#Frantic Gallery

[centi-pearl]

[gmm thumbnail redraw as shou] - no fucking way

#mp100 #mob psycho 100 #shou suzuki #sorry whenever i dont know what to do i frantically take any image #-in my gallery and i put it on the canvas and use it as a reference #knife #centipearlart

[ver0nica985]

Veronica.

Feed us.

We're hungry.

sweats. I'll post some art I put on tiktok rn....

#frantically searches gallery

[goldensunset]

Are we having feelings about volo?

#is my blogging that frantic and constant #asks #snapple-man #legends arceus #i should just make a gallery of all the people commenting on how funny and weird it is that i’m suddenly spam posting about pokémon #with like no warning at all out of left field suddenly

[beginagain--]

Gallery - Rosettas, Fulford Arms

View On WordPress

#city snakes #frantics #Gallery #Gigs #hunter gatherer #Music #the rosettas

[azsazz]

Midnight Muse (Part 19)

Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]

Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.

Warnings: SMUT

Word Count: 5,592

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Masterlist]

Notes: The moment we've all been waiting for 😏 (took me like four days to write this)....Happy Valentine's Day 💙

_________________________________________

The kiss is searing.

It’s a desperate attempt to taste each other, devour each other as your lips part beneath Azriel’s without thought. Your teeth clack and the sound is loud in the silence of the gallery, almost startlingly so, but his tongue is brushing across yours in a tentative swipe before you’re meeting him halfway, kissing him even more urgently as the taste of him explodes on your tongue.

He tastes fresh and spicy. There’s a hint of the champagne he’s been drinking, and just like the fizziness of it, the feeling bubbles throughout your body pleasurably. You press yourself closer. His eyelashes are so long that you swear you can feel them fluttering against your skin. The feeling goes straight to your cunt.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and you lose yourself into him entirely.

A new beginning indeed.

“Wait,” Azriel pants between kisses. His words tell you that he wants to pause this kiss that is more dizzying than any of the champagne you’ve had tonight, but the way his hands caress your face, keeping you close, the way that he continues to press his mouth against yours again and again tells you that he doesn’t want this to end either. “Princess, wait.”

Ice slips through your veins as you rock back from him a little. Is he already regretting this? I mean, you did just throw yourself at him like some simpering girl, but his reassuring grip slides down your arms, holding you close. Tingles skitter in wake of his touch, but you can’t help the part of you that’s suddenly terrified of what he’s going to say.

Azriel must see it on your face too, the worry, because his brows furrow slightly like he doesn’t understand your quick reaction to pull away. He’s stepping into you, plastering himself against your front. You can feel his cock, hard with attention against your stomach. You relax slightly as the warmth from your cheeks drips down to collect at the apex of your thighs.

“You’re drunk,” Azriel breathes, and the pinch of his brows becomes more tortured when you slide your hands up his chest, wrapping them around his neck. Those golden eyes search yours frantically, but you don’t show him anything but the ache, the need for him you have and have been locking deep inside of your soul. “I need you to be sober when I fuck you for the first time, princess.”

“I’m fine,” you whine, clinging to him as tightly as he is to you. You roll your hips a little to emphasize what you want from him and Azriel makes a choked noise in response. “I’m not drunk enough to where I’d forget any of this, Azriel.”

And fuck, the way you say his name, no longer filled with hatred or annoyance. It’s a heady whine that makes his cock harder than stone. He thinks he might crumble under your touch like a delicate piece of his charcoal. He wants to be wrapped all around you, embedded into your skin like the chalky substance he favors. He wants to ink you with his touch, with his cum—

He shakes his head, erasing those thoughts from his mind. If he continues down that path he might just rip off your dress right now and—“Fuck,” he squeezes his eyes shut as hard as he can for a moment, leaning his forehead against yours. “I want to fuck you in a bed, not on some hard floor.”

It’s an excuse and you both know it. He could lie you down right now and fuck you so hard that your tailbone bruises from the stone floors, and you’d probably thank him.

“Just put a canvas down,” you suggest, “Let’s make some art.” He grunts like you’ve just shot him, bucking his hips against you. You can feel how big he is and you want to unleash his cock from his pants, run your fingers across the hardness of it, taste him on your tongue—

“Easy,” he warns playfully, but there’s a clear strain to his voice that tells you that he wants to keep going. Sadly, Azriel pulls your hands from his belt. You hadn’t noticed that your fingers had moved to his waist on their own volition.

“Fuck,” you curse, wincing. “Sorry.”

“Say fuck again,” he says, distracted. The honey of his eyes is dripping with lust, pupils blown wide as they drink you in. The flush to your cheeks, the way you’re biting your tongue and batting your eyelashes up at him like you’re going to make him beg for it. He might. Azriel brushes his thumb across your lip, watching the way your mouth forms the words again. “Filthy, princess,” he breathes against your mouth. “Everytime you called me prick or asshole or whatever creative curses you could come up with, you don’t know how much I wanted to come taste them off of your lips, fuck them right out of you.”

He wants to know if you’ll make the same noises that you did on the other side of that wall that day.

You can’t help but to rub yourself against him. Your sex is throbbing with need. You moan again and Azriel sucks harshly on your neck. “Shit,” you whine. His hands are everywhere, winding around your body to hold you even closer. “Need your cock, Az,” you pant, and he’s kissing you forcefully, the both of you stumbling back a few steps.

“You’ll get it, princess,” he mumbles, hands dragging hot lines down your spine to squeeze a handful of your ass. You’re about to beg him again, because your failed attempts at convincing him to fuck you right here on the floor are not working, but the lights cut out, sending the entire gallery into a pitch of darkness.

Azriel groans and you can’t help the laugh that escapes.

“What the hell?” You question through your giggling, turning as you throw a look over your shoulder as if making sure that the entire room has succumbed to the same darkness. You don’t miss the way Azriel’s grip tightens on you as you move, and the action weakens your knees.

“Thesan told me this would happen at midnight,” Azriel supplies, digging into the pocket of his trousers for his phone.

You feign a gasp, “My very own Cinderella moment! I’ve always wanted one!”

The smirk in Azriel’s tone is clear when he answers. “Except, unlike Cinderella, you’ll be getting dick tonight.”

You swat at him, but in the dark you miss. He chuckles, deep and throaty, as if the current of your swing ruffled the fabric of his shirt. You clench your thighs. Being on this side of Azriel’s good mood is spectacular, but there is no way he can keep torturing you like this.

“I think it really sets the mood; don’t you think?” You purr, fingers fumbling for the top button of his shirt.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he grouses, catching your hands and guiding you through the dark gallery instead. The flashlight on his phone leads the way. Azriel keeps your hand tucked tightly in his own as you wobble back into your heels with a soft hiss, your aching feet already protesting again. “When I fuck you, I need to see all of those pretty faces you’re going to make for me,” Azriel all but growls.

You stumble, blaming it on your shoes and Azriel steadies you.

He swipes up the glasses from the floor and you pick up the nearly empty champagne bottle, where you return them all to the kitchenette Thesan built in the back, dumping them into the sink.

When you scold Azriel for not washing the glasses, he arches a brow, illuminated by the glaring light coming from his phone. “Oh, now you want to stay longer and help clean up?” He questions and you roll your eyes in response. “Is this my punishment for wanting to take you home and fuck you in a nice, comfy bed? C’mon, princess, you know just how soft it is, don’t you?”

You shiver at his words. That, for once, you’re both completely on the same page about something.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The ride back to the apartment building is both the longest ride you’ve ever endured, and the most tension-filled.

Azriel had called a cab to take the both of you home, and spent the time waiting by pressing you up against the back door of the building and kissing the life out of you.

It’s difficult to focus on anything other than his hand in yours, the soft and rigid texture of his hand. The way that his thumb smoothes gentle circles across your own hand where they lie intertwined in your lap. The warmth of his skin is both settling and forming a rock in your stomach as you think about what he’s endured to grace these scars upon his skin. That his step-brothers had been so cruel to take a flame to the artist's hands.

You try to swallow past the lump in your throat, breathing shallowly so you don’t make yourself sick with the thoughts searing through your mind.

The driver doesn’t try to make conversation and you’re thankful for that, but the silence is consuming, aiding in your negative thoughts.

As if sensing the turn of your thoughts, Azriel squeezes your hand, and gives you a gentle smile. It’s a crooked one, one corner of his mouth tilted higher than the other, but it’s easily the most beautiful smile you’ve seen. It makes him look younger, less like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. It makes you wish you had your sketchpad with you. Him looking at you like this makes you feel like there’s a garden growing in your stomach, a field of blooming flowers.

You frown when Azriel’s fingers untangle from yours but then he’s sliding that large palm scoots slowly up your thigh. You glare, glancing into the front of the car at the driver, who is paying no attention to whatever is going on in his backseat, which is perfect because Azriel’s hand is creeping higher, almost cupping your—

You splutter a little and the driver glances at you in the mirror.

“You okay?” Azriel asks, but you can hear the mirth in his voice, see the heat in his eyes, flashing in the streetlights.

You’re not all that sure that you like this new Azriel.

“Peachy,” you offer, using both of your hands to clamp down on his wrist to keep him from coming any closer to your already weeping cunt. The thin fabric of your dress does little to separate the warmth of his hand from your skin. “Just peachy.”

Azriel finds challenge in your response, and you’re no match for his strength as he softly brushes his fingers across the fabric covering your intimates. You exhale harshly and can feel the car moving faster as the driver presses harder on the gas.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You skip going into your apartment, trailing after Azriel with your hand tucked into his.

Your heart is beating wildly, like it’s trying to escape your chest. The closer you get to his door the more confident in your decision you are. You want him, want his hands all over your body, his eyes and hands on your skin and his cock plunged deeply into your cunt.

The elevator had been the only option to get upstairs because of your tired feet, but Azriel had thoroughly distracted your nervousness of getting back in the blasted metal trap by pinning you up against the door and slotting his lips over yours.

The both of you stumbled out onto your floor in a fit of laughter, helped along by the slight warmth that lingers from the champagne. Now, you’re mostly just drunk off of Azriel, his hands, the strain in his pants that’s calling your name, that gleam in his eye that you haven’t quite caught before…

“I’m going to get you some water,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. You had both creeped quietly into the dark apartment, holding your breath and listening for any movement. For college students, the weekend night is still young, and his roommates must be out because not a grunt of a wank or a moan from Feyre sounds. You follow Azriel’s mouth because you can’t get enough of the taste of him. His hands settle on your hips, eyes gleaming with amusement. “And after you drink it, if you still want to—”

“Yes, Azriel,” you cut him off, earnest. “My answer isn’t going to change.”

He studies you, golden eyes hungry with desire, before he nods, slipping from the room, the shadows of the dark living room swallowing him whole.

You bite back the smile threatening to tear your face into two at the sight of his tight ass in his black trousers. You can’t wait to rip them off and see what’s under them. 

Exhaling, you spin on your heel, kicking out of your shoes. Your feet sigh with relief as they fall flat against the hardwood floors, and you wiggle your toes, admiring his room. It feels different, somehow, than when it did when you woke up here hungover as fuck.

The light from the lamp beside the bed is soft, the pile of books stacked in pristine order as opposed to the ready-to-tip-over pile you remember. It’s clean, no piles of clothes on the floor like in Cassian’s room, no pair of panties thrown over the desk chair.

Azriel’s desk is the only thing you could consider messy, but even then, it’s cleaner that what your art stations look like when you’re working on a project. There’s a jar filled with chunks of charcoal, a cloth drenched black hanging over its side. There are loose sheets of paper and thick graphite pencils for sketching, and a luster of sketchbooks stacked in a neat pile, the one on top open.

You lean closer, squinting against the shadows to get a better look, and your breath hitches in your throat.

Drawing upon drawing, and they’re all of you. He’s made you look so beautiful that you didn’t even know you looked like this. Even the ones that he’s clearly drawn in a rush, before the memory faded, are impeccable.

It’s you in the elevator, head buried in your sketchbook, hat pulled low over your eyes. It’s you when Feyre and Rhysand forced everyone to have lunch together, tossing the grape at Cassian. It’s you, swallowing up at him the first day that you met. You sitting on the back of his motorcycle, rain plastered to your head, you—

You can’t help but to turn the page, all but collapsing into the desk chair. Some of the pages are filled with larger drawings, spreading across the spine of the book. When you’d eaten dinner with him, the shock on your face when you learned that he could cook. The following pages are a double-spread from when you were staring down at him when he was changing the oil on his motorcycle.

A hysterical laugh bubbles in your throat. You hadn’t realized that Azriel had been paying as much attention to you as you were with him. The drawings of yours that you dropped all over the floor of his hands are a tribute to that.

“What are you doing?” Azriel’s voice startles you. You stand from the chair and face him, but you don’t move any closer than that. He’s standing in the doorway, a glass of water in his hand. He doesn’t move closer, and when his eyes flick from the sketchbook to you , your chest hurts at the guarded look he wears.

“That sketchbook is filled with drawings of me,” you point at the sketchbook in question, even though he was just looking at it. In some speck of the world it might seem creepy, this sketchbook filled with drawings of you, but to you, it’s no different than children scribbling names of their cushes across notebooks. It’s no different than all of the drawings you have of him.

You watch Azriel’s throat work as he swallows. Like he’s considering not answering you at all. 

After a few, long seconds in silence, he breathes out a quiet, “Yes.”

“Why?” you ask, twisting your fingers together.

Azriel tracks the movement. Because you consume every waking moment of my life sounds too desperate. Because you chase my demons away sounds even crazier.

“Because I really like you.” It’s his first time admitting it, your first time hearing it from him. All of the times Feyre has tried to ask you about Azriel had been deny, deny, deny, because of this very moment right now. You hadn’t wanted to think about him like that, even when your mind was desperate to. You didn’t want to actually like Azriel, not after what he had done, but you find yourself admitting that you like him a hell of a lot more than you ever thought you could.

Bunching up the bottom of your dress, you curl your fingers around it as you take a step closer. He’s frozen in the doorway, watching you slowly drag the fabric up your body and over your head. You’d forgone a bra, and your nipples tighten in the chill of the room, underneath that piercing gaze of his. 

In the few steps it takes you to cross the room to him, your dress is on the floor and he can’t stop looking at your body, drinking you in like an artist does his muse.

“I really like you too, Azriel,” you respond softly. This is the most intimate thing you’ve ever done, bare yourself to him while he’s still fully clothed, being as vulnerable as he’d been with you back at the gallery. The ball is in his court, and the bulge in his pants has you hopeful.

Azriel curses. “Fuck, princess. You’re making my hands shake.” 

Your solution is simple, taking the glass from him and reaching over to set it on the dresser. You can feel the way his eyes rove your body as you move, hot like a knife.

Turning back to him, you slowly, gently take his hands in yours. They’re trembling a little, and it makes you ache.

He’s frozen to the spot as he watches you lift one of his palms to your lips, kissing it sweetly. It’s followed by the other, and then you’re dragging his hands down your skin and over your breasts, squeezing his hands around them, nipples tight with the pleasure of his skin against them.

Azriel’s breath hitches and your head nearly rolls back on your neck when his fingers twitch, fighting the urge to squeeze harder. You peer up at him. He’s so godsdamned warm, eyes dark and drinking you in like a delight. You want to feel his hands everywhere. Right this second.

“They’re not shaking right now, Azriel.”

As quick as lightning, Azriel strikes, lunging forward and scooping you off of your feet, kicking the door shut behind him.

You arch into his touch, the tightness of your sensitive nipples grazing across the soft fabric of his shirt. You moan into his mouth at the feeling and he swallows that sound desperately.

His room is small, and in two great strides he’s placing you on his bed and crawling up after you like a wolf getting its first taste of a kill.

You scoot backwards until you can’t anymore, and Azriel follows you like a worshiper to his God, like a starving artist to their muse.

His hands trail your calves to your thighs where he parts them, your clothed cunt on full display. The fabric is wet and you shiver at the cold of his room as it fights against your hot core, shivering harder when Azriel’s hot gaze drags down your body like a brush dipped in paint.

Like this, kneeling between your legs, he’s the one that looks Godlike. Strands of his black hair fall across his glowing eyes, and his tongue pokes out to wet his lips.

“My Gods, princess. Where do I even start with you?” he asks, his voice filled with awe.

You know that his question is rhetoric, but you can’t help the whine on an answer that slips from your lips.

“Anywhere you want.”

As if he can’t stand it a moment longer, Azriel’s hips find yours. His cock is heavy with need where it’s straining against the fabric of his trousers, and you keen as he grinds into you, fingers finding the buttons of his shirt as he watches you with hungry eyes.

Splayed out like this, on his bed, you look impeccable. A feast and he is a starving man. Biting your lip as he rubs himself against your cunt. The part to your lips, glistening in the lamplight. He drinks you in, memorizing each and every single ounce of you before your fingers find the sliver of exposed skin that grows with each button he takes off.

He’s smooth, warm, and the ridges of his muscles feel like a puzzle beneath your fingers. You know exactly where he fits, right up against your body.

Azriel’s shirt falls to the side and as if he knows the intended path of your thoughts, he’s leaning over you, caging you between his elbows as he stares deeply into your eyes. You can’t help but watch in response, suddenly so sure that you’ve spent too long arguing with him. All this time, you could’ve been doing this. 

It looks like Azriel is realizing the same, as he dips down to kiss you sweetly.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs against your mouth again, following the words with another whisper of a kiss.

“I’ve already forgiven you,” you say, delirious from the feeling of his tongue against your neck. Azriel sucks lightly and your breath hitches, thighs quivering to wrap around his taut waist. “But if you get inside of me right now, I’ll forgive you again.” 

Azriel lifts his head. With the way that his dark hair falls into his gold eyes, paired with the slight smirk on his face, it sends your heart into a rapid flutter. He’s utterly breathtaking, and something blooms deeply inside of you. 

The things you’ve learned about him, from him, this man who hasn’t let his hardships keep him from doing what he loves.

“Don’t think you’re getting off that easy, princess,” Azriel says, and you almost whine when he pulls away from you, but he’s kissing his way down your body, sucking a pert nipple into his mouth and rolling his tongue around it while his other hand massages your free breast. Your fingers find his shoulders and you dig your nails in, hissing as he rolls your nipple between his teeth. Gods, you need his cock, right now. “I have to taste your sweet little pussy first.”

“Please,” you beg as his hands trail down your sides, snapping the waistband of your panties against your hips in a tease.

“Might have to keep you here all night. So I can study your body with my tongue,” he says, leaning down to lick a stripe up the inside of your thigh. “My hands,” Azriel continues, and the words are accentuated with a brush of his knuckle down the center of your core. The thin fabric of your panties does nothing to ease the feeling of his touch. You keen deeply, and somewhere in the haze of the storm that is Azriel that accompanies his every touch, you don’t realize he’s slipped from his pants and boxers, his thick, full length on display. “And my cock,” he finishes, rubbing himself against your soaked panties.

“Az,” you mewl desperately, but you don’t have to wait any longer because he’s already peeling your panties down your legs and settling himself there, admiring the way your pretty cunt flutters and glistens with need.

Your fingers are already fisting the sheets and it’s an effort to peer down at him, watching in anticipation as he finally, finally, lowers his head to your weeping cunt.

Fucking Gods, is Azriel wicked with his tongue, sweeping a deep stroke through your slit. He groans and the sound of it reverberates against your clit and it’s all too much already. You figure he was going to be good with his hands, being an artist, but this…the gentle to harsh touches of his tongue against your clit is otherworldly.

You gasp as he fucks into you, keeping you from scooting up the bed where your feet are planted in the sheets with his hands on your hips, holding you to his face. He’s a man undone, delirious on your taste alone. He can’t wait until his cock gets to feel this.

Azriel works his tongue, fucking into you with such hunger. He sucks greedily at your clit and you arch off of the bed. One of his palms slides across your hips, pressing you back down. He doesn’t care that you’re squeezing his head with your thighs, only cares about the sounds that he’s ripping from your mouth.

They sound even better on this side of the wall.

A finger replaces his tongue and you’re full on squirming now, fingers buried deeply into his hair as you guide his head, the flick of his tongue too good that any words besides “yes,” eddy from your mind. Azriel’s knuckle brushes the bundle of nerves inside of you and you’re seeing white, cunt clenching around his finger, grinding your pussy into the feverish flicking of his tongue as you ride out the best orgasm of your life.

You cunt aches, and Azriel’s still going, so you use your grip on his hair to jostle him a little, whimpering to get his attention.

It takes a lot more strength for Azriel to part from your cunt than he thought. Your sweetness is still on his tongue, coating his mouth when he looks up at you, dazed, as if he’s the one that’s just come from a taste of you. But no, he’s still painfully hard, trying not to rut his hips into the bed while you squirmed for him.

He wants you to do all that squirming on his cock instead.

“You alright up there, princess?” Azriel teases, crawling his way up your body once more. Following the guidance of the hand in his hair, he slants his mouth over yours, sharing the taste of you in a lazy kiss.

You hum languidly, eyes shut in bliss from the orgasm. You peek your eyes open to peer up at Azriel, who’s admiring you with a soft curve to his mouth. He looks so handsome when he smiles that it has you wrapping your legs around his hips, the both of you groaning as his cock slides through your slick folds, teasing.

“Condom,” you gasp, canting your hips to slide your wet and fully interested cunt across his length. He’s so big, and you’d be going down on him if it weren’t for the way that you desperately need to feel him inside of you, right this fucking instant.

Azriel reaches over you, pulling open the drawer of the small table next to you. He roots around for a moment and then he’s pressing back on his haunches, tearing open the condom wrapper and pulling it out.

“Let me,” you offer, and his eyes turn a shade darker when he passes it over.

Your mouth waters at the feeling of his cock in your hand, hot and heavy, silky like heaven. You can feel your slick around the length from where he’d nearly driven you to insanity with that teasing grind against your cunt, and in retaliation, you give his cock a tug, reveling in the low growl that comes from the back of his throat.

“Princess,” he threatens, and your thighs jolt, trying to shut around your screaming clit at the sound.

You don’t wait for Azriel to take charge. As soon as you roll the condom on you’re brushing the head of his cock against your cunt again, slicking him and lining him up with your entrance, looking up at him with those big, innocent eyes.

“Fuck me, Az. I can’t wait another minute.” 

His lips meet yours in a bruising kiss and he slowly presses his cock into you.

“Fucking fuck, princess. You’re so tight for me.” His words are shaky against your mouth, as if he’s struggling to hold himself back from pressing into you all the way, from cumming with a singular touch. 

You mewl his name on the breath that’s forced from your lungs with each inch he plunges into you. Gods, he looked big, felt bigger in your hand, and as he works his cock into your heat, you’re not too sure he’s going to fit all the way. 

But the words he’s whispering into your ear, onto your skin have you melting. The finger he slips between your bodies to play with your clit is distracting enough to where you’re focused on the pleasure he’s pulling from you. 

And then his cock hits that spot, nestles up against it when your hips meet, and you cry out in joy. “Right there, Azriel. You feel so good.” Your fingers dig into the long lines of muscle down his back, trying to hold him closer, as if you aren’t already touching in every way possible.

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this moment?” he asks you, accentuating his words with a slow roll of his hips that makes you both groan, your nails biting into his skin like the needle from his tattoo gun. It drags a shiver up his spine as a fleeting thought zips through his mind, one of you, naked and sitting on his cock, giving him another tattoo. He’ll teach you how to hold the tattoo gun and let you have free rein with it, because anything that you can give him, he wants. Azriel squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to burst at the visual. If anything, he can’t wait to coat your virgin skin in his ink. There is so much canvas for him to work with, all smooth and perfect, waiting for some artwork. “When you were touching yourself on that side of the wall,” he pants, pulling out and fucking back into you slowly. The drag of your walls so tight around his cock is perfect. He won’t last long. 

You gasp as he bottoms out again, throwing your head back into the pillows. “You heard that?”

His hum is strained, and he can’t help but to kiss you. “You’ll have to show me how you touched yourself some day, princess.”

You moan loudly at the thought of that, gripping him tighter. Azriel sitting in his chair, charcoal poised above his sketchpad as he watches you with dark eyes, while you touch yourself to the thought of him. Just how he’s touching you now, tight, little circles around your clit.

“I heard you with that guy,” Azriel continues, and his thrusts become harsher, deeper. “With that fucker from the coffee house. I bet you faked it with him, all that laughing and sighing. I’m going to find out if those noises were real or not.” You shiver at his words, but Azriel couldn’t be further from wrong.

“We didn’t fuck,” you pant, bucking your hips up to meet his. Azriel makes a choked sound, canting his hips to hear you keen wildly at the change of angle. And then, because you know it will make him come undone, you say, “All of this is just for you, Az.”

Azriel nearly cums at those words alone. The coiling in his bones is so hot that he readjusts for better leverage, and fucks into you with abandon. Gods, he loves the way that you’re clinging to him, the way your cunt squeezes his cock tightly, like you never want to let him go.

He’s been a fucking fool all of this time. A Godsdamn fucking fool. He could’ve had you like this, milking his cock dry, making these sounds that threaten to tear the walls down. He could’ve had his hands all over you, because you seem to like the way that he’s touching you, even with how fucked up they are.

“I’m going to memorize everything about this perfect body of yours, princess,” Azriel groans, thrusting deeply. He can tell you’re on the verge of your own orgasm, with the way your cunt squeezes him, the way those gorgeous eyes roll into the back of your head and your mouth parts, letting out those filthy noises he revels in. “We’ve got all night. Let me see you cum again, princess. Cum all over my cock. Oh, fuck, princess. That’s it.”

Your orgasm rocks through you like a tidal wave, stealing your breath away. You hold onto Azriel like he’s your lifeline, trembling in the aftershocks. The white-hot pleasure coursing through your veins is incredible, and you wrench your eyes open at the sound of Azriel’s shaky warning.

Azriel follows you into serendipity. He wishes he were painting your body in white strokes. It’s always been far from his favorite color, but he thinks it could quickly become his favorite if he could see his cum splattered across your skin. 

For the first time, you don’t care that it’s loud on this side of the wall. 

Because you’re on it.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

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#acotar #azsazz #midnight muse #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #artist!azriel #tattoo artist!azriel #art school au

[skzdarlings]

verisimilitude ; hyunjin x reader ; one-shot

masterlist.

( READ ON AO3. )

You are a self-identified no-nonsense curmudgeon. Your best friend is an eccentric pretty boy. You accidentally send him an explicit video of yourself. What's the worst that can happen?

pairing: hwang hyunjin/reader content info: romantic comedy. best friends to lovers. curly-haired reader because mood. accidental sexting. accidental voyeurism. sexual tension. resolved sexual tension. very explicit sexual content. not so much dom/sub but hyunjin explicitly prefer control. sexual discovery. very horny leads lol. (word count: 19500 words.)

-

You look like Hyunjin’s lawyer again. 

Your best friend has gravitated to a somewhat more punk persona in recent years.  You say somewhat because you are not sure it runs deeper than aesthetic, though he would probably be forgiven on account of his perfect face.   His good looks combined with his natural charisma lets him get away with most things. 

His vibrant red hair catches the sunlight like a painted flame, a perfect stroke of red against the beige canvas of the art gallery’s exterior.  He is slouching against the wall, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, squinting in the light.  He looks like a rather put upon a vampire given the dark garb and eyeliner. 

Then he turns his head and sees you.  You are wearing one of your usual blazers and modest skirts, your untameable mess of curls twisted into an updo that is fighting (and losing) against the wind.  You try not to feel too preposterous, peeling bits of hair out of your mouth as you approach him. 

He smiles.  Some people think his smiles look a bit smarmy and you suppose they are not wrong, his lips perpetually quirked like a punchline just occurred to him, but you know your best friend well.  Despite the intimidating ring of dark eye-make up, his eyes are alight with a great deal of affection.  If you were prone to sentimentality, you might concede a heart flutter. 

You clear your throat and march ahead.  He saunters up the path to you.  You meet halfway. 

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says. 

He is the only person allowed to call you that. 

“Hello, Hyunjin,” you say.  You lack his playful charm so you do not have a nickname to return.  You are more comfortable around Hyunjin than anyone else on earth, and you are still awkward around him.  “Thank you for the invitation,” you say. “I appreciate you might have otherwise wanted the time to yourself, so I hope I am not imposing by accepting.” 

He laughs.  When all you do is blink at him, stone-faced, he covers his mouth with a delicate touch of his long fingers, still smirking behind them.    

“Sorry, why wouldn’t I want you to say yes?” he asks.  “We always go to the new exhibitions together.”

You tuck back an errant curl only for another to whip across your brow. 

“Well,” you say, tucking that one back too.  “Since I am temporarily living with you, I thought my company might grow wearisome in a way it usually does not.  Familiarity breeding contempt and all that.” 

Though you state this observation with your usual pragmatic detachment, you are very insecure about it.  You gave this risk a great deal of consideration prior to moving in with Hyunjin.  You are only staying in his apartment’s spare bedroom for a few months while your disaster of a townhouse undergoes repairs (the upstairs bathroom flooded again), but you have never lived with Hyunjin before.  You are aware of your short-comings and you were very worried that your best friend was going to tire of you within a week. 

It has been a month now and he has shown no signs of despising your existence, but it is still best to brace oneself for every eventuality.  

He just smiles and puts both hands in his pockets. 

“Are you getting sick of me?” he asks. 

Another ringlet whips across your face. 

“Good grief,” you say, frantically pushing it aside.  “Of course not!  How could anyone ever get sick of you?”  What a preposterous thought.  Hyunjin just has to wink for the universe to re-arrange itself.  People adore him.  He is handsome and funny and charming and talented and intelligent.   You have known him for most of your life and you are still unearthing his many intricate layers.  As if you could ever grow tired of him.   “I think that’s the most foolish thing you’ve ever said,” you say with complete sincerity. 

He laughs some more, tossing his head back so all that red hair flutters behind him.  The wind co-operates with his hair, of course, working in tandem with the sunlight to flatter him. 

“Are you sure?  I’ve said a lot of foolish things,” he says.

You sputter when a curl flies into your mouth.  You push it away. 

“Yes, well,” you say.  “That much is true too.”  

He looks at you for a moment.  You can’t imagine why.  The sunlight is beaming right in your eyes and the wind is beating you to a pulp.  Maybe you look so hideous that he is contemplating a means of escape. 

Then one hand lifts out of his pocket, long fingers reaching for you.  It is very unexpected.  You stare into his face, a stoic mask concealing your confusion.  His eyes do not meet yours, his gaze on a loose curl.  He is gentle in the way he scoops it up and smoothly tucks it behind your ear.  A shiver erupts under the brush of his fingertips, that heart flutter loosing itself when his touch lingers. 

Then he smiles and puts his hand back in his pocket. 

“Sweet?” he asks. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Do you want a sweet?” He whips an open bag of gummies out of his pocket. 

“Oh.”  You look at the bag.  “Um.  No.”

“Are you sure?”  He shakes the bag.  “It’s your favourite.” 

“Oh.”  Your attention went awry with the race of your heart but you do observe the candy is one you enjoy.  “Okay. Thank you.”  You take a few and pop them in your mouth. 

He upturns the bag over his mouth, finishing off the sugar.  You hope your eyes don’t widen at the flick of his tongue.  Oh, it really is cumbersome when your nether region gets an idea about Hyunjin.  You try to ignore the heat down there.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he says, already striding away.  The man is at least 80% per cent leg so it puts him ahead rather quickly. 

You are too refined to scamper-and-scurry, but you might pitter-and-patter to catch up. 

-

You are able to lose yourself in the art exhibition.  You and Hyunjin share a meal afterward, discussing everything at length.  Hyunjin is a little quieter than usual so you apologize for speaking too much.   He is gazing at you, his chin is propped in his hand.  Surprise flickers in his expression when you apologize, but he recovers, waving his hand like it’s no matter. 

You return to his home and separate for the evening.  You to your studies, him to his evening work-out. 

You are in the apartment’s quaint living room when Hyunjin gets back from the gym.  He is an absolute sight, bare-faced, his red hair yanked into a half-ponytail.  There is a subtle, rolling musculature to his arms, proudly displayed in his sleeveless shirt, and he is glistening with sweat from top to bottom.  It should be gross.  You pride yourself on cleanliness. 

But good grief.  He is gorgeous. 

You are sitting cross-legged on the couch, comfortably dressed down in a sweatshirt and pyjama pants.  You peek at him over the top of your book only to find him already staring at you.  He is rubbing the back of his neck with a towel, his arm flexed.  When he catches you looking, his lips pull into a lazy smile. 

You duck behind your book again.  It is a poor shield, or maybe he is a cunning adversary, because your heart keeps racing anyway. 

“Whatcha reading?” he asks.  You can hear his slow approach.  The towel is tossed somewhere. 

“A book,” you say. 

“Funny,” he says.  He is in front of you now.  You have no time to strategize before he plucks the book out of your hand and holds it over his head. 

“Hyunjin!”  You muster all the indignant attitude you can.  “That’s not funny.  We’re not children anymore.  Return my book at once.”

“I want a hug first,” he says, his full lips in a silly pout. 

“Out of the question.”  You hope you do not sound as flustered as you feel.  “You’re disgusting.  Look at the state of you.”

“Please?”  He blinks his long lashes at you.

You stand up and try to look imposing, hands on your hips.  His smile does not diminish.  He waves the book in the air. 

You lunge, diving at the book and failing spectacularly.  He holds it out of reach, laughing, then he tries to wrap you up in a hug.  He smells like sweat and exertion and it makes you think of sex.  This is sufficiently startling enough to cause a fumble.  You spill backwards, a frantic hand thoughtlessly grasping for an anchor.  Your fingers hook in the neck of his shirt which has the predictable outcome of dragging him with you onto the couch. 

His more athletic reflexes kick in, just enough that he drops the book and catches himself with his hands.  He successively suspends his weight above you, which is nice, but you still thump your head on the arm of the couch, which is less nice. 

“Are you okay?” he asks when you hiss and grab your head.  The laughter has left his voice, replaced with genuine concern. 

“No,” you say, petulantly.  “A horrible sweaty man stole my book and beat me up.” 

He laughs, a twinkling sound that enchants you despite everything. 

“Poor baby,” he says.   “That sounds so disgusting.  Will a hug help…?”

“Don’t you dare—hmmf!”  He lowers himself and squishes you.  You can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of you, partially because he swipes his nose on your neck and it tickles, largely because his laughter is infectious.   “Oh,” you say, pushing his face away. “You are a horrible person.”  

He giggles with boyish mirth.  It is at odds with the man he is, all hard planes and sturdy lines, an unfamiliar twinkle in his dark eyes.  You look back at him, at a loss for words.  Even if you were the sort of person to confess attraction, you would surely seem strange for finding his dishevelled appearance so desirable.  

Finally, you push him, diverting your gaze with an eye roll. 

“All right,” you say.  “That’s quite enough now.  There’s a shower at your disposal and I recommend you make use of it sooner than later.  Go on, get.” 

He obliges, but not without a cheeky kiss to your forehead.  It flusters you more than a chaste kiss should. 

He just winks, because of course the charmer is unaffected by such an innocent touch.  Hyunjin is too gushy and romantic to womanize, but he is certainly liberal with his sexual appetite.  You had the displeasure of running into a one-night stand your first weekend here.  Hyunjin left for work and let her sleep, assuming she would show herself out.  She was a pretty chatterbox and she bounded into the kitchen to strike up a very one-sided conversation with you in your bathrobe.

He did apologize for that.  He knows you do not like unexpected visitors at the best of times, never mind first thing in the morning, and certainly never mind ones he knew intimately.   Fortunately, it was the first and last time you made scrambled eggs for his hook-up. 

You are not in the habit of hook-ups, to say the very least, preferring a serving of scrambled eggs for one.  You had one boyfriend a few years ago but he was not the sort of man to tackle you onto the couch in a sweaty, flirtatious tangle.  You would have bopped him on the nose for trying, in fact.  Hyunjin really does get away with everything. 

Your nethers are getting ideas again.  The territory below your belt is usually well-behaved but unfortunately it lacks any sense when it comes to Hyunjin.  More time spent in proximity appears to be worsening its condition. 

You assume a blank face in the hopes of concealing any trace of arousal, watching Hyunjin amble his sweaty way to the bathroom. 

Oh dear.  You are very wound up.  Something will have to be done or you will never sleep tonight. 

You are blessedly granted an opportunity to satisfy your baser urges when Hyunjin emerges fully dressed for an evening out.  Some friends are at a bar down the street and they invited Hyunjin to join them.  Hyunjin tries to cajole you into joining him, promising it’s just a few drinks and teasing that your book won’t go anywhere, but your book is not how you intend to pass the time alone so his encouragement does not tempt you.  

“I’ll be back soon,” he says, shrugging on a leather vest.  His back is to you so you openly admire his form, his arms on display, his long legs, his ringed fingers as they gather his hair to tie in a knot.   He turns around before leaving, giving you one last finger-wiggle wave and a bounce of his eyebrows. 

He looks sinfully good.  You hope you look casual.  Innocently awaiting a quiet evening. 

Fifteen minutes later you are sitting in front of the full-length bedroom mirror, admiring yourself in a white satin babydoll.  Flaws like frizzy curls or unflattering shapes seem insignificant in the soft lighting and lingerie.  Your curls seem curlier, your face lovelier, your body more tempting than ever.

Though the idea of pursuing a real fling is mortifying, you lament the lack of company in an abstract way.  You feel pretty and ready and wound up.  When such a fancy strikes, the best form of satisfaction is found in self-appreciation.

The taboo of filming yourself always triples your arousal.   Even if there is no real audience, you can’t help but feel regarded. 

Eyes closed, phone camera filming, you imagine a certain pair of dark eyes on you.  You make the vaguest attempt to think of something else, peripherally aware that you shouldn’t fantasize about your best friend like this, but the attempt is useless.  It will always be Hyunjin.  Hyunjin with his fiery red hair, his smirks, his expressive brows and dark eyes.  Hyunjin’s hands, his fluid hips, his athleticism.  Hyunjin in black and leather, so contrary to your modest simplicity. Hyunjin sweaty and raw and determined, pinning you under him. 

Hyunjin, the person you know and like and love more than anything. 

You lift the babydoll and twist, filming yourself through the mirror, showing where a thick toy disappears inside of you.  You rock a little, so wet you can hear it, every nerve tingling as you become someone else in your reflection.  With the apartment to yourself, you don’t restrain any noises, especially when you sit back and fuck yourself with the toy.  You stop filming because you need that hand to finish, but you are so close that it only takes a few touches to climax. 

You slump back, satisfied for a while, then a little embarrassed.  You have a quick shower then climb into bed where you can’t help but watch your video.   You imagine a particular someone else watching it and it winds you up all over again.  You are still wet and sensitive, your fingers slipping smoothly into your shorts.  Your put the phone down and think of Hyunjin’s long fingers, his breath on your neck and his lips grazing your skin as he works his lovely hand inside you. 

When you are finished, truly finished, you feel momentarily miserable in your loneliness.  You try to imagine a version of yourself that went with Hyunjin to the bar, but even that fantasy only gets you so far.  Nothing would have happened.  Nothing has ever happened.  

Hyunjin interrupts your wallowing stream of self-pity.  He texts you a rather exasperated-looking selfie, captioning it with, I miss you, I’d rather be at home.  

It makes you smile.  It is probably foolish, but suppressing it is useless so you surrender to the warm glow in your chest. 

You text back a heart.  He replies, you never told me what you were reading.   He must be truly bored if he is texting about your books, but you dutifully reply like there is nothing unusual about the question.   He sends back a smiling emoji and a string of hearts.

You fall asleep after that.  You wake in the morning to a slew of missed text messages, Hyunjin insisting that he is having the worst night of his life because you didn’t come with him.  This is nonsense, of course, but he attacks you with an arsenal of teary-eyed emojis so you send an obligatory heart his way.  You are too sleepy to formulate a rejoinder, much less type one, so it will have to suffice. 

You click through your phone to wake up, still foggy after exhausting all notifications.  You open your photo album and find your video from last night.  You click on it just as a message alert swings down.  You instinctively swipe it away, but your clumsy finger opens the messenger.  You click around a little haphazardly, finger flying everywhere. 

After a bit of sleepy swiping, you close everything then check the message.  The text you just swiped was from Hyunjin, some goofy good morning remark with a squinty-eyed selfie under it.  Hyunjin does his make-up so severely these days so you like his softer, bare-faced selfies, especially because you know he sends them to no one else.  He will post elaborate photos all over his social media, but the simple stuff is for you. 

But you have no time to enjoy the selfie, because you are distracted by your own unwitting reply. 

Oh no.

You snap up so quickly that it nearly causes whiplash.  You are wide awake now, staring at the paused video of you in a white satin babydoll. 

You slap a hand over your mouth.  For a long moment, all you can do is stare.  Your head feels fuzzy, a radiating aura of fantastical insanity clouding your periphery.  Then you realize it is actually just your hair, because you fell asleep so suddenly and didn’t put on your bonnet. 

You look in the mirror.  You look like someone electrocuted you.  Fitting, because that’s what you feel like. 

Your phone buzzes.  In your silent but sublime mania, you dropped your phone facedown on the blanket.  You are tempted to hurl the demonic device across the room but that will solve nothing.  

You pick up the phone.  This is probably what execution feels like. 

Hyunjin, perpetually artistic in every capacity, even the literary, summarizes the exchange with one poetic text:

?!     

You fling yourself facedown on the bed and kick your legs like a petulant child.  The sky does not open, you are not struck by lightning, and the earth does not gobble you up, so you roll over and shakily type a reply. 

That was an accident, you write.  Surprisingly, once you start typing, it is hard to stop.  You continue:

Oh my good gracious, Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin, I am so sorry.  I cannot apologize to you enough. 

I assure you that was a complete accident.

I would never accost you so unsuspectingly with unprovoked licentious content.

An ellipses appears in the corner, Hyunjin typing a reply.  It feels like your stomach has folded in on itself.  You lay there with your hand cupped over it, willing yourself to explode.  But no, it would be very rude to explode in Hyunjin’s spare bedroom.  Bad enough you have attacked him with your inappropriate spank fodder, it would be uncouth to make him clean your spattered guts off the wall. 

Hyunjin finally replies, that makes sense… you aren’t the unprovoked licentious content type usually…

I assure you I am not, you reply.  I keep these videos to myself.  I would never intentionally spring them on you.

There’s more than one?? he replies, and you are mortified all over again.  Maybe you should just explode after all.

I assure you I will keep those where they are, you reply.  I cannot apologize enough.  If you want me to leave, I will pack my things immediately.  You are not one for extreme emotion, but you feel an unfamiliar stabbing in your eyes.  You realize with horror that it is the threat of tears as you imagine Hyunjin banishing you from his life forever.  Other people come and go but there is only one Hyunjin.  He is irreplaceable in your esteem, even if he dresses like a goth Las Vegas showgirl.

His replies come flying in, one after the other:

Whoa whoa

it’s okay

calm down

pretty girl hey hey hey

I don’t want you going anywhere

You take a breath and calm yourself.  You do Hyunjin a great disservice by thinking he would destroy your friendship over an accident.  You blame your embarrassment for your poor rationality. 

I should be apologizing to you, he says.  He continues swiftly: 

I kinda clicked on it…? 

I didn’t know what it was.  But I stopped once I did

I feel really bad

See baby now we’re both embarrassed idiots <3     

You can’t help but laugh, just a little, the entire mishap suddenly comically preposterous.  You smile fondly at your phone.  The unexpected address of baby gives you a heart flutter, but then the rest of it makes you pause.  A different embarrassment creeps into the corner of your brain, something gross and mean that interprets his words ungenerously.  Stopping would be the gentlemanly thing to do, so you should commend his restraint.   Still, some half-insane part of you is offended that the only emotion it invoked in him was “bad”. 

It made him feel bad.  Goodness.  Talk about an ego blow. 

The least you can do is soothe his conscience.  You have already put your foot in your mouth, not to mention toys in unspeakable places, so you figure another penetrative misstep cannot hurt the situation.   You write, I don’t mind you watching it.  I just feel horrific for sending it in the first place.  I really am sorry.

The ellipses appears.  Then disappears.  Then appears.  Then disappears.  Then appears.  Then disappears. 

You start to wonder if you should check on him.  He is just one room over, after all.   But you would rather explode once and for all than face him right now. 

The buzzer goes off in the main room, signalling a visitor outside. Hyunjin finally texts, one sec.  Then you hear him clamouring around in the next room.  Hyunjin is very graceful when he deigns to apply himself but other times he has the equilibrium of an overgrown gazelle.  All those limbs clatter around his bedroom and you think he knocks a lamp over. 

It sounds like the visitor is just a package delivery.  You leave him to his devices.  In the face of chaos, routine is a reliable companion.  You get up to dress yourself for the day.  Your hair is trying to force its way into a new dimension so it should take a while to fix.  

Everything will be fine.

-

Everything is fine until it is not.   Well, Hyunjin’s complexion is red as his hair when you meet face-to-face, but he recovers with an expected degree of poise and equanimity.  Despite your own internal chaos, you feign a similar indifference. 

Verisimilitude, you tell yourself.   Pretend everything is fine and everything will be fine. 

You think there might be an undercurrent of awkwardness to your interactions, but your social ineptitude makes it difficult to discern.  Your usual frankness fails as deliberately enquiring after Hyunjin’s opinion would consequently highlight the very issue you are striving to ignore.  Verisimilitude means nothing if you look him in the eye and ask if your pussy has made the friendship awkward.   

After a few days of polite camaraderie, you opt to solve your problems by running away.  You inform Hyunjin you will be occupied with a research project and thus mostly absent for the duration of its completion.   By the time you emerge from the depths of the university library, hopefully this entire embarrassing situation will be forgotten.    

You throw yourself into your academic distraction.   A truly comprehensive research project encompasses obstacles, minute quandaries you inevitably resolve, but this time it feels like there are no answers to be found.  No resolutions, no conclusions. 

Your anxiety is ultimately exacerbated.  Even your dreams suffer.  You wake multiple nights in a row from nightmares caused by stress.  Your usual pragmatic thoughtfulness abandons you in the dark, every shadow just another terror waiting to unleash itself. 

You wake from yet another nightmare.  Your heart is palpitating and you are too hot under your covers.  You kick to freedom and swing out of bed, whipping your silk bonnet onto the floor in a rare display of aggression.  You are frustrated with your seemingly inescapable burdens.  You want to pick up your phone and text Hyunjin despite the late hour, but that is the one thing you vehemently cannot do right now. 

You sigh and leave bed.  It is the middle of the night so you cannot start the day, but maybe a glass of water will refresh you. 

It seems your friend had the same idea.  Hyunjin is puttering around the kitchen when you stumble into the soft golden lamplight.   

“Hey,” he says, not unfriendly but maybe a little uncertain. 

“Hello,” you duly reply.

You are definitely awake now.  Hyunjin is standing there wearing a pair of black boxers and a t-shirt.  His red hair is loose around his bare face, unkempt but somehow still charming.  He is so effortlessly beautiful.  You feel like a mongrel in your baggy shirt and panties, your hair down like a messy lion mane. 

You try not to stare at him, meeting his gaze politely only to find him blinking quite wildly, a stuttering breath spilling over his full lips.  He clamps his mouth shut and returns your stare, smiling a thin smile that does not reach his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

It is a thoughtless query, no doubt.  The sort of inane question one poses because decorum dictates it is appropriate chatter.  Are you okay.  Yes, how are you. 

But you are looking at the beautiful and completely unattainable man you are so irrevocably in love with, and you feel horrible and disgusting, and you sent an embarrassing video that somehow humiliated him even more than you, and even your reliable books and academic joys are lacking these days. 

You can count on one hand the number of times you have cried over the years.  It is not something that comes easily to you.  You are not made of stone, despite the occasional lambaste at your expense, but your emotions seldom manifest according to the unspoken rules of human conduct.  But right now your eyes strain and your throat feels rough.  You sniff and shake your head. 

“No,” you say.  “I’m not okay.”  

A single tear falls.  From you, that is practically a waterfall. 

Hyunjin snaps out of whatever trance had him so enthralled.  You cannot see him clearly through your watery eyes, but you feel his hands as they wrap around your arms.  Hyunjin is an artist, those long fingers deft and nimble and steady.  You shiver when he brushes your hair off your neck, when he cups your face in his hand and strokes your cheek tenderly. 

“Hey, hey, pretty girl,” he says.  “What’s this?  What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say automatically.  You hate being a burden.  Feelings belong in bottles, not streaming down faces in salty rivulets in the middle of the night when everyone is in their underwear.  

But it is too late to spare your dignity.  Hyunjin is wiping away your tears and looking at you with abject concern, his expressive dark brows furrowed and his eyes so intensely locked on yours.  You heave a sigh. 

“A lot of things,” you admit.  “I’m sorry, Hyunjin.  It’s just stress.  My research.  You know how it is.” 

He does not look satisfied, all that concern still scrawled across his face.  He swipes his thumb across your cheek again.  Then he is pulling you towards his chest, arms open for an embrace that makes no demands but simply offers.  You are usually stiff and awkward when people hug you, but Hyunjin is not just people.  You fall into his arms and all but collapse there. 

Your next sigh is filled with relief, your head on his shoulder and your hands curled up on his chest.   He runs his palm down your hair, soothingly, his other arm secure around you. 

You do not know how long you stand there.  Long enough he stops catching his pinky on errant curls.  Soon he is smoothly running his fingers down your hair, a gentle rhythm that lulls you to drowsiness even while standing on your feet.        

“Come on,” Hyunjin says when he sees your drooping eyelids. 

You blink to attention, looking at him questioningly.   He gives you a quick smile then takes your hand.  To your surprise, he leads you to his bedroom.  The lights are off but the blinds are open and an ocean of blue moonlight floods the room.  It is bright enough you can make your way around his bed without stubbing any toes. 

While he folds back the bedcovers, you stop at his desk, brow crinkling at the scraps littering his work space.  His canvas depicts something floral, half-painted and oversaturated but clearly a bundle of flowers.  The rough sketches scribbled in the margins of his drafts do not depict flowers.  They are little portraits, some doodled distractedly with wiggly lines, and others more precisely drawn, painstakingly, almost lovingly.

That’s me, you think, looking at the woman who overwhelms his art.  It must be.  The unmistakable cascade of curls makes it irrefutable.  But the likeness is far too flattering to bear your full resemblance.  This girl is extremely pretty, even if she does have your quirky, lopsided smile.  Either Hyunjin has met your better looking doppelganger, or… this is simply how he sees you. 

“This is your room,” you say instead of that drawing is me.  It would be embarrassing if he denied it.  It would be even more embarrassing if he confirmed it. 

“Ha-ha, yes,” Hyunjin says, none-the-wiser.  He is arranging pillows for you.  By the time he looks your way, you are facing the bed.  He beckons you over.  “Come on,” he says.  “Like the old days.  It’ll make everything better.  I promise.” 

Your heart is working overtime in its rushing and pounding.  You shuffle to the bed, smiling your quirky smile then feeling even more feverish, thinking about him having your smile memorized.   Oh dear, why is that so deeply embarrassing?  It should be a compliment.  Maybe it is because no one else ever looks at you that closely, at least not with such affection.  

You are not good with attention.  You were bullied for your peculiarities quite badly in childhood.  Invisibility became something you sought, because the alternative was always much worse.  Attention meant derision.  If someone was paying attention to your half-smiles or awkward reactions, it was for the express purpose of mocking them. 

When you were ten years old, Hyunjin and his family moved in next door.  Those ramshackle houses, long weathered and much loved, leaned towards each other as if magnetized.  At the closet joining, the sill of your bedroom window touched his.  

An elderly widow previous owned his house. She had a puppy who would scamper up to that window.  You were quite devastated to learn a boy would be replacing the dog.  Boys and dogs were both slobbery creatures, but at least puppies could fetch. 

You were resolved to ignore your new neighbours.  You spared a fleeting glance at the moving van then occupied yourself with a book.  

A few hours later, your peace was forever disturbed.  A toy car flew in your window and landed at your feet.  You popped your curly head over the sill to face a dark-haired, dimple-cheeked boy. 

“Meet me downstairs,” he said.  He did not wait for an answer, dashing away before you could even blink at him.

You picked up the toy car and marched downstairs, determined to return it and explain to this boy, in no uncertain terms, that he was not allowed to throw things in your window, that he could have hit your head or one of your dolls, and unless he was prepared to offer financial compensation he should keep his cars to himself. 

The second your feet touched the lawn, he was there.  He grabbed your hand and dragged you off, already prattling about where he came from and where he was starting school and his favourite food and – everything.  You did not speak for a whole ten minutes. 

“My name is Hyunjin,” he finally said, after regaling you with the detailed events of his decade-long life.  “What’s yours?” 

You told him.  You also returned his toy car but you could no longer remember the script for your lecture.  He smiled at you, took your hand, and raced off again, towing you behind him.  

Hyunjin was very loved, even as a child.  It never occurred to him that someone might not like him.  He made friends so effortlessly.  His confidence was easy, his gravitas electrifying even at that age. 

His congeniality was infectious and you found yourself reciprocating his enthusiasm.  He was a natural showman and a creative visionary even at that age, coming up with detailed games of pretend with very involved storylines.  You ran amok in your yards, dressed in your costumes, and at night you giggled at your windows, close enough that if you stretched out every finger you could clasp hands.   

Climbing across that meager gap was an obvious inevitability.  When you were teenagers, your parents expressly forbade spending the night unsupervised.  The boy-girl dynamic concerned them despite your ardent protestations that it was not like that.  It just meant you got good at sneaking around. 

You sit on his bed now, remembering the many nights you curled up together just like this.  You would talk about utter nonsense and you would talk about your deepest thoughts, at least until the sound of your father’s footsteps sent Hyunjin hurtling back towards the window. 

There are no interruptions now.  You lay down beside him.  You squeak when he tugs you across the bed, pulling you closer to him.  You find yourself clinging to him, like you are suspended in that blue ocean of moonlight and he is your only life preserver.  He does not seem to mind, wrapping his arm around you, fingers tracing circles down your spine.  

“Your research will be fine,” he says.  “I wish I could help with those things, but I’m not smart like you are.  You’ll figure it out, okay, baby?”

You hope he does not notice how the pet name makes you shiver.  It really is quite unfair.  How is a person meant to maintain verisimilitude if Hwang Hyunjin is calling them baby so nonchalantly?

The flattery brings discomfort so you deflect.  “I’m not that smart,” you say.  “I’m just pathetic enough to waste my life in a stack of books.” 

You concede the self-deprecation is fishing for reassurance.  You burrow yourself deeper at his side.

“Hey,” he says sharply, tugging on a lock of hair so you look up at him.  He tsks and shakes his head, wisps of red hair appearing dark in the moonlight and falling into his face as he gazes at you.  “Don’t talk about my girl like that,” he says with another playful tug.  “You know what happens when people do that.” 

You find yourself smiling despite yourself.  Because, yes, Hyunjin has often defended you.  One time, when you were about fifteen, you were at his house with him and his school friends.  You were all in the yard and you excused yourself to wash your hands.  You returned just in time to see Hyunjin backhand one of the boys.  The boy stumbled then swung back.  Soon everyone was trying to pull the pair of them apart while they bit and kicked and swung at each other. 

When everyone went home, you and Hyunjin sat on his bed.  You were cleaning a nasty cut on his cheek, where the other boy’s ring broke skin. 

“Stop that now,” you said, because he was dramatically hissing and cringing while you rubbed ointment in his wound.  “You brought this on yourself,” you scolded him.  “I hope you learned your lesson.  There is absolutely no argument worth escalating to that degree of violence, you understand?”

“There is,” he said, pouting. 

“No.”  You pinched his arm and he yelped.  “There isn’t.” 

“This time there was,” he said.  Your mouth opened with a ready retort, but he interrupted, “It was you.” 

There was a moment of silence, your hand still on his cheek.  He was pouting into the distance and avoiding your eyes. 

“What was me?” you asked after a beat. 

“He called you strange,” Hyunjin said.  “And other things. I told him to stop and he didn’t.  So I made him stop.” 

It honestly never occurred to you that someone might stand up for you.  You hardly even defended yourself, long since resigned to the reality that some people were just not nice.   You were stunned into silence at your friend’s confession.  Only when he looked at you, a tentative sideways glance, did you clear your throat and nod. 

“Well,” you said.  “I am strange.  If you’re going to get into a fight, then next time make it about something worthwhile.” 

He smiled.  You smiled back.

You are quite certain you fell in love that day.  Curling up in his arms felt different after that.  You felt flustered and feverish, though you hid it very well.   You could not bear the thought of losing his friendship and, besides, it was such a cliché. You at your nicest still looked like the before shot of every romance movie makeover and he got stopped by model scouts while lounging in his sweatpants.  Cliché indeed.  That story never ended well.  You could not abide by it.  It was better to repress and deny those feelings. 

You are laying on his chest now, listening to his heartbeat, yours skipping erratically in your chest.  You think your affection has only grown more over the years, despite your effort to quell the brunt of it.  Those efforts seem ridiculous in the calming midnight blue, this comfortable little haven with no reality beyond the perimeter of the bed.  Your thigh drifts over his naturally, your bodies angled to each other.  He continues stroking your back. 

“Please don’t say those things again,” he says, his voice gentler in the calming quiet. 

“Sorry,” you grumble. 

“So many people admire you,” he continues.  “I… I do.  I know I’m a dumbass and my opinion isn’t worth much… but I think you’re the best.  You know that, right?” 

“Yes,” you say in a weak voice, feeling watery again.  You sniff.  “And you’re not a dumbass.  Your opinion means a lot.” 

His hand slides up and dives under all that hair, then he cups the nape of your neck.  You hide your face in his shoulder when he pulls you even closer.  Your palm is over his heart.  You feel the racing thrum. 

“Were you having nightmares?” he asks, because he knows you too well. 

“Yes,” you admit.  “The usual stress dreams.”   

“Poor baby,” he says, massaging your neck.  “I wish there was something I could do.” 

Keep touching me like that, you almost say, your frankness compelling you to blurt that vulnerable truth.  That his touch feels so good it makes you forget all your insecurities and grievances.  You will think clearly when he lets go, but right now his deft massage loosens the tension in your neck and shoulders.  You feel yourself go lax against him, limbs like jelly, and warmth spreading from somewhere low and deep within you. 

Your hand leaves his chest.  Dreamy and absent-mindedly, you reach to touch him like he is touching you. 

All you do is tuck some hair behind his ear, then trail your fingers ever so lightly down the side of his neck.  It is barely a caress. 

Despite the lightness of the touch, you feel his reaction.  Quick and unquestionable, his breath catches like he is surprised and his whole body jerks toward you.  Your leg is still thrown over his middle.  You can feel how fast he gets hard.

Men just do that, you think, even while remembering your ex-boyfriend did not react that way, not that fast, and not to that kind of touch.  You try to reason with yourself regardless, coming up with a million biological reasons why your best friend is getting turned on.  It has absolutely nothing to do with you wrapping around him in bed wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties and tickling sensitive places on his neck. 

No.  It must be something else. 

Feeling awkward, you lift your head to deflect.  You force a smile and a weak laugh. 

“You cannot judge me in the morning,” you say.  “I am going to look awful.  My hair is going to be standing up in ten different directions.  You must promise me right now you will be gentlemanly and not deride me for the untameable monstrosity that latches onto my head overnight.  Do you promise?” 

He replies in a most ungentlemanly manner. 

He kisses you. 

His hand still cups your nape.  He pulls you close.  His lips are so full and his mouth so warm.  You must seem limp in comparison, so shocked that you just lay there, mouth and eyes wide open.  It is considerably more difficult to convince yourself this is not what it seems, that it has nothing to do with you.  Unless he is in immediate need of CPR.  Perhaps he is seeking resuscitation because he is feeling lightheaded. 

That is ridiculous.  It is you who is light-headed, eyes closing as you succumb to the dizzying dark.  He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, opening his mouth against yours. 

For all that his kiss is very thorough, it is not overly demanding.  He coaxes rather than takes, all slow seduction as his lips take yours, as he sucks your bottom lip then licks at your open mouth.  He swallows down your gasp. 

It feels like his hands are everywhere.  In your hair one moment then around your waist the next.  You think you are floating but then you are being pressed into the pillows.  When you open your eyes, he is half on top of you, propping himself up on one arm while his other hand tilts your face up. 

A stuttering thought dances on your lips, your eyes wide and breath short.   Is this real?  This cannot be real.  Can it? 

That bemused thought, tangled in your breath, dissolves into a surprised whine – a pretty, mewling sound that you did not know was inside you.  You have never made that noise, not once, not even alone. 

Hyunjin draws it out of you, gracefully manoeuvring himself, his thigh pressed between yours.  He nudges your legs apart, somehow spreads your thighs with a gentle push of his hips.  Your shirt rides up over your belly and you feel so hot and flushed, realizing you are barely clothed.  Somehow, before now, it did not truly occur to you.  It was a mere observation as you fumbled through your various anxieties. 

Now it is all you can think about it, how vulnerable you are, how little there is between you.  You gather fistfuls of his t-shirt when he presses against you, when he keeps your thighs open with his own and brings your bodies together.  You make a surprised sound, embarrassed because you are so wet and so hot where he is so hard and touching you.  A million nerves come to life under his weight, sending sparks shooting to every extremity.  It is a lot.  It is so much.  Too much?    

“Hyunjin,” you rasp, clutching his shirt so tightly that your hands are shaking.  “Wait.” 

He stops immediately, holding himself above you. 

He is out of breath, his chest moving as quickly as yours.  His hair is as dishevelled for once, though it makes him look ruggedly sexy.  There is already a sheen of perspiration on his hairline.  His heart is thundering where you touch his chest. 

“Okay?” he asks, breathlessly.

You nod, taking a few deep breaths before your voice is under control.  “I just… overwhelmed… I think…”   

It all happened so fast.  One moment you were thinking about how he would never want you that way, and then suddenly he was kissing you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. 

Hyunjin is something of a rakish libertine, but his partners are always so enthusiastic and friendly, all his pursuits fully consensual even in their brevity.  He would never use and discard someone.  He would certainly never use you.  But your heart is brimming with emotions and this is causing them to bubble and boil over.  You cannot, under any circumstances, be physical with him and just move on.  You do not work like that. 

You have written papers, won awards for your ability to string sentences together.  You cannot find two words to put together right now.  Nothing to explain why you have to stop, how you do not want to stop, how desperately you love him, why you want him.  Why is it so hard to say?  Is it hard for everyone or is this another peculiarity of yours?  It is always so hard to tell. 

You close your eyes and catch your breath.  He gives you space, laying down beside you while catching his own breath.  He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it back. 

You look at each other at the same time. 

“I still want to sleep here,” you say.  You hope the words are enough.  You are not upset.  You still want his company. 

He nods.  “Of course,” he says, his voice rough in a way you have never heard before.  It sends an electric shock through your body, igniting between your legs.  You push your shirt down when his gaze wanders there and he swallows, hard.   He lays flat on his back and closes his eyes, his lips moving like he is murmuring to himself.  You think he might be counting. 

You lay back as well, looking at his handsome profile then up at the ceiling.  You are not sure that counting will slow the race of your heart or the muddled mess of your mind.   You try anyway, backwards from one-hundred. 

You are asleep before fifty.

-

You wake to a predictable mess of hair.  You yawn and stretch and scratch your head. 

Then you remember why your hair is a mess.  Why your bonnet is on the floor in a different room.  That you are in Hyunjin’s bed and last night—

You look at his side of the bed.  The shape of his body indents the sheets and the space is still warm.  He must have just left.  Your heart is already pounding like it wants to leap out of your chest.  It does not feel like the healthiest way to the start the day. 

You are not sure if you are giddy or terrified.  How do other people cope with the sheer inundation of sensation that is wrought by desire for another person?  How are you expected to carry it inside of you, all day every day, with absolutely no reprieve?  How on earth are you expected to walk into the next room and start a conversation with a man who had his tongue in your mouth last night, especially when that man holds a lifetime of friendship in his hands? 

At least the video you sent was an honest accident.  Verisimilitude will do you no good here.  There will be no pretending it did not transpire. 

You should have just exploded when you had the chance. 

You slide out of bed and cross the room.  You poke your head out the door.  The bathroom door is closed and you can hear the shower running.  You take the opportunity to scurry across the apartment, back to your temporary room where you close the door then slide down it. 

You turn yourself into a boneless lump on the floor.  Then you huff and stand.   

Something will need to be done.  Conversations will need to be had.  That is simply the rub of it.  If he clarifies it was all a physical reaction, you will politely inform him that such a dynamic will be impossible to pursue.   If he claims it was because he likes you the way you like him –

It doesn’t matter.  That will not happen.  You convince yourself of this, running several scripts through your head as you get yourself dressed for the day.  You have a conversation with your reflection in the mirror, making some very good points to the abstract Hyunjin of your imagination.  He is very compliant.  If only real people could stick to your pre-determined scripts the way their imaginary counterparts do. 

You stand in front of the mirror, assessing your appearance one last time.  Your hair is neat as possible, the more unruly ringlets pinned back.  You are wearing a modest sweater and a long skirt.  You slip into your shoes and finally leave your room.  You hope Hyunjin is still home.  You want to talk to him while the script is fresh in your mind and your appearance is composed. 

But then you see Hyunjin, making his morning coffee, also dressed for the day.  He is wearing all black, shirt and suit jacket and trousers and boots, with a sparkling slash of a silver necklace.  His make-up is breath-taking, severe but beautiful.  It leaves you slack-jawed.  He looks sleek and sexy, but still this side of rebellious with his vibrant red hair and dark make-up. 

You cannot help but stare, thoroughly looking him over before you blurt, “Wow. Why do you look so good today?”

A surprised little laugh bursts out of him, almost like a yelp

“I’m taking some photos today.”  His gaze is very intense.  Or maybe it is the make-up.  It makes your heart palpitate regardless, dark eyes fixed so resolutely on you as he smiles and says, “Thank you.  You look lovely, pretty girl.”

“Nonsense,” you say quickly.  “I look no different than usual.”

“You always look lovely,” he says without any hesitation. 

“Be quiet,” you reply.  He is already preposterously off-script. 

It makes him laugh again.  He covers his mouth politely, shaking his head as he pours his coffee.   He offers you some but you decline.  You want to speak your piece and be done with this awkward situation once and for all. 

Hyunjin takes a sip of his coffee, looking at you over the rim of the cup. 

This should be easy.  You have the words prepared; all you have to do is say them.

“I have to go,” you say instead, because your good sense flitters into oblivion and takes your words with it. 

Hyunjin chokes on his coffee, sputtering while you dash to the door.  Your purse is sitting on the shoe rack so you snatch it.  Your heart is racing like a prey animal, your predator a red-headed pretty boy wiping coffee off his chin as he stumbles after you.   He says your name but you ignore him, fumbling around for your keys. 

“I’ll be back after dinner,” you say.  “Lots of research.  Reading.  You know how it is.  I might lose track of time.  We’ll talk later, yes?  Yes.  Okay.  Goodbye.” 

He reaches you when you open the door.  You can see he wants to talk.  You know you should talk.  No good ever comes from prolonging the inevitable.  But you suddenly cannot face him. 

You know you are being cowardly.  You know it is unkind because he might want answers too.  But you are not good and open like him.   You are shut off and shut down and shutting doors. 

You stand in the hallway, the closed door between you.  Your heart is still pounding.  You take a deep breath then turn to leave.  You are halfway down the corridor when you realize you need your work bag.  Your purse has basic necessities but no study tools. 

You stomp your foot, frustrated with yourself and this stupid emotional tempest.  If only you were as cold-hearted as people said.  But you feel everything with so much burning intensity that you fear it will burn you down to cinders. 

You pace in the hallway for a few minutes.  It accomplishes nothing but stalling for time, because you cannot go anywhere without your bag.  You don’t even have your parking pass or library card.  With a resigned sigh, you glumly unlock the door and step back into the apartment. 

Fate has opted to spare you a chagrined return. Hyunjin is in his bedroom and does not hear you come in. 

You hurry to your room.  If you grab your bag and bolt, he might not even notice you returned at all. 

Unfortunately, you are a disaster. 

You were so frustrated yesterday, overstimulated and erupting at the slightest provocation.  Then your bag strap had the audacity to catch on the doorknob, sending papers flying.  In mature retaliation, you dumped all the contents of your bag on the floor.  It was a mildly satisfying expulsion of frustration at the time.  Now you want to shriek because it will take a few good minutes to organize and pack everything again. 

You lean your door closed, leaving it cracked just a sliver.  You plan another mental script, despite what little good it did last time, explaining to imaginary Hyunjin that you have deadlines and, yes, it is inconvenient, and, oh, maybe we should order take-out for dinner, yes, because everything is normal between us and no one needs to grapple with the onward progression of time and the subsequent shifting relationship dynamics therein—

You hear a creak.  You pause, kneeling by the door, holding a stack of papers.  You peer through the sliver to see Hyunjin, sighing to himself as he ambles across the room and plops down on the couch.  He leans forward, elbows on his knees, scrolling on his phone. 

You find yourself once more arrested by the sight of him.  He looks so beautiful but also starkly masculine, sophisticated but dangerous.  A gentleman and a bad boy and every other dreamy amalgamation of boy crushes. 

He tucks some hair behind his ear and you feel hot, remembering how you touched him just the same, remembering the reaction it garnered. 

You fantasize about a braver version of yourself, someone brash and confident enough to approach him.  He would look up at you with those smoky eyes, curious but wanting. You would touch him, that same simple touch, and he would rear up and kiss you with abandon once more.  You would not even need a conversation because action would speak for itself. 

Instead you are peering through cracks in doors, separated thanks to your own cowardice.

He touches his fingers to his chin.  Whatever is on his phone is causing a great deal of deliberation.  He turns off his screen and lays his phone facedown.  His contemplation looks almost painful. 

You want to comfort him because he is evidently perturbed by something.  But the longer you wait, the more awkward it will be to reveal yourself.

He heaves a great sigh, doubling over, his face in his hands.  He shakes his head.  He looks truly forlorn, so you finally lay the papers down and try to think of something to say.  You watch as he leans back, as he picks up his phone again.  He stares down at the screen. 

You are still psyching yourself up, preparing yet another useless script. 

Then he turns up the volume.  

You have rewatched the video you sent him more than once, assessing the details to torture yourself.  Maybe, also, secretly, sometimes… imagining him watching it.  Then shaking your head and turning it off, because he said himself it made him feel bad and nothing else.  So that was impossible. 

So why is he watching it now?

Because he is.  Unmistakably.  You know the sound of your own voice.  You know the sounds in that video.  You sit there, wide-eyed, staring at him as he stares at you – the you in the video, the you in white satin, the you moaning and touching yourself, fucking yourself while you thought of him. 

He puts the phone on his knee, not moving his eyes from the screen as he peels off his jacket and chucks it aside.  You can only blink, stupefied.  This does not feel real, just like that kiss.  Except that kiss was real, this is real, and you are watching Hyunjin as he slouches back and parts his knees and cups his hand between his legs.  He touches himself with those long fingers, fingers you imagined while touching yourself in the very video that has him captivated. 

He picks up the phone to rewind, all while undoing his pants then reaching inside. 

You realize he is about to get his dick out, right here, right in front of you, completely unwittingly, and that snaps you back to reality.  Far too quickly, because you make a surprised noise.

He freezes and looks up, first to the front door, then to your bedroom door.   You make eye contact very briefly. 

Then you slam the door shut. 

-

You do the only logical thing.

You do not go to the library.  Hyunjin leaves for his photography session and you pace your bedroom about a dozen times, then you sit down and write.  You make a chronological notation of every emotional turning point in your friendship.  You chart the data and sketch a few rough diagrams.  You arrange all the appropriate paperwork and laminate a few important spreadsheets.  Then you clip them all in a binder and pick up your phone and think of how to succinctly summarize three hours worth of deliberation.   

The facts fall thusly:

You accidentally sent your best friend a sexually explicit video of yourself. 

You granted him permission to watch it.

He watched it. 

You caught him in a compromising position with it.

You made a spreadsheet. 

Based on your calculations, the probability of Hyunjin returning your feelings seems fairly substantial.  But you are not sure how to articulate any verdict based on the facts presented.  Your spreadsheets contain data, not a resolution. 

Hyunjin is a romantic and soulful creature.  You wooed your last boyfriend with a portfolio but he was nothing like Hyunjin.   That courtship was an amicable affair and little more.  The break-up was cordial and tearless.  You shook hands then walked in opposite directions. 

A memory comes to mind. 

You and Hyunjin.  Starting university together.  Back when the world first offered itself to your young adult selves.

One day he skipped class and you went to check on him, only to find him curled up in bed in his baggiest sweatshirt, sniffling away.  He was blonde then, a burst of starlight in every room he occupied.  It was so strange and so wrong seeing him so grey and dejected.   

He laid his head in your lap and let you pet his hair.  It took some cajoling to get the story out of him.  His secondary major was dance studies and he spent months preparing a showcase.  Apparently his instructor did not offer him the same thorough critiques he gave other students.  You tried to say that was a good thing, but he insisted it was not. 

“He doesn’t think I’m worth improving,” he said.   “He told me I’ll get by because of my looks.  That’s the only thing I have.  No one really likes me or thinks I’m worth anything.” 

“I know it’s hard because you are a natural drama queen, but don’t be dramatic, Hyunjin,” you said.  “Plenty of people like you just fine.  They adore you, in fact.  And you are very talented.  It is not your fault if this one person cannot see past appearances.”

“It’s not just one person,” he said.  He sat up to wipe his tears.    

You sat awkwardly beside him, hands twitching with the desire to do something helpful but at a complete loss.  You never intentionally sought comfort, keeping your feelings to yourself, so you were bad at giving it. 

You put a hand on his shaking shoulder.  “Hyunjin,” you said, imploringly. 

“No,” he said, miserable, his face all scrunched up.  “Everyone leaves me when I’m not what they want, and I’m never what they want, because I’m just a worthless face and nothing else.” 

It was very strange to hear him express such a sentiment.  Hyunjin was always surrounded by doting crowds.  But you supposed he had his share of heartbreak as a consequence of knowing so many people.   He gave away his heart so easily and it was sometimes returned in pieces.  It did not stop him from trying again, which you always commended.  You wished you knew how to express that. 

“We’re friends, are we not?” you finally asked.  “I care for you very dearly.”   

“You do?” he asked.  Even his voice sounded wet.  You grabbed a tissue and shoved it at him. 

“Of course I do,” you said.  “Though statistically no one can be truly unique in every capacity, and friendships and relationships are often founded by chance and choice, I nonetheless consider your amalgamation of parts to be quite magnificent, and I find your character irreplaceable.  You are, indeed, very handsome, but also witty and playful, dramatic to your detriment but nonetheless entertaining, creative and soulful, and you have a defensive streak and natural bite, but a fragile heart beneath that, and I rather admire that.  I am afraid I will like you forever, regardless of our proximity or friendship status.  Such is the nature of affection.  Why are you still crying?”

You were immensely confused when your consolation generated more tears, but you accepted your best friend was an emotional riddle.  

Hyunjin has many layers.  You have always known this.  You told him as much.  You have done him a terrible disservice by assuming the worst, that he would be shallow in regards to you.  He has always exhibited a fondness for your own depths. 

It is more difficult to accept him finding your surface just as attractive.   It seems conclusive, though.  There is no shortage of sexual content in the world.  He could have watched anything.   So it is safe to say, touching his dick while watching you fuck yourself might have been a demonstration of a certain level of attraction.  Possibly. 

You sit on your bed, staring at your phone.  You jump when it buzzes with a text alert.  You open it, your heart skipping beats when you see it is from Hyunjin. 

I’m sorry for this morning, he writes.  

I can stay at Felix’s place until you’re comfortable okay..  Please just tell me

i deleted the video now.  and the message where you sent it.  I should have done that right away

I know you said you didn’t mind but still.  I should have just

just done it all differently

The messages come flying in one right after the other.  You imagine him a mirror to you, sitting somewhere, slouched over his phone.  Hair dishevelled from jamming his fingers through it.  A shaky breath on his lips.

You look up, picturing him across from you.  You want to reach across the space between you, stretch out every finger, and clasp his hand.  You never want to let go. 

Your phone buzzes again.  You read his words and your heart floods with more than desire.  Rich with sentiment, it leaves you more breathless than a kiss.    

you mean everything to me.

He is still typing.  The ellipses in the corner flashes.  You suspect he will send you an endless stream of consciousness if you do not reply soon. 

You look at your binder of data, then you look at your phone, then you look at your binder, then you look at your phone.  You take a breath.  The decent and logical approach would be patience.  To study everything you have compiled.  To see if he concurs.  To communicate the best way to move forward, what that looks like, and how it should happen. 

You are not someone who intentionally takes risks.  You are not wild and spontaneous.  You are not brash or confident.  You are not sexy.

Verisimilitude, you remember.  Act like it is true, maybe it will be. 

You type.  

Hello, Hyunjin.

His ellipses disappears.

It is true.  I sent that video by accident.  But I did grant you permission to watch it.

You open your photo album.  There is the video, so inconspicuous, one of a dozen.  It is not your most extravagant nor the longest.  You were too eager in the moment to prolong anything.  You could film it better if you did it again.  But it is nonetheless the video that started this whole thing. 

Even though you were not trying, the video turned him on.  You are hot all over, remembering how he warred with himself before submitting.  You remember the amorous look on his face, how desperately he watched you while touching himself.  He could not rip his gaze away for even a moment. 

You click on the video.  You send it with your next message.

This is for you.

You can keep it.

Then you take a chance and write, I want you to keep it.

There is a long moment with no reply.  Or maybe it feels longer because you are holding your breath.  You exhale with a whoosh and a breathless laugh when he finally replies.   

fuck.

are you trying to kill me

You smile, though even that gets you hot, remembering your portrait doodled in the margins of his art.  A lightness fills your heart, recalling that, picturing him now.  You can imagine his wide, startled eyes, expressive dark brows lifting as he stares at his phone.

No, you write.  You are not sure how to respond to a flirtatious overture so you opt for simplicity.  You are not one to colour your statements with unnecessary artifice so you state your intentions without colourful obfuscations.  To clarify, you write, I fully consent to you masturbating to it.  It is only fair.  I was thinking of you while I made it. 

You wonder if he is still at the photography studio.  You can picture him sitting behind the camera, waiting for the next set, his make-up touched up, his black ensemble pristine, and his face humorously contorted. 

so you are trying to kill me, he writes.

and i thought you weren’t the unprovoked licentious content type....

You are fairly certain he is playing with you, but texts are even harder to construe than verbal tones.  You tilt your head, staring at the message, imagining his voice.  The little ellipses flashes in the corner, then you smile when his next message comes through. 

I’m just teasing you baby. 

He knows you so well.  Years of friendship have fortified the affection between you.  You were so foolish to ever think otherwise.   Of course he can picture you like you can picture him.  You feel as if he is holding you in those steady hands, comforting you with that loving touch as the tension leaves your body.  You feel safest curled against him and you always have.  The only difference now is he calls you baby and your heart does a flip.     

I see, you write.  Well.

Technically that was not wholly unprovoked.  It was very much within the context of our discussion. 

This one, however, is entirely unprovoked.

You send another video.  This one you filmed a while ago, back in your own bedroom at your townhouse.  You are wearing a sweater he bought you.  The gift was touching because there was no occasion.  He saw it and thought of you so he got it.  And he knows your tastes so well, your fit and size and style.  He knows you prefer a more modest ensemble in the world.    

This video is not modest.  You filmed the sweater from every angle then laid down, wearing nothing else.  You held a vibrator between your legs and arched your back and filmed yourself, every whimper and sigh and breath.  You stopped just before coming, dropping your phone to focus on your orgasm. 

You send the video and wait.  His ellipses appears and disappears then he finally writes:

fuck.

You flop back on the bed, biting your lip as his rather frantic messages fly in one after the other. 

god. pretty girl. you know i'm obsessed with you right?

jesus we did all this backwards.  i wanted to be cool when i told you but I’m a stupid mess.

fuck I’m about to have my photo taken

hiding in the bathroom because christ

what are you doing to me

where are you right now??

After all that, you simply answer, In bed.  You realize it sounds suggestive only after the fact, but you do not retract it.  Nerves gather inside you, blending into adrenaline and anticipation.  You know him well but you are not sure what he will say now.  This is new territory.  It is exhilarating.  You do not remember feeling this way with your ex.  He was too much like you, so there was nothing to discover between you. 

Hyunjin is so different but he fits with you like a puzzle piece, complimentary rather than contradictory.  You feel sweltering hot, thinking he must reciprocate those feelings.  Maybe he likes your hidden depths.  Maybe he likes knowing it is all for him.  He is romantic that way.  So maybe he likes to see your articulate and intelligent self let go of inhibitions.  Maybe you like it too, becoming a body and sharing it with him. 

Show me, he writes, echoing that very sentiment. 

Be polite, you reply, mostly to buy time while you temper your racing heart.  It melts at his next words. 

Please.   

Show me you want me.  want this.  want us.

Pretty girl.

My girl. 

Please.

Okay, you type.  You are quivering but the sensation is not unpleasant.  Last night was overwhelming, so much at once, but this you can do.  This you want to do.  There is a breath of distance, so it is a step rather than a leap.  You are no stranger to aiming a camera at yourself. 

Before you prepare, you take a breath and write, You show me too.

You get an idea.  While he formulates his reply, you jump out of bed and hurry to the front room.  He has an array of leather jackets hanging by the door, because of course he does.  You rifle through them, looking for the one he wears the most.  It smells like him, that rich cologne, a hint of his hair product.  If your knees were not already knocking, it would send you swooning.  You clutch it to your chest as you make your way back to your room. 

You close the door, as if it matters, but this is between you and Hyunjin, the rest of the world insignificant. 

You strip down to your underwear then don the jacket.  You keep your hair pinned so you do not look like a mess, then you arrange yourself on the bed as neatly as you can.  You try not to overthink, even though overthinking is your speciality.  You pretend this is a video like any other. 

Except the scent of his masculine cologne surrounds you.  He is inside your mind, completely and irrevocably. 

You open your phone to a new message, a video from him.  The lighting is dark in the small studio bathroom, backlit in red.  It makes it all the more erotic. 

You have never unwittingly clenched.  You did not even know you could be so aroused that your body would form a mind of its own.  But you are, and it does, pussy very literally throbbing as you watch the video.  His artist hand, long fingers curling around the hard curve of his fly.  He lowers the zipper and you clench again, making that meek little whimper. 

Apparently you like watching videos just as much as making them.  You are a mess by the time he gets his dick out. 

You turn up the volume to hear his breathing.  You know he has to keep his voice down, but it makes his breathy little fuck all the hotter. 

Oh Hyunjin, you write.  Your vocabulary otherwise fails.  There is no other word. 

Yes please, he writes.

My pretty girl.   

Say my name. 

Your next sound is embarrassing and guttural.  You are a little glad you were not filming yet. 

You clear your throat and position yourself, holding the camera above you.   You start recording.  With your free hand, you touch the collar of the jacket.  You rake your teeth over your bottom lip then lower the camera.  The jacket falls open just enough to hint at every curve in contains.  You skim down your body.  You touch yourself and you are so wet and so ready that you cannot help but make another noise.  Unlike him, you are free to be noisy, so you do not restrain yourself. 

It feels so different, knowing someone will watch this.  You have never been so wet in your life.  You cannot even tease yourself, so desperate that you quickly push two fingers inside you.  Oh, dear, god, you really sound filthy, ridiculously wet as you fuck yourself with jerky little thrusts.

“Hyunjin,” you murmur, the name that has often perched on your tongue while you do this.  It feels so good to say it out loud.

You send him that much, continuing to stroke and fuck yourself while the video sends.  You close your eyes and stimulate your clit, rubbing and circling, finding a rhythm.  You need it.  You need him. 

Your phone buzzes and you turn your head.  You open the message.  You clamp your thighs around your hand, your pussy clenching around your fingers as you read his words. 

God I wanted to film it but I just came all over myself

baby you are everything

I wish I was beside you I need to say so many things

god..

pretty girl if I ask so politely will you come for me?  will you let me see your pretty face when you come? Please.

You do not type a reply because it is too difficult with one hand, and you will not stop touching yourself, not when you are so close. 

It is just a few flicks of your thumb to open the camera again.  You frame your face and hit record.  You come only seconds later, releasing such a desperate cry as you unravel.  It is so much yet not enough.  You thoughtlessly shove your own fingers in your mouth, closing your eyes, imaging it is his hand, his wet fingers dragging over your tongue.  You want to taste him.  You want to choke on him.  You just want to feel him so much that the rest of the whole world will fall away.  You don’t need to be anyone else.  You don’t want anyone else. 

You say his name again.  Your pussy clenches as if already trained to react to it.  You stop filming and send it, breathing hard in the aftermath. 

As your adrenaline dwindles, you feel a modicum of embarrassment, but no regrets.  Your logical brain does make a grudging return, however.  As much as you want him, you know if you rush into things that you will end up balking again.  You need a proper conversation.  You need spreadsheets.  You need to do it his way and your way too. 

But for now, you smile, giggling to yourself as you read his replies.  Half of his texts are unintelligible gibberish, the other half completely and utterly worshipful. 

Nonsense, you finally write. 

I’ll come home right now and prove it to you, he says without hesitation. 

Except by right now I mean in two hours, because I caught the train out here and it doesn’t leave until then.

Then you’re all mine. 

You laugh in spite of yourself, curling up in his jacket.  You take in a breath, the scent of him.  You type. 

I’ve been yours for a long time.  I can wait two more hours. 

Then… can we talk?

Yes, he answers quickly.  Absolutely.  I have so much I want to say to you.

Me too, Hyunjin.  

He caught the bus to the train station but you offer to pick him up.  He enthusiastically agrees, evidently eager to see you again.  You find yourself laughing, such a light in your chest that it cannot help but spill out.  You are somehow both anxious and excited, but so happy that you do not mind. 

When the details are settled, you lower your phone and look at your binder. 

You have two hours.  That is enough time to laminate a few more spreadsheets.

-

You tell yourself you will be resilient.  You are notoriously stringent and a self-identified no-nonsense curmudgeon at the best of times.  Given you have expelled the brunt of your sexual frustration, you figure there will be no problem.  You will meet Hyunjin at the train station, you will come home, you will share a meal and have a conversation, and everything will go smoothly from there. 

Except Hyunjin changed clothes.  It is not anything extravagant by any means.  He is in black jeans and a red shirt, his black dress shirt shrugged overtop. The wind tousles his hair just so, and his make-up has been redone, a little less severe but still so sharp.  It is more casual than you expected, and somehow that undoes your perseverance.

You are gawking at him, staring through the car window as he strides over.  He gets into the passenger seat like nothing is remiss, tossing his bag into the back.  He is wearing heavy boots that thunk when he sits.  He closes the door and looks over at you with a smile.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says. 

He is so atrocious at keeping to your script.  Imaginary Hyunjin is much more accommodating. 

“Hello, Hyunjin,” you say. 

You sit there for a long time.  It is getting dark outside, which makes it easy to forget you are in a parking lot outside a train station. 

Then he has the audacity to be sweet, at such odds to his daring appearance.  He looks so rebellious and you look so meek.  He is all vibrant colours and dark slashes, while you are in a blazer and a long brown skirt.  Your shirt is buttoned all the way up to your chin and, despite your best efforts, your hair has come unpinned.  The wind has never been your friend. 

You are certain you make a funny sight, but he is not laughing at all.  His gaze is so affectionate but so warm, burning you up.  You gaze back at him, your heart already skipping beats.  Then he reaches out and tucks a loose curl behind your ear.  You remember him doing that at the art gallery.  He was looking at you then like he is looking at you now.  You realize you have been such a fool. 

You lean in at the same time.  This kiss does not even pretend at patience.  It is a hungry collision, his hand in your hair and yours on his chest.  You make a wanting noise when his fingers hook through the curls at your nape and he tugs just a little, just enough to move your head where he wants it so he can deepen the kiss.  He makes a noise too, something low and needy.  He licks into your mouth, far too hot and far too dirty for a parking lot kiss. 

You remember yourself, vaguely.  You break the kiss with a gasp.  Your fingers curl on his chest and his grip tightens in your hair.  Your foreheads touch.  The only sound in the car is your mutual rough breathing. 

“Right,” you say, your voice raspier than you expected.  “Um.  We should.  Go.” 

He nods.  But then he proves he is as evil as he looks, because he tilts your head and exposes your throat.  He leans in, presses his full lips on that soft vulnerable skin and kisses it so delicately that your whole body is wracked with a shiver.  He exhales, warm breath fluttering over your pulse.  Then he finally lets go and leans back. 

“Okay,” he says.  “Let’s go home.”

Home.  You have a discussion on that very subject upon arrival. 

Prior to departure, you arranged your papers on the kitchen table.  You deposit your take-out boxes alongside it, then sit down to eat and discuss. 

He furrows his brow as he holds up a spreadsheet. 

“Is this laminated?” he asks.  “You brought a laminator with you?”

“Of course I brought a laminator with me,” you say unflinchingly.  “What kind of question is that?”

He cracks a smile and nods, then waves you on.  He listens diligently to your proposed contingency.  You prepared index cards so you would not be distracted and led astray.  You are glad you did, because when he finishes eating he just stares at you, and he still looks hungry, but not for sustenance. 

You clear your throat and try to disregard this, but it is difficult.  You unbutton the top button of your shirt to breathe a little easier and he looks at you with more voracious intensity than a single button warrants.  You might as well have stripped down naked. 

You suppose you already have, halfway.  You swallow hard. 

“Look,” you say, lowering your index cards to speak frankly.  “The bottom line is this.  I desire you greatly.  I believe there is some reciprocation in this regard.  But we are living under a shared roof temporarily and I fear this may cause us to progress faster than I am ultimately comfortable.  I would like some longevity in our blossoming dynamic.  You are very important to me, Hyunjin.  I want us to succeed.  I would feel more comfortable if we waited to sleep together, at least until I am back in my townhouse.  That means no sharing a bed too.  When I am back home, we can properly date, and see how this grows between us.  What are your thoughts?” 

“When will your place be ready again?” he asks.  He is sitting back in his seat, arms crossed, looking thoughtful.  You appreciate he is not grabbing at you or immediately trying to convince you otherwise. 

You knew he would not pressure you. Regardless, you cannot help the skip in your bloodstream, the natural nerves that surface when he looks at you.  You have known him for years.  You wonder if these sensations will ever diminish.  Present research dictates no. 

“The last estimation was six more weeks,” you say.   

He smiles.  It soothes your heart.  You stare at his hand as it crosses the table, as he gently laces your fingers together and squeezes.   You blink up at him. 

“If you asked me to wait a year, I would,” he says.  “If you told me there were things you never wanted, we would make it work.  I’ve waited years for you, baby.  Six weeks is nothing.”

Goodness gracious. Exactly how is a person meant to be strict and curmudgeonly with this man?  He really is the universal exception to every rule.  You have just outlined your rubric and you are already considering breaking it. 

“Kisses are okay,” you say, hot under your skin.  Writing your flirtations was easier than speaking them.  Your tone is brusque because you are bad at this, but it just makes him smile.  “Maybe other things when the circumstances arise.  But we will wait for the rest.”

He lifts your hand to his mouth and places a soft kiss on your palm, holding your gaze all the while.  You are quite certain your insides turn to complete mush. 

-

It occurs to you in bed. 

You have long since said good night and retired for the evening.  You pick up your phone and sigh.  You are already skirting the edge of your rules, fully aware you are about to poke a sleeping beast but unable to resist.  The realization plagues you, the subsequent questions burning in your chest. 

And you are wet.  So, so wet, and so, so needy.  Because Hyunjin walked you to your bedroom door like a gentleman.  Then he kissed you like a scoundrel.  He leaned you against the door, his hand planted beside your head and the other holding your face.  He kissed you long and slow, like he wanted to draw it out, like he did not want to say good night.  Your hands were clasped together because you did not trust yourself to touch him.  If you did, you would have dragged him into the bedroom and regretted it later. 

But in the moment, it felt so right.  You are certain that no kiss, ever, since the dawn of time, had ever felt as good as that one.  He took his time with each gentle press, each touch of his tongue, each shared breath.  Your chests rose and fell in tandem, your legs turning to jelly where you stood.  He fiddled with that one undone top button.  You would not have resisted him tearing them all open. 

He did not.  He kissed you slowly.  He kissed you sweetly.  With one last peck, he whispered, “Good night, pretty girl.  Sleep well.” 

You could not find your voice.  You made a weak gurgling noise and nodded frantically.  He smiled.  You rather suspect he knew his effect on you, the rapscallion. 

Now you are in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about something he said at dinner.  You debate texting him.  It will open a floodgate.  You lower your phone a few times, but ultimately determine you will not sleep until you have settled your mind.

Hyunjin, you write, if you liked me for years, that means you were already inclined towards affection when I accidentally sent that video. Correct?

Correct, he answers with a little emoji face, one with a quirked eyebrow.  Why do you ask…?

I was just wondering…

If when I saw you was your first time watching it. 

The ellipses is there for a while.  Your heart is pounding in your chest.  You are certain this man is going to send you into cardiac arrest one of these days.  Then you will finally explode at the most inopportune moment.

You sink into the bedsheets, pressing your legs together when his reply comes through. 

Honestly… I watched it more than once.  I did stop when you first sent it. even though it got me hard in seconds.  then you said i could watch it.. and i honestly thought i was still dreaming.

You cannot help but laugh a little.  You turn on your side, smiling as he types some more.  Then his message comes through and you swallow, flush with heat. 

I tried to answer.  I tried to flirt with you.  I tried to be funny.  It all sounded stupid.  Then I got back in bed and tried to think of something to say… but god. 

god..

Baby what was I supposed to do?  if I resisted that they would have made me a saint. 

You laugh again.  You marvel at his ability to make you smile and get you hot at the same time. 

Did you masturbate to it?  you ask.  It sounds too frank to be seductive but you are not sure how else to pose the query. 

You really don’t pull your punches, he says.  You think you can somehow hear a smile in his words.

yeah baby, he writes. I did.  More than once. 

I see, you reply.  Okay, thank you, I was just wondering.  Good night.

The ellipses flickers again.  You release a torrent of giggles into the blankets when he sends you a very tortured looking emoji.

This is going to be a long six weeks. 

-

He is not wrong.  It is simultaneously the longest, most arduous six weeks of your life, but also the fastest, the most lively, and the most fulfilling. 

You spend the first week stealing kisses.  He is good to you, respecting your boundaries.  He never asks to share a bed and he does not initiate anything beyond your established desires.  He leaves space for you, his arms always open, but he does not force you. 

This is sufficiently more seductive than if he started yanking on your clothes in the corridor. 

You are watching a movie one night.  He puts an arm across the back of the couch but makes no further demand.  You settle under that arm, nestling closer at your own pace.  You are not watching the film, all your focus on him.  He has a foot propped on the coffee table, his arms spread across the couch, and he bops his head along to the music.  Of course, he does that even when the music stops, so you think he not paying attention either. 

Eventually, you succumb to the butterflies in your belly.  They flutter free with an exhale.  You touch his cheek and turn his face.  He requires little convincing, kissing you without a word. 

His foot thumps onto the ground.  You find yourself in his lap.  You do not know how you lose your head around him.  One second, you swear you are on solid ground, the next you are floating.  Someone should study this phenomenon.  You, yourself, have no idea how to parse its logic. 

You straddle his lap, your arms wrapped around his neck.  He is dressed in all black again, black jeans and a black t-shirt, his eyes still smudged with black eyeshadow.  It makes him look so utterly devastating, his eyes so dark and searching. 

It makes you bold, coming to life under the intensity of that gaze.  It is like some subliminal message passes to something rooted deep inside you, something primal and animal that he plucks with ease. 

You dive in for another kiss, burning too hotly under his gaze.  He cups your head with both hands.  He tosses little hairpins everywhere, grunting with displeasure when he finds them.  When you are completely free, he groans, a deep and ravaging moan as he buries his fingers in your hair and pulls you close. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, once more at a loss for any other word. 

He cannot even manage that much, nothing but a guttural sound leaving his throat.  It makes you melt against him.  Your body really has a mind of its own these days.  You find yourself rocking against him, making his breath catch. 

He tugs your hair a little more viciously, thoughtlessly, so entangled that it cannot be helped.  You make another ridiculous mewling sound that will embarrass you later, but in the moment it slips free. 

He holds you in place, palm cupping your head, keeping you steady while he rolls his hips under you. 

It makes you dizzy.  Your mouth opens and your eyes close.  You slowly rock back.  You dig your nails into his shoulders and you are amazed it does not hurt him.  But, then again, he is tugging your hair inadvertently and if that hurts you do not notice.  The seam of your own pants presses deliciously against you, the hard line in his jeans grinding against the softest part of you, again and again and again. 

“Oh,” you say, or rather sigh.  Your shoulders shake and surprise thunders into your racing heart.  You realize are going to come like this.  “Oh.  Ohh.”

“Yes,” he says, and holds you steady, and keeps rolling his hips until you come apart in his arms. 

You slump against his chest after, resting your head on his shoulder.  You can feel him flicking your hair out of his mouth, but he doesn’t complain.  You are breathing hard, clinging to him, still surprised you did what you did. 

Eventually you find a modicum of strength in your arms.  You somehow push yourself upright.  You deposit a single apologetic kiss to his shoulder, which is doubtlessly riddled with crescents from nail bites. 

He looks at you with a smile, a little breathless himself but evidently pleased.  

“You’re beautiful,” he says, so reverently you actually believe it.  Instinct still compels you to argue, but you cannot find your voice to do so.  You just make a little noise and look down at your hand on his chest. 

His heart races under your palm. 

You think you need to see him come too. 

You were previously too nervous to strike the endeavour.  You sexted again in bed the night before, but leaving him to his devices is different than taking matters into your own hands.  Literally.  You are not inexperienced, but he is certainly more experienced.  It is another reason you cannot rush into things. 

He does not rush you.  You arrive at the moment in your own time.  And in this moment, it stops mattering.  His heart beats under your palm and he looks at you with such an outpouring of affection, it makes your own heart stutter.  You are tingling with aftershocks, feeling so alive and vibrant with his eyes on you. 

You trail your hand down his chest to his belt.  His eyelashes flutter, surprise crossing his own face.  His hand covers yours and he lifts a questioning brow.  You nod and he lets you go. 

You get his belt open with a little struggle.  You are a prestigious academic decorated with multiple literary awards, but a belt stupefies you.   

He lets you work, twisting a curl around his finger, smiling a lazy smile.  You pry the belt open and get his fly down, satisfied when some of his cockiness dissipates as your touch overwhelms him.  It is a good overwhelming, given the noise he makes as he rests his face on yours.  He murmurs your name and presses kisses all over your face as you work him in your hand. 

The jeans are thrown into the laundry hamper immediately after. 

-

The second week is mostly comprised of your usual routines.  You have both shirked some responsibilities, too busy flirting like horny prepubescents to get any work done.  You eventually return to your books and make remarkable progress on your research project.  Hyunjin edits the photos from his latest shoot, uploading them to his profiles and collecting his sponsorships. 

You go to your favourite café.  You accompany him to his favourite bar because it’s a trivia night and you enjoy it more than you anticipated. You return to the art exhibition then rehash your previous opinions over dinner. 

Some moments feel like dates, like when he holds you hand or gets the door or you dare to kiss his cheek in public.  Some moments feel like the comfortable friendship you have long enjoyed, and for that you are glad.  Gaining Hyunjin as a boyfriend would mean little if you lost him as a friend. 

But he is still your Hyunjin. 

He just puts his tongue in your mouth now. 

The couch becomes a site of utter debauchery.  It is the apartment’s no man’s land, given the beds have been relegated to solitary confinement.  It really is for the best.  For now.  You will enjoy yourself more when you are truly ready. 

Until then, the couch is subject to repeated episodes of defiling. 

You and Hyunjin sit down with the intention of reading your own books, but they are both on the floor and you are on your back and Hyunjin is on top of you.  It is not unlike a few weeks ago, when he stole your book and pinned you down.  It feels like a lifetime since then.  You never would have imagined yourself in this situation for real. 

But it is real.  You know that, because every nerve in your body is alive and shooting sparks.  You make little moans, weaving your fingers in his bright red hair as he kisses you deeply.  His jeans are blue today.  You are in a long skirt.  It makes it a little easier for the material to fall on its own, gathering around your thighs as he presses against you. 

You take his hand and guide it up your skirt, resting it on your inner thigh.  When he squeezes the soft flesh, you arch your back.  A shaky please leaves your lips, breathing the word against his own.

He nods quickly, thumb stroking a circle high on your inner thigh.  “What do you want, baby?” he asks. 

“Hand,” you say, thinking about that video of him unzipping his fly, how many times you have gotten yourself off to his perfect hand sliding into the frame.  His deft and nimble fingers, so precise for his artistic crafts.   You blink up at him, hoping you do not look so dishevelled that it is ridiculous.

He clearly likes what he sees.  He reaches under your skirt to slip your panties down and off, shoving them in his back pocket so they are not lost.  His jeans have a long chain on the hip that he pushes out of his way when he kneels upright on the couch.  He guides your thighs apart and angles your hips up, your thighs resting on his. 

“Sorry,” you say when he touches you, because you are already so wet from just kissing. 

“Sorry?” he asks in a rough voice, very lightly touching you, gathering all that desire on his fingertips and making you shudder.  “For what?” 

“Just… so… ready…” 

It sounds ridiculous to say out loud.  He must agree because he laughs incredulously.  But you do not have time to feel ashamed because he slides two fingers inside you, your body offering no resistance to him.  Then he starts curling up and putting pressure on your inner walls in a way that makes your head spin. 

“Poor baby,” he says, his other hand sliding up your waist, holding you steady.  “What should we do about that?” 

You are coming minutes later, your shirt half-off, your breasts mauled with hickeys and your pussy spasming around his fingers.  It feels so good, you do it again, and he ends up coming before you even touch him once. 

Next time, you are not on the couch, but standing by the front door, preparing to go out.  He is fully dressed with his leather jacket and boots, but you are missing a sweater and one shoe.  He is standing behind you, your cheek pressed to the door as he works his hand under your skirt.  You cant your hips up and back, grinding against him while he finger-fucks you. 

You come so hard your knees buckle.  Fortunately, he realizes what it is about to happen and catches you.  He does not slow down, though, the bastard, and you keep coming, balanced in his arms. 

You are halfway to the ground when you are satisfied.  He puts you down gently.  And maybe it is being half-dressed at his feet, maybe it his boots or his belt or that leather jacket, or maybe it is the way he looks down at you, but your mouth waters and you swallow hard. 

“We don’t need to—” he starts, but you interrupt by opening his belt.  You are much better at unbuckling it now, hardly wrestling with the leather at all. 

You are acutely aware that you are not very good at giving oral.  You are sensitive to sensation and it can be a bit much, but you like the noises he makes and the way he grabs your hair.  You are certain he has had better, but you would not know from his reactions.  He curses and sighs and groans, alternating between looking at you lovingly and ravenously. 

He gets down on one knee after and cups your face and kisses you. 

And that is just week two.

-

By week six, an amendment has been made to the bedroom rule.  You will not share a bed overnight, but the morning is a different matter entirely.  When the sun is up, the day is starting, so there is nothing wrong with climbing into bed together to talk about the day. 

To be fair, sometimes you do just talk. 

Other times, like now, your shirt is pushed up to your breasts and his face is buried in your pussy.  He is wearing boxers and nothing else, his face bare.  You like to look at it, his soft eyes glancing up at you as you push his hair back. 

Unlike you who still administers oral with something of a polite and fastidious air, he gets messy with it.  You are both drenched when you come, your pussy and thighs a mess while he wipes his face on a discarded shirt. 

“So,” he says.  “About the townhouse?” 

-

When you finally step foot in your townhouse again, it is an abominable mess.  You stand in the foyer with your luggage, slack-jawed and already so overstimulated that you nearly start vibrating. 

Hyunjin joins you a second later, carrying the rest of your bags.  He knows better than to yank you around when you get like this, but he does guide you to the couch to sit you on a clean cushion.   He gets you some water and makes you drink.   It helps, marginally. 

“Oh dear,” you finally say, an understatement. 

You made dinner plans, mostly to dissuade you from desecrating the foyer before you had an opportunity to unpack your bags, but those plans are cancelled in light of all the work that needs doing to make the place habitable again.  You are immensely glad there is no longer a river of water leaking out of your shower and into the living room, but the contractors were not overly kind regarding dust and debris, to say nothing of plain dust and dirt. 

Your poor bookshelves have been so neglected.  They are the first thing to get a good dusting. 

It is not an impossible task, when all is said and done, but pizza delivery replaces a dinner out.  Whatever plans for seduction you might or might not have had, all evaporate, because you are so exhausted from cleaning that you fall asleep on the couch before it even gets dark outside. 

You wake with a start in the middle of the night.  You dreamed about giant dust bunnies devouring your poor innocent bookshelves.   It takes a minute to ground yourself in reality, your surroundings unfamiliar.  You have grown so used to the spare bedroom at Hyunjin’s apartment that you forget your own bedroom for a sleepy moment.  When you fully come to consciousness, you remember where you are. 

Then you remember you fell asleep the couch, a half-finished plate of pizza in your lap.  Hyunjin must have gathered you in his arms and put you to bed.  The thought is a little touching but also embarrassing, because that was not the plan for tonight.  You suppose your provisos merely outlined not sleeping together until you were in your townhouse, not that it was a requisite for moving back in, but you still miss his company. 

You search around for your phone.  He left it on your bedside table for you.  It is not as late as you thought it was, probably because you fell asleep so early.  You text him an apology.  You assume he went back to his apartment but you are not sure if he is awake or asleep. 

You always liked living alone, but you suddenly lament the empty space.  You miss the comfort of another person just one room over.   No, not just another person, but Hyunjin. 

hey it’s okay, he texts back.  you were tired.  you should go back to sleep it’s late

I am unfortunately wide awake now.

Yeah me too. 

Why are you so awake?

Thinking about you. 

If you were not already wide awake, that would have done the job of waking you all the way.  You sit up in bed, all your attention on your phone now.  You type a reply. 

Oh?  What about me? 

You are not sure if his tone is flirtatious or not.  You are getting better at verbal cues but it is still impossible to read someone, even Hyunjin, over text.   You cannot even read your own tone, uncertain if it comes across as flirtatious or just curious. 

That I’m kinda glad you fell asleep. 

Don't laugh at me.. but I think I am nervous

About sleeping with you

You expect any number of answers, but not that one.  You struggle with a reply for a moment, not sure if he is seeking reassurance or he just wants to speak his mind.  When he starts typing again, you decide to wait. 

I know it sounds stupid. 

We spent all this time waiting

And god I want to.  my girl

I’m so scared of messing this up and letting you down. 

Hyunjin, you finally type, before he can descend in a spiral.  You told me you would wait a year, or that we would work something out for ourselves if it was necessary.  Do you not think I would do the same for you? 

The ellipses appears and disappears as he contemplates this.  His answer comes a moment later, You’re right.

Of course I am, you reply.  I always am. 

You hear a laugh.  It startles you so bad, you drop your phone on the floor.  You snatch it up quickly as possibly and frantically type, Please tell me that is you laughing in my living room. 

Oh yeah sorry I just slept on your couch.

This man will be the death of you one way or another, that much is for certain.

You frightened me half to death.  I thought you left. 

Ah sorry baby..

Do you… want me to come upstairs?

That restless heart of yours skips beats for another reason, a different type of fear, one not unlike his own.  You are not sure how the night will progress, but you know one thing for certain, one thing that is true and will always be true: you want Hyunjin.  You want him with you, and beside you, now and always. 

Yes please, you write, then wait. 

His footsteps creak on the stairs.  The human body really is a peculiar creation, because your fear seems to bleed right into newfound arousal. 

You look up as he opens the door, using his phone flashlight as a guiding light.  It is facing upward, illuminating him.  Your phone screen is on, offering some light over your own features. 

You are still wearing the sweater and sweatpants you cleaned in, absolutely not a sexy outfit for a first time sleeping together.  You considered ordering special lingerie for the occasion but you are still quite bad about feeling embarrassed about those things.  You made yourself nervous and balked every time you pictured walking in the room with them on.  You think you will do that one day.  You will probably have to make yourself comfortable with it first.  Maybe you will send him a video. 

You look up at him, your heart pounding just thinking about it.  He gazes back at you.  He is wearing jeans and a t-shirt, also not an especially fancy outfit to celebrate any firsts. 

His face is bare.  Your hair is loose.  There is something about the shadows and a new room that makes you feel like strangers for a moment.   You tell him as much, mostly to fill the silence, because he is staring at you and his gaze is far too amorous to be directed at a silly woman who fell asleep in her cleaning clothes at suppertime. 

He tips his head as he looks you.  You shiver, as if it is the first time he has ever looked at you, as if he has not made you come a dozen times on his face and hands, as if he has not known you for most of your life. 

He turns off his light.  The room is plunged into darkness.  That ridiculous heart of yours starts leaping around like it has an electric current. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, reaching blindly.  You gasp when he captures your hand, leading it onto his shoulder.  Then you feel his whole body, his hair brushing your face, his hands on you.  Your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness and see you him a little better, the muscle definition in his arms, the necklace dangling when he leans down towards you. 

“I’d fall in love with you again,” he says.  “If we were.  Strangers.  If I was seeing you now for the first time.”  He touches your cheek, brushes his knuckles up your temple then slips his fingers into your unruly hair.   “I think I’ve fallen in love with you a hundred different ways.  I think I will again.” 

“You know I am not good at speaking with poetic embellishment,” you say, swallowing around the lump in your throat, one caused by both sentiment and nerves.  “So I will have to speak plainly with you.   I love you too, Hyunjin.  I always have.  If we were meeting for the first time right now, though, I would probably be screaming and throwing things at you.”

He laughs and the sound make you feel like you are glowing.  You need no other light.  You reach up and touch his face and you see him perfectly, can picture his smile even before you trace your thumb across his bottom lip.  You cannot draw like him, but if you could, you would scribble his likeness in the margin of your work as well.   

“Good thing we’re not strangers, then,” he says.  “Because I’d really rather make love to you.”  He swoops down and kisses your forehead.  “My friend.”  He kisses a sensitive spot below your ear, the place he teases when he wants to rile you up quickly.  “Baby.”  Then he is tipping your head at the perfect angle to lean down, his lips brushing yours when he says, “My pretty girl.” 

“Nonsense,” you say breathlessly, because of course you do. 

And of course he kisses you.

He kisses you deeply, holding the back of your head as he gently lays you down.  You push the covers away, opening yourself to him completely.  You wrap around each other, sinking into the sheets, arching your back to feel more of him. 

You gasp when he tugs your hair.  He has already found so many ways to make you plaint and needy, to forget your skills of articulation and lose every word but his name. 

“That’s it,” he says, hooking your legs around his waist.  “Show me what you want, baby.” 

You reach between your bodies, cupping where he is already hard in his jeans.  Everything about him is so hard against you, you in your soft sweats with your pool of curly hair, losing yourself as his strong hands work their way down your body.  He lifts your shirt off and tosses it to the side, then gathers your hands because you always have an instinctive moment of covering yourself.  You are modest by nature, but you trust him with everything.  It is exhilarating, when he takes your wrists and pins them by your head. 

For a moment, you do imagine every version of yourselves.  You and him, old friends turning into lovers.  You and him, established lovers, finally coming together.  Two strangers, finding each other for the first time. There is always something new to discover. You love him again and again. 

“Say my name,” he says, working his way down your body.  He is still fully clothed when he has you fully naked, writhing under him as he pushes his tongue in you.  It is a slow seduction with his mouth on your pussy as he kisses you there as thoroughly as he kissed your mouth.   “Say it.”

“Hyunjin,” you say, repeating it as you come, your legs wrapped around his head. 

He spares you only seconds before his fingers are inside you.  You cling to his arm, making noises that still surprise you, begging him with your eyes and hands and little cries.  When he cups your face after, you open your mouth wide, wanting.  He fucks your mouth like he fucked your pussy, two fingers gliding across your tongue until you are bucking and pleading, sucking on his fingers and staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Fuck,” he says, then whips off his shirt. 

He kneels and you help tug his jeans and boxers down to his knees.  You curl towards him, situated so he can finger you while you wrap your lips around his cock.  You are usually very neat about it, but you cannot think clearly with his fingers inside you.  You mostly wet him, barely blowing him, but he still kisses you when you pull back. 

When he gets the last of his clothes off, he surprises you by sitting back against the headboard and pulling you into his lap.  He surprises you even more by folding your arms behind your back and pinning your wrists at the base of your spine.  He holds them there in one hand, the other between you as he helps you settle on top of him. 

He does know you well.  The second his cock so much as brushes you, there is an instinct to cover up.  You hands twitch but he holds you, speaking to you gently, soothingly.  He eases you through it, breathing just as hard as you sink down until he is fully inside you.  Then you are clenching sporadically around him, almost a mini-orgasm just from the initial thrust.  He is still holding your arms behind you, guiding you through it with him completely in control.  It seems to be the way he likes it, but you don’t mind at all.  You can be a stern stickler everywhere else; here you can be his. 

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he says, free hand on your hip, holding you as he rolls his hips under you.  “That good, baby?”

You answer with a mewl, dropping your face to his shoulder and staying there.  He laughs, eventually lifting your head.  Then he puts you on your back and lifts your leg onto his shoulder, and he fucks you in a way you once could only imagine. 

He pushes your knees back, presses his body so close to yours.  A sheen of perspiration covers his skin and you are certain you are not faring better.  It feels good, it feels free.  You wrap your arms around him and hold tight. 

“My girl,” he says, with a strong thrust, then another.  Sounding as deliriously inarticulate as you when he says, “Mine.”  And thrusts again.  “Mine.”  And again.  “Always.”  Again. 

You seek his hand blindly.  He offers it, lacing your fingers like the romantic he instinctively is, but you lead it right to your throat where you want him to hold you.  When he does, your body goes completely soft for him, like every worry flees at once.  You are always so in your head, to be a body feels good, to share it with him even better.  You hum with pleasure, mouth open like a good girl for your dreamy bad boy as he leans down and kisses you, his tongue fucking into your mouth with the same vigour he takes your pussy. 

When he rubs his thumb over your clit, you last only seconds, your whole body shaking as you lose complete control.  He holds you through it, rocking into you, kissing your face and neck.  He pulls out and strokes himself to completion, coming on your thighs and pussy. 

You wrap around each other after, rolling into the middle of the bed.  You somehow migrated horizontally during your lovemaking.   You will need to move eventually, but sleep is finally hitting you.  You feel Hyunjin clean you up with his t-shirt, but you only stir when he kisses you.  You wrap around him and return a few sleepy kisses down his neck.  He slides a hand in your hair, cups the back of your neck, and stays like that. 

“What next,” you ask sleepily, not fully conscious of your words. 

“Mmm.” He sounds just as sleepy.  “Still need our dinner date,” he murmurs.  “Can decide in the morning.”

“Okay,” you say.  And even though you are half asleep and barely conscious, you add, “I can make a spreadsheet.”

He smiles.   You think maybe you should learn to draw just so you can draw that smile after all.  Maybe there is an artist and a romantic inside you, or maybe it is just the parts of him so entwined with you, forever embedded in your heart.  You are actually excited to learn. 

You give him one more sleepy kiss.  It is early morning now.

You fall asleep together at the start of a new day. 

#hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #skz x reader #hyunjin smut #skz smut

[concord-and-cliches]

disco attorney! turnabout elysium! some other third possible combination!

(id in alt text and under the cut, sketches also under the cut)

[image ID: Part one of two of a Disco Elysium/Ace Attorney crossover fancomic.

Panel One: Miles Edgeworth, gesturing with one hand and pointing with the other, says, "Witness, your name and occupation, please."

Panel Two: Harry Du Bois, standing at the witness stand, says, "Oh, okay."

Panel Three: A copy of the previous panel, with no dialogue.

Panel Four: Harry looks off to the side with a nervous expression. Text in the panel reads: "ENCYCLOPEDIA [Trivial - Failure] - Uh…"

Panel Five: Harry, with a concerned and worried expression, has a white ring around his head with three thought orbs that are coloured blue, yellow, and red. Text in the panel reads: "HALF LIGHT - YOU GOT AMNESIA AGAIN. YOU'RE FUCKED." "Logic - No, it's just been a while since you've been on the stand. You're nervous, that's all." "COMPOSURE - Better shake off those nerves before going any further."

Part two of two of a Disco Elysium/Ace Attorney crossover fancomic.

Panel One: Kim Kitsuragi is sitting in the gallery, alongside vague depictions of other people, including Dick Gumshoe, Pearl Fey, and Kazuma Asogi. Text in the panel reads: "PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - The lieutenant's looking right at you from the gallery." "AUTHORITY - Uh-oh." "REACTION SPEED - Quick! Just say anything!"

Panel Two: Harry grips the witness stand and shouts with a frantic expression: "MY NAME IS RAPHAEL AMBROSIUS COSTEAU AND I'M A F(asterisks)T."

Panel Three: Edgeworth looks on with an affronted expression.

Panel Four: Maya Fey and Phoenix Wright have shocked expressions.

Panel Five: Kim has one arm leaning against the gallery, and his head in his other hand.

Panel Six: A slightly-edited copy of Panel Two, but Harry has a pensive expression, and text in the panel reads: "DAMAGED MORALE -1", alongside a purple X.

Three separate mini-fancomics involving a Disco Elysium/Ace Attorney crossover.

The first one is two panels, featuring Elizabeth Beaufort. In the first panel, she is crossing her arms and wearing an outfit similar to Apollo Justice's. She is thinking: "(I went to law school for this?)" In the second panel, she is looking at a screen with an annoyed expression, thinking: "(For a man like that to be among my peers?)" On the screen, there is a picture of Phoenix Wright, and text that reads: "Phoenix Wright's Accomplishments: -Ate Glass -Cross-Examined A Bird -Been Tazed -Been Whipped -Been Impersonated -Been Assaulted With Coffee"

The second one is a drawing of Kim Kitsuragi doing Edgeworth's pose in which he grabs his left arm and looks away with a pained expression. In the style of Ace Attorney, there is a text box which reads: "Kitsuragi: Thanks to you, I am saddled with unnecessary… feelings."

The third one is a drawing of Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth standing together, smiling at one another. Text in the image reads: "MILES EDGEWORTH - "Nice suit, by the way. I like the blue. Goes with the burgundy."

A Disco Elysium/Ace Attorney crossover fancomic featuring Dick Gumshoe, Harry Du Bois, Phoenix Wright, and Kim Kitsuragi.

Panel One: Gumshoe, with a determined expression and his hand in a fist, says: "True art has always been a war against oppression."

Panel Two: Harry grabs Gumshoe's shoulder and points at him with his other hand. He says to Gumshoe, who is smiling, "Oh my God. Dude, we are biving so hard right now."

Panel Three: Harry and Gumshoe begin talking to one another with numerous empty speech bubbles indicating so. Phoenix and Kim look on from the background.

Panel Four: A close-up of Phoenix and Kim, who have disconcerted expressions. Together, they think: "(Two of them…)" /end ID]

#welcome again to self indulgence town #turnabout disco #contra art #fanart #disco elysium #ace attorney #comic #harry du bois #miles edgeworth #kim kitsuragi #phoenix wright #maya fey #dick gumshoe #elizabeth beaufort #narumitsu #wrightworth #kimharry #harrykim #disco elysium fanart #de fanart #harrier du bois #f slur

[writingoddess1125]

saw ur request is finally open dlsksksks i hope modern au is your jam 🤞🏻

I would love to get your thought on buggy, shanks, and minawk reacting to reader accidentally sending them a nude pic 🤧

Oh I love you RN ❤️

Okay so did I go overboard? Absolutely Do I care? HELL NO!

You Accidently Send them a Nude Pic!

Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk

SPICY THEMES! ❤️‍🔥

You are gonna need some Ice cubes 🧊 after this one ;D

If you like please Support me on Ko-Fi

Buggy

"For fucks sake" You grumbled as you looked through google- You needed a specific pose for this commission, it was an expensive NSFW one and yet you could not find the right pose and for some reason couldn't figure it from memory-

"Fuck it time to go old school-" You grumbled, Peeling off your clothes and walking to the bedroom were your mirror was, Setting up you snapped a few pictures in the pose needed.

Looking at the few shots you couldn't help but pat yourself on the back. You looked good and got the pose perfectly- Dressing back you went back to your computer.

You kept your phone gallery opened to look at the photo, embarrassed you had to go to such lengths to do so- But money was money.

As you continued your sketch you saw a message ding and smiled- It was non other then Buggy, your close friend and truthfully your partner in crime.

Buggy Boo 🤡: U busy?

Me: Yeah I'm trying to find some references, but what's up?

Buggy Boo 🤡: NVM wanted to hang out

You smiled at this.

Me: You can still but at a price 😌

Buggy Boo 🤡: Price? 💰

Giggling you open up your text gallery. You scroll through the photos to find the McDonald's meme youd saved earlier and quickly sent it-

Me: Gotta Bring Me The Mickey D's 😩 💦

However you saw two images loading to be sent with the text. Raising a brow as you waited for it to load- However when it sent and showed you the second image you threw your device across the room.. there just below the McDonald's Meme was your nude reference photo.. You tried to panic unsend but saw he read it instantly.

Fuck FUCK FUCK!!!

Expecting a call or a WTF text of some sort but .

Silence- You didn't see him text back or anything. Fear eating you up inside as you thought the worse.. He's going to fucking hate you now- you two had just been really really good friends for years and maybe had a few drunken nights together however nothing like this!

In your panic you didn't realize how much time had passed before a knock snapped you from your thoughts.

You heard frantic knocks in your front door, surprised by the urgency of them and walked over- Opening the door your face flushed with what you saw. There was Buggy, with a shirt barely and clearly backwards, his hair down in thick waves looking wet and barely holding up his pants like he had gotten into clothes on the way to you however the 4 massive bag of McDonald's in his hand clued you in he had stopped at the restaurant right before.

"Buggy?-" You say shyly and face cherry red at seeing him in such a disheveled state- that and his boxers didn't exactly hiding him very well.

"I came over as fast as I could- I also got everything on the menu-" He said breathlessly holding up the bag and you glance to see his car parked sideways in your driveway, words seemed to leave you as you could practically see the desire in his gaze as he grinned widely.

He stepped forward and gently pushed you back into the house closing your door behind him as he quickly closed the space between you two, handing you the bag whicj you could barely hold onto.

"Gotta say, that was a welcomed surprised from you. I loved it~" He purred out, You squeaking in surprise at his words as his hands found their way to your hips.

"I have some modeling I'd like to see you do~ For art purposes of course" He said with a wink.

"Y-You actually liked those?" You manage out- Buggy laughed at this.

"Of course! It was sexy, flashy, surprising all at once. Not gonna lie if it wasn't for me needing to get the McDonald's I'd have came straight here and fucked you into the floor" He growled out in desire. You decided to not tell him you were joking about the McDonald's thing.

"In that case-" You sent the bag to the side and smiled as you felt him practically waiting for you to give the OK.

"Food can wait~"

Shanks

So bored- You thought as you laid on the couch of your boyfriends apartment. Shanks, The famed biker gang leader in your state. It was famous for his skills, the brutality of his gang and the unfortunate missing arm from a accident to save a child.

However for you he was just the love of your life- and also the one who had left 3 hours ago to do some sort of meet up with his gang which always ment leaving you behind-

Deciding to text him you open your phone to snapchat seeing he was still at the bar and sent a message.

Me: Red I'm Bored 😴

Red Head: I know Babe but I'll be home soon.

Me: It's been 3 hours 🙃

Red Head: Almost done here. I'll Bring you flowers if you're good.

You rolled your eyes- Flowers if your Good hm? You stewed for a moment before jumping up and marching to the bathroom. Maybe it was boredom or sexual frustration but you figured some teasing was in order- Deciding to take off your bottoms you poses in the mirror and snapped a quick picture. Smiling as you loaded it to send

Me: Good like this? {Image}

Prepared to hit send you stopped yourself and sgiggled... This was so stupid. Why would you do this? Rational thought clearing your heated mind and you tossed the phone on the couch to stop yourself.

"Just watch TV Jesus-" You said to yourself and plopped down. Turing in the TV but heard your phone rapidly ding, raising a brow you picked it back up and your face fell- It had sent dear God it had sent. It seemed when you tossed it the screen pressed sent by accdient.

Red Head: I'll be damned-

Red Head: Holy Shit did you just take this now?

Red Head: Baby?

Red Head: I'll be over in 10 minutes..

You saw Shanks text and you felt your face grow hot. This was not how you wanted it to happen but you weren't mad either-

In 8 minutes you heard a knock on the door and you quickly rushed over to open it. Assuming his hand was full-

He smiled at you, Holding the flowers in hand which had somehow survived his speedy ride to you.

"As promised flowers" He said with a grin and you stepped back so he could enter fully and took the flowers that were handed to you.

"Thank you" You say shyly but can't meet his gaze.

"You just love giving me a heart attack hm Love?" He purred out grabbing your chin gently to look up at him.

"I had to put away my phone so quickly cause I was at the bar with the gang" He said with a chuckle as you held the flowers close to your chest.

He leaned forward releasing your chin and began to kiss your check- His body pressing into you and you felt dizzy and warm.

"I-It was an accident" You Squeak out as Shanks layered kisses down your neck- His hand pulling you by your waist as he pulled you closer, your hand setting the flowers to whatever was closest to you as you felt warmth flutter through your body.

"Really?~ Didn't seem like one to me. As yoj said you were bored~" He said softly, you hadn't realized it but he had worked you two backwards till you felt the couch hit the back of your legs and you fell with a surprised yelp. Shanks smiling at this as he pulled away his leather jacket.

"Well let's make sure I don't leave you bored again~" He winked and lowered himself right after you.

Seems you were about to have the ride of your life~

Mihawk

You kicked off your heels with a sigh as you finally made it back to your home. Flopping on the couch with a groan- be a lawyer they said, You'll make a lot of money they said- BULLSHIT!

You were overworked, under paid and under laid- it was brutal honestly but you did like your work to some degree and you got to meet interesting people.

You hear a ding from your phone and sigh, already prepared for some client to email- But instead you were met with a text Ling saying your photos were ready.

Photos?... OH The Nude Boudoir Photos of yourself! Jumping up you quickly press the downloadable link and open it up quickly.

It had been a gift for yourself, when your confidence had been down and wanted something to make you feel beautiful and sexy. Opening up the downloaded folder you smiled, it was a bit weird to admire pictures of yourself but the photographer had done such a great job!

However you were cut off when another email rolled in- Sighing heavily as you saw it was non other then you poss and CEO of the firm Mihawk Dracule. The man was a sticklier about everything and he was just lucky he was hot or else you would have slammed a folder in his face by now-

Mihawk D: (Y/N) I need the file for Eros vs Tuller Case. Seems file did not send correctly.

You sigh, that wasn't hard and you'd already downloaded it on your phone. Attaching the document from you phone quickly you sent it-

So lucky!-

There it had been the last thing you...downloaded- wait... it hadn't been the last thing you downloaded.

Dread filled your chest as you slowly opened up your phone once again and clicked the downloaded tap- Seeing two downloaded files, slowly opening the file you sent Mihawk only to see your naked body...

You stared at your phone and screamed- Bloody. Murder

'NO NO NO NO-!!' You panicked as you literally through your phone across the livingroom.

"I'm so so fired I just sent my boss my naked photos!" You sobbed as you fell to the floor, your face as red as a tomato and you damn near cried. You hear another ding and crawl to your cracked device and took a look.

Mihawk D: Come to my office tommorow morning early. We have things to discuss.

You were dead- So very very dead... You cried that night and shot out your resume to several firms and waited for the next morning.

On cue you arrived to the firm brighf and early, having to psych yourself up before going in. You walked in to the building and up to the executive office- you half expected to see a box and a pink slip waiting for you- your head low as you stepped into your bosses office.

"Sir?.." You say softly, looking up you saw Mihawk sitting there looking through some papers- Your eyes focusing on what he was so interested in and you damn near had a heart attack. Seeing professional prints of your boudoir images on his desk and he was looking through them calmly, He glanced up at you finally seeing your wide eyes and flushed face he pointed you over to him calmly.

Slowly stepping forward you stood next to him behind the desk- Seeing the expensive professional prints of your intimate photos sprawled out.

"A-Am I fired?.." You finally asked, Your voice no better then a shaky whisper.

"No. I quite like these infact- I've had many people in my company who have tried to flirt, I was even curious when youd act.. But ive never seen one as bold as this" He said clearly amused, the humiliation burned in your chest- especially since he knew you had a crush on him.. but now you were curious why he didn't want to fire you.

He flicked back to one of the photos, one were you had worn something akin to a playbunny outfit made of lace. He tapped the imagine a bit playfully.

"I must say, This is by far my favorite out of the lot... I'd like to make a proposal to you" He said, craning his head to meet your eyes as a smirk played on his lips.

You felt your brain turn to mush.. first that he liked them and second that Mihawk Dracule was smiling- Had you died?!

"A date if you will, But I'd like to explore your skills in your modeling afterwards. Back at my home. If you're more comfortable with a written contract that is fine with me, but verbal is just as good" He stated calmly, Heat flushing your form at his words and you skittishly nodded.

"What would be the terms of this contract?" You ask shyly, Now more interested then you thought it would be. Mihawk reaching into his caot and pulled out a satin case, opening it to reveal a beautiful necklace, it was very classy looking and could truthfully be worn with anything- but you realized it was a infinity choker with a key lock in the back.

Warmth hitting your body once again asnyou realized what this represented.. A collar.

"Dates, a more personal relationship and some.. let's say recreations of these works?" He said calmly still holding his favorite one.

You thought for a moment, before running your fingers over the necklace and nodding softly.

"I agree to those terms" You say a bit playfully, Earning a smile from Mihawk. He stood up calmly and picked up the necklace, moving behind you as he carefully clasped it and locked it into place.

"Wonderful" He practically purred out and admired you for a moment. Head flooding your body once more at his golden gaze.

"I will pick you up tonight then, 8 sound good?" He asked, you agreeing and he patted your behind playfully.

"Good. Now Run along now Bunny, I still need the file for the Eros vs Tuller Case" He said amused, You nodding quickly.

"Yes Mr. Dracule" You say softly and as you stepped out a blush on your cheeks and a smile on your lips.

That went better then expected~

#x reader #one peice x reader #one piece #one peice live action #buggy one piece #buggy the clown x reader #one piece mihawk #buggy x reader #mihawk x reader #hawkeye mihawk #one piece shanks #shanks one piece #red haired shanks #shanks x reader #red haired shanks x reader

[larcenywrites]

For Love, We Sin the Most

Nightcrawler x Reader

Technically spoilers if you read any x-men anthology and haven't made it through second coming/ haven't read quest for nightcrawler. I don't get into many details or stay very canon anyway lol

Warnings: 18+ | no pronouns or assignments used for reader | unprotected sex | sex in a church | kinda public sex? | an established relationship of some kind ;) | sad | but happy ending! sort of | lots of plot with some porn | comfort/fluff | a little foreplay, a little aftercare | light bondage? sorry I really love his tail

Word count: 2,650

Summary: The resident catholic is having a hard time settling with the terms of his resurrection and just trying to feel again.

When Rachel frantically called on you to find Nightcrawler, you probably preferred to find him in battle, fighting demons. Luckily, on a Sunday morning, you knew exactly where to look first, creaking open the large wooden door just enough to pass through into the small lobby. The lights were off, but there was low singing from further inside. You would have proceeded to peek past that second set of doors, but the quick flick of blue that curled out from the sunlight and into the shadows nearby finished your investigation for you. 

Well, you did, in fact, find him fighting demons.

This would normally be the part where you'd tease him about being terrible at hiding, but you didn't need to see his face to hold your tongue. Instead, you found a nearby panel of switches, flooding his side of the room in low light. Without the darkness, he could no longer blend and hide, but he didn't recoil. Hunched over, his hands were clasped together on his knees, and his tail tightly curled over his feet. You approached him wordlessly. You could tell he was focused but not on you, proven when he crossed himself right on cue. A cue you hardly heard yourself. 

He continued to sit still for a few minutes. Obviously, he knew who stood before him. Otherwise he would have hid. Taking a deep breath, you placed a hand on his shoulder. "Shouldn't you be attending the service?" You asked softly. 

"I," he finally choked out after several moments. "I'm not sure I am allowed to anymore." His words, although quiet, dripped with despair. For him, this welcoming foyer was his ancient narthex, created for those who weren't allowed into the sanctuary but still wished to listen to its sermon. 

"Have you spoken to a Father about it?" Without further knowledge, you can only suggest a priest. 

"And what would I say?" Kurt raised his voice in his anguish and grimaced at his own volume. "What would he say?" He tagged on, much quieter this time. He practically curled into himself as if he were cold. You sighed sadly at the sight, looking away. A small staircase in the corner caught your interest and gave you another idea. Reaching your hands down to his, you unfurled his hands from one another and took them into yours. At the gesture, he finally lifted his head to look at you. It took all you could not to take his sad face in your hands instead. 

"I think he would tell you to come in," you reply in a gentle whisper. You smile down at him as you barely tug him towards you, convincing him to stand. When he finally does, you study him. His black blazer and black slacks, his white button-up shirt. A few top buttons were messily undone, but it only made him more handsome. Silently, with a hand in his, you led him up those wooden steps. Your intuition was right when they opened into a high balcony overlooking the inner room. That narrow gallery stretched against the wall was mostly dark, with only the tops of stained glass windows bleeding in light over the single row of benches. There was a reason someone like him chose such a dark, unpopulated church. 

As you began to leave the doorway, deadweight stopped you in your tracks. Looking back, a pair of downcast yellow eyes glowed under the wooden arch. Naturally, he blended into the shadow. You came back to him, taking his other hand and settling between him and the wall. At the very least, maybe it would help for him to see this place again, you figured. You let him listen, watching him closely as he watched the floor. 

And what a horrible day for a sermon about heaven. 

"I saw it, you know," he barely spoke up, accent whispering like a snake. "Paradise." He said the word hauntingly, not with any grandeur nor remorse. He turned his head as he spoke, looking down at the alter, but he seemed distant. Perhaps in memory. The light of the window caught his eye and reflected brilliant pale yellow. In the darkness, the other was like fire. 

"And yet you came back," you whispered back. Even you weren't quite sure what you meant by it, but he knew it wasn't merely an observation. Contemplating, he stared down into the room. The priest below continued, but you only wanted to hear whatever else Kurt had to say. 

"There were many reasons I did what I did," he soon continued, still not looking at you. "Did it the way I did." He never told you the full story, not even Logan knew. You waited for more, but he didn't respond. He probably didn't want to talk about it—at least, not for another few minutes.

"I never thought that love would be my greatest sin," he finally said. "I wanted so badly to come back," he nearly sobbed, quickly putting his hand over his mouth to keep from interrupting the service below. He gathered himself for a few moments. 

"To this place," he continued, "to my friends," he sighs before turning towards you, his fiery orbs still refusing to meet your gaze, "to you." Even when you cupped his cheek in your hand, his hand you left behind followed, fingers wrapping around your wrist. "That it would be greater than my love for God," he started but didn't finish when his voice began to rise again. By now he was rambling about things you hardly understood, but you hung on to every word. 

"You said it yourself," you gently tease, more loving than lighthearted. "There is no love without sin." With a soft smile, your touch on his cheek stroked over the fur on his neck and drifted over what bare upper chest those undone buttons revealed. You knew you shouldn't, not here, but as his expression only grew more somber, you found yourself sliding your hand further, reaching the space above his heart for only a second before frantic yet gentle fingers pulled you away, afraid of what you'd find.

Or the lack thereof. 

You couldn't stand to see him so sad, not even willing to look at you. As the preaching continued somewhere down below, something about fulfillment, there was really only one thing on your mind as you continued to watch his pained eyes. "Do you miss it?" You didn't mean to let your emotion ring in your tone as you whispered— doubt, disappointment, sadness. He picked up on it, raising his face once more to meet your gaze. Solemn eyes panicked, realizing his mistake. With a change of posture, he stepped closer, grasping your arm and placing your palm over his chest again. "Not in the same way I missed here," he reassured you. His eyes were still sad, but so earnest. You could feel the metal cross hanging from his pendant with how hard he pressed your palm into his chest. You both stared at one another in silence, but understanding. 

Something about the word doom was quietly uttered through the archway.  

"I realize now that I had already found Paradise," he proclaimed longingly, leaning in slightly. Though flattered, you only half-smiled. 

"You shouldn't talk like that here," you whispered, cupping his jaw. "Surely it's a sin." 

And he'd already cut his path of redemption short enough. 

"And yet it would be a sin not to." His tone was almost desperate. He leaned in closer, head tilted dangerously close to a kiss. You began to protest, but his grip on your arm tightened in defiance. "My soul is already adrift elsewhere," he hissed in a hurried whisper, "and He has no use for my body." He shook his head in defeat, tilting his chin to kiss the hand that held him before looking back up. "So if it's all I have left, I will use it to worship who does." His voice cracked against your lips, and he practically fell into you. 

Your back hit the wall with a thud that made you panic, but any protest of his name was muffled and lost between his lips. He could only follow what made him feel at the moment, and he'd come to his senses later, but right now, he was desperate to atone for his sins in a different way. It was a long, suffocating kiss that was touch-starved, hardly focused on any particular pleasure other than the need for your warmth. Despite knowing your current circumstances, you relaxed into him, taking your hand from his face and gripping the soft, indigo curls on the back of his head. He took that as his cue to press into you impossibly more, knees knocking with yours as you both nearly buckled from his weight. 

Finally, he pulled back just enough to catch his breath, warm breath fanning against your cheek a few times before eagerly diving back in. This time, he moved with you. Your noses knocked each time he rolled his head to find his favorite angle, and, in annoyance, you tried to hold him still with your hand on his neck and your grip on his hair. In response, his lips parted, tongue lapping at your top lip and tentatively touching yours when you let him in. 

His grip on your waist was harsh, almost as if he was scared that if he let go even a little, he might lose this moment forever. As if he couldn't hold you enough, his tail joined in, wrapping itself beneath your ass and tightly snaking around your waist. You felt him smile into the kiss when you pet over the peach fuzz of his tail before he abruptly pulled away from your lips, tongue sliding over your bottom lip as he withdrew into your neck. Sweetly, he kisses your pulse. And you know where he's going. 

"We should 'port somewhere else," you suggest softly. The light kisses on your neck become open-mouthed and wet, showing you just what he thinks about your suggestion. You catch the words reunion with God bouncing off the wall, and you weren't sure if the devil himself said it or the clergyman was sermonizing below. You tilted your head back for him at the prickling feeling of his fangs. 

With a mind of their own, your hands worked down the rest of the button on his shirt, splaying your fingers through the velvety fluff of his chest, barely able to feel the warm beating of his heart. At least you knew that he was alive, in some way or another. 

Making sure you could feel all of him, you pushed his blazer and shirt off his shoulders, feeling him down and scratching over his abs just the way he used to like it, and he tensed them just the way you remember. 

When his hands left your hips to slide off his clothes, they came back to do the same to you, sliding under your top and over your bare skin. You let him undress you, and eventually, you both stood nude. 

Even after being… gone for so long, he remembered just where to touch you. He held your hips flush with his while licked over your nipple, pawed between your legs, and tickled your inner thigh with the curling of his fuzzy tail. Feeling boneless, the wall helped him to hold you up while you focused on covering your mouth to muffle your pleasured moans and sighs. 

You were suddenly spun around, strong arms wrapped tightly around you as they swiftly lowered you to the wooden floor. Kurt's lithe form settled between your legs, back bowed as he bent down to mouth over your stomach. On his knees, he worshiped you carnally, hands gripping over-excitedly at your thighs and waist. 

Fingers around your wrist pulled your hand from your mouth, quickly replaced with that crushing pair of full lips again. Some would say he was desecrating holy ground, but Kurt would say quite the opposite. In a nest of clothes, right there in the dark loft of his place of faith, he took you. Whether it was because he was most comforted here or because he was angry at the circumstances, his hips pumped into you with a fervor that had you clawing into his back and biting his shoulder to muffle your whines. 

The floor was cold and hard and uncomfortable as he rocked you back and forth, but he was the opposite— warm and soft and lovingly fucking you into the ground. Luckily, the pious music drifting through the doorway covered up the sound of his cock slapping into you and his hissing moans as you bit and carved the punishment of love into his skin. 

You were ripped from his shoulder when he sat up, not even bothering to cover your gasping moan at the change in angle. Blunt nails dug into your skin as he held your hips, making your legs squirm and draw up behind him with the overstimulated pleasure. 

It was like a perverse religious painting, with his cross pendant wildly swinging above you and fangs gleaming along with his eyes; his tail, pointed like a devil's, bound your legs around his waist. This was heaven to him right now, watching you arch your back off the ground and eyes fluttering heavily as you both found that perfect sweet spot. 

It was when you came on him that his glowing eyes beheld the glorious sight he was searching for. He kept going, desperate to keep the image of your moaning, parted lips in his mind, and keep the feeling of your warm cream that dripped over his cock. "Oh~ mein gott," he growled at the way you tightened around him. You could almost laugh at the way he said it if you weren't busy trying to recover. "(Y/N)," he panted and spoke your name like gospel. "My dearest."

Your only response could be a meek whimper of his name, but it was enough when you weakly rolled your head to look up at him. If you couldn't tell by the way his brows raised and furrowed, you knew that he was right on the edge by the constriction of his tail around your ankles, keeping you bound around him while he came, throbbing, deep inside you. 

It was quiet now, aside from panting and the sounds of the congregation conversing and slowly departing that same creaking door that got you here in the first place. You felt you could finally relax and close your eyes when the last of the noise was shut out with the door, and you could finally stretch out your legs again as you felt his tail unravel. He had the same idea, stretching out his legs when he fell into your side. He let you have your space, but that sneaky tail laid loosely over your thigh. 

You felt a sort of regret for him as you turned to take in the proper view of his nude form lying elegantly in your bed of disheveled clothes, wishing to know what this meant for him… but you weren't going to ask, letting him bask in release— whatever kind it was. You reached for his pendant, twirling the chain between your fingers and observing the discoloration of the metal cross. Without even opening an eye, he took your attention away from it with a touch, making you hold his hand against his chest instead. 

"I-" You eventually break the silence but pause, unsure what excerpt you should say. It gets his attention, eyes lifting to look into yours. You muster a smile. "I'm glad you're back," you say softly, simply. Despite the circumstances, despite what it meant, despite what it's already done to you, you wanted to add, but his own bittersweet smile already knew what you meant. 

"Me too," he whispered and brought your hand up from his chest to kiss your knuckles. "Me too, my dear." 

#nightcrawler #nightcrawler x reader #nightcrawler smut #nightcrawler x reader smut #nightcrawler fic #nightcrawler oneshot #nightcrawler one shot #nightcrawler imagine #nightcrawler headcanons #kurt wagner #kurt wagner x reader #kurt wagner smut #kurt wagner x reader smut #kurt wagner imagine #kurt wagner one shot #kurt wagner oneshot #kurt wagner headcanon #marvel #marvel smut #marvel headcanons #marvel fic #x men x reader

[arminsumi]

i know you already made one but i NEED more mean dom! armin arlert to readd 🙏 it’s not a want anymore it’s a NEED for him to say the most evil, diabolically, appalling shit to my face. this man can destroy me however he wants. i need this man to degrade me so bad.

🔞 You're So Mean!

★ Note : mean dom armin? HMM. i cooked this up, hope it's nutritious!

★ Warnings : 🔞 MDNI/18+ "sl*t"/"wh*re"/"b*tch", dom!Armin, mean!Armin, condescending dirty talk, rough sex, toys, edging, he takes a pic of ur orgasm face, breeding, creampies

He has a cooing, sweet voice when he talks down at you after cumming all over your face.

"Aw, you look so sweet with your tongue out for me. Like a pathetic little puppy. Come crawl over onto my lap and lick me clean now."

You're riding his lap — sorry wait no, correction; he's making you ride his lap and practically bouncing you up and down on his cock. And you're just holding onto his shirt's suspenders, blanking on his cock as it hits deeper and harder with each thrust.

"Nasty fucking slut." he smiles cutely, "Listen to how loud that pussy is. You should be ashamed of how wet you are."

His tone sounds praising and you're so fucked-out when he's got you folded over and restrained over his desk. So you just think he's praising you, you're barely registering the vileness of his dirty talk.

"Baby, you're so pretty, 'm gonna breed your cunt tonight 'n put a baby in you. I think you'll like that, huh? Yeah a slutty little succubus like you loves creampies."

He especially loves taking you from the back, so he can grab your neck from the back and pull you back, forcing you to look up at him with teary eyes.

"Min, 'm gonna cum! Don't stop!" you cry. He just gives you this naughty smile, "Oh baby, bad girls don't deserve to cum. Maybe if you beg I'll change my mind, though. So beg."

"Please! Daddy!" you beg. He's awful, he uses your cock-drunk state to his advantage and makes you beg until your voice goes hoarse.

"That's it, keep begging like a god damn slut. Gonna make me blow my load inside you, pretty girl." he's edged you until your mind melted like a popsicle stick in the heat.

Your knees buckle, he has to keep you upright. His pale, soft hands come down to rub frantic circles at your clit. "Let's make that lil' clit feel good." he grins devilishly against your ear.

Oops! He edges you again and jerks his cock over your pussy 'till he cums, painting your slit white with creamy cum.

"Please! I was so close! I need—mmm fuck!" he shuts you up by stuffing a vibrator into your pussy and letting it buzz at max.

"Aw, I know you were close that's why I edged you, you dumb fucking slut. But look, I'll be a nice boy for you and let you cum this time as long as you tell me you love me, baby."

He almost laughs at how quickly you tell him your I love yous. Over and over. You're incoherent, hole clenching around the G-spot clit vibe, arching and thrusting your hips to help your orgasm along faster.

"Look at that slutty cunt working for its orgasm." he mocks, using one hand to spread your plush ass wide enough until both your holes are exposed. "You're so beautiful. Now you can cum baby, come on chase it like a good puppy and cum for me."

Your eyes roll back, you pant and make the most erotic expression as you cum which Armin mocks. He takes a picture of your cumming face and shows it to you as you come down from your orgasm.

"Isn't she a slutty bitch?" he smiles, then his thumb goes to press the little heart so that picture is favorited in his gallery.

"Miiin, you're so mean!" you complain half-heartedly.

"Yeah, well, you asked for it." he kisses your tear-stained cheek. "Not my fault I caught a kinky bitch, is it?"

Oops. Yeah well you can't deny it — you practically begged your nice boyfriend to degrade you, didn't you? He was so sweet in the beginning but now he loves fucking you until tears stream down your cheeks.

© arminsumi

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

#🔞.smut #armin #armin smut #armin arlert #armin arlert smut #aot smut #snk smut #attack on titan smut #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #armin x reader #armin x fem reader #armin x reader smut #armin arlert x reader

[aprill-99]

Rhys: “So let’s see if I’ve got this; you have immense shadow power, incredible combat skills, height, tattoos, secrets, dead parents, a thirst for vengeance, the weight of the world on your shoulders, a rebellion to lead, and a dragon?”

Xaden: “Yeah? I mean, there’s also my girlfriend who I’m completely in love with and 107 people under my protection but-”

Rhys: *frantically flipping through papers* “this is the hyper-intelligent girlfriend with unprecedented lightning powers? The one you speak to with your mind and call a nickname permanently?”

Xaden: “I do only have the one girlfriend. Kinda offended you’d think otherwise.”

Rhys: *signs a paper* “Adopted. The rebellion thing is handled. Me and your aunts and uncles have got this. Your new mom is going to need some time to add you and your mate to the family portrait gallery. Your bedroom is upstairs, knives are in the training ring, family dinner is every Thursday, your allowance is infinity and your curfew is never.”

Xaden: “I am…. Older than your wife?”

Rhys: “Did I fucking stutter?”

#incorrect quotes #fourth wing incorrect quotes #fourth wing #incorrect acotar quotes #acotar #crossover #who wants to write it? #bat boys #xaden riorson #rhysand #you cannot tell me im wrong #Xaden would be adopted in 0.8 seconds flat #Violet and gwyn can hang out #Rhys and Azriel might have to fight over custody #Violet would have a lot of fun with the valkyries #Brennan has things to say about Night Court medical practices #Tairn Sgaeyl and Andarna have a lot of thoughts about Byraxis #if Xaden is 23 than he is factually at least 2 years older than the oldest we’ve seen Feyre and that’s objectively fucking funny #Rhys is in his Dad era and even if he weren’t Xaden is everything he looks for in adoptive family and IC members #Rhys thinks Xaden is baby brother shaped and Xaden thinks Rhys is a weird powerful guy who might be able to help him win the rebellion #Xaden needs a nap #Xaden is adaptable and he’ll roll with this #but damnit all if he’s not bringing Violet with him #Violet is sure something about this is funny #crack fic #crossover fic

[mistyacorn]

don't worry about me

sypnosis; dan heng gets pretty badly hurt after fighting a monster one day and you have to make sure your boyfriend’s okay!

pairing(s); bf dan heng + (trailblazer) gn! reader ⟿ featuring; established relationship, flustered dan heng (hehe), kinda dialogue heavy at the start

❀ wc; 1,585

a/n; ok to explain my inspo, whenever i play hsr and dan heng is dying, i heal the lovely man ofc, and his voiceline literally is "don't worry about me" (꧆▽꧆). anyw this turned out way sappier than i imagined loool

You have just arrived in the Astral Express after a long day of helping Natasha with the clinic. You’re feeling tired, and going around Belebog alone today just added to the exhaustion.

You actually missed having Dan Heng tell you to make rational choices during your quests. Without your boyfriend today, you ended up fighting probably double the enemies you needed to.. Plus, (you’d never tell her this) but you secretly missed March’s bright voice.

Speaking of her, as soon as you step into the parlor car, you’re greeted by the smiley girl. She’s sitting on one of the couches with Himeko, and they wave you over.

“y/n!” She sings, “come look! I took these today.” You approach the pair, greeting Himeko with a friendly smile and look at March’s phone with them.

“See here… this was when we were on the way to Rivet Town!” She shows you guys a selfie of herself grinning widely, with a deadpanned Dan Heng behind her. You and Himeko giggle. “The town was pretty cool. It was all dark and eerie, like some sort of ghost town! I wanted to film for you guys but the place was flooded with monsters so Dan Heng told me to put my phone away and fight. What a party pooper.….”

You smile softly as the girl continues showing you and Himeko pictures she took (and snuck) of herself, Dan Heng, and the town. “Oh yeah! On our way back here, we encountered this huuuge monster. He was big and angry, it was scary!” She widens her eyes. “Thankfully Dan Heng was there! He fought that monster like his life depended on it. Which, it did.”

She scrolls through her gallery and exclaims, “Hey, look! I managed to snap a picture of it before we fought.”

March turns the phone to show you two. The image is a little blurry but you recognise the monster. You’d fought it sometime before, and truthfully, it wasn’t an easy fight. The last time you defeated it, you were fighting with Selee, Bronya, Dan Heng and March. If it was tough for a five person team… just how much harder was it for two?

“It looks really strong, March.” Himeko speaks the words in your mind, “did either of you get hurt?” You turn to March, eyes wide with a little worry.

The girl thinks for a second before shaking her head. “Nope. I’m okay now!” She nods, pausing straight after. A sheepish smile takes over her face. “To be honest… Dan Heng did most of the fighting with that monster, heheh… I was knocked out 3 minutes in…”

You blink, heart beating just a little faster. “Is- is he badly hurt?” You ask.

March replies quickly, “Don’t worry, he said he was alright! Just a few scratches, a little sore.”

Himeko nods. “I did see him before he went to his room earlier, he didn’t look like he was in pain.”

You hum in reply. Dan Heng is strong, you know that. But you knew your boyfriend, and he never shows his pain. Even if he was a breath away from death, he’d still say ‘I’m fine’ with a blank face to anyone who asks.

You decide to excuse yourself to check on him. Nobody knows what state he could be in right now. Bruised? Bleeding? Dead??? (Okay so you are overthinking a tad bit but hey, it’s possible.)

As soon as you get to his room door, you nearly slam it open. You scan the room frantically before seeing Dan Heng, who’s sitting down on his makeshift bed with his back against the shelf behind him.

You immediately dash to his side and study him. In front of him is a box of bandaids, a bottle of antibacterial solution and a bag of cotton balls. He’s holding a soaked cotton ball too. The boy has his shirt off, and you clearly see the bruises and scars on his torso and arms. You can see the little cuts on his face, one or two looking awfully deep. Your eyes start to water at the sight. It must hurt so badly…

“you’re back already?” His voice sounds, making you look up at him. You feel like you can’t talk so you nod. Dan Heng already knows how worried you are of course, as soon as he meets your glistening eyes. He sighs. “y/n, I’m okay.”

You blink, eyes still watering as you furrow your brows slightly. “Are you sure?? It look bad babe..”

“It’s.. not as bad as it looks. Trust me- Ow.” He tries to assure you, although he accidentally winces when you touch on his cheek lightly. You widen your eyes as he closes his eyes and sighs.

“Sorry!” You peep, suddenly aware of every move you make around him. You didn’t want to make things worse.

He shakes his head, eyes fluttering open again. “It’s alright.” He replies, then moves to continue tending to his wounds on one arm. “I just need to- disinfect these.”

You watch him wince between every few words. As he proceeds to clean the rest of his cuts, you stare like a hawk, as if doing that will make the process less painful for him.

Dan Heng clears his throat. You glance up at him again and this time, you can see he looks a little shy. You tilt your head in confusion. “Um…” his eyes flicker and he looks down shyly, “would you be comfortable helping me with the cuts on my back? I can’t reach those.”

Oh! “Of course.” You nod quickly, scooting forward to plant yourself right in front of your boyfriend. You grab a cotton ball and soak it in the antibacterial solution. Meanwhile, Dan Heng turns himself around, back facing you. Secretly, he’s glad he can turn away from you, so he can hide his embarrassment.

Since the start of your relationship, you and Dan Heng have never really been a physical couple. Mostly due to the fact that he’s not the physically affectionate type. He often feel guilty about it. You never complain though, since to you, your boyfriend expresses his love in other ways that are cute and sweet.

Having never been physical, you also haven’t seen him shirtless. So this situation being the first time, Dan Heng feels a little flustered. You, being so focused on making sure his wounds are cleaned properly, don’t realise it at all.

The whole time as you’re disinfecting each wound with care, his cheeks are burning and his ears are bright red. He’s so grateful that you’re too busy to see him like this.

With all that on his mind, he barely reacts to your cleaning. Before he knows it, you’re done.

“Okay, I’m done here.” You announce, sighing in satisfaction. “You can turn around now.”

Dan Heng slowly turns back around, not really wanting to because he can still feel his face burning. You ready yourself with another soaked cotton ball. He glances at it in your hand and furrows his brows, an invisible question mark appearing above his head. “What’s that for?”

You smile softly, eyes filled with nothing but care as you scan the few cuts on his face. “Your face silly, there’s a few.” You point out. You move even closer now, placing yourself on his lap in order to do so. You focus on one scar at a time, tending to it. “Tell me if it’s really bad, okay? I’ll be gentle.”

“…Yeah.” He barely whispers. Now your faces are less than three inches apart. While you are staring at his scars, his eyes are on you and your focused face. His heart is thumping like crazy. Seeing you being so careful with him makes Dan Heng feel warm inside. He feels like he’s falling in love with you even more right there and then.

Besides a little white noise, the room is comfortably silent. Occasionally his breath hitches from the sharp pain but it’s nothing too painful.

There’s one cut left to disinfect, and this one is visibly deeper than the rest. You softly dab on it, but the stinging catches Dan Heng off guard and he flinches. “Sorry baby.” You say softly, an apologetic look on your face. “Just a little more.”

He nods, quietly speaking. “Don’t worry about me. I… It doesn’t hurt.” You simply hum in response. It’s clear that he’s lying. He never wants to cause trouble for anyone, especially for you, and you grin softly knowing that.

Moments later, you finish up by sticking a bandaid on the cut. You can finally breathe a sigh of relief. “There we go.” Your eyes meet his again, and this time you notice the flushed look on his face. You smile confusingly. “What?”

“Um.. you’re- I- uh…” Your boyfriend stutters, barely able to look you in the eyes. You’ve never seen his this flustered before. It takes a moment before it hits you.

You’re sitting in his lap. He’s shirtless. Oh. OH.

“Oh my- sorry!” Your eyes widen, cheeks getting rosy. Dan Heng looks to the side, his cheeks burning, shaking his head to say ‘no it’s fine’. You move to get up from his lap.

In the very moment, Dan Heng doesn’t know what washes over him but he grabs hold of your arm gently to stop you from getting up. Your eyes interlock, both of you flushed. “Thank you for helping me.” His whispers.

And before you can reply, his soft lips are planted onto yours.

© mistyacorn do not plagiarize or repost please, just enjoy it ykwim

#(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) —mistyacorn’s #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #dan heng x reader #danheng x reader #dan heng #danheng #danheng x y/n #hsr imagines #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail #hsr dan heng #dan heng hsr #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #dan heng x y/n

[rosequarzo]

shadow hearts.

૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა • ! megumi + reader established relationship reader is a sorcerer and student headcanons of megumi being a loving and green flag boyfriend tooth-rotting fluff mild angst ☆ warning not proofread . . . !? & 583 — catalogue

note. i might want to write for jujutsu kaisen too...

Fushiguro Megumi who is a whole green flag. He knows how to treat you right and the way he treats you makes you feel like he is your loyal worshiper. He has a keen eye for the little details, always taking notes of the things you like and dislike. The poor boy even keeps a notebook, every page filled with the traits he discovered about you. He would rather go through Gojo’s teasing than let you read his notebook.

Fushiguro Megumi whose love languages are quality time and acts of service. He never fails to make time for you, squeezing in whatever left of his free time, just so he could be by your side. He may be shy and awkward with his words but he improvises by doing the little actions that never fails to send your heart skipping a beat. A prime example could be him resting his hand on your back, guiding you down the crowded street. The close proximity and with how warm his hand felt through your clothes made you feel light-headed. 

Fushiguro Megumi who doesn’t mind summoning his Shikigamis to comfort you. He always summons his dogs and to them, you are no longer a foe to them, not when you have brought their owner so much peace and happiness. He couldn’t help himself but to sneakily snapped an image of you laughing when the dogs licked your face, keeping the picture safe and sound in his gallery and somewhere in his room. 

Fushiguro Megumi who is protective. He has seen you fight with his own eyes, after being paired together for countless missions. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t worried for you. He knows you tend to be reckless, moving on impulse rather than on logic. He knows you tend to let your emotions take over your senses; a contrast to him. His entire world comes crashing down when he sees you taking a fatal hit, shielding him from the worst of it. 

Fushiguro Megumi who frantically returned to Shoko once the mission was over. He didn’t know he was trembling like a leaf until Shoko gently told him to sit down. He was in a daze, his surroundings turning numb as the worst scenario started playing in his mind. To him, the worst scenario was having to live without you by his side. He wouldn’t know how to get used to it, not when you had become a permanent part of his life for many months. 

Fushiguro Megumi who heaved a sigh of relief when Shoko announced you will be fine and is forced to two weeks of bedrest. He diligently spends his time nursing you back to health, ensuring your every single needs are taken care of. He is even there when you have to shower, much to your faint embarrassment. Whenever you told him you could handle it yourself, he merely shot you a glare and that was enough to silence you. 

Fushiguro Megumi who doesn’t voice out his jealousy, choosing to stand behind you with a cold and chilling glare at the stranger who had the audacity to blatantly flirt with you. He was tempted to summon his Shikigamis but held himself back, not wanting to cause a scene in public. He only calms down when you mention how you were out with your boyfriend and that they should leave you alone. He feels proud when he hears that and also reassured that you only have eyes for him and just him. 

#୨୧ magazine articles #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #fushiguro megumi #megumi x reader #megumi imagines #megumi x you #megumi x y/n

[claymoresword]

I Choose Her | Chp: 19

Hermione Granger x Slytherin Fem!Reader

Summary: You are the daughter of two known death eaters from one of the oldest and richest families in the wizarding world. Are you truly prepared to give up everything you know for Hermione Granger?

Pairing: Hermione x Reader

Wordcount: 3.2k

Warnings: heavy themes, character death, mention of violence, death, grief, (somehow) a sprinkle of fluff

Note: hello! finally we're here, this is looking like the second last chapter, which is bitter sweet but I suppose it has to end at some point :( also I know this one is shorter than usual, and since it is very plot driven it may not be as fun to read but I hope the fluff makes up for it! the next chapter will definitely be longer and hopefully less depressing overall lol. anyway, that's it, as always endless thanks for your patience. hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @gvrsto @aweidlich @xxsekhmet @arielj @poppyflower-22 @scarleigh1989 @smut-religiously777 @cocoyeehaw @blackbirdv98 @arcturusseer @iamcapitalgbicorn8287 @lonewalker17 @karasonromanoff @httphayn @bigbadsofty07 @cherryflavoredcoke @dumpsapphic @idontwannabehereatm @js-a-writer @baylegend6 @puta1 @t-wylia @raven-ss @unexpected-character

You can feel heat prickling your skin, the quidditch pitch is a fiery blaze and you could only afford to stare in helpless despair.

The quaffle hoops once stood large and tall, you've flown by them countless times during quidditch practice, and multiple house matches. One of the best memories you've made at Hogwarts– reduced to ash.

Now the wooden stands are nothing but kindling for the fire that devoured them, they come crashing down in pieces of hot red ember.

Smoke is all you can smell in the air, thick hot ash and fear.

You can't move, still– you observed as the flames licked another banner, Gryffindor or Slytherin, they were no match for it's fiery wrath.

More students sprint past, careless and panicked, nudging you in the process. Now you are forcefully pushed further into the doorway.

It works as a shock to your system, a part of you astrayed amidst the chaos, but you had to keep running, in search of Hermione.

You propell down the main hall, soon approaching the gallery.

“Y/n!” Blessedly, you finally hear your love call out to you, but it was a shout of warning.

Somehow, you manage to narrowly dodge the curse coming your way. “Avada Kedavra!” You cast in return, without thought, almost second nature.

The Death Eater is thrown backwards, slamming through a broken wall and into a pile of bricks.

Your plan to advance forward is interrupted as you feel a presence fall into you, arms wrapped tightly around your neck.

The scent of your girlfriend's perfume is now smothered by the smell of sweat and dirt, but it provides you comfort all the same.

“I thought you were– I thought I lost you.” Hermione mutters, scattered, and all you want to do is hold her, kiss her, and take her as far away from the castle as you possibly could.

But as much as you would like it to be, fleeing is not an option.

Instead you cup her face in your hands, committing each feature of hers to memory, every dip and freckle.

“I'm sorry.” You say.

“It all happened too fast, I don't know how we got separated.” You finish, still trying to make sense of mayhem. You've both come face to face with death half a dozen times tonight, maybe more.

None of it makes sense.

“Guys, come on!” Harry's voice forces Hermione to break your gaze, she then tugs on your arm, guiding you with her.

Soon you find yourselves in a steady jog down the hallway, you turn a corner only to be met with a sight that stops the four of you in your tracks.

Greyback was bent over the body of a girl, his jaw clamped firmly on her neck, draining all life from his victim.

“No!” Hermione shouts. Frantically, she throws a curse, causing the werewolf to crash through the wall behind him. Now the beast has been vanquished, but it is too late.

Atop rubble and ash, Lavender Brown laid stiff and colorless, entirely unlike herself.

Her eyes are open, yet they held no trace of her. The girl's mortal soul, taken by death– ever merciless and violent, tonight, he spares very few.

Harry is first to snap out of the terror induced trance that you found yourselves in, consequently followed by Hermione.

Soon you move as well, but as you glance at Ron, you can't bring yourself to take another step.

Despite yourself, you find your hand reaching out to grab his shoulder. “Come on, mate.” You coax, but the man doesn't react to your touch, or your voice.

He continues to stare at Lavender– and the sheer absence of her.

“She's gone– she isn't suffering anymore.” You offer, hoping Ron would find some solace in your words, however minute.

He does.

Nodding, the ginger haired boy tears his eyes away from his deceased lover. The four of you continue your journey through the courtyard and down the winding stairs towards the boathouse.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Hermione's ironclad grip on your forearm doesn't falter as you follow Harry's lead, quietly approaching the boathouse. The four of you immediately crouch out of sight as you caught movement inside.

Voldermort's voice, faint and unsettling, it makes your blood run cold.

He continues to deliver his thoughts with a tone closer to a whisper, the four of you are forced to strain your necks to listen.

Soon you make out a second voice, and you share a quick look amongst yourselves. Trying your hardest to make sense of what was being said between the Dark Lord, and Professor Snape.

“Tonight, when the boy comes, it will not fail you, I'm sure of it.”

“It answers to you, and you only.”

Unsettling silence fills the air once more, and you feel inclined to shift closer to Hermione.

“Does it?” Voldermort finally inquires, and it is followed by a lack of response, for a beat, you wonder if Snape was still present.

“My Lord?” The Professor eventually says.

“The wand, does it truly answer to me?”

“You're a clever man Severus, surely you must know.”

“Where does it's true loyalty lie?”

“With you, of course. My Lord.” The Professor replies with just a gleam of hesitation, and for a reason unknown to you, it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand.

“The Elder wand cannot serve me properly because I am not it's true master. The wand belongs to the wizard who killed it's last owner.” Voldermort continues.

“You killed Dumbledore, Severus.”

“While you live, the elder wand cannot truly be mine.”

“You've been a good and faithful servant, Severus, but only I can live forever.”

Then, Hermione turns to you, and you give her a similar look of horror in response.

“My Lord-” Severus’ response is strained.

None of you are given a chance to react before a loud thud is heard, you see the Professor's silhouette hitting the glass before you.

“Nagini, kill.”

The panel vibrates violently, but miraculously, it doesn't shatter.

The sound of Snape's body hitting the glass repeatedly with every deathly blow, makes the four of you jump.

Then a cold gust of wind surrounded the boathouse, and soon, it was quiet again. Only the sound of water, and the noise of a boat hitting the wooden dock everytime it swayed. Snape's shallow breathing, unsteady and helpless.

Harry is first to move, he enters the boathouse, and the rest of you can only trail after him silently.

“Professor–” You stutter as you catch sight of the man laying on the ground.

Snape was a formidable man, one you used to fear, even respected.

He has never looked so small.

Harry crouches beside him, he places his hand on the man's neck as Snape lets out a sob. The sight was so foreign that you had to look away.

“Take them– take them.” The man pleads, incoherent at first, but quickly Harry understands his request.

“Give me something, a flask, anything.” The chosen one orders, extending his arm toward Hermione.

Your girlfriend does as she is bid, fishing out the object from her bag before passing her best friend an empty vial.

You watched with bated breaths as Harry held it up to Snape's cheek, collecting the Professor's tears. Once he was done, he cuped the vial firmly in his grasp.

“Take them to the pensieve.” Snape orders with all that's left of his strength.

He was slipping away, you could see it, the way his head was nodding to the side as he slowly fell limp against the glass, his gaze far away and vacant.

The man whispers something intelligible to Harry, perhaps intended for his ears only. In half a heartbeat, Snape was dead.

–

Harry reaches over to gently shut the Professor's eyes.

You step closer, with the intention to lay Snape on the floor properly, so he may be put to rest with some dignity, but before you can suggest it, a blinding pain courses through your arm.

It makes you groan aloud.

Hermione reaches out for you, but then a voice penetrates the air, sudden and invasive.

The Dark Lord is merciless in his attempt, he has lost every ounce of patience– you could feel it in your arm.

Hermione clasps her hands over her ears as Voldermort delivers his second message.

“You have fought valiantly, but in vain. I do not wish this.. every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible waste. I therefore command my forces to retreat, in their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity.”

“Harry Potter, I now speak directly to you. On this night, you have allowed your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonor. Join me in the forbidden forest and confront your fate.”

“If you do not do this, I shall kill every last man, woman and child, who tries to conceal you from me.”

═══════════════════════════════════════════

As the four of you walked through the empty courtyard, you can't help but notice just how quiet it was, something that would usually be considered a comfort, is now incredibly unnerving.

“Where is everybody?” Hermione asks, but her question is soon enough answered once you push the doors open to the Great Hall.

The space is unrecognizable.

A scene from a nightmare.

There is not a candle in sight, everyone operating on the bit of light provided by the moon. You spot Mr Filch, sequestered in a corner, miserably sweeping piles of rubble out of the way.

Your stomach turns as you make your way through, an endless line of bodies laid upon makeshift cots.

You can't help but look upon all their faces, one by one. All these bodies– they were once sons, daughters, somebody's friend or lover.

The air is snatched out of your lungs as you spot a familiar face.

Nymphadora Tonks lay unmoving beside her husband, their hands outstretched as if to touch each other– even in death.

“No..” You mutter in disbelief and Hermione follows your gaze, she let's out a sharp gasp.

It could have easily been you laying on that cot.

It could have been Hermione.

The thought alone made you nauseous, you could physically feel your stomach turn. You decide you had to get away before you wretched.

Before you could however, a desperate wail snatches your attention. You look up to find Ron in the distance, he sobs uncontrollably as he knelt over his brother's dead body.

You watched as Ginny held him, now they are both sobbing helplessly.

Molly could do all but console them. What agony it must be, to watch your children die before their time.

There is so much pain, too much– you had to get away.

You turn to leave the Great Hall, or what is left of it, with no destination in mind. You simply needed to escape.

Away from grief, away from death, if there was ever a chance of evading it tonight.

“Y/n!” Amidst suffocating torment, no voice has ever sounded as sweet. Hermione swiftly catches up to you, her hand slips into your own.

Your palm now felt calloused and rough. It is caked with dirt and dried blood, but Hermione holds it firmly in her own still.

“Don't leave without telling me like that, we can't separate again.” Hermione scolds, and you offer an apologetic look.

“I just need to get some air.” You explain, but Hermione doesn't question it, in desperate need of an escape herself.

“Come,” She merely coaxes, tugging on your arm.

You soon realize she aims to guide you somewhere secluded, but it seemed impossible. Everywhere you looked, it was death and destruction. Your home; a battlefield.. a gravesite.

After wandering for some time, you finally find a place to sit, the flight of stairs leading up to the Headmaster's Tower remains vacant and mostly intact. Although pieces of stone would break off from the sides ever so often, when compared to the rest of the castle, it was hardly worth acknowledging.

Hermione takes a seat on the step, gesturing for you to do the same next to her. Your girlfriend runs her fingers through your disheveled hair, tenderly moving it out of your face.

Neither of you speak just yet, even after all that's happened tonight, she manages to smile at you, honest and bright. It nearly breaks you.

The thought of living even a day without her was excruciating, you can't lose her tonight, under any circumstances.

“We'll be okay, we've made it this far.” Hermione utters out loud, as if she had just read your mind.

“It'll all be over soon.” Your girlfriend says, but you catch the faint tremor in her voice. She was fighting back tears.

Yet, you could only wrap your arm around her as she rests her head on your shoulder.

After a prolonged silence, you decide to redirect the topic of conversation, however macabre it may seem, you somehow saw it as the perfect opportunity.

Afterall, you could both use a little bit of joy right now.

“There's something I've wanted to ask you– it is going to sound mad, but I need to say it. before it's too late.” You stammer, a sudden sense of nervousness setting in, you take in a deep breath to calm yourself.

“What is it?” Hermione inquires, by the way her brows furrowed you could tell she was concerned as you spoke vaguely.

You quickly realize that it was too late to back out, you needed to take the leap, and hope that Hermione will catch you.

Amidst a sigh you stand up so you could move a step down.

“This is definitely not how I planned to do it, but–” You mutter, looking around before it occurred to you to utilise the ring you already had on your finger.

You take it off as you got down on one knee, albeit somewhat ungracefully. Hermione's eyes widen at the sight, but she doesn't say anything as of yet, watching you intently.

You extend your hand in front of you, and your girlfriend's gaze shifts to the Slytherin crest ring pinched between your index finger and your thumb.

“Hermione Jean Granger, if we make it out alive tonight– would you do me the incredible honor of being my wife?” You finally manage to utter the words you have longed to say.

Hermione's eyes were no longer wide in shock, but her expression is now unreadable. You couldn't tell if she was about to burst into tears or laugh in your face.

In the end, she does neither, but she still struggles to find the words.

“Y/n, I–” She stutters before averting her gaze.

“Are you sure?” Hermione finally asks, meeting your expectant stare, and you can't help but let out a chuckle.

“I have wanted you since the first moment. I knew I loved you from the first time you smiled at me. and I knew I wanted to marry you the first time you ran your fingers through my hair. and then our first kiss– I truly thought if we couldn't be together, I'd die.” You spoke from the heart without missing a beat, not caring about just how dramatic you might have sounded.

“I used to think that I'd be just fine on my own. I didn't believe that I could ever care for someone the way I do for you.” Your voice breaks ever so slightly, you swallow before continuing.

“Hermione when I'm not with you– it feels like I can't breathe.” You barely manage to say, your throat tightens, as a tear escapes your eye.

“my love–” Hermione coos, her own eyes now welling up with tears. She approaches to grab your forearm, although not harshly, she guides you back on your feet.

Your faces are mere inches away from each other before she would crash her lips against yours, a kiss that is restless and unchecked yet somehow equally tamed and loaded with love.

“Of course, I will marry you.” She declares once your lips part, she wipes the tear away with the pad of her thumb, and your heart sings.

You are unable to contain the large grin on your face, one Hermione had no issues reciprocating.

“Really?” You ask, mainly in relief rather than actual disbelief.

Hermione pauses as if thinking of an adequate response

“Well, I do think we should at least wait a year or two, at least until after we finish school.” Hermione admits, and you scoff, even in the midst of a war her priorities remain unchanged.

“but–” Hermione says, grabbing your face so she could force you to meet her gaze once more.

“It is a yes, without a doubt. I can't imagine spending my life with anyone else.” Your girlfriend states earnestly, and your smile returns.

You eagerly grab her hand so you may slip the ring onto her finger.

Hermione stares at the piece of jewelry, silently inspecting the intricate carving of a snake, before finally kissing you again.

The feeling of Hermione's lips against your own allowed you to forget the impending threat of death. With her you believe that you could survive anything. This war will be over soon, and you will marry her. Whatever it takes.

Hermione breaks the kiss only when you are both gasping for air, she embraces you tightly, as if trying to savor the feeling as much and for as long as she could.

-

Harry emerges from seemingly out of nowhere, you open your eyes as you hear footsteps. Hermione releases you so she may turn to her friend.

Harry's stare was distant, troubled. In truth, he looked sick. You dread to find out exactly what he's witnessed within Snape's memories, neither you nor Hermione mustered the will to ask.

Unexpectedly, Harry is first to break the silence.

“Where's Ron?” He mutters, finally looking between Hermione and yourself.

“He's with his family still.” Your girlfriend explains. Then the chosen one nods, and he starts to fade once more, disappearing into his own head.

“Harry what is it?” Hermione asks, when Harry looks up at her again, his eyes are glossed over with tears.

“There's a reason I can hear them, the Horcruxes.” He remarks. “I've known for awhile, and I think you have too.”

The newfound resolve in his voice makes your entire body stiffen, soon Hermione is crying again.

Harry possessed a bravery you once envied– but no longer.

He plans to confront the Dark Lord and the thought of it made you ill, he shouldn't have to go through it alone. It seems your girlfriend shared the same sentiment as she spoke her next words amidst soft sobs.

“I'll go with you–” She suggests, but her best friend is quick to turn her down.

“No, kill the snake.” Harry says, glancing between the two of you.

“Kill the snake and then it's just him.” He asserts. Hermione practically throws herself into his arms.

You watched as she cleaved to him hopelessly, Harry doing the same in return.

Soon, The Chosen One shifts his gaze towards something behind you, and you swiftly turn around to see Ron standing a few paces away.

The expression on his face suggests he had been standing there for some time.

His eyes were tired, glazed over with what resembled apathy– or perhaps the harrowing inevitably of acceptance. You could not say for certain.

One thing you did know; in order to defeat Voldermort, Harry Potter has to die.

#hermione granger imagine #hermione x reader #slytherin au #hermione granger #hermione granger x reader #harry potter #hermione granger smut

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Damon scrolling through tiktok and suddenly gets recommended a video his darling nerd posted that went viral

Spoiler, It's a thirst trap. ♡°▽°♡

🦪 Anon again !!!! >∆<

Yandere! Jock x Honor student! gn! reader

What if: Darling posts a thirst trap?

LMAO 🦪anon your ideas are so fun HADHSAHDAH

Damon was bored out of his mind.

School was out, summer is in, and he's truly about to lose his mind from the lack of things he's about to do.

He's tired of seeing his parents tip toe around him and he just wants out.

He wants to stretch his body and workout, but he doesn't have any kind of mental energy to do that after fighting with his mother just earlier.

Who in their right mind would cross Damon and tell him that his obsession love for you is getting too much by using the family printer and printing a life size cutout of you?

He's upset, but he still got the cutout anyways.

Mindlessly scrolling through his feeds, he decided to go through tiktok like a drone looking for mental stimulation.

The hours passed by, his thumb sliding across the screen as he drank in countless videos of sports, video games, drama, AITA reddit videos, viral videos, random ones, and sponsored vids.

Not until he saw a certain body doing the baba trend.

Sure, they're wearing a mask, but Damon can recognize that frame anywhere that looked so small beside him.

His breathing became shallow, blood pumping as he watched you lift your shirt up for the camera, showing off your body that's making his own body shiver.

You looked so shy, yet so bold as your eyes gazed through the camera with a cyber y2k filter on.

With the music wafting his ears, his gaze fixated on your body as the video repeats again.

and again.

And again.

And again...

It's engraved to his mind already as he shakily long pressed on the video. Finding it unsavable, he inwardly groaned as he frantically tried to find a way to save the video.

Damon was trembling, desperate to have your video saved on his phone as he downloaded a screensaver app.

Breathless as he may, that doesn't mean he's slow to record your video and saving it immediately on his gallery for future watches and uses.

What uses?

That's for him to know, and that's for everybody to not find out as he obsessively stalked through your profile.

"God..." He mused. "Little nerd, holy shit..."

Your profile was filled with you, in a black mask, doing different types of tiktok videos.

But it's no ordinary videos.

No no no... It's all thirst traps.

Baba, that DPR Ian belt dance trend, silhouette... You were participating in all these videos. And everything was to show off your body that he knows and love.

Yet, you don't tag them at all.

So, what's the point?

People were not discovering them too, as views are only mostly at single digits. Yet that didn't deter his annoyance and jealousy one bit as he bit back a moan, watching you tease the camera. Lifting your mask a bit and licking the air.

"What the fuck..."

Damon can feel himself getting hard down there.

It's a treasure trove just for him.

He can feel a twitching smile creep up his face as he gently clicked on follow.

Your first follower.

Damon doesn't know why you're running a thirst trap account, or why you're doing it in the first place.

If it's for validation, then he's sorry but he's gonna make sure he's the only one who can see the videos.

He doesn't know how, but he's going to do it.

He doesn't need rabid dogs on your account. He can't afford that.

Not when he can't exactly kill so many people if you were ever to go viral at all.

But now, he waits as he predicts your next move. If you're gonna go private, follow him back, ask him how he found your account.

All of the videos are saved anyways.

#lizzaneiaelizalde #yandere writing #tw yandere #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere boyfriend #male yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic

[thebetawolfgirl]

Never Again

Pairing: Timmy x Reader

Warnings: Smut, Angst.

A/N: Ok, so I’m not really ecstatic over the title, but it’s a good fic and I’m really pleased with this one. Also during the smut scene I was listening to ‘If I Be Wrong’ by Wolf Larsen. (I don’t know why)

Never Again

She had let him go to fulfill his contract with Kylie Jenner, and he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since, he was miserable without her. He was a nervous wreck without her to calm him, the night of the Golden Globes came and of course Kylie had to be his plus one. He played his part when the camera turned on them then the rest of the night he didn’t even look her way. When he didn’t win and felt Kylie touching his shoulder trying to comfort him in his loss he had to stop himself from flinching from her. She disgusted him.

It should’ve been his beautiful y/n sitting beside him, even though he didn’t win they would’ve still celebrated in some way. Not to mention he would be allowed to talk to his fellow peers. Very few people came near his table during the entire night, no one wanted to go anywhere near or even be seen anywhere near the youngest Jenner. The only time someone spoke to him was if he got up and approached them, and even that was rare. She clung to him like a bad smell.

The next morning he woke up alone in his bed feeling the lowest he had ever felt. He missed y/n so much. It was as if he’d lost a vital body part, he needed her and she was always there. Always, no one had ever been there for him the way she was. She was doing conservation work in Africa when his beloved grandmother passed away and she surprised him by showing up at his private location in London just to be there for him. His father had been staying with him at the time and he had answered the door and welcomed y/n inside out of the cold.

He was beyond shocked. When he told his friend Selena about it she was equally surprised saying y/n didn’t leave Africa for anyone.

‘Timmy, once y/n goes to Africa, that’s it. She doesn’t leave until she’s finished her work over there. She’s never came home for ANYONE!’

Timmy sat pondering afterwards, remembering the time she didn’t even come home when her father was rushed to hospital after an accident, her work in Africa was extremely important to her. But she flew to London, sitting in a plane for hours just to come and see if he was ok and to be there for him after his grandmother passed.

That was a few years ago now and they decided to go steady when they got closer during filming Bones & All and they had been inseparable since then. He was mad for her, and she felt the same, then everything was ruined during the strike when Kris Jenner contacted his agent to join forces for a bit of PR since no one could work.

Y/n was fine with it at first, but the Jenners started getting greedy and desperate, demanding more of Timmy’s time insisting the public weren’t convinced that they were a couple slowly falling in love.

But just after the New Year y/n called him over to her house and told him she was letting him go, until he completed his obligations to Kylie. To say he was distraught is a huge understatement, they were both crying and there was a lot of begging on his part as she promised she would still be there waiting for him when it was over and he was finally free, but it was too stressful for the both of them.

Timmy left in tears after he handed her his spare key to her house and only messaged her every few days to give her the space she asked for.

Now he couldn’t bare to stay away any longer, he had just come from his manager’s office after ranting himself into a frantic state to the point he looked and sounded unstable. After he left the office he sat in his empty house wallowing and stewing in his own misery, he took a bottle of beer out of the fridge and drank it down before falling back on his couch staring up at the ceiling.

He got his phone out and went into his photo gallery where there were hundreds, perhaps even thousands of photos and videos he had taken of y/n, videos of her baking, covered in flour laughing away at his silly antics. Photos he had taken of her as they watched the sunset together at the beach, her wrapped in a thick blanket.

He sat there on the sofa watching all of them smiling completely lost in the sound of her voice and her laughter. He figured he lay there for a few hours, ignoring calls and texts from everyone, until he looked up and saw it was dark outside.

He realised it was late and he had been consumed in y/n for nearly four hours.

No, he couldn’t stay away from her any longer, he knew it was late and she may be in bed now. But he had to see her, he had given his key back to her, but what he hadn’t told her was that he had made a copy before handing the original over.

He parked outside her house and saw it was pitch black, she must be asleep, he would just let himself in, even if it was just to see if she was okay. He unlocked the front door and stepped inside quietly shutting the door behind him gently and turned to see her silhouette at the kitchen door staring at him with a glass of water in her hand.

‘You came home?’ She whispered from the doorway watching him in the darkness of the hallway.

‘I can’t stay away anymore y/n. I can’t stand it any longer.’ He replied hoarsely, walking over to her slowly as he tossed his key onto the table.

‘Thank God.’ She breathed before rushing over to him and crashing her lips against his hard gripping his hair tightly.

He felt her cling to him in the darkness and kissed her back hungrily shoving her against a console table before shoving her by her thighs onto the table and slamming her against the back wall, kissing and nibbling her lips while pushing everything else off as she wrapped her arms around his neck pulling him closer.

He lifted her legs around his waist and carried her upstairs banging into every inch of wall on the way to continue kissing or rip off an item of clothing. He was nearly naked by the time they reached the bedroom where he pushed her against the door moving to her shoulder to bite and nip her skin as she ran her hands down his back making him shiver against her.

He carried her to the bed tossing her down onto the mattress, before pulling her nightdress straps down her shoulders and torso kissing every inch of skin he could reach and see in the dark room as she arched into him.

He missed the taste of her skin on his tongue and nipped her rib cage making her gasp and pull him up to her and kissed him slowly as he slid into her while holding onto her his mouth falling open against hers as he filled her.

She held onto him as he began moving his hips against hers breathing against her skin as they moved together, the sheets tangling with them.

He sat her up to sit on his lap as he buried his face against her shoulder as she moved against him slowly, holding onto him, she pulled his face up to meet her kissing him gently.

She lay back again pulling him with her and held him close skin on skin as he increased his thrusts making them deeper before coming hard inside her causing her to come after him.

They lay together breathing hard against each other trying to catch their breathes as he rested his head on her chest closing his eyes at the feel of her fingers brushing up and down his spine.

‘Let’s not separate again? Please?’

He whispered against her damp skin and felt her kiss his head in confirmation while gripping a fistful of his hair between her fingers gently.

‘Never again!’

He smiled contently and nodded in agreement.

‘Never again!’

He fell into a deep sleep, the best sleep he had in months!

@sufferingstarlight

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@lixzey

@tchalamess

@tchalamss

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#lil timmy tim #timothèe chalamet #timothée hal chalamet #timmy x reader #timothee chalamet smut #angst with a happy ending #timothee chalamet fic #new fic