#what the hell makes you tick --> i am going to look into them one day but not now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ohbother2 · 3 months

Note

Hi! I don't know if you write for Adam, but this man has me in an unholy choke hold and I've literally read through all the Adam fics on this site already. I am begging, on my hands and knees, for you to please write an Adam x female reader smut oneshot. Literally anything you want.

I absolutely loved your Lucifer close proximity fic btw!! You're writing is literally insane and I just know you'd do Adam's character justice!

Thank youuuu

Thank you!! Sorry this is coming out so long after you sent it in, but hope you guys enjoy!

Also to other ppl reading this! I've seen your lovely messages in my inbox and I 100% intend on responding to them I'm just swamped with Uni work at the moment. But thank you all so much!!

This is literally pure smut btw, minors DNI!! Adam is very Adam in this. Lmk what you guys think I love to hear your thoughts! Especially because Adam is so hard to write!

Tag list - @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx

Adam x f!reader - After a Shitty Meeting with the Blond Short-Stack

To put it bluntly, Adam had had a particularly shitty day, and that was saying a lot considering there were absolutely no bad days in heaven. This day, however, had seemed to drag on for an eternity, and by the end of it he felt like punching a whole through every window that he walked past on his way home from work, having to walk instead of fly because he was too furious to trust his wings not to give out on him if he became too lost in thought.

To summarise, he had had to meet Lucifer today, the pompous, prideful, wife-stealing piece of short-blonde-shit that lorded about Hell as if he wasn’t banished there purposefully for his sins. The meeting wasn’t in person, with him attending from Heaven and Lucifer attending from Hell, but simply being within any sort of presence of the blond gnome had his blood boiling and his fingers itching to grab the nearest weapon and shove it through his chest. And today, well, Lucifer had gone too far.

Sure, Adam may have started it with some comment about Lucifer’s daughters failing redemption-business, and how the timer was ticking until the upcoming extermination, but really, who was Lucifer to dare let your name spill from his lips? In a mockery of your and Adam’s relationship no less.

That self-entitled little shit-eating smirk had graced Lucifer’s ridiculously rosy cheeks, and he had dared insinuate he could steal you right from under Adam’s nose the next time you went down to Hell, just like his two previous wives. He was thankful for his mask which had concealed the utter shock-horror that had overtaken his features at the insult, but he also wished Lucifer would have seen his absolute unbridled hatred once he had rebounded from the insult: if looks could have killed, Lucifer would have been incinerated on the spot. The comment had riled Adam up so much that Lute had had to step in to steer the meeting back on track, and it had taken all of his self-control, and Lute’s, to stop him from immediately teleporting down to Hell and blasting Lucifer to whatever the fuck came after Hell. He grumbles to himself angrily, hand rubbing at his temples as he finally reaches his front door. God, he just wanted to have a drink and go to bed, where hopefully he would dream about murdering Lucifer and lording it up with you above his grave. Maybe you guys could make out right next to his grave, that would really prove a point.

He slams the front door shut harsher than he should have, and immediately storms through the house, desperate to just see you in one of the rooms – he’d even break into the bathroom even if you were mid-shit if he had to, he just had to see you.

“Babe?” He calls, wings tucked tightly against his back as he prowls the corridor, poking his masked head into each room he came across, finally relaxing when he saw you relaxing with a book curled up in the loveseat in the living room.

“Adam!” You grin over at him, and the tension in his shoulders shifts at the sight, releasing a tight breath as you perk up as he approaches, tucking your bookmark back into place and waiting for him expectantly. Of course you would be here, he reprimands himself, furious that Lucifer could get to him in such a way; where else would you be? “How was your day? You had that meeting right? Did it go well?” You rapid-fire your questions, and you suddenly frown as he approaches. “You’ve still got your mask on, it didn’t go well.”

“Yes, hello sugar, it’s nice to see you too, damn.” He mutters, frustrated at himself for being so easy to read, and frustrated at you for reading him so easily, finally coming to a stop before you. “Can’t a man just wear his cool-ass mask? I just forgot, okay?”

“You can do anything you please, I’m just worried.” You look up at him sympathetically, and he immediately knew his tough-guy act was immediately lost on you. Who was he kidding? Today had been particularly shit, and he just wanted to be with you. Not to ease his worries, no, no, he was secure in his relationship, confident in his charm (he was fucking Adam, who could compare?) but just… because he wanted to be with you.

He wasn’t even convincing himself.

“Want to talk about it?” You ask softly, watching as he tugs the mask from his face and places it against the coffee table. His hair was a mess, and you could see the way his brows pinched into a light frown as he attempted to hide his frustration.

“Fuck no.” He shakes his head. “You’re right, the meeting went shitty. That pompous little prick-“ He cuts himself off, pursing his lips lightly as he stares down at you. He didn’t want to tell you what Lucifer had said. He knew you wouldn’t suddenly act on what he had said, but still, he daren’t even breathe the possibility into existence. “I just want to be home, with you.”

“I think I can help with that.” You grin, shuffling over on the love seat and staring up at him expectantly, an absolutely lovely smile on your rosy lips.

"What would I do without you?" Adam questions, sitting down next to you heavily and leaning in for a proper kiss. One of his large hands falls to your waist as he leans in closer, your back leaning against the arm of the armrest as he approaches, slender fingers weaving into the locks at the nape of his neck to hold him closer. He pulls away for a moment, pressing heavy kisses against your jawline, eyes closed to the world and enjoying the feeling of your fingertips against the nape of his neck.

"Is there anything else I could help with?" You utter softly, head tilting back to expose your neck. A sudden grin takes over your features. You were about to play with fire, but you couldn't help yourself. "Perhaps give Lucifer a talking to?"

"Why," he growls, pressing one last kiss beneath your ear before he pulls back, both hands falling to your twisted hips. "would you mention that old fucks name when I have my lips against you."

"Just trying to help." You bats your eyelashes playfully, a laugh escaping you at his furrowed expression.

"I seem to recall you saying 'anything I please' not only five minutes ago." He leans closer, a hand grasping the armrest you leant against, caging you in with a devilish grin. "This is how you can help. Distract me."

"Adam!" You mock, palms sliding up his biceps and resting against his chest as you lean further back, further from his lips. His eyes narrow in frustration. "I fear you have misunderstood-"

"You know exactly what you were doing, babe."

A flash of pearly white teeth as you laugh again, fingers pulling at his lapels to drag him closer. "I'm afraid I don't."

His lips cover yours as a hand slides beneath you, a hand grasping firmly at your ass as he sucks all air from your lungs, a moan rewarding his efforts. Adam moans as a hand tugs at his locks, pulling your waist closer as he bores down, a knee sliding up your skirt and forcing your legs to part, falling freely without encouragement. Your red silk skirt bunches up around your waist, guided by his hands to expose your milky thighs to the cool air. You gasp against him.

"You going to be good for me?" He mumbles against your lips, large hands guiding your hips, thigh rubbing at your heat through the thin layer of your underwear. "You going to be a good girl and distract me?"

You hum in response, vocalising your pleasure as his tongue slides into your mouth, not even bothering to put up a fight as Adam hungrily licks into your mouth, grip forcing your hips to shift against his own as you grasp at his biceps.

"You’re such a fucking tease." He moans between kisses to your skin, hands tugging fabric from your collarbone as he kisses lower. "If I wasn’t as generous, I’d make you do all the work tonight." He presses another deep kiss to your lips, caging you between his arms and nestling between your parted thighs. "Lucky for you I’m fucking pissed."

"Adam." You groan quietly, eyes fluttering as he licks his way down the column of your throat, teeth grazing your hot skin as he yanks your top down your shoulders. He doesn’t bother unhooking your bra, splitting it down the middle with a grin and ignoring your complaints with a harsh bite into the skin of your breast. Adam grins against your reddening skin as his free hand comes up to grip your other breast, rolling the bud tightly between his fingers as he sucks and bites around the swell of your breast. He groans at the feeling of your hands gripping his broad shoulders, fingers edging closer and closer to his wings, hips rolling forward and cock twitching in his garments. He delves forward, warm mouth wrapping around a pert nipple without warning, Adam pays you no mind when you gasp at a particularly hard nip, suckling hungrily as his left-hand travels lower to press your hips up and against him. Your head lolls back as he groans around your bud, thrusting his hips against your clothed core. He continues, on and on, until the pained groans turn into pleasured whines, your thighs quivering around his hips and hands carding through his locks.

He pulls away for air, pressing sloppy kisses along the wet skin at your chest. "Look at you, I’ve not even touched you and you’re whining like a bitch." He groans, pressing a kiss to the swollen nipple pinched between his fingers. "I know I’m good, but this is pitiful babe. Fucking desperate.”

You had half a mind to remind him that he was the one that had stormed into your living room and practically demanded you attention after a shitty day, but with his mouth against you and hands gripping your thighs like his life depended on it, you were happy to remain silent, breathing airily as he sucked harshly at your skin.

“I’d be a pretty shitty husband if I just left my wife like this, huh?"

“Adam-“ You go to warn at his mockingly coy tone, him having played this hard-to-get game before and leaving you wanting until it was actually you desperate for his touch, and not the other way around. This time, however, he didn’t have the patience for such games, your voice dying with a hitch of breath as he latches onto your other nipple, free hand travelling beneath your skirt to the damp spot growing against your underwear. He circles the damp fabric, feather-light and teasing, not yet touching the place you craved the most.

"Adam, baby," You breath heavily, chest heaving as he continues to lavish a pert nipple with his tongue, hands tugging at his robe and sliding down the smooth skin of his chest. "Adam, please."

With a harsh nip he unlatches from your chest, peering down at you with dark eyes, the gold barely glinting in the dim light of the room, breathing heavy. A smirk tugs at his lips, brunet locks falling in front of his eyes as you continue to work yourself against his thigh, wide eyes shining and whining pathetically.

"Please, what?" He shifts, clothed cock pressing harshly against your groin, rutting once, twice. "Fuck you? Make you feel good? Feel better than anyone else ever could?” He rolls his hips again, you whimper. "Or, please stop? Leave you in this state? Return to my duties?"

"No, no- please," your breath hitches as he bites at the soft mound of flesh below your right nipple, a trail of red and purple left behind as he nips lower. "Please, fuck me." Your hands finally dig into his wings, close to where they joined at his back, fingertips digging into the feathers and tugging lightly. You can feel the way his hands tighten either side of your ribcage, and you can see the way his pupils dilate as a red hue creeps up his neck and flushes the skin of his cheeks.

"Fuck," he moans, cock twitching in his breaches. His thumbs dig into your abdomen as his hands clench against your hips, stopping you from moving against him. God, this was exactly what he needed after this shitty day. You must have been some sort of Saint in disguise. "You fucking tease, fucking hands in my-“ He has to stop when you tug again, and he glowers down at you as your nails scratch their way down the centre of his golden wings, the tips twitching as he tries to remain in control.

“Oh yeah, baby? That's how you want to do this?" His voice had deepened to the familiar gravelling husk that you loved so dearly, and you can do nothing but nod fervently, the sound going straight to your core. You knew exactly what you were doing toying with his wings, and he knew just as well as you what that meant. Adam takes in the sight before him; the heaving chest, the perfect slender column of your exposed throat, the exposed milky-white of your spread thighs, the wide glossy eyes just pleading for him to move. He breathes deeply at the way your skirt bunches around your waist, your whole body on show except from a pathetic soaking pair of underwear. "Fucking perfect."

A rough hand suddenly against your throat has you falling boneless against the armrest, eyes rolling as Adam’s fist tightens, his wings twitching upwards as your hands fall to noncommittally pry at his fingers around your neck.

"Hng, please-" You rasp, spreading your legs as far as the backrest of the loveseat would allow, hands clenching into the fabric of the sofa beneath you.

"You'll get fucked," Adam whispers harshly against your ear, free hand sliding your ruined pants down your thighs. "but not until I'm done with you."

"Adam-"

"It’s been a fucking shitty day," he begins, a singular finger sliding between your folds and gathering the wetness that had gathered. You whine, straining against his hold on your neck. "and the one thing that’s gotten me through it is knowing I get to come home to this perfect piece of ass." He grins, feeling your pussy clench at the tip of his finger. "So I’m taking my fucking time with you."

A singular finger finally enters your swollen, aching, core, mouth falling open in a silent moan at the contact, finally. The sounds that echo around the room are obscene, wet and thick as his fingers curl, digging against that sweet spot inside of you.

"You hear that, sweety?" Adam murmurs mockingly against your lips, the pet-name dripping with irony as he kisses down harshly, a kiss you could only hope to keep pace with, never mind reciprocate. "You fucking filthy girl." A second enters, easily, coated in your slick within seconds as he draws moans from your lungs. He leans back, watching you flush and gasp beneath his hands, fingers pulling non-comically at the fist he had around your neck. A third finger enters, and this time, he feels the stretch.

"God, Adam-" You squeal, hips raising from the loveseat as he continues, the sinful sounds only getting louder and louder. You moan with every thrust of his fingers, hands gripping at the material of your shirts beneath you. You groans at the fiery pain in your walls, but your eyes roll at the pleasure that had started to build.

"So fucking wet, and all it took was the thought of being with me. At least you know how lucky you are babe, fuck-" His grip tightens around your neck, a fourth finger entering, and you scream, or would have if you had the oxygen to. A pathetic choking wail comes from your throat, and you clench tighter around his digits, hips chasing his hand with every thrust.

"I'm- I'm going to-" You sob as he picks up his pace, the sounds omitting from you downright sinful. Your thighs shake as your body goes rigid, mouth falling open in a silent scream.

Adam doesn't stop, eyes trained on his wife's face as you come undone beneath his fingers, hips jerking wildly as he thrusts and curls inside of you. It is only when your eyes flutter and legs fall slack that he stops, pulling his hand out from between your thighs with a sickening pop, fluid coating his hand and your inner thighs.

You blink heavily, gasping for breath as you finally return to your surroundings, feeling devastatingly empty but more than satisfied. Adam barely gives you a moment before he’s kissing you deeply, teeth tugging at your swollen lips and a hand winding into your hair to tug your head exactly where he wanted you. He doesn’t break the kiss as he scoops you into his arms, your hands grasp at his neck and shoulders as he carries you towards the bedroom.

He throws you down roughly on the edge of the side of the bed, shucking off his robe, trousers and pants quickly, hard and weeping cock springing free, red and painful at the neglect, balls heavy and painfully sensitive. You wiggle out of your red skirt, kicking it onto the floor as Adam clambers over you, knees pressed against the mattress. He slides his hand along your inner thighs, which part without question, gathering the wetness that coated them. He pumps his cock lazily, once, twice, abs clenching as he breathes deeply.

"I'm gonna fuck you so good you forget that cunts name.” He mutters more to himself, and it takes you a moment to realise who he was talking about. Ah, he hadn’t taken your comment about Lucifer earlier well. He never did. You can’t help but feel excited, as exhausted as you already were, Adam always got so competitive after a comment like that, and you always left the situation just as smug and satisfied as Adam felt. “Hope you haven’t got any important shit tomorrow, babe,” He comments, leaning over you and shrouding your smaller form with his large body, grinning down at you with a wickedness better suited to hell than heaven. “because it’ll be a miracle if you can walk.”

"You’re talking an awful lot." You comment, but your panting doesn’t give it the mocking you were hoping for. His wings flatten when your comment registers, and the golden feathers bristle as you continue. “You’ve yet to actually fuck me, I wonder if Lu-“

Without warning he thrusts forward, groaning hotly against your throat as his wings raise. You whine at the stretch, and your hands quickly burrow back into his wings as he bullies his way into you, forcing himself down to the hilt and not allowing you time to adjust. “Don’t you fucking dare say his name.” He hisses against your throat, biting at the skin harshly. He draws back, tip resting just inside your opening, and then surges forward, burying himself to the hilt, setting a brutal, staggering pace. You whimper in pain and pleasure at the abrupt pace, but fall into it as he thrusts, legs winding around his hips and anchoring him in place.

Adam groans into your skin with every thrust, unabashed and unashamed, the wet warmth between your thighs melting away his worries. His fingers dig painfully into the divots of your hips.

"You're my girl, no one else’s, my fucking girl." He groans, balls slapping against your ass as he thrusts, seizing your thighs and pushing them up towards your chest, folding you in half and giving you no choice but to breath and take it. "Clearly I’ve not been doing my job if you’ve had time to think about him, don't worry baby, I'll fix that."

"Adam," You moan at the new angle, his cock hitting that special spot inside with every thrust, legs shaking with every thrust. "please, please, please, I don’t-"

"Fucking slut, begging for my cock." He punctuates his sentence with a particularly hard thrust that has you keening, back arching from the crumpled bedsheets.

Suddenly, without warning, he pulls out completely and your high dissipates violently as you gasp and shoot upright, trying to tug him back down by his wings. "No, no, please-"

Large rough hands grab at your body as you are flipped around, hands scrambling for purchase and legs like jelly as you’re repositioned, locks falling into your face as Adam thrusts back in, hands gripping your hips as he pounds.

"You wanna act like a slut?" He drills his cock into you from behind, large hand pushing at your tail bone to force your back to arch. You comply easily, and you’re rewarded with a fist grabbing at the globe of your ass and slamming you back towards him with painful force. "I'll fuck you like a slut."

A tender hand runs up the column of your spine and you shiver, gasping into a moan as he gathers your hair in one tight fist and yanks.

"Oh! Oh Adam-"

Every slap of your ass with his hips has your head lurching back with the grip he has on your hair, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he thrusts, the harsh sound of slapping skin filling the room.

"Adam, ‘s too much," Your moans cut your sentence short, fists gripping the bed sheets as he pounds relentlessly, scalp stinging and pussy aching at the unforgiving stretch. "Please, I can't-"

"You fucking can." He growls, releasing your hair and shoving your head forward with a hand at the back of your neck, leaning forward to place wet kisses at the centre of your spine as he thrusts down. "I’m not done with you, so you're gonna fucking take it."

You moan pathetically into the bed sheets, fingers curling into the fabric either side of your head as your pussy throbs, a familiar searing heat coiling in your abdomen and tingling along your spine.

"We’re not done until you get that you’re mine, my bitch, and no one else can give you this, understand?" His large hands anchor themselves at your waist as he thrusts impossibly harder, sweat beginning to bead down his chest and stomach. No doubt bruises would be left behind, the thought of your perfect flesh, your perfect ivory skin, marred by his fingerprints only drives him further, his balls beginning to tighten.

"I'm- I'm - wait!" Adam doesn't listen to his wife's pleas, supporting your shaking hips with his large hands as he fucks you into the mattress, grinning past his exertion at seeing your thighs begin to quiver.

Your cracked voice mewls into the bedsheets as your second orgasm builds, panting pathetically as you brace yourself, tears of pleasure beginning to stream down your cheeks.

"Good fucking girl." Adam groans, feeling his own orgasm build, cock twitching within your walls. "Does my bitch finally get it? Huh?” Your lack of response doesn’t please him, and one of his large hands slaps the globe of your ass painfully as he continues his brutal pace. ‘'you gonna take it?"

"Please!" You finally wail, pussy clenching at the sheer anger in his voice, and beneath all the brovado, the desperation to know he’s doing a good job. And by God he was doing a phenomenal job. "So fuckin’ good Adam. I’m yours- yours.” You choke into the mattress when you feel his grip tighten against your hips, his hips stuttering at the praise. “Don’t stop. Adam, please, please-"

You wail pathetically, second orgasm crashing over you as you convulses beneath Adam’s cock, toes curling, legs only propped up with his large hands as you cry. “So, f-fuck– good.”

"Fuck." Adam groans as his own orgasm hits, balls tightening as he thrusts again and again, jerking uncontrollably as he empties inside of you, pumping his hips desperately. You can feel the air around you shift as his wings twitch, flapping powerfully with the concentration he pours into his final few thrusts, impossibly deep and hard as his arms flex against your lax figure. "Ah." He grunts, thrusting once, twice, collapsing on top of his shaking wife, cock buried to the hilt. His sweaty forehead presses between your shoulder blades, breathing hotly against your damp skin as you breathes shakily beneath him, catching your own breath as the aftershocks of your orgasm course through you.

"Fuckin’ perfect." Adam mutters gruffly against your skin, kissing tenderly as he straightens, hands landing on the globe of your red ass, slowly pulling his cock from you with a hiss. He watches with dark eyes as his cum gathers at your entrance, pushing a small trickle back in with a slick finger, causing you to gasp in surprise.

Large hands, far gentler than they had been mere moments ago, grasp your waist and manoeuvre you around, laying your panting frame back onto the edge of the bed. Adam leans down to kiss you sweetly, rough hands grabbing a thigh each and pulling them up towards your chest as he leans, tongue slipping into your mouth and licking into your cavern as he repositions, a soft sigh falling from your lips and your hands dangling leisurely from his broad shoulders.

He pulls back from the kiss, and you watch him with hooded eyes, unaware of the position you had found herself in until a thick cock-head presses at your weeping entrance once again. You look up, still panting, and Adam cannot help but feel utterly devoted to the sight in front of him, cock twitching back to full capacity; your cheeks shining from the tears that had spilled, lips puckered and swollen and invitingly red from the way he had nipped at them, the smattering of bruises that decorated your neck and chest. You were truly a vision, not a holy one, but absolutely divine to him.

"Adam, wait - I can't." You whimper breathily, hips pulling away from his cock. Too sensitive, too raw. Despite your reservations, Adam can see the way you breathe in suspense, the way your fingers flex against the bedsheets in anticipation. Hell, you weren’t even trying to close your legs in his grasp. You really shouldn’t have mentioned Lucifer’s name if you didn’t want this. He was nowhere near done.

"No?" He questions sarcastically, hands still pinning your thighs to your chest, golden eyes staring deeply into your own. "Looks to me like you can still talk back, that won’t do babe." Hands still grasping your milky thighs, Adam leans down, grinning before pressing a soft kiss right against your clit. You jerk, a cry falling from your lips. "Come on, sugar, you’re really tapping out so soon?" He rubs his cock against your folds, his cum coating his own flared tip, and your pussy flutters around him; you hiss out a whine. "What a shitty husband I’d be if I left you wanting, and from the look of you, I know you’re not done." He rubs his cock against you again, balls gathering the cum that had dribbled from your opening. You look up at him fervently, and you can see the determination in his heated gaze, and oh how that look had your core tightening as he leant impossibly closer. "Is my wife really done? I think she can take one more, one more, for me."

You groan as he enters again, slowly, cock dragging against your slicked walls, and a squelch emitting from your conjoined bodies as he finally bottoms out again. Your legs twitch in his hold, and he grinds his hips, fighting the urge to thrust.

Your mouth hangs open silently, eyes fluttering at the stretch to your over-sensitive core. Your nails tear at his shoulders uselessly, trying to distract yourself from the all-consuming pleasure, and the delightful sting has Adam clenching his jaw as he tries to remain composed. You can hear the shuddering breath he takes as he fights his instincts, pulling back just as slowly as he had entered, until the weight of his cock presses just inside your opening, and then thrusts back in, setting a slow, steady, hard pace.

He recaptures your lips in a searing kiss, biting at your lip until you allow him to snake his way inside, sucking the little air from your lungs as he pants into you, brows furrowed in concentration as he fucks into you with his hips and licks into your mouth hungrily. This time, he allows your hands to dig into his wings from the start, his own hands remaining perched on your thighs and pinning you down to take his harsh thrusts. He grunts when your fingertips delve back into the ruffled feathers, stretching them out beneath your touch and covering your body possessively beneath his larger frame.

"S-Shit babe.” He groans between thrusts, pace increasing silently. You can do nothing but moan pathetically, pussy aching and throbbing as your fingers dig deeper into his wings, and his shoulders tense at the intense pleasure that sparks all along his spine. "Fucking careful.” He tries to battle back his control that had begun to slip, and decides insulting you would mask the way your simplest of touches nearly had him finishing then and there. “F-fucking whore."

You simply groan, eyes rolled into the back of your head and hands blinding searching for purchase as that tight coil begins to wind in your abdomen, hips beginning to shift against his quickening thrusts. Your voice pitches and cracks as he pummels that special spot inside of you, and your hands clench into fists in his wings. "Oh God- Adam, right there, fuck – so fucking good."

“I know baby, I’m fucking good, I know.” He grits through clenched teeth, ever the egoist. Despite his parroting of the compliments as if they were simple facts, the compliments go straight to his head and his cock, and something in his chest tightens at the way you continue to babble his praises.

A particularly hard thrust has you gasping. "Adam, you’re so- so-" You couldn’t finish the sentence, but he got the message, and nearly cums with his next thrust, biting into your collarbone to distract himself from the praise.

Adam groans, balls already beginning to tighten. He yanks you closer as you continue to beg, forcing you in half as he pounds into you, cum spilling from around his cock as he thrusts again and again, your thighs slick with it.

"Adam, please." You pant, all air forced from your lungs as he drills into you over and over again, pussy struggling as Adam’s cum is forced from inside you to make room for his cock. "I'm all yours."

"Fuck, baby." He groans, balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. He releases your right thigh, free thumb pressing into your swollen clit and rubbing hard. "Cum for me, I know you've got one more. One more and I'll fucking fill you, one more."

You shriek at the pressure on your clit, head thrown back as your legs shake. Chanting 'yes, yes, Adam, fuck.' between wails.

"You can take it, 'fuckin' take it."

He swallows your scream with a kiss when you finally tip over the edge, your hips shaking against his own as your stomach erupts in a fiery jolt of pleasure that travels from the tips of your toes to your fingertips, back arching from the bedsheets. Adam swears against your lips, nails almost breaking the skin of your thighs as he cums, shoulders and wings tense as he humps tightly, burying himself to the hilt and pressing as much of his weight onto you as he could.

"Fuck, there you go." He groans, thrusting lazily, pressing you into the bedsheets, all of his weight forced onto your hips. "There you go."

You moan pitifully as his cock fully burrows itself to its hilt, both hands coming up to cradle the back of Adam’s head and shoulders as he allows his full weight to rest on top of you, face pressed against the crook of your neck, soft lips gently mouthing against a blossoming hickey, hips finally ceasing their aborted thrusts. You wrap your legs loosely around his hips as his hands curl beneath you, resting flat against your spine and securing you in his embrace. You sigh at the new angle, finally able to breath fully, and relaxes into the sticky sheets below, allowing Adam to lick at the bruises covering your neck and chest.

"You okay, baby?" Adam mutters softly, voice still unusually deep and gravelly as he comes down from his high, warm palms sliding against your sticky skin in some semblance of comfort, blunt nails scratching a light comforting pattern against your skin. He lifts himself up lightly, still burrowed within, sweaty brunet locks falling across his face and tickling your forehead.

"Never better." You grin, exhausted and blissed-out, a familiar ache beginning to settle deep within, but uncaring for the discomfort after seeing the poorly-masked worried devotion in your husband's eyes. "You’re amazing, you know."

"I know.” He hums cockily, and you swat at his arm playfully as he grins. “I supposed you aren’t half bad, too.”

Your head tilts in mock-offence, but the exhaustion and complete and utter satisfaction cloaking your eyes has you looking seconds away from passing out, and he chuckles at the sight. He studies you for a moment, mapping the flush to your cheeks and chest, the fraying of your elegant hairdo, the wet streams on your cheeks and the puffiness of your lips. His eyes travel lower, following a stream of bruises that caress your ivory skin all the way down to where your bodies conjoin. His eyes flicker back up and he grins cheekily, unapologetic and somewhat proud.

With a comforting pat to your thighs, Adam leans down for a far more tender kiss, grunting against you as he removes himself from you, dick falling free as he clambers up the bed and carefully tugs your spent body along with him, nestling you tightly into his side as his wings drape off both edges of the bed. He grunts, tugging you further onto his chest, and you giggle as you swing your arms around his chest and neck, cheek pressed against his shoulder and his own pressed against the top of your head, strong arms encircling your waist and pinning you close.

“I should rant to you more about my shitty days if you’re willing to cheer me up like this.” He grumbles to himself, eyes closed as he breathes deeply, and you feel the rumble of his chest beneath you. “I can feel you looking at me. Shut your mouth and enjoy the moment unless you want to piss me off again.”

“I didn’t even piss you off in the first place,“ You defend, rolling your eyes playfully at him. “but if you fuck me like that when you’re angry I’ll have to get you angry more often.”

“You want to go again?” Adam questions deftly, the exhausted surprise yet underlying giddiness in his voice almost making you laugh, if not for the fact that you were utterly and completely spent.

“No, no, I’m more than happy. I was going to say we should shower.”

He ‘humphs’ like a child, heavy arms not moving as you try to wriggle away from his grasp to begin running the shower. “What’s the rush? Give me ten minutes.”

“We’re disgusting.”

“Five minutes.” He mutters, rightening his hold on your waist. “You never know, in those five minutes you might want to go again, and then we’d save having to wash ourselves again, save the water bill and all that shit, y’know?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You married me.” He backhands childishly, pulling you in closer to his chest. “So that we can be disgusting together. Now shush and stop talking, I was enjoying the moment.”

2K notes · View notes

capslocked · 7 months

Text

KINKVEMBER DAY: 6

[prompt: blowjob]

male reader x hyeju

12k words

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone who actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

The first time you hook up with your roommate, it’s because of genetics - though not in the weird, uncontrollable way your body gets rigid and sensitive to any pretty girl who wears nothing but a towel moving between her bedroom and the bathroom, or how her eyes might flick fast from your chest up to yours - or given that the absolute shape of her is a blessing from one god or another (benevolent, clearly). That's not why Hyeju and you find yourselves only a few months later grinding on each other after the clock ticked past midnight, making out on New Year's Eve.

No, it has to do with the fact that Hyeju's nearly failing the nine AM section of molecular genetics because she's spent every lecture doodling stars and planets and planets shaped like asscheeks and planet-ass constellations while everyone else writes notes or doom scrolls twitter or whatever and she is somehow simultaneously the only student who never slept with her face on the lab desk or missed an assigned reading and the only one who absolutely needs a tutor.

It's just cosmic odds that you'd be that one: her roommate, who shouldn't be talking so loudly in the library about sex (in a sort of non-sexy, Mendelian kind of way) or be thinking the kind of things you've started thinking when Hyeju wears one of her more sleepshirt-esque long sleeves, her voice getting lower as you rattle off, "fruit flies and thale cress, definitely, it's just an error of fate or chromosome splitting..." before trailing off into a question.

"This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me," she finally tells you. You listen to her sigh into the binding of her textbook, facedown. "I'm really going to bomb this exam."

You tap her hand twice with your highlighter across the desk. "Then you're pretty damn lucky, if you think about it."

She turns to you, smiles a bit. "Okay, point. The worst thing will be having to retake this stupid fucking class."

"Why didn't you ask for help or go to office hours if you knew you were... failing?"

"Maybe because doing anything more than the bare minimum to get through a class I don't care about is my definition of, failing," she mumbles. "Why didn't anyone tell me a single lab is worth half my grade? Or that the TA is this fucking unreliable? How is this the one thing, really, beyond the basics, that can't be taught by wikipedia, a wikihow article and a youtube video?"

You scoot your seat closer to her. "You really need to relax."

"Fucking tell me about it."

You turn it over in your mind a few times, capping the top of your highlighter.

"Want me to get you off?"

And it’s not like you really mean it, when you say it, which is the strangest thing: you wouldn't actually suggest it, normally, wouldn't mention it in passing and then leave yourself open to the follow up and cross examination; yet there it is, after three, four hours of cramming notes on heterochronicity and the sloshing of gametes - you actually did propose it.

Hyeju jerks up, surprised.

"Are you serious?" She looks around, nearly snorting. "In the library?"

The face you’re giving her makes her scoff.

“You’re absolutely nuts.”

You have character flaws; the inability to admit wrongdoing chief among them. Hell, maybe it's from your mother - or maybe all your brains are just scrambled by the fact that Hyeju's sitting there with her pen against her pretty lips, hair glossier than usual as she scans your face and makes your entire body feel like a reactor core in meltdown.

Maybe you can blame what comes next on that.

"I'm always serious. I'm asking a serious question," you whisper, closing the textbook and resting your elbows on top. You look around quickly, like you're sneaking something in instead of this perfectly reasonable exchange, the perfectly platonic - except maybe not so much - way for friends to help each other.

"And I'm wondering what you're asking." Her cheeks are definitely pinker, you think, or the way it fills out her face, from the bottom up, is just that easy to imagine.

“I’m saying you haven’t gotten laid in months.” Here, you realize, these blocks of mental logic that definitely weren’t there when you blurted it out start to coalesce into something solid as you go on.

And you hadn't been wrong when you thought no one had given Hyeju a helping hand in a long, long time: you've heard through the walls or the floorboards at odd hours of the morning that she spends far too long fingering herself to a mind-numbing, tear-worthy frustration that leaves her knuckle-deep but never, ever sated or satisfied.

"No one's around, you'll feel better. You said it yourself."

Not a work of your imagination here - her ears are fucking burning.

"Wait a minute." She pushes her chair back, away from you and your gleaming offer. It clatters on its back legs, and a librarian waves her finger in warning. You wave back, sheepishly, until she stops and Hyeju stands and moves away from the table to talk, hands crossed over her front.

She turns and asks in a hushed-down-voice, "how did you know - did you hear something last night?"

"You couldn't keep it down even if you wanted to, honestly."

Hyeju turns further and throws a glare at the library doors, because obviously her noisiness and their collective noisemanship, or whatever the hell the word is, is clearly the root of the whole goddamn problem.

"Look - if not, no big deal - but I'm just saying you'll probably get over it and at least think less about sex. Or at least the wrong kind of sex."

You expect her to turn, sigh, and ask if you've lost your mind. Expect her to gather her jacket from the back of her chair, take her books and stomp out the room. Or even burst out laughing at the insanity, before slapping your arm lightly, in playful retaliation - anything other than the serious look she gives you in return, tilting her head, pressing her lips.

She turns up at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating something. And it's cute. It's so very, very cute, how her mouth pouts as she considers the possibility, right up until she says, "okay, fine."

The moderate twist of surprise taking hold in your brow must be visible.

"Oh, don't tell me that was all talk. Get me thinking about the right kind of sex or whatever."

You laugh, which has the librarian staring at both of you - until the librarian stops staring and probably sees Hyeju sliding back into her chair, the full, pent-up weight of her concentration pointed your way, knees inching apart - you, and Hyeju waiting, your knee bumping into her inner thigh, leaning closer as the textbook hits the floor.

"Don't laugh."

"Not laughing, seriously. Not laughing," you stammer. “I just think you’re just full of surprises.”

She spreads her knees further and sits taller, looking right at you.

"So then, surprise me," and then presses her cheek to the crook of your elbow.

You slide your chair right into the space next to hers, nuzzling up into the space under her ear. “Keep studying, Hyeju, you’ve got shit to do.” And then you slide your hand beneath the waist of her sweats, knead the swell of her thigh until you find the seam where her leg meets her body, press your palm down on the place just next to her center, your thumb in the middle. All this perfect pressure.

"Fuck," Hyeju says under a shudder. She's breathing heavier when your hot, open-mouthed kisses start landing at her neck, and she probably tries to read her textbook for about forty-five seconds longer. But there's the clench of her jaw right as your middle finger begins tracing circles beneath the fabric of her panties, and her gaze is blurring until she can't tell the difference between an allele or your fucking name.

"Shh-shh," you quiet her, finger tapping harder, playing with the slick wetness beneath all those layers of thick cotton and pressing two fingers there until her knees part like they’re not interested in resisting at all. Your lips press a kiss to the shell of her ear and she tenses all at once, hand shooting up to cover her mouth.

She simply leans back, closes her eyes, and lets you take care of her.

“Okay, you’re right,” she says, shaky and uneven, “that really did take some of the edge off. Did we ever review - poly- uh, pol-polymers here?"

The sweatshirt sleeve falling off your shoulder is a hindrance to any actual reading; her shifting against the chair isn't helping either, but you manage to push down the thoughts of stripping her down completely and giving her your tongue as yet another distraction.

"What did the syllabus say? I don't know if we need to read too far on 'polymers'," you say, having going through an entire afternoon without considering this once, but as you curl your fingers and take an honest crack at cramming the remaining chapters into her head, the knowledge that no one else is getting her this wet - except for whoever she's got in her mind's eye at three AM - is enough to get you feeling a little dizzy.

It’s probably supposed to be weird, given that you’ve never gotten any of your other friends off spontaneously in the library, or there's the fact that you can't really avoid each other afterwards, how she shows up in a silk negligee when you're pouring coffee before sunrise to prep for another day and you have the opportunity to notice - yes, she has amazing taste in underwear, yes, you might not have really appreciated her chest and figure enough before - yes, fuck it. She catches you noticing that first time, after coming downstairs with nothing but one of her cropped t-shirts and her board shorts, and she smirks when she realizes you're still thinking about it that afternoon, when her foot grazes yours while you're both washing dishes, and she dries the plate in her hand with a slow swipe.

And it is weird, actually, to describe what’s going on between you in words.

A few words, anyway, like a one-word label to describe what it was: friends or roommates-with-benefits, or - fuck buddies - god, it's even worse. Fuck buddies? Fuck friends? Something equally terrible and stupid that still makes sense, like something out of a shitty rom-com: it doesn't capture any of the rest of the myriad ways in which things can feel less or less friendly between two people.

So, friends was never, ever going to cut it. Roommates - although technically correct - is just this side of too clinical. And let's be clear: strangers don't wake up every morning together, walk to the same class, sit close together in the middle seats, secretly flick a strangers' skirt up in an empty lecture hall and get on their knees and work your mouth onto her pussy and watch the legs of the desks shake when her feet arch into the floor.

"The notes you've got are better than mine," is how Hyeju tries to put things, the next day and every time after that, standing in the doorframe, or at the foot of your bed and looking every bit the disheveled and hopeless mess you imagine she might spread out over the sheets of her own.

It gets complicated, which isn't really a surprise.

"You think your roommate is going to be home tonight?" is the question that comes up multiple times - from a revolving door of pretty names and faces. Hyeju has at least one opinion, if not more, on each of them.

"Tell Jinsoul I say hi," she says once, watching you get ready for a date, and you nearly bang your knee on the edge of the bathroom vanity.

It's one of the more harmless comments she's offered.

Another, backhanded: "if you’re just looking for a blowjob everyday between lunch and our physics lab, let Hyunjin or Heejin or whatever-her-name-is know she's easily my favorite," Hyeju says on your way out one morning, still under her covers.

Or,

Hyeju's texted a simple "uh, Chuu? really??" when you mention, once, how much fun you've been having - and what kind, as you make a round of self-conscious and rambling phone calls the next day that land you with only one prospect for the night - but your roommate's also no longer being your roommate by the end of it, bouncing against your thighs in the bathtub and moaning something about please more and fuck or fucking make me cum; the details escape you a bit.

That's what friends are for, probably.

Still, in the same, bare-bones explanation, friends also aren't for falling asleep on you - or letting you hold her - or fucking you awake in the middle of the night. Friends aren't for pushing down your jeans when the early-morning dew settles on the back patio, or jerking you off in the seat beside yours with a sweatshirt over your lap when a group project is due later and you all should probably work on that and instead get yourselves off and leave the mess of what you're doing half-finished. Friends aren't, probably, for offering to watch you rub your palm up and down your cock the night before next semester's exams when you can barely sit in a single chair and you can't think about molecular biology or neurochemical transcriptions when your whole body aches to do the transcribing. (If you can catch that drift.)

The lists of who are and are not good enough for you goes on and on - the latter longer than the former.

So, there's Choerry, who according to Hyeju is 'straight up, a total slut'. Yeojin, who gets mistaken for your little sister enough times that Hyeju refuses to - in good faith - let you keep sleeping with her. Both Heejin and Gowon are apparently too pretty for you. "Kim-lip?" she asks, in the middle of peeling garlic, "is that one name or two?" And laughs into a bottle of beer, loud, while you're telling her to quit being nosey and watch her fingers with the damn knife.

"You have a problem."

"Why, because I asked a few simple questions? I think anyone would be a little curious with the -" she pauses to wave her fingers - "I'd be remiss to not be interested in the very drama that unfolds literally across the hall."

She waggles her eyebrows.

You look up at the ceiling. God save you, you think. "Hyeju."

("Seriously," Hyeju chimes in one evening, arms around you, and a mouthful of the dinner you'd cooked.

"You need better taste in girls. Don't waste time on anyone too dumb, or who drinks the milk straight from the carton, or doesn't wash her socks with the same load of laundry. Oh, and - no one who chews loudly. No one who can't tell you're going to cum. The worst is someone who doesn't know what you like, trust me on that. And remember the last rule: don't do anything with someone who eats at a really slow pace, it's incredibly depressing."

You rest your chin on her shoulder from the spot behind her. "Duly noted, oh Master of all Knowledge."

She sighs into your arm, but in the next moment, her voice gets a lot softer, her hips fidgeting slightly against you. "I just mean you're the kind of person people would want to sleep with again," she says, before turning to say your name and kiss you again and again as your bodies curl inward.

"I wonder what that means, Hyeju," you say.

"Fuck," Hyeju groans as you slide further into her, pushing her back into the sofa - hands on her shoulders, legs bent on her either side, "don't tease me like this.")

The first snowfall of the year is mild, a tiny dusting, nothing that sticks on the pavement in the alley or on the sidewalks - or the lintels - or in Hyeju's hair, but by evening, when the snow picks up and everything goes quiet, Hyeju has changed into flannels and wool socks in anticipation, curled up like a cat at one edge of the window ledge as the world begins to go white. It's enough that you even pull on a thicker sweatshirt, open up a book, and join her.

She turns toward you, quiet.

You've reached a point in the semester where this, the silence, doesn't unsettle you anymore. It's the space you fill up with time in-between, where you can see the contours of her body against the orange lamplight of the space heater, or watch her kick off the top half of the duvet at night as you fight over space in her bed and wonder about the bare skin peeking out from her shorts.

"Feeling bored?" She slides her foot a little closer to yours, almost imperceptibly. "Am I keeping you entertained enough?"

Her lips pull up at the corner. You chuckle.

"Oh, no."

She scoffs and puts her hands on her knees, pushes herself closer to the window sill and bumps her elbow into your shoulder. The bare skin of her neck and shoulders and face is getting a little redder as she cranes it forward. "Okay, if not, do you need someone to entertain you, maybe."

Your mouth twists, fighting a smile.

Hyeju is so close to you, you could kiss her really, really easily and not care how she'd feel about that. It's not a habit, not as often as it used to be, but every once and a while - she starts this game. Every once in a while, Hyeju just starts smiling like that, and leans into you like she's daring you to play along, hard round of chicken until it's clear what the two of you are doing with each other; the minutes pass by, one, then two, and then - maybe she pushes first, her leg on yours, or a kiss to your jaw or a palm on your back as she walks behind you - and then you'd turn and kiss her full on the mouth and pull at her clothes like nothing's holding you back.

She cocks a smile, and says, "why don't you go and call what's her name."

"Because."

You glance out at the cold, gray light outside. If you had a better understanding of any of the workings inside you, you could reach forward and tell her everything that's stopped you.

You're supposed to meet the girl-of-the-month at a New Year's party. Hyeju looks disgusted within the first ten seconds of the whole story.

"Heejin dumped you once, like, two months ago? For no reason."

"It wasn't a break-up. We talked about what we did wrong and we're doing better," you say, lifting one finger.

She glares, then, tilts her lips into this unamused purse that you can't take seriously at all when she starts walking back and forth across your living room, hands moving emphatically to the sides as she speaks, like she's in the process of unveiling a brilliant argument and is using both palms to guide your eyes toward the unquestionable logic. "God, you're the worst. You're just her easy fuck and you'll still answer her late night calls, really."

She leaves the rest unsaid - that she's just not that into you.

"I don't tell you which boys or girls you can call up," you try, putting on a boot. "If you'd like, I can. Name off the list, and make sure that the right name leaves my mouth this time."

Hyeju doesn't blush when you glance up, which is the surprising thing. No - her cheeks have grown a little more sullen, and she stares down at her socks in contemplation. You're in the middle of fastening up the lace and getting to your feet, waiting, wondering if Hyeju's going to continue this conversation, when Hyeju takes one small step forward.

And her hand goes out to touch your chin, thumb at your lip, fingers holding it in place - like you'll turn if she lets it go - the sharp shock of the sensation like a short circuit, before her knee comes between yours, and your body tingles, at the root and stem. "Hey," she says, eyes meeting yours. The edge of her nail flicking gently as she drags the curve of her thumb downward.

"Hyeju, please - I need to get going."

When you start walking toward your car, she calls out from the window. Something about how you better have the time of your life, fun for the two of you - it’s only fair.

(You feel, somewhere, a certain strange loss.)

"What, are you going to stay up and wait until I come back? Or am I interrupting your session for the night."

You can barely make it out, the smallest look passing over her face. "Maybe," she says, and then: "god, it's fucking cold."

New year's parties have this sort of quality of being simultaneously the most thrilling, exciting prospect on earth and the absolute worst fucking event in the history of the planet - depending on the venue, how egregious the racket is for a gin and tonic, the guests - oh, and the company.

Jinsoul and Choerry are both in attendance; in separate corners and in equal states of undress and intoxication, which seems fine by every present party, who are for the most part busy ogling one or the other in the full spirit of the New Year - as you would too, if the stars are aligned and Heejin hasn't already gone upstairs with half the guestlist, her arm wound with someone else's, as per her recent habit; if you haven't been tossed aside for any of the usual, less forgettable prospects and for something bigger, better and certainly much more enjoyable.

Which, if there were any way to track these things down with math, you'd already be reaching for your pen and notebook, as Hyeju would describe this sensation in a phrase she picked up from some podcast. Inevitable means necessary, or something.

"Good party," says Heejin, throwing back another drink.

"Yep. You said that," and you finish yours in one long draw, hissing through your teeth.

Heejin is a goddamn delight, of course, in all the simplest of ways. When she looks up at you - mouth pink, hair framing her face - she is so clearly and completely aware of what she is, and exactly what the world has in store for her, what it has set aside.

"Do you want to know what happened at the other New Year’s party we went to last year?"

"I - yeah. Hit me. Tell me all about (another date you were on) Heejin, that’s exactly what I’d love, let’s hear it."

She throws her head back and laughs, before starting into an overlong recount of her latest, greatest conquest, you on the outside. This is the thing - this is how a pretty face, with just a hint of a flirt, will make you feel for a beautiful, attractive, vivacious - absolutely shameless, raving sex-crazed lunatic of sorts who, apparently, loves to run around town and make a bunch of your closest friends fall in love and heartbroke-er, with every passing notion of her beauty, her charm - just the tilt of her chin, and some poor fucker is lost, absolutely lost.

Even she knows it's a bad habit of hers.

But who doesn't have a weakness? You've got plenty of your own - plenty, Heejin can admit - everyone does, in a way, and so Heejin, the other sloppy drunks milling about the party, and Choerry and Jinsoul all agree - someone like her just happens to have the best kind of weakness - so, so many of them, in fact:

"Can you believe how easily a few words get Jinsoul riled up? Or how it only takes a couple drinks for Choerry to pull up the hem of her skirt, not knowing the effect that'll have?"

And as for the last, and arguably worst kind -

"Hyeju, huh? What a great start to the New Year," is her final word. Heejin reaches across and downs your drink. Her expression turns just shy of grave, a pensive look. "Not your smartest idea, the living-together situation. Who in their right mind would put themselves in such a mess?"

"Thanks for the great advice." You wave her off, irritated.

There's another laugh before Heejin leans her face onto the table.

"Though maybe she's onto something, now that I think of it. Who needs anyone for the New Year?" and it's almost convincing the way her mouth, lined up with the rim of the glass, smirks when she drinks. "Mm. All a matter of taste."

The snow is halfway up your calves when you realize you need to find a cab at 11:30 PM on New Year's Eve. (Which, categorically, is the worst time to need to find a cab on New Year’s Eve.)

Or just:

11:36 PM and the nearest bus stop is too far away.

11:41 and the temperature feels like its dropped by fifteen degrees, like you should start wondering what hypothermia symptoms look like and what signs to look out for in yourself, your future wife and your children. You try not to think about why, but you get your phone out and immediately call Hyeju, so you're not sure what you think you're denying.

"No party?" she asks. Her voice is distant and sleep-ridden, but Hyeju's quick to pick up, like always.

"It sucked, I'm trying to find a way home early. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year." There's a long pause, filled in by the squeak of snow beneath your boots. "Get a kiss?"

"Uh, not yet. In the market, I guess."

Hyeju's low hum isn't reassuring, either. "Well, you're kind of missing your window. Bad time to start looking."

"Says you, and here you are - still up for someone to spend the night with. Look at you," you respond, all this snark in your voice that she clearly hears. There's a long sigh.

"Actually," and Hyeju, much to the confusion of you and possibly the whole world, doesn't respond, and for a few seconds, the line goes completely silent, leaving you hanging.

She breathes once and comes out of her sleep with a yawn.

"I actually," she begins. There's a lot less preamble this time - this tone - and when she speaks again it comes through not nearly as sleepy, "was sorta wondering. Are you on your way home?"

"If I don't freeze to death, yeah."

"Yeah - no, yeah," and that's it. That's the sum total of what makes any difference between where you were a moment ago, and where you are right now, head spinning, fingers buzzing. Hyeju waits and there's the wind on the line, snow settling on your hat and in the corners of your face.

"I - sorry. I probably woke you up. Are you expecting someone else," you say, very small. Your foot drags behind the other. The cars whizz by you faster, passing.

"Hm. You're the only one, I guess," and after that - just static and the muffled sounds of her footsteps on creaky floorboards - or the tick of her ceiling fan? You can't make heads or tails of the rest of the background noise. All those words she said.

You bite your tongue to stop whatever curse words start pouring out from the jumble and cross streets, or the pedestrian underpass; snow gets stuck in your lashes and burns, but your chest is like a molten furnace. You consider telling her right there on the line, everything you're feeling - so hot, it feels like fire, Hyeju, I'm not used to getting heated and desperate and impatient - that even if you're not here now - just imagining your face - the sound of your breathing, it feels like I'm on the cusp.

"Yeah. Sure - good - okay, Hyeju."

"I guess, see you soon?"

"In a bit."

(It takes 33 minutes, trudging through cold and wet. It's all very dramatic, you think, and there's no one there to even watch you suffer for it, or - though you try not to think about that particular line - really, no one at all.)

You hear the way your key grinds in the lock - it's been like this, jammed since summer, when you pushed the front door in late at night a little too hard and something came undone and made a sound like a small stone tumbling down the world's deepest well. The hinge squeaks, and there's ice on the stoop, on the doormat, on every nook and corner you can see, all the way up your neck.

And your face, too. You shake off your hat, undo the buttons on your jacket, and pull off your boots before hanging them and all the layers to dry.

You can make out the outline of her profile at the edge of the door frame, right in the kitchen - barefoot, hip pressed against the island, pajamas - the dim lights illuminating the shadow of her head, hair over her face -

- but you don't pause. The next layer. There's nothing left to say. You're too cold for excuses, too smart to use the same ones you'd been taught, like: this is a normal, acceptable circumstance; everything, anything, will be perfectly normal if the two of us act as though that's the case; pretend we're both acting within the norms of reason, within our senses and logical thinking and I won't make myself go out in the cold a second more - won't stand for more than five minutes with your eyes looking like they're waiting.

So you move instead toward the kitchen, where the heating is better and she's already pouring coffee. There's a heat radiating out of the oven, and it smells sweet in there, like cinnamon and warm butter, and you wish you weren't still shaking, blood barely thawed, but there it is - her face, watching you - eyes gleaming as you wrap your hands around a mug, steam rising up - a shiver running up your arms; her knees skirting yours when she takes one step back and there's the cabinet door shut, then open again, and then a palm on your back.

Hyeju presses a cup of the fresh coffee, now warm enough to drink, to your chest, and says, softly. "What the fuck happened out there?"

She starts reaching out to wipe the frost and slush from your face. You let her hand hold you still, eyes wide.

"Oh you know," and her palm stays, even though it's obviously - suddenly - gotten warmer, and wetter too, and the longer she stands there and lets her fingers warm the pale bones of your cheeks, her wrist, the base of your forehead and ears, the more expectant the look on her face grows. "The usual."

Her eyes go as narrow as they ever can. For just a moment. "You're gonna die a slow, pathetic death someday, just for the record."

"Don't forget how this starts," you try, and feel your neck go warm, throat and breath tight. And not even when her shoulders shift, her mouth going smug - just looking at you.

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone you actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

When Hyeju sighs and gives a long, nonchalant hum, leaning her body closer, pressing up until her waist hits the cabinet top and you're pressed together chest-to-chest, she looks at you and her hips settle, the heel of her foot reaching around your calf.

There's that tingle. Again and again. You're not even trying to not think about what it might mean.

But then, you start, silently and unconsciously, trying to answer the question: why don't you, maybe. Why don't you, actually - Hyeju kisses you, pulls on the loop of your jeans and lets your lips brush the corners of hers and pulls away, suddenly, mumbling and head-turning. And just as abruptly, your nose buries in the space between her neck and her shoulder, where it's all warm. And when she puts her palms on your hips and squeezes and twists her knuckles into the fabric there, it seems she wants your hands up her shirt and under the small of her back.

And her hands - they're fidgety tonight, fingers curled up to keep their nails and the chill away, moving lower - one on your ass, while the other comes forward and begins rubbing circles, a handful of times - enough so you're letting a deep, low breath escape into the space just above her collar, your knee working its way between hers.

"That," Hyeju breathes, lips at your ear, hand reaching down to trace the hard curve of your cock pressing in the spot right between you, and there's that small rush again, familiar now, like you've caught a rhythm and she wants to feel it in its fullness: "is how you can make it up to me. For making me stay up. Worrying about you, god knows why. Waiting."

You're still half-frozen in a way, slowly thawing. "Hyeju, I've been trudging through the consequences of my actions this entire night. What am I about to suffer through now?"

"It's no consequence, honestly."

You squint.

"Just an idea, but," she breathes again; your bodies getting closer, and looking up at you, she grins and reaches down to touch the very root of you, her fingers drumming. You make a sound, and at that she says, her voice coming out thick, low:

"Want me to get you off?"

She squeezes again for good measure, just to be clear. Just a slight curl of fingers that's enough to send a flash of heat and the transient thought: why, why, why is she always wearing those fucking shorts, even in the winter?

Your blood thrums through the pulse at the end of your cock. You shake.

"Alright," is the response you let out.

And at that, Hyeju takes your wrist and leads you upstairs.

"There's that look. Don't worry. We'll find a way," is all she says as your feet walk forward, up step-by-step and higher and further up to her room. "After all, isn't that what we've always done?"

"It's usually whatever will make me stop talking."

Hyeju puts her chin on your shoulder. Her eyes follow the lines and shapes in the patterns of wallpaper as you turn onto her side of the apartment, and even through the wall and behind the doorway, her arm still around you, she pulls at your chin until your faces turn and you both can share each other's heat.

"Who, you and your awful habit of talking out-loud in your head while you work through equations?" and she brings her lips to yours, close and warm.

"Hey. Fuck you," and your voice breaks into an odd, low laughter when she kisses you harder.

"Yeah, I know," she whispers as her hand dives past the band of your boxers, palm sliding easily until she's gripping you fully and letting her fingers rub. She holds you there, in her room, her arm looped through yours, another arm resting at your belly.

And she stops there. She stays like that: holding your gaze.

"Look, Hyeju," you say, unable to not, though this can hardly count for anything; this, what you're about to admit, is nothing new. You swallow. "The thing is - you shouldn't."

"Don't want me to touch you?" she says, finger to your lips.

"Well, that's different. Maybe. Is there - maybe it's not the best thing to ask you right now."

Hyeju considers for a brief moment and tuts under her breath. "Can you at least do me the decency of waiting until I'm done wringing you dry before you say shit like that."

And she moves then, toward the bed.

So:

No. Yes. Maybe. Who knows, you tell yourself. Maybe, but only because you'll do anything if it makes you feel less sick, like a creature standing over its own skeleton - an abandoned shell; a relic, something to be feared and disgusted, as you let her go between your thighs, kneel beside the bed.

"I mean - since when - have you felt," is just as far as you're allowed to go before Hyeju presses her nose into you and pulls you out of the thin, cold fabric - palm, thumb, all those slender fingers swiping over your head - and now there's just the smell of her room and the shock, the buzz that runs down your spine and settles somewhere, somewhere inside the small and desperate movement of your hips and the tension building just below.

And god, fuck, Hyeju’s lips.

These soft, wet, pouty fucking things that could suck you straight off if you were feeling any less stupid or inexperienced or sentimental - if she wasn't solely intent on teasing it out of you first; a slow drag of the tongue up the underside; the tip of it poking, tracing the rim, like she's figured you out, just where to lead you. She's ready to smoke you out - always - until you're not taking in a breath every ten seconds but starting to close your eyes to the overwhelming, needling pleasure, too sharp, the way she knows you like best.

"Now you're finally - mm - starting to sound hot," and that smirk comes back to the corner of her mouth, teasing the sensitive belly of your cock and tracing her tongue everywhere. "With the voice and -"

You're losing track, her thumb and fingers circling the whole length of you - just, one after the other - mouth a hair-breadth away, her breath hovering like a promise.

"- that face."

"Don't, fucking tease me-"

The sound of your cock going in is like nothing else.

Wet and filthy in all the right ways.

Just the suction in her throat has your eyes nearly roll back into your head - Hyeju's gaze calmly watching the terrible sort of helplessness that washes over you like this: her lips wrapped around, bobbing - her hair falling into the wet mess of her mouth and sticking there. Hyeju likes being a little sloppy, likes feeling that spark run up the length of her tongue when she slides. It's the wet and the heat that gives everything away.

"I don't have much of a choice -" her jaw and chin is smudged when she pulls back off of your cock, mouth glossy and glistening, "and honestly, wouldn't it be a better use of our time, or my talents if I actually do that thing?"

“Which is?”

She looks up for a bit and sighs, the flush blooming pink to the tip of her ears and into the rounds of her cheeks and all across her neck. "Since, as far as I can see, what you really like - is, oh I'm just spit-balling here," and she stops just to bite her tongue and look into your eyes, "it's letting the girls take care of you? Isn't that right?"

You want to tell her, no, not always, that it's not as though you enjoy giving control completely - that that would be completely and unarguably, the opposite of true -

That most of the time you love it when the person you're with is a little bossy, a little crazy for you. You know some guys really get off on a strong woman and maybe, maybe if a girl's pretty and dressed up, and - sure - a little wet, but that's hardly -

“You know I’m right,” she says, a flicker of mischief skittering across her features. “These walls are paper thin.”

You want to tell her, perhaps remind her, that she likes someone in charge just as much as you do - to be taken care of, told what to do - to have a hand curled up around her throat and the other at her tits while a guy fucks her the right way and takes the reigns when she needs. So who are you, when it comes to knowing her better? And who, really, are you fooling?

But before you can get any words in: Hyeju dips, lips parting where the head of your cock throbs, and then disappears; and the hot wet warmth, enveloping all around your shaft and back; the curve of her throat contracting.

You moan - a lot, and louder this time - into the whole feeling. The way her fingers work the distance from the base, twisting and twisting and twisting into the pout of her lips; or how the sound is like nothing - a whimpering, messy sound - almost a whine and definitely not a slurp as your cock sinks further and further, until it's all one big, heavy throb.

And it's like Hyeju can read your thoughts, the visual you have of her lips screwed tight around your shaft - cum leaking from the corners, and her eyes scrunched up tight, as she looks up to watch your face unravel - this perfect image of her taking you, all of you, swallowing each drop as your hips start rutting up into her and - and - and.

Or else she gets impatient, because then Hyeju gives one long pull off the tip of your cock - saliva mixed in the precum there, and that shiny string of fluid hanging, caught in the middle between your bodies - a disgusting and irresistible sight. Her jaw slack, lips swollen and full, and her mouth gone wide open, wanting.

"Fuck - that's good. Don't stop," you start to whimper, desperate, at the sight, the smell. Her hot breath coming quick over the red wanting wetness left behind - then touched by the cold air - fuck -

She slaps your cock to the corner of her lips as she speaks.

"Can you believe what's going on down here?"

"God, can you -"

"And to think most guys wanna jump straight in. That or fuck a load out between my tits."

"Hyeju, shit, come on -"

She kisses the soft tip, right where it’s most sensitive, rolls it along her lip. Then, back down the length of your shaft where she's generous with her mouth inch after inch - lapping, licking, laving - and Hyeju begins working her way down and downward, nestling in at the edge of the bed and between your thighs.

Your eyes blow up the first time she dips low enough to put your balls in her mouth.

“Mmhm,” she hums.

It’s killing you and she knows it; it’s killing you and she can feel the pre-cum leaking from your slit - the thumb she has moored there, keeping everything right where she wants it, running circles up the length with such little intention - she could bring you to the end just like this.

"Am I supposed to believe it?” she asks out from beneath the shadow of your cock, looking up at you with her eyes all wide and brilliant - pupils dark as sin. “That not a single one of those girls ever did you proper?"

You curse under your breath. Hyeju seems amused, at least, like she can't help but love doing that to you, which is almost worse and honestly the sexiest thing a girl can be. You groan - wanton, raw and desperate and feeling exactly what she wants you to feel when her nails drag along the dip of your hip bones.

"Did they not leave you fucked-up the right way?"

Her wrist flicks out these twists and turns, making your spine bend to her control. Like even when you're sure to be bundling her hair in your fingers and fucking the whole length of your cock down her throat, all of this is the worst kind of power-trip for her - not the other way around.

Her tongue runs through the tangle of your balls, slowly, lasciviously, as though the plan is to memorize and map every detail.

And the worst part is, how much it's making you desperate for the warmth of her mouth - where she'll run her tongue up and down and over and around and inside - before sucking you off nice and slow.

"Or maybe," she laughs; another flick to the top and then suddenly her hand goes faster and the fist pumping the rest of you tightens. "They left you so needy you're resorting to having the bestie suck you off so that you won't be desperate the next time you date. Oh my god-"

Hyeju breaks into this fit of laughter, and you're nearly cross-eyed at the feeling of your entire existence - not just your cock - so wholly held within her mercy, and her pity, and you're breathing so shallow now you'd think this is the real reason people have died and will die - this exact moment where you're choking and stuttering at the edges, so very close to cumming and going absolutely bonkers with how good Hyeju is with her hands, her tongue, her mouth - everything - how much she's wrecking you, and your jaw drops, wide open, her name dripping like molasses off your lower lip.

"Are you going to cum?" she asks, curiously. All as if she can't see you nodding, collapsing under pressure, and then and there: "should we make it official?"

Her nose tickles the seam of your balls. And your toes begin to curl and uncurl - all this anticipatory, coiling pleasure burning from her throat, shooting from the pit of your stomach; the tightening spiral, twinging and stretching every nerve - as her lips enclose around the end of your cock, softly.

And oh, just excruciatingly slowly.

You watch the irresistible shape of her mouth travel down until her throat feels so incredibly, beautifully, and unbelievably tight, and then, just like that - Hyeju starts fucking herself onto you; pushing forward and down the full, rigid length of you, hard and fast - each time hitting deeper inside her - all that sticky, messy, wet squelching.

"Unh-unh, yeah. Unh. Mm-!" you say, or moan, or some animal version of that, maybe, it’s incoherent.

But regardless:

It's messy and your hands scramble for purchase in the sheets of her bed when you feel that snap, the tightening of a trigger; when your balls roll up and it builds, and builds, and it comes faster - harder and -

"Hyeju," you pant, and it sounds so, so filthy. "I'm gonna cum, if you - gonna cum-"

Hyeju pulls you free from her lips, quite possibly at the most final of final moments, to rub the base up and down, just right, between her fingers. Your cock is resting right on her cheek when it all happens. When she squeezes her fingers around your balls just enough to hear you wheeze and make a sound no sane man should have the right to. And fuck, you're cumming all over her face - or just one side of it - which is already just -

Okay, fuck.

She makes a startled sound and her fist closes tightly around your shaft when you pump another fresh load of white up onto her eyebrow.

"I'm, ah-shit," your mouth moves faster than the blood in your veins - and now the shame - oh god, the humiliation, it's pulsing right behind you. "Hyeju," you apologize.

Only, Hyeju has no interest in any of it. She doesn't seem offended or disappointed in proportion to how you're ruining her pretty face: "no, just do it, cum wherever you fucking like."

Which isn't what you're expecting at all, because Hyeju makes no effort to close her lips, let alone avoid any of it; nor is she making a fuss about the sticky mess in her hair, her mouth, nor as another stream of cum throbs from your cock, all tangled up in the long dark eyelashes that sweep down across her cheek.

It’s fucking filthy: you're cumming all over her and she's just kneeling there, telling you, "good boy."

See, she pushes through it, languidly - all those filthy sounds, and those watery little tears gathering at the edge of her eye and all of that, mixing up together until you're rolling your head back with your orgasm, shuddering, feeling weak - drained dry -

Except,

Hyeju's pushing a finger to your chest, kneeling up tall from the side of the bed. She turns her body toward the center of the bed and wipes a bit of the cum on her knuckles into the sheets. Here you feel like you've done something terrible or at least regrettable, like that last round at the bar when you have a test the next morning; a dick move, all of the sort that requires apology.

"You gotta give me a minute, if you're thinking about hopping on."

"Hmm. Sounds like a lot to ask."

"Wait," you grab her arm. Hyeju grins and there's nothing stopping the shake of your knees now, that weakness between your thighs: "let me get you a drink."

"Or."

"Or?"

Her tongue peeks out, running along her upper lip. Her eyes drop again, hands dipping below, beneath the hem of her shorts and oh. She slips a hand past her bra. The whole outline of it. And you -

"Mm, I could show you what that actually means." She lowers her chest, her breasts, and a lot of skin to the mattress while keeping your cock firmly in her hands. "That look tells me you wanna stick around a bit. Stay up past New Year’s, you know?"

You're almost unable to parse her words, there is so much to look at: the jutting curve of her chest, cleavage pressing into the mattress as her body settles between your knees. A soft chuckle; a sigh: "you are seriously the best lay, no-one else can get hard the minute after they just fucking exploded all over me-"

"Fuck, watch it," you hiss, because there's oversensitivity - and then there's Hyeju's mouth on the line of your cock, polishing you clean.

And it’s not that she isn’t trying to prove a point. Or that she's not trying to tease - that's an inherent quality of her character: a naturally dominant position with a high appetite for your lust. That much, Hyeju gets from you, whether you've got your head down between her thighs or the other way, too, so that her neck is arched around and her ass pushed up high in the air, legs open, and if she had any idea you would spend the next twenty minutes or more just going down on her, licking into her creaming cunt while two fingers work over her aching clit, then really, Hyeju would only encourage it - maybe get on top, force you to gag - and so you don't know where it comes from - how and why you want nothing more than to drive your fingers inside her and work her until she's a wet, squelching mess, not when this was always Hyeju's role of being the aggressor; and yes, sure, even the aggressed.

Surely not because you came so hard, still somewhat shivering with the remnants of a rather abrupt, painful, sudden and all-consuming orgasm.

"We're not doing anything else," she says, lips pulled up into a smirk right at the crown of your cockhead. But before you can respond she pushes a hot open kiss, and goes lower. She presses the flat of her tongue to the seam, just below the head. Licks a line right up to the tip and finishes with a tender flick that sends you fisting the bedspread in your fingers and leaning back as your mind begins to disintegrate -

"I'm not going to ride you yet, or going to get my hips in your hands so you can fuck my pussy real hard until I cry and pass out. Nothing of that sort is gonna happen." She licks one long drag of her tongue. Then, the other way. "I want to make this very clear: this isn't some huge favor - and if you want it - want it so bad, you can stay there and I'm going to do everything for you. We will get there - together," and with her voice shaking as she brings the wet, glistening skin of your cock just inside her mouth, she looks up. "We'll get each other off, just like this," and it's the deep, dark, throated moan that makes your thighs and all the nerves in between stiffen and buck when she swallows you again.

Hyeju's hands tug, pull her whole body closer still as it slowly bends, curves - her ass raised, her stomach lying on the bed. Her mouth takes you another few inches, until the tip of her nose is barely visible, but when she pauses to lick the cum still left over - the cum that's starting to leak out again - to breathe through it, then squeeze her palm and bob her mouth down, take another inch, until the sides are stuffed and emptying out again, that's when she finally has something to say: "got anything left? I'm a little starved."

"I. Christ, yes-" you whine, which doesn't help your case at all: the image, the image of you lying flat - back with Hyeju's head tucked between your knees, her hand pulling out your cock.

Sloppy, slimy-wet.

She presses an innocent, not-at-all-innocent kiss right to your tip, puckering -

"You know what I did learn in that genetics class?" she muses, tongue flicking over her lips. Hyeju's about ready for a second helping - you're losing it. "When I first saw that DNA diagram - the double helix and all those little base pairs, and everything - it made me think of your cock. Your cock and me. Specifically our DNA. Did you know-"

She presses her palm over the head and rolls it - teases and strokes her palm - her knuckles - her fist - the whole nine. "When I hold your big fucking cock, mm, and just get it right - up in here, rubbing all along my walls - so deep, it gets me in my fucking ribs, makes me choke like I never been choked before, ah-mm," and it's this thought sliding toward the front of your mind, this perfect picture: Hyeju, getting fucked hard and open and stuffed full and stuffed good and stupid; you’ve got more than a few inches on her, can make her feel small and delicate; you know how to do her right.

But here you have Hyeju stroking the shaft - holding her hand tightly up near the head, rolling and twisting and sliding down and pushing her whole body right into the side of your legs: the soft, solid length, warm flesh and curves everywhere pressing into you.

You sit back, and just watch Hyeju with her eyes cool and composed, like half of her fucking face isn't streaked with your cum, mouth wrapped and looking fucking satisfied to be a total, gorgeous mess. She makes a dramatic display of kissing the tip again, just before telling you words you probably dreamt up at some point - either sleep deprived, or, during three AM jackoff, fantasizing. "Sometimes, just from riding your cock, I can't sit up straight."

"Fuck," and you feel your whole body run rigid, because apparently that's something you’ve been aching to hear.

You're covering her mouth again. White streaking onto her lips - where she's catching it in the well beneath her tongue and letting it spill out of the corner of her mouth. Into the crook of your thumb, which catches a drip here and there and rubs it down the length - down the curve - and pushes it back between Hyeju's pert little pout.

"Doesn't count, mister, just more pre-cum," she says, all with the audacity of a wink and smile; her words are a little garbled around the head of your cock between her teeth. And when you nod and realize just how painfully your jaw hurts, your throat becomes tight and raw, a knot pulling the underside from the center. Hyeju slides her lips lower, lower down, to the hilt and stays there, just like that - one hand holding down the flat of your belly to keep your hips still, her chin hanging - bobbing-as she feels every pulse, every twitching shift. You curl one hand around the side of her face, over the sharp edge of her jaw; rub a thumb into the delicate skin of her throat.

She shifts. You start to tell her what you like: how hot the rush comes when a girl puts her tongue against the slit at the very tip, and licks at the precum in nice, quick circles, soft and fluttering. And how her fingers shouldn't hesitate either, Hyeju's not even struggling to give it to you - god - just giving and -

She jerks her head up, swallowing down her next breath like it's one of her last. "I'm serious, if you're going to fuck a hole, start with my mouth - we can move onto everything else after."

"You're ridiculous -"

She meets her lips to your head, kissing once. Again. Kissing every inch, letting her mouth wrap around and then just - staying, just - staying like that and humming, with you, enjoying the fullness, the smell of you, the taste, the shape, just the weight and size and you.

There is spit fucking everywhere.

And if it's not clear what you're supposed to be doing - her fingers weave through yours, squeezing hard at the wrist and you can imagine: pulling her forward by her hair and holding her down while she chokes on your cock. "Fuck, Hyeju," you say, and your voice comes out way shakier than you'd like, "when, how did it get like this, huh? You always - always did, shit, always want your mouth filled."

"Never figured you to be someone who'd get turned on watching their friend sucking their cock like this."

"Doesn't everybody love the sight of their cock in a pretty girl's mouth?

"You were really convinced they weren't lining up behind you? Or anyone in the queue who can't keep their eyes off of this thing. Tell me, and try not to lie, try not to bullshit this one out: how many girls have you come home and fucked and creamed their brains out - then asked for the sloppiest, most -"

"Honestly."

"- Filthiest, nasty, ball-busting, gut-wrenching blowjob ever to make them think - to make them really start wondering what the hell it was you did - like it's gotta be something that leaves them so ruined, they can't ever not compare - can't ever not compare this moment, right here. Ever. When you give them the hardest fucking of their life, compared to any other guy - can't not, because no-one, literally no-one's cock can fuck like you do-"

"Fuck-"

"Any harder. Come on, seriously, tell me it isn't true. Come on."

Her voice - her fucking words, the tone she uses and how her words roll: honey-warm and soaking with sweet, thick degradation - she talks like sex, and that's exactly what gets you harder, like it’s something else; like it’s nothing, like it’s less, so much worse - you feel this guilty-dirty heat pool at your tailbone and push down the hard press of you throbbing all the way to her nose. And Hyeju smiles as much as she's capable around the fat, round stretch, humming around the warm taste of you, before opening wide and sinking her throat on it.

There's nothing like it.

You've got two fists in her hair; she's so tight and wet around every god-damn inch. Her cheeks flush - hot to the touch; her tongue laving in slow, long drags, slicking your shaft nice and warm until you're balls-deep and pushing her further: a small shift to the hips, a push here, a harder, faster pull, and Hyeju's feet behind her go curling like an angry cat, wanting the tug.

A long, satisfied breath slips from the hollows of her throat.

There are tears threatening, thickening her lashes, and though she doesn't choke - you're just afraid. Every sound that she pulls out, her eyes blinking up to you as if it's only natural to love getting used by her friend's cock, like the very premise of it - swallowing down the very shape of you, dragged over her tongue and brushing cum into the back of her throat - is something she can’t go without.

But this is nothing compared to the noises from where her lips are pressed tight around you, where you're hearing and even feeling:

That gluck, gluck - where her chest spasms just the slightest when her nose gets nuzzled right into your belly and you remember how much she likes to hear you talk dirty, how fucking wet it gets her. The heavy, deep breaths, gasps; the strangled moans when your hips just buck - the heat and the thrill, and this is better than every other time because there's just something in this moment -

"I'm not gonna come again, not like this. Not in your mouth. You can’t-"

But Hyeju refuses to hear a word; just pumps your shaft faster, feeling it's familiar hardness grow and throb and ache and retch, all her effort paying off: you're slick with precum and spit, hard and straining, the whole shaft begging for release - all because of her. And Hyeju won't stop, she pushes her cheek onto your thigh and then taps a hand there to pull your hips. The motion drives your cock further still inside her. Until it’s bathed in her spit, your cum, all this mess.

Until it's reaching, choking her, and the muffled sounds she's making are filthy and wet and so incredulously hot.

But god. Hyeju has something of a temper and a habit, too: with those big beautiful eyes and the perfect plump of her pouting lips, her tits swelling up around, when your grip slips on her shoulder, and her mouth goes tighter - how the pleasure begins to make you unbearably cruel and you push her away from you, only for a second -

She doesn't wait or seem to care; Hyeju follows the cock with her whole head and whimpers so hotly in her throat when it plops right back on her tongue. "That's more - more like - fuck, oh, there we go," her nose and fingers prodding.

You groan through a high, strangled whimper, a helpless shiver that turns into an uncontrollable roll of the hips - you can't believe it: she's already so thoroughly debauched and defaced; just fucking painted with it. Your cum dripping off her chin and rolling down her neck.

"Fuck - gonna make me - ah, Jesus -"

When Hyeju seems to have reached her fill, the feeling, you're cumming - pumping the length of your shaft. And the moment she feels you twitch and throb and that first hot spill lands in the bend of her mouth, it's as if she understands and holds herself tight - her legs going stock-still while your eyes blow up behind her, your cock spewing another and then another thick, milky load into her mouth, over her tongue: all along the topography of her throat - sticky cum landing in every ridge and valley -

Hyeju catches as much as she can. What little she can. You cum and pump and gush so much that when you're finally finished - done - every last drop spent and given - your cock throbs soft between her fingers; her chin is a complete and utter mess and her chest heaves with the sound of her catching her own breath. Hyeju groans softly and just swishes the load around in her mouth for a bit as if wanting to remember its feel and weight before lifting her eyes to look into yours. You can just barely see the color.

"Jesus, Hyeju-"

The entire bit of it, slick and shining-wet. With a small moan, a sound from the back of her throat: one swallow and the cum is gone, disappeared, vanished. She smiles like she didn't just ruin your entire goddamn life and, with her body limp and exhausted beside you - her gentle hand rubbing a flat stroke over your thigh before yours slips up to meet her chin.

"You," you curse and roll your eyes, catching the mess at the edge of her jaw, the very little left in the corners of her lips. You feed the cum over her bottom lip - her chin, her throat - watching your friend: Hyeju's throat, bobbing. "Really didn't have to," you start, but you realize just how useless a point it is to make.

She's smiling and biting and showing you what's left between the tips of her canines. "Do you always do this to the people who suck you off?"

"That's an awful habit. A pretty girl's lips aren't meant to get that messy," you reply.

"Oh." She frowns. "Well, I do a lot of things I shouldn't."

"God, seriously," and you think there's no greater hell, no sweeter pain than whatever's lingering in these little aftershocks - this fizzling and dying sort of pain, where the body is buzzed with all you're aching for. It's impossible to stop this train of thoughts, is the fucking feeling of her-

But just then, Hyeju rises to her knees, a new spark in her eyes, as she grabs ahold of your wrist and tugs you off the sheets, a few inches closer.

"And you," she purrs as she drags the palm of your hand across her neck and collarbone, collecting what remains and making the perfect image, "well - you are going to help clean me up, like you said before." She sits tall; the arch of her spine is pronounced - her back, so, very, slightly tapering, to where your hand slips right off the last of it: the wide flare of her hips. "Now isn't that the gentleman's thing to do?" she asks.

"Of course." You sigh, resigned and in desperate need of water. "Of course," you add and smirk a little and slip your hand lower, toward where her skin is getting hot, and her body, "let's get you clean."

"Mm." She's already grinning. "You know what wasn't in those textbooks?"

"Oh, I can only guess." You bite your cheek and start to lower yourself back. "Give it a try."

Hyeju drags you by the wrist toward the hall, the bathroom, ostensibly the shower -

"There's no way in hell you don't want to put a baby in me, like, right fucking now."

"Is that what we're doing?"

Hyeju makes a face like you're stupid - she might've grabbed a towel on the way out. She wipes her chin a little while walking - the corner of her mouth where, well - where it looks like a little dribble has somehow remained. "No. But you’re going to fuck me like it is."

(There's got so much on her mind.

The door of the shower rattling in its frame as she struggles standing up against it. Getting fucked so fast and full, the feeling of both your hands cupped beneath the weight of her breasts. It's not the fact of where you are and your situation, per say - more about the immediate, the imperative nature. About fucking you. She was already feeling herself like, leaking the moment the door shut, so all that waiting, all that patience, really - and it's what drove her insane when you were, well: like that, after she put her mouth around your cock, made a right and proper mess of herself, and sucked you off.

Though there's less on her mind, clearly, when she cums all over your cock.

She's crying with her tits up onto the glass, your palm holding her ribs. Your cum-slick cock working itself hard again as it slips, back and forth, as you're fucking her open, spread apart. It's your finger in her asshole. That's what's on her mind then. How the press of your knuckle lights her entire fucking spine on fire - how the other hand finds her clit in all this, too, when you're no longer supporting the both of you but rather Hyeju is folding on her bent knee and trusting, on shaking and shivering, raw nerves, that you're not going to collapse.

"Fucking. God, please-"

There's the harsh slap of flesh - skin on wet skin, your palms against the sides of her ass and the curve of the breast. But otherwise - it's you, sighing - soft and gentle, like you can't get over the feel of her. "Hyeju, oh-fucking, god, fucking," is what you're saying, and it doesn't end up really mattering which one of you came last because she can feel you twitching, squelching in and out with how badly you're wanting to explode inside, but also you can feel her cunt absolutely begging, this fucking fluttering and clamping down on every thrust and the moment you manage to grind this angle she loses her ability to speak properly because you're not just, like - fucking her-

Just, absolutely, completely pounding her pussy, stretching her insides, dragging and sliding along the walls; each rough rub and thrust makes her knees quiver until her body is trembling and falling. But mostly her voice, the sharp gasp that shakes into her, how her nails are scraping the walls of the shower stall and she's saying - telling, crying and asking and wondering and pleading - just utterly astounded:

"Amazing," she huffs, breathes coming out cloudy and true onto the pane of glass, "you - it’s, fucking amazing.")

“And I am… Ironman.”

Your eyes flicker awake, hazy, as Tony Stark snaps his fingers, killing himself alongside Thanos’ army in the process.

The TV's long been running on background noise, though not as ambient. Its characters now bickering between the rubble and ruins and being picked up for the end credits. In the dark of the screen, you see Hyeju had nodded off and slumped over the side of your body. A new year means new beginning means resolutions and diets and gym routines -

Maybe no sooner than the sun can come up, apparently.

You lean over to grab your phone from the table: 4:14 A.M.

There's a lot of things you want to say, even more you want to hear, but your mind has begun to settle a bit - a lazy and dreamy thing that fills you with this sort of, tired kind of - not sad, or empty - no, of course not. That's hardly fitting; not after tonight. You want to wrap this in an idealistic sort of sentiment - maybe hold Hyeju close and let the hour carry you and the comfort be enough to forgive whatever there is to miss: like the fact, it's still really dark, so dark even outside. The moon reflecting off the sheet of snow on the street. And not even a distant dog barking, or car driving by or someone playing loud music in the early hours of the new year.

As the film drifts off into another set of commercials, you slip into an easy sleep that feels effortless. Your head drops, landing on the cushion by the arm of the couch, where Hyeju's hand begins to slip mindlessly across your belly, tickling your waist and causing you to slightly squirm - things are cooling down, but still a little agitated.

"Don't tell me you're waking me up, cause I just -"

She kisses the pulse at your throat and answers, mumbling half-words into the spot below your ear. "A kiss for a new year."

And maybe the world doesn't owe you anything at all.

Maybe it just gave you more than enough.

#hyeju smut #loona smut #loona hyeju smut #loossemble smut #loossemble hyeju smut #olivia hye smut #loona olivia hye smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember

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alastor-simp · 10 days

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"Disgusting, Aren't They?" -Alastor w/out gloves x Female Reader

❥Summary- Alastor is almost never seen without gloves adorning his hands, but one particular day, he doesn't wear them, catching your eye.

❥Tags: Alastor x female reader, claws, Alastor hands, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, adorable, seeing Alastor hands for the first time, hint of spice, a bit of a spicy end, kissing, making out, alastor is a tease.

❥Notes: Here is the story I had ask all of you if I should write so here it is. Always wanted to know what his hands looked like, since he is always wearing gloves on his hands. Enjoy:)

"Ahh! What an eventful day it has been!" Alastor announced to the residents of the hotel, as he strode into the lobby. Upon him entering the room, everyone let out a gasp. His outfit was slightly ripped at the bottom with blood splattered all over him, head to toe. His gloves were dripping wet and certain chunks of unknown anatomy was on certain parts of his hair. He still had a smile on his face, but his gums were exposed in the smile, letting everyone know he was still pissed. No one uttered a word, unless they wanted to end up like the demon that had decorated his suit in their gore. Charlie was the one to break silence: "Umm Alastor. What happened to you?" Alastor didn't respond for a bit, but then he let out a boisterous laugh. "Oh nothing of importance, my dear. Well, I am off to my quarters. I'll leave my attire out by the door for you to pick up, Niffty." He looked down at Niffty, who just smiled at him, saying "Yes Sir", before he walked up the stairs, soon disappearing from everyone.

He may have left the room, but there were still bloody footprints left from him. The silence soon broke the room, with everyone questioning what the hell just happened, except Husk as he was used to that sort of stuff. “Did you see Smiles toots? He was marinated in that sh**? Angel leaned against you, while your head was still pointed to where Alastor walked off too. "Yeah..." was your only response back as you kept thinking about what the hell happened and also if Alastor was okay. He seemed find physically, but you were worried about emotionally since he seemed more ticked off then usual. You wanted to go and talk to him, but it seemed better to wait a bit until he cooled off.

The day went by normal as usual, just without the presence of a certain deer demon. He hadn't even come down for dinner, making you a bit worried. Having come to a conclusion, you decided to head up to his room, hopefully he has calmed down by now. You were few feet away from his room, when you noticed the bloody stain on the rug next to it. Ahh, Al probably left the bloody clothes outside for Niffty to grab. You felt hesitant to even knock. You had gotten close to Alastor since you have been at the hotel, and you didn't want to break the close bond you two had built just by doing this. He made it clear not to be disturbed, but you at least wanted to make sure he was okay after today's shocking events. Tapping on the door, you awaited for a response, but received nothing. You called out: “Alastor?”, but once again you heard no sound for the other side. “Listen, I know you don’t want to be disturb, but I wanted to come and see if you were okay. Is that alright with you?”

Silence was all you got back, but then you heard the sound of the door unlocking. You heaved a sigh of relief, glad that Alastor was allowing you to come inside. Turning the knob, you walked inside and let out a small gasp at the sight of Alastor. In his room, that was split between the hotel and the pocket dimension that fused into the corner sat Alastor. He was sitting on his bed, head facing down, not looking at you. The only difference is that he was not wearing his regular suit, he was bare in front of you. His chest was colored the same tone as him, but layered with a multitude of scars. A towel was wrapped around his neck, signifying that he had just taken a bath. His legs were still clothed thankfully, as it would be a shock if he was fully naked in front of you. A flush still made its way to your cheeks as this was the first time you have ever seen him so exposed.

“I’m sure I made it aware that I didn’t want to be disturbed, my dear.” He spoke, lifting his head to peer up at you, his signature smile slightly strained on his face, along with the loud static emanating from him. You turned your head away, embarrassed: while telling Alastor that you were aware, but you still wanted to see him especially since he wasn’t present for dinner. His eyebrow arched at your little reaction, wondering why your cheeks were colored scarlet. It soon clicked for him, and he started smirking, glowing crimson eyes filling with amusement. “Something wrong, my dear?”, his static voice held a bit of smugness to it as you continued to look away from him. “N-nothings wrong. Just…um….you alright?” You looked back at him, rubbing your neck.

Alastor smile sorta dropped for a bit, before going back to normal: “Everything is splendid!” You continued to eye him before asking “Are you sure?” The smile he held became strained again and he turned his head down again. You slowly walked up to his bed, but refused to sit down unless he gave you the okay. His eyes peaked at you, observing you until he nodded his head, letting you know it was fine to sit next to him. You slowly sat down a few inches from him, since you knew about his boundaries. None of you uttered a word, just sat in pure silence. You decided to break it asking him once again if he was okay. A soft sigh left his lips as he lifted his head back up again to look at you, this time without a smile.“Had a little run-in with one of Vox’s goons when on my afternoon stroll. Their constant praddle was nothing of importance to me, and I continued to ignore them. Until that s͓͎̠̾̓͑c̢͖͇̀͘ò̺̦̪͛͘u̡̪͙̾͒̓n̪͍̠̾͛͠d̘͓̘͆̓͝r̞̼͆̚e͎̓̓̔͜͜l̞̘͚̾̿ threw an insult regarding my dear mother. After that….well, let’s just say that d͍̞͉̿̾̈́e͙̘̝͛͒̚m̺͉̿́͐͜o̞͙͋̈́͌n͔̘̞͐̈́͊ w͓͇͕̐̓͘i̝̝̝͋̓l̘̟̠̿̈́͘l͓̼͎̔̓͊ n̘͉̪͌͑͝o͔̠̔͌͛͜ l͍͓͔̐̀͝o͎̙̙̿͋n̼̟̻̓͘͠g̫̺͍͋̈́͠e͔̞̟͛͝͝r͔͍͙̈́͋̐ b̝̪͑͘͠e̪̠̺̿͋͋ s͕͉̪̈́͒͝e̻̼͔͒̓̕e͉͎̔͋̚n̢͓̞̓͌́ ö͚̻́̿͠r͓͓̼̿̿͝ h͇̻͆̀͆ë̠͓́͒̓a͖̞̝͋͝r̦̞͊͘̚d͔͙̼͛̓ f͍͚͑̀͠r̫̫͍͒͒͝o̡͇͚̓͘m̙͍̼̀͊̒ a̦̺̻͆̓̽g̠͙̓̔̽a̡͖̻͛͌̔i͎̞̝̔͑͆n̢̺͊͛͘."

The air grew thick with static, and the walls began to darken with shadows. His crimson eyes had switched into radio dials, that only appeared when he was enraged. You felt your body tensed up, as you had never seen Alastor so infuriated that he would drop his signature smile. Part of you wanted to hug him while the other wanted to respect him with his touch aversion. Slowly moving your hand, you placed it on his back, rubbing small circles on it. A loud snarl was heard next to you, his radio dialed eyes watching you. You said nothing but wore a kind smile at him. The both of you continued to stare at each other, as the static began to die down and his eyes had returned to normal. He seemed apologetic, as he knew you were only trying to provide him comfort, something he was not experienced in a long time. "Forgive me. I did not mean to frightened you." Shaking your head at him, you told him it was alright and continued to rub his back.

The both of you remained in peaceful silence for a few minutes, as your eyes stayed on Alastor, observing him. Your irises soon locked on to his hands, which made you let out a small "oh" as it was the first time you had seen his hands without gloves. Alastors ears picked up on the sound you made and looked at you, curious. He followed the direction of your eyes to his hands, then back to you. "Oh sorry, just...it’s the first time I have seen you not wearing gloves." A silent laugh let his lips, as he lifted one of his hands up, clenching and unclenching his fingers. "Ahh yes, they were in dire need of a wash." You couldn't keep your eyes off them. Hesitating, you looked up at Alastor while you fidgeted with your hands. "Can...can I observe them?" He stilled for a second at your words, not expecting you to say that. Shrugging his shoulders, he moved to face you, and extended one of his hands out. "I don't see why not."

Moving your hands, you lifted his up and began to study it. His arms stilll contained scars, but instead of his regular skin tone, they were dyed a charcoal black. At the top of his hands were long red nails that extended out. They seemed very sharp just by looking at them, His palms were big and slightly cold to the touch as you began to trace your fingers over it and the markings on them. Alastor felt goosebumps starting to appear at your soft caresses. His crimson eyes continued to look at you, observing how intrigued you looked. "Disgusting, aren't they?" Alastor voice rang out, breaking your concentration. Wait what? Disgusting? You eyed him with confusion, wondering why he said that. Alastor held a somber smile, before it enlarged to show all of his sharp teeth. "Well these hands have caused many atrocities, in hell and when I was alive. They are stained, filthy, hideous."

When Alastor continued to watch you, he was put off by your sadden expression. Slowly, you began to raise his hands, closer to your face. Leaning closer, you pressed on kiss on his fingers, causing him to jolt it shock. It didn't end there, you continued to trail kisses from his fingers to the back of his hand, before you finally stopped. Using your other hand to grab the other, you lifted them both up and placed them on your cheeks, as you smiled up at Alastor. "While it is true that you have done many unholy actions with these hands, they still are strikingly beautiful." It felt like someone one was squeezing his chest. Alastor felt his a warmness radiating from his cheeks, and he could pick up the swishing sounds from his wagging tail. What a lovable doll you are!

It happened so quick, one second you were looking at Alastor and then the next, he was in front of your face, pressing his lips against yours. Eyes shooting up, you were left stunned. Alastor was kissing you right now?! His eyes were closed, as he inched a bit closer, continued to hold your soft cheeks. His kiss was timid and unsure, showing how inexperienced he was. He bit at your lip, telling you to open your mouth. Heading his request, you loudly moaned into the kiss as your tongues began to intertwine. His lips curved a bit into a smirk, finding your sounds enticing. The both of you soon fell against his bed, with Alastor on top of you, his warm scarred body touching yours. The kiss soon broke, leaving you a panting mess. Alastor leaned up at bit, his hands moving from your cheeks to being placed on the bed, allowing himself to gaze at you. Your eyes were glazed with desire, lips wet from all the kissing, and cheeks colored scarlet. A static chuckle erupted from him, as he began to trace his fingers on your lips. "What a vexing expression. Keep looking at me like that and I won't be able to control myself." His voice had deepened, lacking his usual radio effect, causing your heart to race.

He had leaned back up, this time sitting on top of you, moving his hands to your sides. "Since you find my hands so attractive, is there anything you want me to do with them? Tell me, darling. What do you desire~?" His hands began to stroke your sides, causing you to gasp. They traveled from your sides, to your belly, then arriving at your chest, giving the soft mounds a squeeze. Gasping out a moan, you called out his name. Alastor still held a devilish smirk, eyes full of lust as he tilted his head, waiting for your answer. "Darlingggggg~? I'm waitingggggggg~." Singing out to you, he continued his ministrations, causing you to moan. Biting your lip, you felt embarrassed to tell him what you wanted. "touch me", was what you whispered out. "Louder, my dear." Alastor expression was filled with mischief. You knew he heard you, but he wanted to keep tormenting you. "Touch me, Alastor." you said again a bit louder. Alastor chuckled, leaning down again to his original position on top of you, one hand place on the bed to hold himself up. "Where exactly? Apologies, my dear, but you weren't very clear with your directions." Rolling your eyes, you looked away from him, telling him he knew where.

"There are many places my hands could be, darling. Do you prefer them here?" His hand moved to your chest, squeezing it while his nail traced the little nub. You moan again, looking back at Alastor. "Or here?" His hand traveled now to your thigh, giving it a pinch. "Come now, my sweet. Tell me where? He was driving you insane. Your mind was in disarray from the pleasurable sensations as he continued to mess with your body. "Everywhere, Al! Touch me all over please!" A static laugh filled the air, as his crimson eyes eyed you hungrily. His hands soon returned back to your cheeks, as he leaned down, face in front of yours. "Good girl." was what he whispered out, as his lips descended back into yours, giving you another mind-numbing kiss.

-END-

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@lillylovesalastorsm1

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iovetecchou · 7 months

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What’s Your Motive? ⧸ Wriothesley.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Summary: Wriothesley is fed up with you constantly getting arrested for petty crimes. It's like you're trying to get locked up just to annoy him. Perhaps a different form of punishment for your crimes is in order.

༞ Contains...! smut, hatefucking, use of handcuffs, fucking through the jail cell bars, no prep, degradation, name calling (runt, cumslut), one use of "good girl", reader refers to Wriothesley as 'mister', cumshot, facial, subtle fluff because i am insane

༞ AFAB Reader.

༞ 1.920 words.

kinktober masterlist!

"I told you not to break the law. More than once."

Wriothesley deadpanned. His grip around your hand was tight as he took your fingerprints. You could tell he was concealing his rage, but the tremors coming from his large palm were a dead giveaway.

"Aww! Not happy to see me again, mister?" You snickered, purposefully making the process more difficult for Wriothesley. You kept smudging your prints; he had to start over twice already. There was no way in hell he was putting up with your shit tonight. He was stressed, and your constant reappearances here only added to the dogpile of dread.

"Guards, finish booking this runt. I need to make myself a cup of tea before I lose my mind." That last statement was more of a whisper to himself. But you were amused by it, regardless.

"Who you callin' a runt, huh?" You gasped in faux disdain, bumping shoulders with him as you feigned offense because of his little nickname for you. Wriothesley's large palm squeezed over yours once more as a warning before he walked off.

You clicked your tongue as you watched him walk away. You hated to see him go, but you loved to watch him leave.

Wriothesley wanted to gouge his eyes out as he heard you whistle while he descended the dark hallway. He knew you were directing the catcall at him and him alone. Every time you came to Wriothesley's precinct, you sought him out. He didn't understand your strange requests to be detained by him each time, and quite frankly, he didn't care.

But you both have been doing this little song and dance for months. You would get arrested for a minor crime, taken into custody for a few days, be released and repeat every few weeks. They were all petty crimes, proof enough to Wriothesley that you were committing them with ulterior motives.

Wriothesley had the graveyard shift tonight, which meant lots and lots of tea was in order to keep him functioning, especially now that you were back under his watch.

He was monitoring the security cameras as he sipped his favorite stress relief tea blend, nearly dropping his cup when he noticed you attempting to escape from your cell. Wriothesley sighed deeply, clenching his jaw as he shot up from his desk. Wasting no time, he made quick strides toward your section.

On his stride there, Wriothesley's anger toward you bubbled up from deep within. Each passing step caused him to become more and more agitated. He recounted all of the encounters you both had over the months. He didn't understand you in the slightest, and that just enraged him even further. What was your motive?

"Hey, runt. You seriously didn't think this pathetic attempt would work, right?" Your smirk grew tenfold from the sound of his voice.

"Nope, just needed an excuse to get ya down here!" You giggled, tilting your head up to meet his icy gaze.

Oh... he looked furious. Good.

He glared at you from beyond the bars, eyebrows ticked up in annoyance as he captured his cuffs. Wriothesley swirled them around his index finger before seizing them tightly. "Turn around and stick your hands out, now."

"Aww, but you only just got here! I wanted to admire your pretty face for a little lo—"

"Now."

His stern voice sent chills down your spine in the best way possible. You finally got him to break.

You followed his orders. Turning your back toward Wriothesley, leaning your back against the cool metal bars. You extended your arms behind you, letting them slip through the spaces of the metal cell.

Before you could question him further, Wriothesley cuffed your hands. Trapping you against the metal bars of your enclosure. You tugged against your restraints, tilting your head back and getting a glimpse of Wriothesley.

"Care to tell me what this is about, mister? Doesn't seem like protocol to me." You quipped, shooting a playful wink at Wriothesley. All of your sass was knocked out of you the moment he slotted himself against the bars. You could faintly feel the warmth radiating from his chest as his hands slipped past the metal poles.

"Keep fucking quiet, runt. There are other prisoners and guards here, you know. The world does not revolve around you." Wriothesley spat. Wasting no time tugging your flimsy pants and panties down your legs in one harsh tug.

Heat rushed through your core as the cool air hit your exposed lower half.

This was really happening? Fucking finally.

"Oh, I really got your panties in a twist this time huh, mister?" You pressed your ass further into the cell, trying your hardest to feel him closer. Your smirk only grew when you heard Wriothesley fumbling with his belt.

"I said, be quiet," Wriothesley whispered. You could feel his breath fanning over the tip of your ear as his hand crawled back through to grasp your hip. He hastily pulled his cock out of his confinements, slipping it through the cell bars. You choked on a whine as you felt the blunt head of his cock run through your folds.

"Oh? Now you got nothing to say? Who knew all you needed was some dick to put you in line." Wriothesley spat, cursing under his breath as he gathered your slick. "You're so fucking wet, too. What, don't tell me this was your plan all along? Such a filthy fucking runt."

A choked moan slipped past your lips as his cock pushed past the tight ring of your pussy. Wriothesley quickly slipped his other hand through the cell bars, slotting his large palm over your mouth. "Shut the fuck up." He mumbled against the shell of your ear, slamming his cock inside you to the hilt.

Your eyes rolled back in ecstasy as he filled you to the brim with his length. You could feel his thick cock pulsing inside you, his balls twitching from where they kissed the underside of your pussy. You had dreamt of this moment only a thousand times over, but the real thing exceeded your expectations.

Wriothesley wasted no time pounding into you relentlessly, barely giving you a moment to adjust. You drooled all over his fingers and gloves as your shameless whimpers and whines slipped out. However, the more you cried out in pleasure, the harder he fucked you.

"This pussy is so greedy, fuck." Wriothesley cursed, clenching his jaw tightly as he pulled your hips harshly to meet his thrusts. Your arms strained from the uncomfortable position they were in. But you couldn't care less. The feeling of Wriothesley's cock prodding your sweet spot overpowered that dull ache in your cuffed wrists.

You desperately longed to see the look of pleasure twisted on Wriothesley's face as he fucked you. But his deep grunts and groans of pleasure against your ear were mind-numbing enough.

You hardly tried to conceal your mewls of pleasure, too cock drunk to care if someone were to overhear. "If you don't shut that dirty fucking mouth of yours, you'll regret it." Wriothesley huffed, clamping his hand even tighter around your mouth. His thrusts were brutal. The sound of skin slapping against skin and the rattling of the steel rods echoed through the dark halls.

Quite ironic. Considering Wriothesley was the one telling you to be quiet.

If he wanted you to be quiet, then so be it. Your teeth sunk into the back of his fingertips, pulling a loud hiss from Wriothesley's lips. He chuckled deeply. Breath tickling the side of your face as his pace only quickened. The tip of his cock was nudging your cervix with each deep thrust.

"Good," He paused, grounding his hips into your ass as deep as he could through the bars.

"Fucking," Wriothesley pulled his hips back, tip nearly slipping out of your hot wet heat if it wasn't for the tight grip your gummy walls had on him.

"Girl." He slammed himself all the way back in with a loud, wet squelch. Wriothesley calling you a good girl, paired with the feeling of his cock rubbing against your g-spot was too much to bear.

You gushed around his cock as the coil within you snapped. Your teeth sunk into the rough material of his gloves as you came. Your pussy clenched and pulsed around his length as you struggled to stay up on your shaky legs.

Wriothesley cursed under his breath. Quickly, he pulled himself out of your tight, wet heat. He swiftly undid the lock on your cuffs. You collapsed to your knees, instinctively pulling your hands back through the bars. You nursed your wrists, cradling them to your chest as your legs trembled.

"Look at me," Wriothesley demanded breathlessly. You slowly turned on your knees, eyes widening as you faced him. He was fisting his cock furiously, a wild blush coating his cheeks as his icy orbs locked onto you. You felt your pussy throb once more from the sight alone, bringing your hands up through the bars— desperately trying to replace his hand with yours.

Wriothesley swatted your hand away before ordering, "Stick your tongue out for me, runt."

Without hesitancy, your jaw fell slack. Your tongue darted out almost instantly as you drank in his blissed-out expression. Without warning, Wriothesley brought his dick only centimeters away from your lips. A deep groan slipped past his mouth as his first ropes of cum shot past his slit.

You admired his pretty face as Wriothesley came all over yours. You swallowed every last drop of his cum that landed on your tongue, allowing the ropes that missed your mouth to roll down your cheeks.

Wriothesley grunted as he shot the last of his load onto your face. He admired your filthy state for a few beats more. A smirk cascaded across his face before he let out a whistle of his own, mimicking your actions from earlier.

"Wow... guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that you're a filthy cumslut on top of all your other crimes." Wriothesley deadpanned, leisurely tucking his now softening cock back into his pants.

"Oh, so now it's a crime to want to fuck you?" You chuckled, swiping some of his cum off your cheek before placing the pad of your thumb in your mouth. Licking it entirely clean.

Wriothesley flushed, averting his gaze from your lewd display. He stifled a cough before muttering, "No, but I'm sure you and I just committed about a dozen crimes. Indecent exposure, public indecency, disorderly conduct— shall I continue?"

"You do realize you just said we right, mister? Meaning you should be in this cell right alongside me. Come on, handsome, why don't you keep me warm tonight? You can come inside me this ti—"

"In your dreams, runt. Consider this your punishment for causing me hell for months. I won't give you what you want just because you're cute."

Your cheeks flushed as you stood on shaky legs, coming face to face with him. "You think I'm cute?" You asked earnestly, a genuine smile pulling at your lips.

Wriothesley turned on his heel, trying to conceal his embarrassment from slipping up and calling you cute. He stifled a cough, making slow strides down the hallway. You assumed he was going to keep walking without another word, and just as you began pulling your pants back up your trembling legs, you heard him shout,

"Yeah, I do, so stop breaking the law. Then maybe I can take you on a proper date."

#genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #wriothesley #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley genshin #genshin wriothesley

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devildomditzy · 1 year

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"Wait, am I your lock screen?" + mammon + 🫣⛈️

His habit of keeping his phone away from you an out of your reach was one you mildly questioned, but ultimately learned to ignore. You figured the second born had something he wanted to keep private, possibly his latest failing stocks, or demanding texts from witches looking for compensation for his less than savory activities.

You ignored it, up until you turned to corner into the student council room, ears picking up several voices loudly talking over each other. Knowing this can only mean one thing, you prepare yourself to become Mammon’s attorney before walking in yourself.

“Ooo my! If it isn’t the person of the hour!”, Asmo coos from his chair, leaning over the edge of the table. “We were just talking about you, hun!”

“Talking about me?”, you ask, eyes circling around the room in both curiosity and confusion. You lock eyes with your first pact mate to ask a silent question, only to find him blushing furiously, attempting to simmer down from something that had just clearly upset him. He locks eyes with you for a brief moment before quickly averting his gaze.

Well, that’s typical. What wasn’t typical was the teasing stares of everyone else in the room, now centered on you.

“Well, we were just finishing up a student council meeting,”Asmo continues. “And you know how Lucifer always takes our D.D.D.’s before hand?”

“Yeah, but what’s that got to do with me?”

“Getting there, darling!”

You once again shift your eyes over to Mammon, who seemed to be having an internal battle with himself. One minute, it looked like he was going to bolt out of the room, the next it seemed he was so frustrated with his brothers that he was choosing to stand his ground.

“Lucifer starting passing them back out afterwards, and I noticed the cutest thing displaying on my dear older brother’s phone!”, Asmo finishes, bringing his cupped hands up to his face, almost as if he was looking at a newborn kitten.

“ROLF, this is super normie of him”, Levi chimes in, not looking up from his game, but still smiling to himself like he had just been told the funniest joke.

“I have to say, I know how idiotic you can be, but I didn’t expect you to display something you vehemently try to hide so prominently.” The smirk on Satan’s face makes you feel uneasy.

You hear a distinct tch come from the direction of the second born, who you now notice was clutching his D.D.D very close to his chest, with his grip tight around it. Like, real tight. Like, his knuckles are going white and you think he might break it tight.

Your eyes jump from brother to brother in confusion. “What are you talking about?”.

Asmo’s grin becomes lethal as he turns back to Mammon. “Weeelllll, go on Mammon. Do you want to tell them, or shall I?”.

You watch as Mammon turns redder somehow, if that was even possible, and starts to stutter. “I-it’s none of your business, okay?”

“Ooohh I beg to differ! I’d think a picture of our dear, dear MC is specifically their business!”, Asmo taunts in a sing song voice.

“A picture of me.. did you like, take an embarrassing picture of me or something?”, you question. Honestly, as much as you love the idiot, you wouldn’t put it above Mammon to blackmail you with an unflattering photo of yourself.

“N-no! It’s not you! I-I mean it is you but it’s not embarrassin’ or anythin’!”.

Oh the poor boy, he looks like he’s going to combust.

“Tick tock!”, Asmo once again pressures him to spit it out.

Mammon shuts his eyes as tight as they can go, and takes a deep breath, opening his mouth to say it before anyone else can-

Beel pipes up from where he’s been quietly munching on some hell newt chips.

“Why does it matter if MC’s his lockscreen?”

Ah. There it is. You watch all the color drain from Mammon’s face. He tenses up, his body language screaming ‘panic’.

“Wait, am I your lockscreen”, you question, hoping he notices your voice doesn’t hold an ounce of teasing, but instead genuine fondness.

His eyes remain trained on the table, his mouth drawn into a tight line, but he stiffly shakes his head in a confirming nod.

“Can I see?”

Mammon slides his D.D.D across the table to where you stand. Clicking on the screen, you see picture of yourself at Devil’s Coast. You’re turned to the side, not quite looking at the camera, but laughing brightly at something. The ferris wheel framed in the background of the shot makes the candid look like something out of a movie. Then it hits you - you’ve. never seen this picture before.

He must have taken it when you weren’t looking.

As laughter erupts throughout the room from his brothers, he’s shocked to not hear yours mixed in with the cacophony l. Instead when you speak, it makes the room go dead silent.

“Mammon… that is so sweet!”, and he can hear the smile in your voice as you run around the table to hand him your own. “Here, look at mine.”

He hesitates for a second, looking up at you for confirmation before taking it. Clicking on the screen, he stares back at a picture of himself. He’s in one of the outfits he wore for Devil Style, so this is definitely from his last shoot, but… this wasn’t professional by any means. It was clearly taken by you, a little shaky and a bit out of center frame, but you must have snapped a picture of him between sets.

And even more so - he’s shirtless in it.

“Ha…HA!”, Mammon exclaims, proudly showing the screen to each and everyone of his brothers. “See that? Of course MC’s got a picture of The Great Mammon as their lockscreen! Makes sense since I’m their first and their favorite!”

“Uggghh, gross”, groans Levi as he stands up to leave, “I knew I should have just went to my room.”

“Aww, MC, why not a picture of me?!”, whines Asmo as he drapes himself over your shoulders, much to Mammon’s annoyance.

“I can’t say that’s a sight I’d want see every time I have to take a phone call”, Satan says all snide and - you’ve had it.

Time to shut them all up.

“Of course I’d want a picture of Mammon as my lock screen. He is my boyfriend after all.”

“WHAT!?”, you hear all the voices in the room cry out at once.

“I am? I-I mean, of course I am! Ya hear that? MC’s taken by The Great Mammon! So all of ya better back off, ya got it?!”

You giggle at his bravado and the looks of disgust and disappointment on the remaining faces in the room, leaning down to kiss his cheek to really drive the point home.

Oh. Looks like he can get redder.

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xcrust · 4 months

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Paint the Town Red [PREVIEW]

I seriously haven't written due to having an education but for my story i want to give you improvement and quality content. So I am not making you all wait too long here is a preview of the next chapter. If there is anything that you feel is needed and note you would want to offer then i would love for you to throw it my way

FULL STORY HERE

All the latest chapters and previous is at that link!!!

Looking between the mirror in front of you, reflecting In the soft glow of dawn's embrace, (Y/n) stood before the ornate mirror that adorned her room. The morning sunlight filtered through the delicate curtains, casting a warm radiance upon them as they examined her reflection. It wasn't the typical admiration one might associate with vanity; rather, it was an introspective gaze that transcended the surface.

As they lifted a lock of hair, the sunlight or rather the glimmer caught the subtle highlights, reminiscent of the glimmers of hope that had guided them through the darkest nights. The relationship between their parents isn't inherently bad. But the isolating feeling never evolved or made anything better. This dark world was something that was all you knew. Inherently when it came to your view of humans it had to be a little different from your older sister. All humans are made corrupt. No matter the family a person is raised from. Though what allows hell borns to be condemned to whatever flock shows up. It is a harsh ideal but with so much bad coming from earth then how could someone even have a belief that earth is all that good when it's corrupting the supposed bad.

Nevertheless the people that showed up from earth kept the seven rings entertained the more time went on. In fact if it weren't for earth then you wouldn't be in the situation that you are now. You couldn't remember the last time you had dinner with your parents, Family dinners hadn't been a thing in a long time. So sitting across a little table of a cafe with the infamous radio demon for dinner is the last thing that would have been imagined in your life.

“So my dearest! I want to know everything about you and what makes you tick” Closing your new pocket mirror you glance at him before going to pick at your clothes, the bunny painted in red stares at you with a charming look in his eye.

“Alastor, you're going all out for a person like me. But what is it that you want.” curiosity might have killed the cat but in hell its survival of the fittest. Between you and him, that's an easy feat for you but survival in getting higher in the food chain? Well that's some grounds you need to work on.

“ Heavens me, or should I say hells me? HA can't a guy get to know another fella?” His burgundy pinstripe suit made your weakness to elegant things. In your heart you are truly someone that cannot be so easily deterred by another. If leaving the Morningstar household didnt prove it. Maybe working on social skills might be the first thing to work on.

“Who are you kidding? What?! Did you want to talk to my dad? Sorry to best your bubble but i'm making a nam-”

“Hush now” he quipped in “now what are you assuming on today” taking out a pocket watch from his top pocket. The ticking being comically loud. Being in hell should have you used to an odd face every once in a while. But looking at him felt like a lost cartoon. “As ive said before, i know nothing about you. You've just got a nifty little… look to you” There goes his smile again. It's so shameless.

“Yeah right” Being hell royalty should've put your name towards everyone that walks this street.

“Sorry doll face, having such a smooth face in this area of town might just be the most interesting piece of plot in these parts” you let out a sudden hitch in your breath. Does he actually not know anything about you? Maybe the overlord title might be a lot harder than intended. “Now doll you're never fully dressed without a smile, now play nice” The grimace on your face might’ve just drowned in your thoughts hearing him say that.

You couldn't make sense of his statement. An earthborn being known to you and probably the purest kind of entertainment in hell. Though if he didnt even know who you were then maybe this could be a better opportunity in the end. No phony respect. Something that would actually make a difference to yourself. Smoothing your expression into soft passiveness.

“Say there, bunny tail, how about you and I take a stroll down the boulevard and paint the town red”

“Aren't you a tough nut to crack? Well who am I to deny a bona fide high roller”

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blackbat05 · 11 months

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Real or Not Real?

Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Plot: You need a plus one for a wedding. Who better than your boss and perhaps the most hated person on your list.

Genre: PG-13, Enemies to Lovers (I would like to think so😬)

A/N: I’m on a roll. Also, I always wanted to do this trope! This is longer than usual. Reblogs and feedback appreciated!💜

“Shit!” Your phone bounces off the bed, landing inches away from another expensive repair.

“What’s wrong?” Jessica Drew looks up from the self help book that she was currently engaged in.

“An old classmate. I totally forgot about the wedding!” You groan, feet becoming more fidgety by the second.

“Right… and would you care to explain why you look like one of Norman Osborn’s pumpkins?” Your best friend looks at you cautiously, as if like you were a volcano waiting to explode any second.

“Well, she used to be great with everyone in school. Can’t say the same about myself.” You winced internally at the memories about your youth. “You know how it is. Everyone is either rich, successful or in love once they leave school.”

“Or maybe all three.” Jessica adds helpfully much to your chagrin.

“Thanks, Jess.” You refrain from rolling your eyes. “Anyways, the chat group got reignited and some genius started asking about ‘the girl who everyone always see but doesn’t really know’ and before I know it, everyone starts pestering me about how I’m doing!” You throw your hands dramatically in the air and Jessica can’t help but to look amused. “So?”

“So, I kinda told them that I have a reallyhotboyfriend.” The last few words are mashed into one big mess but still clear enough for Jessica to pick up. “You what now?”

Smelling the judgement from a mile away, you hang your head in defeat. “I know! I’m an idiot! I couldn’t help myself okay? This is what happens when you attend a private all girls’ school. You stand out for being weird and suddenly The Plastics start making your entire school life hell.”

“The Plastics?”

“It’s a movie reference.”

“Why am I not surprised.” Jessica chuckles. “So what now girl? How’s damage control going?”

“Terrible.” You splat face first into the pillow. “I was thinking of getting help from the guys but…” You hold up four fingers, ticking them off one by one. “Pavitr can’t pretend, Hobie’ too unpredictable, Miles is too young and Peter’s married with a child - a fact I can’t ignore even if this is fake.”

Jessica looks at your closed fingers, tapping her chin thoughtfully. If being friends with her taught you anything, this wasn’t a good sign.

“There is one more option. I think he would fit your description of a really hot boyfriend.” She deliberately gives you a meaningful look that makes you leap off the bed, throwing her an accusing look.

“Actually, I think I’m going to ask Gwen. Do you know where I can find her?”

“Long gone. She went to visit Captain Stacey.” Jessica quips. “Come on. He’s a good option. Besides, this is a great opportunity to know him better!”

“I rather tangle with the loch-ness monster instead.” You mumble, thinking about your very first encounter with the man of the hour - Miguel O’Hara. The two of you were a good representation of day and night.

While you were bright and upbeat, the leader of the Spider Society probably didn’t have the word ‘joy’ in his dictionary. As you attempted to introduce yourself to him at your first meeting, he had simply brushed you aside.

“Miguel isn’t that bad once you get to know him.”

“Very funny, Jess. You should be comedian of the year. Did you forget how he yelled at me when I pushed him out of the way from Kingpin’s gangbangers?”

Jessica opens her mouth slightly, only to shut it soon after. You frown, turning your back to see whatever she was staring at behind you. How you wished you hadn’t. Oh, if only the ground could swallow you whole as Miguel himself stands at the door, staring at you with an unreadable expression.

“What- how long have you been here for?” You struggle to form that one sentence. “Jess…” You start accusingly.

Jessica shrugs, taking Miguel’s presence as a sign to leave. “I’ll leave you two to it!” She gives you a wink that results in your mouth hanging agape. Miguel closes the door and you quickly attempt to compose yourself.

“I’ll do it.”

“Do what?”

Miguel raises a brow. “Be your date.” He says it all too nonchalantly, as if choosing at empanada at the supermarket. You blink, pinching yourself out of his sight. The situation was very real. He stands in front of you, waiting.

“What do you want from me?” You blurt out. “You want something in return.” You clarify once more, trying to make sense of things.

The end of Miguel’s lips turn upwards slightly, and you’re worried that the sudden acceleration of your heart would unable to support your body to stand upright.

“I just want to apologize for my behavior and I happened to overhear your conversation.” He responds and you make a mental note to never trust Jessica again for not warning you about his presence.

“Am I in some kind of alternate dimension?” You laugh, trying to defuse the awkwardness. Miguel remains impassive, eyes staring intently into yours.

“What’s it going to be? You can take me or you can look like a liar to everyone. It’s your choice.”

You hate to say it, but he’s right.

***

“You came!” Your old friend comes barreling into you, giving you a big hug.

“Lils! You look amazing!” You gushed, returning the hug. “Congratulations. What a beautiful place.” You refer to the beachside wedding that she insisted on.

“Thanks! Jeju Island was always on my bucket list. I’m so glad I get to share this memory with all of you!” She gushes, turning to your plus one. “I mean, I finally get to see who has stolen your heart!” She extends a hand. “And who may you be?”

“Miguel O’Hara.” He extends his own hand for a shake. “Congratulations.”

“No need for the formalities!” Lilly smiles brightly. “What I do want to know is how you two got together! You can be away from her for a little can’t you?”

Before the two of you can even say anything, you find yourself being pulled away by Lilly while the groom effortlessly picks up the conversation with Miguel. She brings you aside, within the sight of the two men.

“Tell me everything!” She pounces on you like a tiger, demanding to know your first encounter. You give what you hope was a easy smile. “We’re… colleagues.” You don’t think exposing both your superhero personas would do well, not especially when you got here by inter dimensional traveling.

Your friend seems to be satisfied by this as she squeals. She hits your shoulder a little too aggressively, wanting more. You sigh, hoping that Miguel wasn’t being interrogated this intensively on his end.

“We just had the same interests and kind of clicked.” You prayed that the questioning would stop soon. “Everything was just a blur after.”

Lilly nods, throughly invested in your fake love story. She’s about to ask another question when a sharp voice pierced through the air, causing you to be rooted to the ground. You really wanted to run away at that moment.

“What is this that I’m hearing? You’re actually seeing someone?” The clack of heels come to a stop and you find yourself facing your tormentor.

“It’s nice to see you too, Becca.” You grit through your teeth. The woman remains oblivious to your discomfort as she addresses the two others trailing behind her. “I wonder who’s the lucky man nice enough to pick her up!”

“That’s enough, I invite you to my wedding out of our friendship but this doesn’t give you the right to insult her.” Lilly shoots back, keeping her eyes trained on your curled fists.

“It’s alright, Lils.” You try to remain calm. “Let’s go. I’ll tell you everything later.” You take the lead to escort her back when Becca’s comment brings you to a halt.

“I bet he isn’t even real!”

Although she was right, you couldn’t help but to turn around, wanting to give Becca and her posse a piece of your mind. Something that you should have done a very long time ago.

“Oh, I’m very real alright.”

You see Miguel walking up towards the trio. Was it just you or did Miguel look… angry?

He composes himself, giving a charming grin to the trio who looked like they were going to start falling at his feet any moment.

“Miguel O’Hara. She has told me a lot about you three.”

“Oh, she has?” Becca twirls the edge of her skirt nervously and you don’t know where Miguel is going with this.

“Sure. She’s told me all about how you three dimwits made her entire life hell. Honestly? I don’t even know how that happened when she’s a hundred times classier with more substance than you plastics claim to have.” Miguel catches your eye and gives a quick wink.

“Excuse me?” Becca stutters. “Oh, I get it. She must have paid you to say that!”

Miguel walks over and gently loops an arm over your shoulders. By now, the conversation seemed to have attracted every guest who were lining up at the buffet table.

“Nope. But you know what she is? She is the most courageous and selfless person who wouldn’t hesitate to help others. I don’t think you three would even come close to understanding what that means.”

Miguel has done it. He’s left them speechless and every guest is know giving disapproving looks to the trio who can only storm away in embarrassment.

“I think I’m not that hungry yet. How about we take a walk?”

You realize that Miguel is asking you, so you nod numbly and find yourself being led out of the venue. You see Lilly standing at the entrance greeting guests.

Catching your eyes, she gives you a thumbs up and a mischievous grin, not bothered at all about the verbal altercation that was inadvertently caused by you. Amidst the chaos, one thought was clear in your mind.

Just what is going on?

***

The rainbow colored blocks providing as seats for families, friends and couples to take photos makes the sea look even clearer. Silence overtaking the two of you, you busy yourself with noticing how the jagged edges of the rocks are a wonderful addition to the waves crashing near the shore.

“What’s going on up there?”

Finally. You prepare yourself, stopping beside the statue. “I was just about to ask you the same thing O’Hara.” You take a brave step closer towards the hulking man and he briefly looks away before staring back at you. “Not that I’m ungrateful but that wasn’t like you.”

“Then, what am I supposed to be?”

You paused. “Well… you’re supposed to be grumpy and grouchy and keeping me at arm’s length I guess?” You search for the right words as Miguel contains a chuckle seeing how flustered you were becoming by the second. “And you’re suddenly being nice to me? Hell would have to freeze over.”

Miguel closes the already small gap between the two of you and you suddenly feel hot at his gaze. He examines you for a while and you think he’s about to deliver another sharp retort.

“I did try. I tried to keep you away but you were too bright and cheerful for your own good.” Miguel gruffly tells you. “You were so much like her.”

You knew that he was referring to his past. His wife whom no one really dared to talk about. You finally understood. To him, you were a walking and living painful reminder.

“I’m sorry.” You breathed out. The air suddenly constricts in your lungs and you feel the need to get away. Anywhere but here. You turn around and find yourself being pulled into him. Miguel hugs you, and he hugs you tight.

“No, I’m the idiot. I punished you for seeing you as someone else.” He confesses. “I should have just seen you as… you. You were so bright and so brave, I almost lost it when you took the bullets from Kingpin. That’s when I knew my behavior had to stop. I wanted to tell you and I guess I saw this as the perfect opportunity.”

“Oh.” You don’t know how else to react to this sudden revelation.

“But I meant every word. About me apologizing for my past behavior.” Miguel continues. “And that. Earlier on.” He refers to his relentless counter attack on your tormentors. “I didn’t know that you had to go through all that.”

“Hey, we all go through things right? Kind of a ticket to join the spider society.” You try to lighten things up. “Besides, it’s nothing big.”

Miguel pries you away gently, a slight frown on his face. “Don’t minimize your struggles. You are a hundred times stronger than those three combined. After all, that’s what made you stood out to me in the first place.”

Your heart swells at his statement. As you hear the waves crashing, it felt as if like it gave you a sense of newfound confidence as well. It was all or nothing now. You’re inches away from Miguel, his rosy cheeks prominent from the strong breeze that the coastal city offered. “I just have one more question.”

Miguel cocks his head to the side, curious. He doesn’t interrupt, giving permission for you to go ahead.

“You love me. Real or not real?”

He takes you by the waist, lips on yours. It could be minutes or hours before he lets go, leaving you in a daze. But the movement of his lips are as clear as day. One that would be forever etched in your memory.

“Real.”

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman: across the spiderverse

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angstywaifu · 2 months

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Liam Mairi - Eyes On Me Darling

Well overnight you guys have ticked over the follower count to 100. And for something I didn’t think would go past a one off post nearly 2 months ago…. This is just crazy. Thank you all for the love. And for that. I figured you Liam lovers can have your smut early. Oh and you Garrick lovers will get your angst later this week now!

Prompt from @fw-gt - Keep Your Eyes On Me

A/N: This prompt.... My mind went crazy with it for Liam. To the point I wrote 2 of these. Ultimately I loved this one way more. But the other will come out at a later date. I am aware there is another fic of Liam with Reader for a similar kind of theme, but I think its different enough it works. Ironically I was writing this one as the other one dropped. Requests are still open if anyone wants to request anything! Warnings: 18+, Smut

Masterlist

I was glad the halls were empty this late at night. Most of the other cadets already back in their rooms asleep as I stumbled back to my room. Another surge of arousal surges through me and I manage to stumble over to an archway to hold myself up as my knees start to buckle. Why did my dragon decide tonight of all nights to get it on with another dragon? I had tried to slam my shields up, but whatever they were up to must have had my dragons emotions heightened as it did little to simmer the waves of arousal that racked my body. I just prayed I wouldn’t come across anyone else and I could make it to my room or to the showers to douse myself in freezing cold water till it was over. The wave of arousal simmers enough for me to push off the archway and continue the track to my dorm. Only a few more corridors and some stairs and I would be there. But clearly my dragon had other ideas for me as another wave of arousal ripples through me, more intense than the last. My knees buckle, I stick my hands out to break my fall. But the impact never comes as something wraps around my waist. I go rigid as an arm grazes the skin where my shirt had ridden up. It takes all my effort not to arch or gasp at the touch. The touch my body is craving thanks to my dragon. The arms pull me up, the owner of them walking in front of me, their hands on their shoulders. Liam. My god damn best friend. Shit.

“Are you ok?” He asks nervously, his blue eyes scanning me for any injuries. When he comes up short for anything visible his eyebrows furrow.

”Y-yeah, I’m fine.” I manage to get out before I grimace in pain. No not pain. Lust. Desire. I had to get away from Liam before another wave hit me.

His eyes harden as they meet mine. “You nearly collapsed to the floor. That doesn’t look like ok to me.”

I go to respond, but another wave of desire ripples through me, doubling me over and into Liam’s chest as I stumble forward. This time I can’t hide the gasp as my body collides with his. It doesn’t help when his hands reach up and cup my cheeks. The touch setting my skin on fire.

”You are not ok. You’re doubling over in pain, and you’re breaking out in a sweat. I’m taking you to the healers.”

”No!” I rush out as he goes to turn me around. He stops and looks down at me shocked. I had never snapped at him like that.

”Y/N you are clearly in pain. Let me help you.” He pleads with me as he crouches down to look me in the eyes.

As my eyes wander his face, taking him in, my body and brain scream at me to close the distance. Pull him into me. But I can’t. He’s my best friend. But how the hell do I shake him. With the state I’m in he won’t leave me alone. Not till he knows I’m ok. Shit. I was going to have to tell him.

”It’s not that kind of pain.” I tell him as steadily as I can. Another wave of pleasure rips through me, this time I manage to stumble backwards away from Liam.

”Then tell me what's wrong. Let me help you. Please.” He pleads, no begs of me.

I look up and meet his worried blue eyes, his blonde hair now a mess from clearly running his hands though them. Gods did he look good right now. He was in casual attire. Some boots, linen pants and a tight fitting black t-shirt that fit him perfectly and showed off his rebellion mark.

”I-its embarrassing. I promise I’ll be fine.” I plead to him. “I-I just need to get to my room.”

He almost looks angry at my words, a fire burning in his usually cool and calm blue eyes. “I will take you once you tell me what’s wrong.”

I push past him and manage to get a few steps before I’m yet again succumbing to a wave of pleasure that buckles my knees. And yet again Liam catches me, my hand grasping tightly in his shirt as his arms wrap around me. My body starts to tremble at his touch. And with how he’s holding me, I know he can tell.

”I-its m-my Dragon.” I get out between deep breaths.

”You’re dragon? What are they doing to cause you to be in pain?” He demands.

I shake my head. “It’s n-not pain. T-they’re…” I pause, unsure how to phrase this. But I know I’m just gonna have to be blunt. “They’re having sex with another dragon.”

I feel Liam’s arms tighten around me as he sucks in a deep breath at my words as silence falls over us for a moment before another wave hits me. My hands fisting in Liam’s shirt as I rest my forehead against his shoulder. Liam mutters something as he tilts his head back to look the ceiling, but I don’t catch it as I ride out the wave of pleasure racking my body.

Liam quickly scoops my up into his arms. This time I let myself crave his body and warmth as I wrap my arms around his neck and lay my head against his neck. My body is craving his touch, my fingers making their way to his hair at the back of his neck, slowly playing with it. Liam’s arms tighten around me as I do. Within a few minutes I feel Liam kick open a door I assume to be mine. Yes Liam would have taken me back to my room. But as soon as he places me on the bed I know it’s not mine. It… It smells like him. I open my eyes to see Liam kneeling on the floor in front of me in the middle of his room. He reaches out and cups my cheeks with his hands, I almost recoil at his touch. I can’t wreck this friendship despite how much my body is craving him right now. But his hands clamp down and stop me from moving away.

”Let me help you.” He whispers as he leans in and leans his forehead on mine.

No this wasn’t happening. Liam, my best friend Liam was not offering to do this. He knew what he was offering. We hadn’t been taught about this, but from our knowledge of mated dragons we all knew that if they decided to have some fun, it caused havoc for the rider. It was extremely rare for a dragon to have sex outside of being mated, but it did happen. And it so happened that is what was happening right now.

”N-no you can’t do that. I won’t let you. I’ll be fine.” I whisper as I shake my head.

”But I want to help Y/N. I want this. I want to help.”

I open my eyes and look at him. His eyes are burning with lust and desire that I am sure is replicated in mine. No I know it is. I couldn’t deny the slight feelings I had for Liam regardless of what was happening right now. But I never let them be more than a what if. Never let them grow from more than that.

”I think there’s only one way to help.”

The way he smirks at me would have had my heart racing if it wasn’t already.

”I know.” He says softly as he starts unlacing my boots.

All I can do is sit there and watch as he takes his time to unlace them and slide them off my feet one by one. He runs his hands up my leather pants before grasping the bottom of my shirt, my body arching at his touch as his fingers graze my stomach. He chuckles as he slowly lifts the shirt up, placing a kiss to my stomach as he does so. My cheeks flush as I lean my head back and do my best to muffle the moan at his touch. His chuckle only fuelling the blush on my cheeks. He lifts the shirt over my head before leaning forward and kissing the tops of my breasts still covered by my black lacy bra. I mentally thank myself for putting on a nice matching set after my shower after classes earlier. I watch as his hands roam my waist and back, his blue eyes darkening as he takes me all in before moving his hands to the ties of my leather pants. In my lust filled state, I automatically raise my hips as he finishes the ties, quickly removing the pants from my legs. He’s quick to get his hands back on me, roaming my legs. Massaging the skin of my thighs as he works his way up to the band of the black lace panties I have on. He hooks his fingers into the bands before working them down my legs, before throwing them with the rest of my clothes in the corner of his room.

I go to clamp my legs together, as if my mind suddenly realises what’s about to happen. But Liam is quicker and stronger, and easily pries my legs apart with his hands, fully exposing me to him. As he looks up at me, all I can see is the pupils of his eyes. Only a small slither of blue around the edge. He pulls me into him, picking me up with ease, spinning me around and placing me on the very edge of his desk before kneeling in front of me again. I gasp and let my head roll back as he kisses up the inside of my thigh. He lightly pinches the inside of my leg, causing me to yelp as I look back at him. Gods I could have died and gone to heaven with the way he was looking at me while kneeled in front of me.

“Keep your eyes on me. Think you can do that darling?” He asks before kissing his way up my inner thigh.

I nod down at him before he lightly nips at my leg, another yelp leaving my lips.

”I need words darling. You know how to use those right?” He asks as he raises an eye brow at me.

I knew Liam had a confident and leadership demeanour about him, but I never expected this. And gods was it hot.

I gulp and nod. “I-i can do that.”

He smirks as he runs his hands up both my thighs before leaning forward and latching his lips onto my clit before inserting a finger into me. I gasp and moan at the pleasure, and as I go to roll my head back, a sharp pinch to my thigh has my eyes snapping back to his blue ones a that are already looking at me. Finally pleased he has my attention he adds another finger. I gasp at the sensation as I roll my hips forward, wanting to feel more of him. I feel him chuckle at my movements. As he adds a third finger and starts to lick up and down, my hands flies to his hair and pulls tightly on it pulling him closer to me.

“N-need m-more.” I beg softly, my eyes threatening to flutter close.

He leans back, fingers still moving back and forth inside me. His lips and chin are wet with my arousal. “Ask nicely darling.”

I clench around his fingers, causing Liam to chuckle at me, knowing the effect his words have on me.

”P-please Liam. I need more, more of you.” I plead.

“How can I say no to you.” He says with a smirk as he stands and pulls me into a kiss.

I take advantage of him being closer and grasp the bottom of his shirt and quickly pull it over his head. As soon as its over his head he grasps my head and pulls me into a deeper kiss. I whine at the loss of his fingers between my legs. Another wave of intense pleasure wracks my body from my dragons end, causing me to break away from the kiss and gasp for air. The feeling more intense as it mixes with my own pleasure. Liam uses the moment to quickly kick off his own boots and linen pants, leaving him fully exposed in front of me. My eyes must go wide as I take him in.

”You can take it darling, don’t worry.”

I merely nod as he pulls me into another kiss, this time pulling me off the desk. He breaks away and quickly spins me around so I am facing the desk. I turn my head to ask what he’s doing, but his hands tell me. He lightly pushes on my back, telling me to bend over the desk. I balance myself on my elbows as he places light kisses down my back. I moan with pleasure as I feel his fingers between my legs again, pushing into me once more. My fingers dig into the wood of the desk at the sensation.

His breath tickles my ear as he leans forward and whispers in my ear. “Just relax darling. I’ve got you.”

I nod as he removes his fingers from inside my, to quickly be replaced with something else. Something far larger and thicker than his fingers. He sinks into me slowly. And with me bent over the desk, gods did it feel amazing. I now understood why he had kept adding fingers earlier as he stretches me open inch by inch. I feel him twitch inside me as I clamp down around him. Eventually he bottoms out, both of us groaning at the sensation. Liam wastes no time in moving back and forth, each thrust hitting me in just the right places every single time. I raise my head up and realise a mirror is in front of me. A mirror that gives me the perfect view of Liam’s blissed out face as he thrust in and out of me at a brutal pace. He looks up and meets my eyes in the mirror, a smile breaking out across his face as they meet. He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls my back flush against his chest. Both of us moaning at the sensation of the new angle. If Liam didn’t have his arms around me I would have collapsed to the floor. My climax getting closer and closer with each thrust.

“Look into the mirror darling. Keep your eyes on me again ok?” He whispers into my ear as one of his hands runs down my stomach.

I nod and meet his gaze in the mirror as his fingers rub circles on my very sensitive clit. My knees give out for a different reason, as his other arm and hand hold me tightly against him. Not long after I meet my end as I clamp down tightly around him, screaming Liam’s name from my lips as my hand clamps down tightly on the arm wrapped around me. He lays me back on the desk as he keeps up his brutal pace as I squirm and writher beneath him. I feel his pace falter and look into the mirror to see his head thrown back, his mouth open in a silent moan as he finishes as well. Liam collapses forward, his hands hitting the desk either side of me as he braces himself. His breath tickling my back as he recovers. He places a soft kiss to my back as he pulls out. He chuckles as I groan at the loss. He scoops me up into his arms and carries me over to his bed, sitting me in his lap as he leans up against the head board. I sigh as I lay against his chest, my head resting against his neck.

”Did I help your issue?” He asks after a few minutes of us just enjoying the embrace.

I nod. “Yeah, I think so.”

”Good, though I wouldn’t complain about a round 2 if you needed more help.”

I roll my eyes at him even if he can’t see it. But his fingers lazily trace circles around one of my nipples, with the others roaming lower and lower, I know we have a long night ahead.

#liam mairi smut #liam mairi #liam mairi x you #liam mairi x reader #fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing smut

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slut4alast0r · 2 months

Text

My Good Girl { Alastor x Reader Smut }

part 2!

18+ MDI

You have no words… you just feel a warm feeling down there… heat… your breathing increases. With no second thought you feel his lips press against yours, with such passion and heat. You feel yourself go jelly beneath him and kiss back, wrapping your arms around his neck standing on your tip toes. He growls into your mouth and wraps his arms around your waist, clawing digging into them. You whimper at his touch, it hurts but it feels so good. “How about we take this to somewhere more comfortable” he whispers in your ear and basically leads you to his radio table. You look confused. “Don’t worry my dear, I know what I am doing” he slowly approaches you. Your backside against the panel and then falling backwards onto it, him hovering above you. “Such a good girl you have been..” he dips down and whispers in your ear and start kissing your neck. You moan in response and that ticks something off in him, his hands are now tracing your body, he is now between your legs with his claws caressing your thighs. They slowly move up your dress. You gasp at his touch and get embarrassed when he reaches your wet spot, you try to move his hand but he resists and pins your hands above your head, while one hand slips it’s fingers into you. You gasp out a loud moan, squirming beneath him. He is taking such joy in watching you, hearing you, *feeling you*. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me (y/n)” his words make you even wetter and hungry for more. He moves his lips to your neck, but this time biting and drawing some blood as he picks up the pace with his hands. You get louder and closer to your high but before you could reach it… he stopped. “Ugh what, please…” you plead beneath him like a pathetic mess. “My dear, you don’t know what’s coming…” he gets up and unbuckles his belt and releases himself. You gasp at the sight, so big… “Al? How is that gonna-“ you begin to ask but he cuts you off “I’ll make it fit” he snarls at you. You just sit there watching him and then he slowly approaches you. He grabs your waist and flips you around, you are bent over the console, your face in front of his microphone and ass on display for him. “Is your mic muted, I don’t wanna-“ “I want all of hell to hear you get destroyed my dear, I’m going to fuck you so hard! Your reward is… me” he whispers in your ear from behind. “Yours?” You ask looking back at him. “Yes, if we do this, you shall be mine for eternity. I will be yours also. This is the reward. Do we have a deal?” You hesitate for a moment but then the feeling of lust and love flow through you. “Deal” you say bracing yourself for what’s about to happen. Once he heard what you said, he groaned and with a swift push, he slams into you. You scream into the mic. He starts thrusting into you, with no mercy, no hesitation, no care. You moan into the mic, slurring your words, tears streaming down your face due to the overwhelming feeling of lust. He feels so good. He spanks you a few times, grabs your hair pulling you back, bites your neck… oh the absolute pleasure. “A-Alastor! I’m gonna.. fuck!!” You scream and moan. “Cum for me my dear, do it!!” He goes harder and faster. Suddenly you see stars, vision blurry. “Oh fuck, I feel you” he shouts, still going fast. “I want you to finish in me, claim me as yours. P-please..” you moan to him. He groans and pushes your head down onto the console and starts pounding the fucking life out of you. You scream and moan into the console. “(Y/n) I’m gonna breed you and you shall be mine, my little darling, my little slut” he trails off speeding up. “Y-yes please!” You scream. With one final thrust he releases inside you, moaning your name loud and going limp on top of you. You both lay there for a moment. He gets up off you and does himself back up, you turn and look at him, your hair a mess and mascara smeared. He smiles and takes your hand and kisses it “thank you my dear for a wonderful experience” you blush and smile at him. You feel so much happiness and such relief. “Let’s go and relax in the lounge, shall we?” He reaches his arm out and you take it, smiling. ;)

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin spoilers #hazbin adam #hazbin lucifer #hazbin art #hazbin vaggie #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #hazbin husk #hazbin vox #alastor smut #smut #fanfic

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joelsgreys · 1 year

Text

we need you

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: Afraid of failing the two of the people he cares about more than anything, Joel decides you and Ellie are better off without him.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SET IN JACKSON. takes place during Kin. arguing, angst. helpful to know reader was not present when Joel and Tommy talked in the garage. NO mentions of age, reader has no physical description.

word count: 1.6k

a/n: welllllp i don't know about you guys, but i am DEAD inside after tonight so to cope i am going to write a little drabble. already put it in the warning/tags section, but once again, just to be on the safe side of things: potential spoilers, proceed with caution if you do not want the newest episode spoiled!

“Just what in the motherfucking hell was that, Joel?” You nearly growled, bursting through the door of the bedroom that he’d chosen to occupy for the night. Having heard the way he’d spoken to Ellie—not to mention, all that he had said to her even after her heartbreaking confession to him, her unspoken cry for him not to abandon her, all you could see in your mind was the color red. Sure, you and Joel had been through your fair share of bullshit over the years, disagreements that caused friction between the two of you weren’t all that uncommon seeing as the two of you shared similar personality traits to each other, stubbornness being one of them. But you could not, for the life of you, remember an occasion where you’d been this angry with him, this fucking livid. As you watched him sink down onto the bed without a word, your hands curled into fists at your sides. You knew it would only make matters worse, losing your temper, but you weren’t all too sure that you could contain it this time around.

The blood in your veins was bubbling, boiling hot underneath your skin.

“Are you going to fucking answer me or what?” You prompted, a cool edge to your tone despite the heat radiating throughout your body. “You’re really trying to hand her off to Tommy?”

Joel sighed, shaking his head. “You weren’t supposed to find out like this.”

“Find what out, Joel? That you went off and made a decision, and a really fucking dumb one at that, without even talking to me about it first?” You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him. Despite how incredibly furious you were, the sadness was heavy inside of your chest. Tt was as if Joel had forgotten the fact that for the last few months, Ellie had been under your care too, and you had every right to be a part of any decision that he made regarding her and her well-being. It hurt you to your very core that he’d done this without talking to you first, and it hurt you even deeper to know that Ellie had known about this and she’d kept it all to herself all evening.

She’d come home from the movies and when you offered her dinner, she refused to eat and stomped upstairs, locking herself in the bedroom. You’d chalked it up to nothing more than a typical teenaged girl simply having a mood swing. After all, it hadn’t exactly been the best day for Ellie. She’d arrived in Jackson and the first thing she noticed was how everyone in the colony looked at her, especially the children. She was different. She didn’t fit in, she stuck out like a sore thumb and you knew that had to have been hard for her. Not wanting to push her, you’d figured that she would come out of the room eventually and talk you about it when she was good and ready. But now that you knew the real reason why she had come home so upset, you couldn’t help but to feel guilty.

For hours, Ellie had been upstairs in that room knowing that Joel planned on dumping her on Tommy and you didn’t have the slightest fucking clue about what was going on until you’d overheard Joel and Ellie’s shouting match just moments ago.

“Joel.” You said his name in a tone neither of you recognized.

Low, venomous, borderline dangerous.

You were like a ticking bomb, seconds away from going off.

Joel narrowed his eyes at you. “She’s better off with Tommy, alright? And we both fuckin’ know that,” he said. “It’s the best thing to do for her. I’m doin’ it because I know damn good and well that if she stays with me, all I’m gonna do is have her fall into the wrong fuckin’ hands or killed.”

“You’re wrong!” You countered, dropping your arms away from your chest and back down to your sides. “Joel, don’t you dare fucking do this. Ellie doesn’t want Tommy, she wants you. She all but fucking said it right to your face just a minute ago!” You cried, pointing a finger towards the door of the room as if pointing to Ellie herself. “She admitted to you that she wouldn’t feel safe with anyone else, Joel. So don’t you fucking do this to her.”

He gripped the edge of the bed, his knuckles going ghost white. “She’ll be better off with Tommy,” he repeated himself. He paused for a brief moment, just long enough to avert his tortured gaze from yours as he said, “And so would you.”

Your mouth parted slightly in shock. “Fucking excuse me?”

“I can’t keep her safe. Hell, I can barely keep you safe! How many fuckin’ times have I almost lost you? ‘Cause I don’t move fast enough? ‘Cause I’ve made the wrong decisions? ‘Cause I’ve asked you to do somethin’ for me and turns out that I unknowingly sent you into the fuckin’ lion’s den?” He inhaled a sharp breath, and you could hear his voice breaking with each and every word that fell from his lips. “I’ve almost cost you your life how many fuckin’ times now?”

“Joel—”

“Tess died ‘cause of me.” He saw you open your mouth to protest and he quickly added, “You can sit there and tell me over and over that it wasn’t my fault ‘til you’re blue in the face, but let’s just fuckin’ be honest and tell it how it is, alright? I couldn’t get to her quick enough and now she’s dead. I won’t let you meet the same fate.” Joel reached up, raking a hand tiredly through his hair, mentally bracing himself for your reaction to what he was about to say next. “I think you should go with Tommy and get Ellie to where she needs to be. After that, you should—you should think about stayin’ here with him in Jackson. I probably don’t belong here, but you do.”

You let out a small, shaky breath of air.

“Who the hell are you to make that kind of decision for me?” You asked, willing yourself to keep yourself from crumbling into tears. “I’m sorry Joel, but you can’t make that kind of a choice for me. And do you want to know what else?” You didn’t even wait for him to respond. “You can’t make it for Ellie, either.”

“She’s fuckin’ fourteen years old—”

You took a step forward as you challenged him. “Do you really think that girl isn’t smart enough to know deep down inside what’s best for her? Tell me, do you really think that Ellie pulled everything she said out of her ass? Do you honestly think that she could ever trust Tommy the way that she trusts you?” You felt a warm tear slide down your cheek and quickly wiped it away before he could see it. “Ellie is young, but she’s not a baby, Joel. I get that sometimes we need to guide her through shit, but let’s be real. She is old enough to make decisions for herself. Maybe not all of them, but the decision that you’re trying to make for her right here, right now—it isn’t yours to make.” Another tear made its way down the side of your face as you whispered, “And the one you’re trying to make for me isn’t either.”

Joel hung his head, seemingly defeated. “Why can’t you see it’s for the best? Why are you makin’ this so hard?”

Willing your trembling legs to move, you slowly walked over to him and sank to your knees in front of him; although you tried to meet his eyes, he refused. “You care about Ellie. I know it, I can see it and I can feel it. For as much shit as you give her all the time, I know that she’s become so important to you.”

“‘Course she is,” he mumbled. “You’re both important to me.”

You reached for his hands, pulling them forward onto his lap. You placed your own hands on top of his, lacing your fingers together. “Then don’t fucking do this to us, Joel. Please. I’m already down on my knees and I will fucking beg and plead if that’s what it’s going to take.” You crouched down a little further, enough so that you could look up into his dark brown eyes. “Ellie wants to be with you, Joel. And I do too.”

Joel’s gaze glistened with tears that he tried, but failed, to keep from falling in front of you. “I’ll fail you, just like I’ve fuckin’ failed everybody else.”

“Joel, please listen to me. Hear what I am saying, for the love of Christ. We have come so far,” You said, firmly squeezing his hands in yours as if somehow that would snap him out of it. “Whether you choose to believe or not, we’ve only come this far because of you. You have done so much for us. It’s why we trust you, why we feel safe with you. Me and Ellie, we belong with you, Joel—not with Tommy, not with anyone else. We need you, okay? We fucking need you. Do you understand me, Joel?”

Joel exhaled the breath he’d been holding shakily, leaning down to be closer to you. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against yours as he tried to even out his breathing.

Rubbing the back of his hands with your thumbs in soothing circles, you lifted your head and lightly pressed your lips against his forehead.

“We’re going to finish what we started,” You murmured quietly against his skin, feeling a slight shudder rack his body as a single whimper escaped him. You squeezed his hands again. “Together, Joel.”

#joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller pedro pascal

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eliciria · 3 months

Note

hello love!

i saw that you write yandere material and are looking for inspiration! so if you don’t mind I’d love to request some yandere headcanons for satan from om (๑>؂•̀๑)

a/n : heyyy !! thanks so much for requesting. It's a bit short, I hope you don't mind.

whisper to the trees ... (ask box status) : open

check my about me/request rules here

wc : 0.67k words

cws : dark content, mdni! suggestive asf, mentions of kidnapping (not on you), potential smut in the end?

song playing : prayer1 by april27

Yandere! Satan headcanons

On a scale of 1-10, from how scary Satan would be compared to other demons if they were a yandere, I'd make Satan a solid 5.

I am not like Keith Lee, and I can't give that much of a rating without being a little bit biased. So I'll just try to validate my opinion.

Let's start with the fact that this man is pretty much the concept of a person who does his homework. He knows what makes you feel disgusted and what tingles your stomach in lust.

May or may not have studied human anatomy just to use it to his advantage.

Aching from school? He's already massaging the part between your shoulder and neck that makes you feel good, albeit a bit ticklish.

Someone flirted with you at school? Satan kidnaps them, syringes a lethal amount of vitamin c underneath their tongue, and leaves them out on the streets. People say the poor student died from cardiac arrest.

You were a bit uncomfortable after hearing that one. You had just talked to that demon after all. Were you next? Your train of thought was interrupted as Satan ruffles your hair, telling you to be safe. You offer him a smile, and you nod. (He watches as you walk to RAD, shuffling the syringe between his index and middle finger)

Doesn't let you leave his room, and not in the "I captured you" way that you'd imagine. Of course you have to go to school and, do the occasional meet up with those outside (Solomon checking on you), he lightly gaslights you into staying with him for the majority of your stay within HOL. (Little do you know, he may or may not have pulled some strings for you to stay with him here. You aren't leaving hell, sorry.)

Lends you his clothes, in fact, kind of pressures you to wear it. It triggers something in him, a desire. He wants to be all yours, and you to be all his. Wearing a shirt or one of his turtle necks solidifies the fact that you reciprocate this.

He knows what he's doing is toxic and wrong, but he attempts to justify it. (He is going through a crisis within himself trying to validate his gaslighting and manipulating.)

He's incredibly sweet to you, and I mean incredibly. Buying you your favorite drinks, reading to you, all that.

Follows the sidewalk rule for his life, always peels your oranges and whatever fruit you want, and always attempts to keep his anger from bubbling out.

It rarely ever works though, as he is still the avatar of Wrath. Rage bubbles out, especially if something happens to you in particular. Lucifer scolding him? Fine. Mammon stealing his books? He'll get him later. But you going missing? (You were late by 2 minutes..) He was beginning to feel nauseous, his fist clenching. He gripped the book in front of him, trying to keep calm. The ticking of the clock seemingly became louder, and right as he was about to start ravaging his room, a soft hand laid on his lower back.

"Satan?" You say softly, trying to determine whether or not he was angry. He lets out a breath. You smelled so nice. A bit too nice. He turns around. The way that he looked at you now made it seem like he wasn't fuming and holding in his barely contained anger a few seconds ago.

"Hm?" A smile on his face. You couldn't tell what he was thinking of, but the way that he gripped your hand after you stopped holding his shoulder, he probably needed some comfort. (You were dead wrong, he was holding in a boner right then and there.)

You hugged him, patting his back.

"Are you angry?" You mutter quietly. He blinks, before hugging you back "No, no I am not." He takes a whiff of your scent. Sweet. He suddenly gripped your waist, eliciting a yelp from you.

He has decided. Instead of ravaging the room, he'll ravage you instead.

a/n : i leave that to your imagination. reminder i do write smut, so this can continue! My requests are open, so please do request if you have something in mind! Thanks for reading.

#obey me x reader #yandere obey me #yandere satan #yandere satan x reader #satan x reader #obey me #om #obey me shall we date #obey me satan #obey me shall we date x reader #om x reader #obey me satan x reader #｡･:*˚:✧｡elicir's abode

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xdirtyxlittlexgirl · 1 year

Text

Hurting & Healing

Pairing: Henry Cavill X Reader

Summary: You get into a terrible accident while Henry's away on shoot

Warning: Super angsty, fluff, mentions of death

Henry finally got a five minute break from his shoot and decided to finally give you a call. He had missed you terribly for the past two months as he was away shooting, and you both got very little time together between shoots. He had requested the director to take some time off so he can finally be with you again and his wish was granted, and he was excited yet relieved to know that he will be seeing you again in a few days. He sat in his chair, sipping his coffee trying to call you but your phone went to voicemail. This was unusual. You had a habit of always picking up his calls in a few seconds. Henry's heart was racing as he tried calling you again and again, but your phone was repeatedly going straight to the voicemail. He couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that was now gnawing on him.

He was about to call you once more when the director called him back to resume the shoot. Reluctantly, he made his way back, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of you. Safe to say he was worried at this point. He decided to ask his managers to try and connect with you while he was working. "Please just keep trying. My mind is thinking things, and I am not feeling good about this. I need to speak with her as soon as possible. You get it? Please." He said sternly to one of his managers, finally making his way back to the set.

But as the shoot went on, his anxiety grew by every ticking second, and he couldn't focus on anything except you. He was on edge and snapping at everyone around him in frustration. He had a temper problem, and it aggravated when he was worried and helpless. He was in the middle of the scene which he was already finding very hard to focus on, when he heard the director say cut. His managers interrupted the shoot and asked him to come to the vanity van. Henry could sense their unease, and his temper flared further. "What's going on? Why the hell are you guys not telling me?" he snapped.

Finally, one of his managers sighed and reluctantly handed him the phone, making him almost snatch it out of the others hand, which displayed a picture of you, bruised and battered laying in a hospital bed. Henry's heart sank. "She got in an accident this morning, and is now being treated in the City hospital. We have called and requested to have the best team of doctors work on her case..." His mind went blank as he kept staring at the pictures and his manager's voice faded in the background replacing it with pure silence.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he struggled to process what he was seeing. After a few good minutes he was pulled from his thoughts as he looked red eyed at his managers. "What the hell happened? Why didn't anyone tell me this before? Fuck!" he yelled punching the wall next to him in pure frustration as he bruised his hands. His managers were shaken and scared seeing him like this. One of them calmly explained that the hospital staff tried to reach them, but didn't have any relevant contacts. It wasn't until one of the nurses recognised her and contacted them. They explained that they had arranged for a charter flight to take him to her immediately.

Henry couldn't believe what was happening. He had never felt this helpless in his life. You were his world, and seeing you like this tore him apart. He felt like he had failed you. He wanted to be around you. He knew how much you were missing him. He was now blaming himself for your situation. "Fuck! I wish I was there with her sooner! I wish I was there with her to protect her. It was my fucking job. It is all my fucking fault. Fuck!" He said through gritted teeth as he again punched his hand this time in the car door creating an evident dent. His managers were doing everything to calm him down, but it was all in vain.

Trembling with fear and anguish, Henry packed his bags and rushed to the airport. The flight felt like an eternity, and his mind was consumed with thoughts of you. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you, and he couldn't help but think the worst, which pained him even more. He sat in the plane, his mind in a haze. The world around him seemed distorted, like a funhouse mirror that distorted and twisted everything into a grotesque caricature. He couldn't believe that you were just fine last night, all smiling and beautiful, and now you laid in a hospital bed, bruised and broken, while he had been away. You meant everything to him, and the thought of losing you was making him lose his sanity. He didn't know he loved you this much, that every second felt like eternity knowing he could lose you.

He closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths, but his chest felt tight, and the air seemed to escape him. He could feel his temper rising, his frustration mounting with every passing moment. He pounded his fists on the armrest, feeling a surge of anger that he couldn't control. "Why did this have to happen?" he muttered to himself. "Why her? Why now?" The plane hit turbulence, and Henry jolted in his seat, the sudden movement breaking through his thoughts. He looked around, his eyes falling on the bottle and glass that lay on the table in front of him. Without thinking, he reached out and knocked them off the table, the sound of shattering glass filling the cabin. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but it was no use. The anger was still there, simmering just below the surface, threatening to boil over at any moment.

The flight attendant approached him, concerned etched on her face. "Sir, is everything okay?" she asked softly. He shook his head, unable to speak, and the flight attendant nodded sympathetically before walking away. He was afraid. Terribly scared to lose you. The words by his managers from before, finally echoed in his head. They mentioned you were in a critical condition, although they followed it up with a lot of hope, he couldn't shake away the sight of you, which made his fear grow stronger.

"God, please let her be okay," he whispered, tears streaming down his face. "I can't bear to see her like this." Finally his anger started to leave his body, replacing it with intense pain, guilt, fear, and hurt. He was alone with his thoughts, trapped in a prison of his own making. He couldn't escape the pain, no matter how hard he tried. He felt like he was drowning, suffocating under the weight of his own emotions, and the only way out of it, was to finally see you.

"I love you, princess" he whispered, the words barely audible over the roar of the plane's engines. "Please be okay." He said looking at the wallpaper of the two of you on his mobile, his throat tightening and choking with pain.

As the plane landed, Henry's heart was beating out of his chest. He could feel his anxiety and stress levels skyrocketing. His managers were already arranging for a safe passage through the airport, but as they stepped outside, a mob of fans surrounded him, all clamoring for his attention.

"Mr. Cavill, can we have a picture with you?"

"Please sign me an autograph, Henry!"

Henry tried to sign a few of them off politely, begging them to let him leave, but as he pushed through the crowd, he heard a fan talking about you. "I'm not (y/n), but I deserve some attention too!" His frustration boiled over, and he turned around, scolding her almost tearing up talking about you. "She's in the hospital fighting for her life, and all you care about is a damn autograph? Get some perspective woman!" Finally, he broke free from the crowd and drove towards the hospital. His heart sank as he saw the sign "Intensive Care Unit" in bold letters. He asked the receptionist for your whereabouts, and the receptionist recognized him immediately.

"Oh my god, you're Henry Cavill! I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you at first. Follow me, Mr Cavill, I'll take you to her doctor." As they entered the doctor's cabin, Henry could feel his frustration, pain, and rage building up inside of him. The doctor gave him a somber look and spoke in a serious tone. "Mr. Cavill, I'm sorry to say that (y/n) has suffered severe head trauma, and the chances of her recovery are low. She is at a high risk of amnesia or worse, of slipping into coma. We are doing everything we can to keep her stable, but we need to prepare you for the worst." Henry felt like his world was crumbling around him. The doctor's words were like a punch in the gut, and he felt his eyes welling up with tears. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you, losing the whole of his heart.

"Please, doctor, do everything in your power to save her. I can't lose her. I just can't." He spoke between tears trying to get the words out of his throat, although they came barely over a whisper. The doctor gave him a sympathetic look, knowing that there was only so much they could do. He was shattered into a million pieces, and he felt like he was drowning in his own pain and despair. All he could do was hold onto hope and pray for a miracle.

He sat in the waiting area, his eyes glued to the door of the ICU room. His mind is racing, and he can feel his heart pounding in his chest. He has been waiting there for hours, hoping and praying that the doctors will give him some good news. Finally, the door opens, and the doctor steps out. Henry stands up, his fear plastered on his face as he approaches the doctor. "How is she?" he asks, his voice trembling with emotion.

The doctor takes a deep breath and looks Henry in the eye. "She's stable," he says. "But she still hasn't regained consciousness. We're doing everything we can, but the next few hours are critical." He nods, he felt his heart sinking. He felt like he's been hit by a truck. He can't believe that this was happening. He's never felt so powerless in his life. All he can do is sit and wait and hope. He was finally here, but he still couldn't do anything to fix you, to save you, to protect you...

He had begged the doctor to let him see her but he refused. The doctor explained how they're still treating your wounds and he will be able to see you later today. He nodded and patiently, yet impatiently waited outside the ICU. Hours pass, and finally, the doctor comes back to him. "Although she's still unconscious, we have shifted her to a room, and you can go see her now." he says. His heart leaps into his throat as he follows the doctor into the room. He sees you lying there, pale and still, hooked up to all sorts of machines. His heart breaks at the sight.

He takes her hand in his, feeling the coldness of your skin. Tears well up in his eyes once again, as he leans down to whisper in your ear. "Baby girl, I'm here," he says, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there. Please, come back to me. I need you." He said, finally breaking into a sob that he had been holding for hours.

He sits by your side, holding your hand and talking to you, telling you all the things he's been holding back for so long. He tells you how much he loves you, how he can't imagine his life without you, how he'll do anything to make you better. He tells you all the things he's sorry for, all the things he wishes he could have done differently. His trying his best to make you feel his presence and bring you to life again. He needed you to speak back to him. As he talks, tears roll down his cheeks, and he can feel the pain and sorrow inside him grow. He's never felt so vulnerable in his life, and he knows that if you won't make it, he'll never be the same again. He tries to shake these negative thoughts and for now, all he can do is hope and pray and be by your side, holding your hand.

Hours passed as he didn't realise and fell asleep, curled up in a chair beside your bed, holding your hand tightly. He was exhausted, emotionally drained, and his body ached from sitting in the same position for so long, but he didn't care. All he wanted was to be there for you, to be the first thing you see when you wake up. As the night passed, he was into a deep slumber, but he was quickly awoken by a faint voice calling his name. He jerked upright, his heart pounding in his chest, as looked at you in shock. Yoy were awake.

"Baby?" he said, his voice choked with emotion. "Oh my God, you're awake. Are you okay? How do you feel?" He asked everything without a breath. He then immediately rang the bell to call the nurses and the doctor. "How is she now?" He asked impatiently to the doctor. "She's surprisingly much better Mr Cavill, looks like you were what she needed to heal." The doctor said finally leaving the two of you alone.

"How are you feeling princess? You scared me so much. I'm so glad you're okay. Fuck." He said with tears running down his face as he held her hand right continuously kissing your hand. You smiled weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I feel...okay. A little sore. But I'm glad to see you. I thought I'd never see you again" His eyes filled with tears as he leaned in and lifted you gently into his arms, holding you close to him. "Oh, baby don't say that. I would never let anything happen to you." he said, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry. I should have been here. I should have been there to protect you. I can't believe this happened." You stroked his cheek and smiled reassuringly. "It's not your fault, Henry. It was an accident. I'm just glad you're here now." He just held you like his life depended on it. You could feel how scared he was and how he was holding onto you like a little baby. You ran your hand gently through his hair and you can already feel yourself healing. He was your medicine. He was your relief. You couldn't imagine you were holding him after almost two months and now you didn't want to let go.

Henry took a deep breath and kissed your lips, feeling overwhelmed with relief and love. "I was so scared," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't know what to do. I thought I was going to lose you." Your eyes filled with tears as you looked up at him. "You're not going to lose me," she said, your voice soft but firm. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. I love you, Henry and you're stuck with me." You said giggling a little through your tears. His heart swelled with love and emotion as he looked down at you. "I love you so much more my princess. God I love you so much more..." he said, his voice thick with emotion. For a few moments, you just held each other, lost in your love and relief. You can feel how his heart has now picked a softer pace. He needed you as much as you needed him.

Later, he pulled back a little, looking at you with concern. "What happened?" he asked. "How did this happen?" You knew you were gonna get in trouble if you answered this. You just smiled weakly but he asked again as you sighed. "I remember losing control of the car...and then hitting the tree. After that, everything is a blur. But I'm okay now and so much better with you here." You said trying to glaze everything with hope and happiness, in hopes that he won't get mad at you. He hated your age old secondhand car and had strictly asked you to take the new ones he has parked up for you. He even offered to drive his Aston Martin around. But you loved this car, it was the first thing you bought with your own money. Although he was right, this car had served you enough, and now just something you should be keeping for sentimental value.

He looked at you with narrowed eyes. "How many times have I asked you to stay away from this junk? What if I had lost you today? Hun?" He snapped. He was now angry but you expected this. He was worried for you and he was right, this car almost took your life today. "I'm sorry Henry. I won't do it again" You say politely pulling him in a hug as he immediately melts down and nuzzles his head in your hair. "I know baby, I'm sorry to get mad at you, but I almost thought I lost you today. I was so scared, and I have told you so many times to dump that car. I just.. I wanted to save your from exactly this." He said softly now gently rubbing your back and kissing your head and shoulders. "I'm so sorry baby, I promise I won't do it again. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. I love you." You say stroking his cheek and leaning in to kiss him.

You were kissing him after two months and it felt like tasting heaven. He was your medicine. His words, his touch, his kisses, everything healed you. He healed you and you wanted nothing more. Henry smiled through the kiss and hugged you tightly, feeling like the luckiest man in the world. "I love you too, my princess," he said. "I love you more than anything. And I'm never going to let anything happen to you again."

____

A/N: Please send in your fic requests! Asks Open!

#domhenrycavill #henry cavil x y/n #henry cavill #henry cavill one shot #henry+cavill+fluff #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill x female ofc #henry cavill x short!reader #henry+cavill+smut #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill angst #henry cavill smut #lovinghenrycavill #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill+fluff #henry Cavill+ angst

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undercoverpena · 1 year

Text

things you never asked

Javier Peña x f!reader (deaf/hard of hearing/hearing impaired!reader)

can you sign? biting the inside of his mouth, he at least attempts to look guilty as he shakes his head. gesturing, taking your pen, fingers brushing against yours ever so delicately. likely purposefully. but I will learn.

wordcount: 3.1k dedication: written for the wonderful anon who requested Javier Peña x deaf/hearing impaired reader, I hope you enjoy. AN: Please be aware, I am not deaf/hard of hearing myself, and therefore, I apologise to anyone who reads this and sees inaccuracies. I’m aware, even with the research, talking and asking questions, it doesn’t scratch the surface of truly knowing this experience.

javier peña masterlist

Initially, he doesn’t seem impressed that you are here.

Not at your presence, or that you’re standing in his office, bag in front of your thighs as you introduced yourself—never mind why you were here.

There was often little choice where you were sent. Assistance and special interests are rarely ever needed all at once.

Not that it matters, Javier Peña seems even less interested as to the reasons you’re here, or that you were sent here. Under it, though, you see something else. It's fleeting—breezing past like curtains caught in a draught—but he looks worried, concerned.

He does a good job at burying it, stuffing it down as he stares down at the file again, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge.

He does give you the nicety of looking at you when you talk, eyes, all hard and umber, flicking from the paper in his hand to you. Then, his eyes take in the sight you knew he would find eventually, the thing you don't hide, but rather wished you’d gotten to your credentials before it was spotted.

Then it flushes across his face, the flattening of creases and the immediate shift to concern.

You’ve grown good at reading people, having been around people who make assumptions as an occupational hazard. You’ve become well versed in reading lips, and the minor inflexions around them—the subtle shifts of their eyes, the way their lips try not to curl.

From the looks of it, if he had wanted someone, he had at least wanted someone who didn’t need an aid to hear him. And you foolishly wished to support someone who hadn’t written you off the moment you arrived, something you’d have commented on, if not for the fact you really wanted this particular job.

His eyes keep glancing over it—the cochlear implant—the object that allows you to do what you’d always wanted to and what you're good at.

Languages have always fascinated you, even with the clock ticking on how long you could hear them being spoken. It’s why you knew you’d be helpful—laundering didn’t tend to stick in one county, never mind the country.

“I don’t mean to be….”

You lick your lips, letting him do what he feels he must. Albeit softly, kindly.

“You can’t… you can’t go out—it’s dangerous and—“

Unmeaningly, you smile. “I’m aware I’ll be office-based, Mr Peña. But, a lot can be done from a desk.”

It leaves your tongue harshly, even if you don’t mean it to be. Even if his tone was the polar opposite, gentle, soft.

The rules of what you can and can’t do are firmly etched into your brain the number of times you’ve heard them. The amount of languages you’ve heard it said to you in—hell, someone had even once signed it.

It’s as though each time, they think you expect to run off with a gun and a badge rather than assess case files and assist.

“If you could show me where I can sit, I’ll get started—I was told you had transcripts I could read.”

He seems to run his tongue against his teeth before throwing the paperwork down on his desk.

The pile there large, sat at all angles, like adding to it is his hobby rather than sorting it.

He introduces you to his deputy—a man who tries not to stare but does so all the same. It’s his name, you remember on the initial paperwork: N. Stoddard.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Stoddard.”

“Neil,” he says, wiping his hand on his trousers before extending it.

Shaking it, your grip firm—just like you were taught—you stand a little straighter, spine a little stiffer, feeling brown eyes still on you.

In time, you’re left alone.

Playing catch-up is never fun. A risk of information overload set to hit at any moment, but able to keep it at bay with sugary snacks and coffee.

In the following days, you find it’s easier not to meet his eyes. To not suffer the same fate as the other women in the building—the ones who all sigh in the same horrid pitch that vibrates through your brain.

If he looks your way, someone else—an intern, a busybody—swoops in, desperate to remove you from the playing field. Because it’s a game getting noticed by him, each one stepping up to the plate, batting and seeing who can score.

All he ever manages to ask is whether you’re okay before his attention is needed.

You’re not sure you believe all of the reasons people give. But then, none of them realise you’re not interested in playing, not knowing that truthfully, as handsome as he is, even spending an evening with someone you assume wouldn’t be able to speak to you without your aid is more tiring and lonely, than declining the opportunity.

Even if, irrespective of the fact Javier Peña spoke Spanish and English, you doubted his language skills spread into Lengua de Señas Colombiana or ASL. Something you weren’t about to put to the test, time ticking, case mounting—there was little need in getting attached. In forming anything outside of polite behaviour and yes sir. Even if he had softened, even if he saw something in you that was worth keeping around.

Not that he shows that all too much to you, barely letting a glance fall in your direction. Occasionally, he’ll look, ask if you got that, whether he needs to repeat it.

With others, you’d have bitten back that you can hear him perfectly, but with him, you swallow it. Let it erode a hole on the tip of your tongue, suspecting he didn’t mean it as condescending as it came out.

You still do respond with a gesture—a thumbs up, an okay sign, just to stick the point in.

It seems he’s wired to keep everyone at arm's reach, you assume. Likely making up for something, a wrong or a right—you can’t be sure. So, you don’t assume, you’re too busy, too much needing to be checked, typed.

The more transcripts come in, the less it all makes sense. Your fingers typing, trying to find some pattern, so no one has to risk involving the wife.

It’s easier to fake being a workaholic as the reason you don’t look up at him when he walks past. When you keep your chin dipped when the end of the day arrives.

Because even if you’re here to help process legal paperwork, to be the middle person and keep the peace, you couldn’t help but notice that he was good-looking. Somewhat reserved, but handsome.

Something you get to see firsthand a few days later, finding him standing at your desk, fingers tapping against the wood.

At first, you don’t dare look up. Your stomach drops, your implant thrown in your bag—the lump in your throat from your earlier sob all returns.

You had known the day would end badly from how your morning began. An overslept alarm, a coffee-stained blouse and your lunch on the floor in a mess—and that was before you got in.

Then it was rushing, snagged trousers on a desk end and no batteries for your cochlear implant in your bag.

You reach for a pen, for paper—glancing up again, and it’s like the lights have been switched on, suddenly seeing what everyone else falls for.

The brown pools in his eyes—how they coax you in. Call for you. They make you forget how to think, breathe and recall. Mainly because, unlike usual, they’re soft, wide and large. They’re full of empathy and pleading for forgiveness—

Shit. He’s speaking.

His lips moving. Your brain quickly, and already, works a translation out as your forehead creases and your lips slide up into your cheek.

He’ll remember—you think. He’d stared at it enough in the moments you’ve been around him that he must.

But, the longer he talks, the more you fear that won’t be the case.

It’s why you stop him.

Racking your brain for the sign in ASL before slowly raising your index finger, moving it to your cheek near your left ear—to a spot close to your lower cheek, and signing to him.

His lips stop moving, sliding to a halt as he stares. And you grab a scrap piece of paper, your pen gliding over the sheet in the neatest you could get it:

I can’t hear you. Ask someone else.

Javier considers it. Leaning more so on your desk.

Doing so with a tilt of his head and a stroke of his jaw, the sleeves of his jacket rolled up—allowing you to see how his veins twitch and his muscles flex as he thinks.

Gesturing for the pen, he takes it, adding in neater writing than you banked on:

You don’t want to help me?

You smirk, looking up and finding him watching you—smiling.

Suddenly, you’re unsure whether you should remind him you can lip-read. That if he sticks to one language, you’ll be able to keep up.

Instead, you take the pen back, seeing something dance in his eyes, you know you should run from. But you don’t.

Can you sign?

Biting the inside of his mouth, he at least attempts to look guilty as he shakes his head. Gesturing, taking your pen, fingers brushing against yours ever so delicately. Likely purposefully.

But I will learn.

You snort. In all of your free time? you wonder, and from the way his eyes open a fraction wider, he reads your mind.

Staring, wiping his thumb over his lips as you stare at the imperfect handwriting with the perfect Spanish. You write:

I caught one word. Ask again, but slower. In one language.

It shifts, changes. Like day into night, like spring into summer. Things bloom.

Days bleeding into a week, a week ticking up to a month. The hours together, even with his meetings, growing, rooting something down that you know should worry you.

Because he’s not like this with Neil.

Neil who can hear him, and likely always will; Neil who works here permanently, and won’t be whisked away when all is said and done.

You let it happen anyway.

Watching it begin with him checking in, not just sending Neil to do so. His care spreads into offering you a drink, slowly mastering the perfect way you take it.

He hovers, and you don’t hate it.

An attachment forming, weaving itself between the two of you, pulsing—and you should stop it.

There’s fleeting things, ones which seem obvious, but it’s better to ignore. The way he moves you to the side of the pavement away from the cars when you find yourself going out for lunch at the same time as him; when he realises that you find it easier if he sticks to one language, not doing an oddly beautiful mix of Spanish and English.

You make him laugh, and he makes you smile.

Something you’re sure countless others do, but you try not to linger on it. Instead, finding his eyes barely glance at the thing, which helps you hear the sound he makes, instead only looking at you.

It’s why you don’t argue that you can’t go with him to Curaçao. Instead, you pack a bag—finding a rationale for the reason you’re on a plane, foot almost brushing his as you sit opposite.

“You stay out of sight, you’re here for—“

“My tongue,” you bite back, not glancing up, but smirking at the way the air shifts. “I know, Javi. You don’t need to read me my rights.”

He leans back, elbow meeting the armrest, studying you—thumb swiping his bottom lip. A movement you notice he does a lot, so frequently, you almost fear you’ll mirror it.

“¿Qué?” you ask.

He shrugs, thumb still tracing. “You’ve never called me Javi.”

Closing the file, you cross your leg over the other, the tip of your shoe brushing his in the act. “Well, I’ve never been taken from my desk.”

It’s chaos.

An inevitable coincidence when he takes off in a run, and Javi follows. Pink shirt blurring in the distance, your feet slowing to a near jog, knowing you’d never be able to keep up.

You try, because you’re stubborn, difficult.

A person who should know better, and yet finds herself very much somewhere you shouldn’t be—just because he asked nicely, and did so following a flurry of compliments.

You’re good, really good. You seem surprised. No. Not surprised. Just… Surprised? Alright, you got me, muñeca. You calling me muñeca cause I’m fragile? No, just other names seemed inappropriate.

It’s muñeca that circles your mind as you follow the mess the chase leaves behind—the shouts, the knocked-over furniture and the way the crowd parts like the sea. Your hands brush past people, guiding yourself back to him—to them. Your body catches shoulders, head almost knocks against walls as you try to follow. Running, fleeing—calves burning as the sun beats down on your skin. As your arm throbs from meeting a wall, a graze most likely being a badge you’ll wear for a few days.

Chest burning as you reach the square, finding pink and a crowd gathered you let a breath soak into your lungs. Taking another and another, steadying your pulse as you watch him raise a gun. You brace, but find nothing.

Just a shove and push of the crowd.

And nothingness.

Nothing.

It dawns then, as your blood stops thumping in your head. It rushes through you, crashes and slashes the relief at catching Jurado, because you can’t hear.

It rises like fire, spreading from your stomach and growing up your oesophagus. Disorientation mixing with loss, hand clutching the place it should be, eyes scanning the floor in circles as you pace and retrace.

It stings—the tears which come thick and fast. Your hand remaining against your ear, unable to catch each gasp from a sob, doing so, even if you can’t see through the thick pain coated in your eyes—

You’re spun, finding brown eyes, tousled hair and a pink shirt. Soft, but slightly calloused fingers, slide down your forearm.

He spots your tears, taking the sight of you in as his other hand cups your chin, tilting you to face him. Those brown eyes, the ones softening second by second, making you swallow, making your brain empty—

He’s speaking. A blend of languages from the look of it, mixing from one to the other, jumbling whatever thought process you had.

Lips moving quickly, fingers wrapping around your forearm, and you stare. It takes a second, your mind slowly engaging, before you lift your hand, tapping against your ear as you frown.

It’s then you can read it. Now he’s slowed his lips and chosen one language.

You can’t hear me?

You shake your head, unsure how to begin to explain, without sign language or paper, that you lost it somewhere in the chase. Your fingers pointing to your ear, moving your arm, signalling to him, but you could feel it—the dread. It creeps over you, half-expecting him to excuse himself.

But instead, he releases his hand from yours, asking with precise fingers and a concerned look if you’re hurt—if you can walk.

Answering with head shakes and signs in response, your eyes still brimming with tears—throat choked by emotion and the lack of sound.

There were moments, fleeting since you’d arrived in Colombia, where there had been no sound to the point it had hurt your head, and now you missed how loud it all was—missed the liveliness of it.

That feeling sitting with you, drenching you as he leads you into a car, and then a car into a plane.

It’s only after take-off, the sensation of being in the air felt by every bone, do you think, do you replay it all.

He’s lost in talking to Jurado. His words are not easily untangled, but his focus on him is enough to tell you that you can relax.

That’s when it floors you:

He signed.

Not once, twice or even thrice. He signed a multitude of times. In the square, in the car—even as you boarded the plane.

Your eyes look up, glancing over, finding his fingers wrapped around his chin, staring—as if waiting for you to notice.

He must read minds, concluding that you’ve figured it out. Not saying a thing. Neither of you is signing a vowel.

Not doing so until the wheels of the plane land in Miami, the people waiting to take Jurado do so, leaving the two of you for a moment.

He must wait for you to move, unbuckle your seatbelt and go over. But you don’t. The minutes collected, eventually finding him coming closer, sitting in the opposite seat—the table folded out without glancing at it. Pulling out paper and a pen.

Then he writes: Told you I’d learn.

You smirk, licking your lips, taking the pen—the one you realise is yours. You want a medal for learning a few phrases?

Tilting his head, he smirks back. Mirroring yours. The two of you sit in it, until you unbuckle your belt—shifting to the edge of your seat.

Now we’re done, I’ll be sent to another office.

He nods, smirk lessening as he takes the pen. I know.

The sorrow etched into his face is one you feel thumping in your chest. A longing to stay, to help in some other ways, not that you’re sure how.

Taking the pen, you offer a smile before you write quickly:

It cannot hurt to do this, then.

His eyes glance up to meet yours as they register, watching you move close—confusion melting outwards just in time for you to lean forward and kiss him.

A thank you, initially.

All soft, delicate—more testing the waters than anything else. Until, his lips move with yours. Thanking him again, thanking him for the kindness in the square, for trying.

Feeling that same palm cupping your cheek as he deepens it, as he holds you close, the other hand sliding along your knee.

It’s wrong, most likely—a breach of some kind of contract you signed. But, then, you weren’t meant to have left, to have gone with him, faux-finalising other documents in the air when you should have been on the ground.

So, this—giving in—kissing him, was minor.

an: to the anon, you deserve the world. thank you for trusting me with this.

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