went further.

You didn’t think it’d ever go to that but it did, he just gave you a look before going under your skirt. So you could’ve stopped if you didn’t like it.

He grips your thighs tightly cause he doesn’t want you giving out on him so soon.

At first he pushed apart your knees but

Pace—Are they fast and rough or slow and sensual?

He’s fast and rough

And he will never change

This is what he wants and that’s it

If you are riding him he will tease you about being slow, but he’s kidding of course.

Position—What’s their favorite and most used?

Used missionary like most for its effectiveness.

But Yuma does enjoy his girl having a good time by riding him.

“You look nice on me.”

He loves having you top even if he’s dominant.

In fact he’s still dominant when you ride because he guides you to help out, especially if your tired or if he’s found a specific spot and knows how he can hit it, then he’s controlling it.

And even when he’s not guiding you he sets the pace so he’s in charge.

He mostly a location guy. He is not against doing it standing up he’s totally ok with it.

Polygamy—Would they have threesome+?

Quirks—Something they do that you have to deal with?

Has a habit of putting himself in without giving you a heads up.

Stopping during fingering if you close your eyes.

He talks dirty to you very openly and without shame.

Putting your legs over his shoulders which can be painful or just in general when spreads your legs apart, he puts them really far apart.

He will randomly bite you as well which he loves to do because he will hear you gasp

Quickie—Are they okay with them, or do they only want a full session?

Wants the full thing, but if it's all he can get, sure.

He has these from time to time and is not good at hiding it.

They start to become more often the more he does it because Yuma is mostly focused on “release” more than just pleasure.

So this means you screw with your clothes on or half on a handful of time.

But if he has the choice and time he likes that you are fully naked with him.

If it’s a quickie that means he won't have time to do that.

Risk—Willing to try something new or open to getting caught?

He doesn’t mind, but if it's on your mind, you have to ask him.

If you don't tell him he's not gonna be able to tell.

Usually, he brings something new.

And doesn't care if he's caught very much.

Unless Kou walks in, then he’s annoyed.

He’s fine if someone sees him, but he just doesn’t want people to see your body.

That’s why he's usually on top and keeps your body pressed to his and he’s basically hiding you with his much bigger build.

It’s not on purpose. It’s just size difference.

S/D—Sub or dom?

Dom all the way

Nothing about him is sub, even if you’re on top.

You are the sub, no matter what.

Talkative—Do they talk or have casual conversations with you?

No, he’s pretty quiet. He doesn’t say much unless he really has to tell you something.

Like he might say your name.

And very rarely, he will tell you that it’s good by saying “damn.”

Toys—Do they like/use them? On you or on themselves?

Nope, not his thing.

At the most, he’d use a vibrator on you but this would be extremely rare.

He finds that his fingers do a better job than the vibrator.

So he doesn’t find much use in it.

Unfair—How do they tease? How often is it?

He teases all the time and its honestly about anything.

Sometimes he’ll say something either times its physical.

Physically speaking he slows down, especially during fingering because he knows how vulnerable you are.

If you got the hiccups he’d be such an asshole to you about it and tell you that he’ll stop because of it.

He doesn’t like it if you’re trying to be quiet. So he will go harder and move your hand away from your mouth.

Sometimes he will make it seem like he’s going to have sex and then he’ll just stop to get a reaction out of you.

Vocal/volume—How loud? Moans, groans, or whimpers?

He is so loud, like even if you are loud, he is REALLY loud.

Like you have had to cover his mouth, well tried to.

Hell, you’ve even nudged him during sex to be quieter because his brothers can hear him very clearly.

But he’ll just ignore you and move your hand away.

If you try to cover your mouth so your not very loud he only tries to make you scream more.

“There’s no point in covering your mouth, lil pig. You’re going to scream anyways.”

Sometimes he’ll tease you thinking its a game, “Oh I get it, you’re challenging me.” He’d chuckle.

He only groans, hardly ever moans.

You may be the sheer contrast by being all soft whimpers and moans. Which he’d be all for it.

His partner is fairly quiet compared to him. Like he is loud in general forget when he’s having sex.

Wildcard—Some special things they do specifically?

Gives oral underwater, I have headcanoned this with @mikalara-dracula

Rips clothes off, not a good thing but something he does specifically

Is really nice to you afterwards and would do anything for you. So like you are allowed to wear his clothes

Although it will look like a dress on you.

Licks you--this is rare, like very rare if his biting gets pretty serious or if hes really in the mood.

He picks you up a lot and throws you onto the bed.

This is also rare sometimes he puts a hand over your eyes to surprise you.

X-ray—How big are they?

Uhhhhh, do I really have to explain myself for my thinking here.

Most definitely bigger than average given his height and build.

7 inches

6.8 inches????? Or 6.9 which can estimate to 7

Yearning—Sex drive level

So damn high 📈

He wants to do it like all the time.

And even if he’s not thinking about it if you suggest it he’s in the mood for it.

He does not want to wait too long for it.

Will tell you if he feels like you're depriving him.

Zzz —Do they sleep after? What do they do?

No he’s up and probably might garden afterwards.

Especially if you fall asleep because you need the rest he leaves you to relax and keeps himself busy with the garden.

He may not seem nice but he’s nice enough to put a blanket over you if you’re sleeping.

And leave a kiss on your forehead before he goes outside to focus on the plants.

If you are a awake he asks you what you want to do.

Would braid your hair and is actually good at it.

Probably pigtails.

He’d even put a ribbon in it.

“It’s pretty.” You’d smile.

“Yeah, yeah, now don’t think I’m doing this all the time.” He’d say, his hands leaving your hair.

He may ask if you want to eat to which kinda ruins the mood.

“Yuma, you’re killing the mood!”

“What! I gotta make sure my little pig is eating.”

“Yeah but not now!” You’d laugh, shaking your head at his response.

Sometimes he will be quiet when he’s with you until he gets your attention and you’re looking at him.

“Another round?”

You’d look down about to laugh and cover your mouth, “I’m tired, but maybe later.”

He’d smirk, seeing you didn’t refuse. “Hmm, okay.”

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#diabolik lovers #anime #diabolik lovers headcanons #anime headcanons #dialovers #diahell #yuma mukami #mukami yuma #diabolik lovers yuma

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