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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 11 months

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Studious IV (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

You continue reading Aemond's diary. As his true feelings for you become ever more clear, can you decipher your own feelings for him?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: Aemond in his smut writer era (semi-public sex, p in v sex, tiddy suckin', riding, fingering, oral sex f receiving, bad sex)

Author's Note: So sorry for the delay! But this baby is 11K words, so hopefully that makes up for it! Also, I tried for a long time to format this like the others, but tumblr wouldn't let me post it if I did, so the formatting is a little different here.

Read Part I Here - Read Part II Here - Read Part III Here

My Masterlist

Taglist will be done via reblogs (there are simply too many of you to fit here)

Studious IV

You were never setting foot in the library again.

Not after what you just read. Not when you were sure that the mere memory of it would have you bursting into flames the moment you crossed the threshold.

Good gods, only a few entries ago, Aemond could hardly bring himself to write the word ‘cunt,’ and now this? What in the Seven Hells were his advisors – Grand Maester Orwyle, Lord Jasper Wylde, and Prince Aegon – teaching him?

You weren’t sure whether the odd feeling in your stomach was due to how much you ate – an entire meat pie and five tea cakes, all washed down with a pot and a half of raspberry tea – or what you had just read.

Either way, it was not enough to stop you from glancing about your bedchamber to ensure no one was watching you and then rereading the entry from the beginning.

The 16th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I have just returned from the library. Grand Maester Orwyle suggested that I consult a book on anatomy. Since there was no business of court I was required to attend today, I asked one of the librarians to help me retrieve the title after I finished my training.

I also found a few books Aegon recommended, only after I dismissed the librarian – I did not want him to know that I took those. Or that I even knew what they were. Gossip abounds in the capital, and I do not wish to be the subject of more than I already am.

By the titles alone, I am surprised Mother allows them to remain in the Keep. I likely will not read most of them. Aegon has already traumatised me quite thoroughly. I see no reason to allow him to ruin reading for me, as well. Although one title, ‘A Caution for Young Girls,’ seems innocent enough.

But the books are not why I am writing now, when my usual routine is to write immediately before I retire to bed. I just… I need to commit this to paper before it leaves me entirely.

On my way out of the library, I saw her. My wife – if I die tomorrow or in a hundred years, I shall never tire of calling her that.

She has quickly found the more private areas of the library, it seems. I would never have seen her if I had not been considering going there to read myself.

It must mean something that she did not choose just any of the countless hidden places within the maze of the library, but my favourite – a secluded alcove along the western wall. An indicator of our compatibility, perhaps. Or even a sign from the gods?

Had the books I’d been carrying not been so… unsuitable, I would have asked to join her.

No, I wouldn’t have. That would require far more courage than I can summon when I see her.

I just stared at her, watching her face as she read. From where I stood, I could not see what she was reading. But I could see her, and that was enough.

She is so expressive! I saw her both smile and frown in quick succession, and once, her entire face scrunched in displeasure as if she had just taken a bite of lemon! Gods, how can even such an unpleasant expression be so beautiful?

Perhaps I should not have watched her at all, for the longer I stood there, the further my mind drifted. And then, I heard Aegon’s voice, as clearly as if he were standing beside me.

‘Don’t limit yourself to the bedchamber brother, or even the bed! A wall or a table serves just as well. And there is a certain thrill to knowing you could be discovered…’

Damn him. Why did I ever ask for his assistance? I would have been better off enlisting the help of an actual whore! At least then, the vulgarity would not come from the future King. Damn him to the deepest of the Seven Hells.

But that stupid advice echoed in my mind over and over. And against my will and better judgement, an image began to form. A dream – a waking dream.

Though my feet remained planted on the floor, I imagined setting aside my books and joining her in that alcove. She would look up and smile upon hearing my approach, perhaps even giggle at my attempt at stealth.

I would sit beside her and ask what she was reading. I might even ask her to read to me. But I would not let her read for long.

I would kiss her while she read. Not on her lips but all over her perfect face. Her cheeks, her forehead, on the tip of her nose. All just to distract her, to make her laugh. Only when she made so much noise that I feared discovery would I kiss her lips to quiet her and finally claim my prize.

The kiss would not be like in the Sept, or in her chambers that night. Instead, she would kiss me back and open herself to me. I would kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her. Until we were both out of breath but still wanting more.

Seeing her like that, with her lips swollen and cheeks flushed… I would not be able to wait until we returned to our chambers. I would lift her onto that very table, books be damned.

Like our wedding night, we would not undress. We would be in too much of a hurry.

But even hurried, I would be gentle. I would take the time to prepare her, as Lord Wylde said I must do every time. Doing so makes the experience more pleasurable for the woman, he says. And Orwyle added that her enjoyment makes it more likely that the coupling will be fruitful.

Gods, I hardly care about that anymore. Of course, I want an heir, or several. But I want her more. I want her to feel as much pleasure as I do. To ‘peak,’ as Wylde and Orwyle put it. Aegon uses other words, but I find them too vulgar.

And in the library, making an heir would be the last thing on my mind. Even finding my own pleasure would be secondary. I would use my fingers to prepare her – perhaps get her to peak once before I even enter her?

Aegon says women can find release much more than men can. According to him, he once made a woman peak ten times in one night. I would be more amenable to believing him if he didn’t also claim he did so five times. But maybe he is right about ‘practising’ increasing stamina. Though he has had years of practice, and I have had only two days…

But in the dream world where I have the courage to approach her at all, and the gall to bed her in the library of all places (can you call it ‘bedding’ if it is not done in an actual bed?), I also have that stamina. And the skill to indeed make her peak with just my fingers.

I do not know what sounds she would make, as she was entirely silent on our wedding night, but I would want her to make them. I would want her to make such noise that I would have no choice but to kiss her to quiet her and keep her from drawing the attention of the rest of the library.

Even when I was buried within her, I would kiss her. With one arm wrapped around her hips to hold her steady as I fucked her so hard the table would shake, and the other hand tangled in her hair so I could kiss her just as hard.

I want to kiss her so badly. When I finally go to her again, that is what I will do first.

Once we had both finished – for I would ensure she peaked again with me inside her – I would kiss her more, softly, until our breathing steadied. Then, we would simply take our seats again, and this time, I would read to her.

By all the Seven, what has become of me? To not only have such thoughts but to revel in them as I do?

You didn’t bother reading the rest of the entry again before clutching the diary to your chest and staring at the bed canopy above you as a thousand questions burned through your mind and set your heart racing.

Had he been thinking about that the day he came to you in the library?

Was it what he intended to do, had you not reacted so poorly to his words?

Were you really wishing that he had?

You turned on your side, cradling his diary as you once did a small stuffed pony, and noticed for the first time that night had fallen – you had spent nearly the entire day reading. For a moment, you considered running to Aemond’s chambers. But when you looked back at the journal, there were still more than a dozen ribbons shut in its pages.

And if you went to him just after reading what you did…

Whatever was becoming of Aemond, no doubt thanks to the men he had asked for help in better bedding you, by reading his diary and the most private thoughts and fantasies contained within, it was becoming of you too. For when your eyes drifted closed, Aemond’s dream of the library became your dream as well.

The next several days of entries were almost identical.

Aemond woke at dawn after a night of dreams filled with you. They were not always of a carnal nature. Sometimes he dreamed simply of holding or kissing you. Once, he dreamed about flying with you atop his dragon. You didn’t know whether the prospect was thrilling or terrifying. Perhaps both.

Each day, he broke his fast, trained, then ate a small meal before joining court.

Before joining you.

When he wrote in the diary after dinner and several hours of studying and ‘practising’ (you still could not determine what that meant), he still remembered every little thing you did. You had never spoken at court – it was not your place to. But he had catalogued your every movement and reaction to the business of the realm. Every raise of your brows, every repressed smile, and every curious tilt of your head.

You thought you were quite proficient at maintaining a regal mask of indifference. Your mother had you practice it on the journey to King’s Landing while she commanded your brothers to shout at you the most outrageous things they could think of (much of which she promptly scolded them for when they were done).

But Aemond saw through the mask. Not only that, but he correctly interpreted every movement you made.

He knew that the twitch of your lip when Lord Bolton made a petition was a sign of your marked distaste for the man. He knew the scrunch of your brow upon the reading of a missive from a Pentosi diplomat was you noticing a contradiction from the previous message and realising the diplomat was lying. And he knew that you stiffened every time he looked at you because you were nervous about what he would say or do.

Aemond knew you. Even then.

And yet you had so dreadfully misunderstood him.

The shame of it was enough to make you set down the diary and call for a bath – a private bath, without any of your maids present even in the adjourning rooms. You gave an excuse that you were exhausted and simply wished to remain alone.

But really?

As part of his study of the anatomy book Orwyle recommended, Aemond had drawn a diagram of what lay between a woman’s legs. And annotated it based on the advice of Lord Wylde and Prince Aegon.

You were curious to see – with the aid of a hand mirror – just how accurate the diagram and annotations were.

You awoke the following morning feeling more refreshed than you had since you came to the palace, from both the welcome break in your courtly duties and the exploration you had conducted in the privacy of your bath. Though you were fairly sure you did not reach a ‘peak,’ as Aemond described it, you felt close to the height of something several times. But each time, you panicked at the intensity of the racing feelings within you and withdrew your hand. Still, those few minutes of pleasure were incredibly relaxing.

And as it was Aemond’s notes that allowed you to discover the feeling that your own clumsy attempts had failed to bring, the prospect that you would – eventually – once more join him in his bed became thrilling beyond reason.

In truth, the only thing that stopped you from rushing across the castle the very moment you emerged from the bath was the unfortunate fact that you were still bleeding, though it was light.

More than that, while your body was more than ready to forgive Aemond, your heart and mind were still hesitant. He had hurt you. He made you cry. Reading his diary helped you understand that it had never been intentional. However, you still needed to understand everything before making a final decision on whether to forgive him and if you could, as Aemond hoped in his note, ‘learn to like’ or even to love him.

So, after breaking your fast, you again settled into the couch and turned to the next green ribbon.

The 23rd day in the 5th moon of the year

Were Aegon not my brother and the heir, I would throw him from the top of the Rookery.

‘A Caution for Young Girls’ is no such thing. It is little more than a manual in promiscuity and sin!

But… damn him. It is quite educational.

Unlike the book Grand Maester Orwyle suggested, it is not focused on the science of anatomy or conception. Rather, it is entirely concerned with the pleasure of women. After all, it is the supposedly true story of a woman’s quest for pleasure.

A Wylde woman, if it is to be believed. I may have to ask Lord Jasper about it. Is this why he’s had such success with his own wives?

But that, and indeed the sinful nature of the book itself, is unimportant. What is important is that it may actually be the key to my learning how to pleasure my wife.

It spoke at length of various methods of using one’s fingers. Crooking the fingers while within seems to be crucial, as is locating a ‘sweet spot’ where her walls feel slightly different. That spot, as well as the ‘pearl’ which lays at the top of her sex, is the epicentre of her pleasure.

And, like the others said, preparation is required. This is where the use of the fingers comes into it – as well as various other methods. For example, the book mentions kissing quite often, and not only on the lips. Or the cheeks. Or even anywhere on the face.

I admit the idea, though it is new to me, is quite appealing. The book mentioned several places where women most like to be kissed. The jaw, the throat, behind the ear, the nape of the neck, the collarbone…

There was a spot of ink, as though Aemond’s pen had been resting on the page without moving for a long moment.

…the breasts, and lower.

I do not understand why. Perhaps it is because of Aegon’s incessant comments about the breasts of every woman in the Keep, save our mother and his wife – would that he would also exclude my wife! – but I find myself thinking about her breasts with startling frequency. I did not get to see them on our wedding night after I foolishly forgot to undress her.

There is a story in the book which… well, I find myself wanting to replicate. One which would provide me ample access to her breasts. But more than that, it carries an intimacy which I crave most of all.

When Lady Coryanne was serving as a handmaid to a warlock in Qarth, she often found herself called to help him ‘relax’ after a long day. On such occasions, she would mount him while he sat at his desk and ‘ride’ him while he buried his face in her breasts.

I… it was easy to imagine my wife and me in a similar, though more loving, position. Likely not at my desk, as I don’t actually use it often. But perhaps, here. On my chair by the hearth, where I read my books and write in this diary before bed.

She would come back – for she would be living here, with me, not across the Holdfast and so far away – after a long day. Maybe she would have been in the gardens, or with Mother, Helaena and the children, or in the library for hours. I would have been stuck away from her all day in meetings, court, or training.

Even apart from her for only a day, I would miss her terribly. As I do every hour I do not see her. And she would miss me too.

When she came in, she would press herself against the door as she locked it, then turn to me with a mischievous grin. I would know what she wanted, but I would not play along. Instead, I’d mutter a greeting and turn back to my book, pretending that my blood was not racing at just the sight of her. For I want her blood to be as heated as mine.

You read the last paragraph again, the realisation finally set in that Aemond was about to narrate another of his fantasies. Fortunately, after his previous entry about the library, you decided to be more cautious and had already dismissed your servants until your afternoon meal. You had suspected that there may be more in the diary that was thoroughly unsuitable for prying eyes.

And, thanks to his diligent notetaking, you knew precisely what to do when the feelings such unsuitable words provoked began to burn through you.

You undoubtedly did not want an audience for that…

I would let her tease me, pretending none of it fazed me. When she brushed her fingers lightly across my shoulders, I would not flinch. When she leaned over me further than she would really need to see what I was reading, but wanting me to see that peek of her breasts nearly spilling out from her dress, I would barely look. And when she pressed a kiss, long and slow, to my neck – gods, would I like that too? – I might even pretend it was an inconvenience.

It would vex her that I did not give her the attention she desperately wanted. Not enough to truly anger her, but only enough to make her pout. So that when she took the book from my hands and dropped it to the floor, then sat atop me in the chair with her thighs straddling mine… I would simply have no choice but to grab her little lip as she stuck it out and push it back into place before kissing her.

I would kiss her in every place the book instructs, taking my time to worship every bit of her. I want to drive her as mad as she does me just by her mere existence.

But I know she would not simply let me tease her. She would return each kiss I gave her and more. Atop me, she would roll her hips slowly, purposefully, as if we were engaged in a dance. I would be able to feel her, hot and wet and as eager as me, but each time I rose to meet her, she would pull away.

Gods, am I really wishing for her to deny me? Perhaps practising as Aegon instructed has conditioned me to crave such delays to my satisfaction.

Either way, I think I would break before she did. She is strong-willed, and with as many brothers as she has, I believe she can be quite patient. So, I would beg. I would apologise for trying to tease her and plead for her forgiveness. And for her to…

She would, I hope, without hesitation. She would rise only long enough for her to remove her smallclothes and for me to do away with my trousers. Then, we would both sit again, together, with me gently guiding her down to mount me – Seven Hells, that makes it sound like I’m a horse.

I’ll be whatever she wants.

Again, and as always, I would give her a moment to adjust and make sure she is comfortable. Orwyle’s book said that with well-endowed partners – which, according to the measurements in the book, I am – women may always need that moment.

But I would be glad to give it to her. For it would allow me to unlace her bodice, and like the warlock from the book, I could bury my face in my beloved’s breasts.

I find it hard to imagine what it would be like, how they would feel. Soft, I think. Warm, as she is. And perhaps, if I pressed close enough, I could hear her heart beating.

When I was fully settled within her, would I hear it beat faster? Or would it slow with contentment, knowing she was safe and loved – oh so dearly loved – within my arms. Perhaps it would be like the stories, and I would hear it skip a beat.

Either way, I would be more than content to just sit there, breathe her in, and let her move at her own pace. We would not need to be fast, as we would in the library. In my own rooms – our rooms – there would be no need for hurry. We could just stay there, entwined, or we could move together.

I think I would prefer it slowly. Not even seeking our releases, really. Just… enjoying each other. Enjoying the connection of our bodies, our minds, and our souls. Knowing that we are one, that the gods have made us one, and that nothing can tear us apart.

Although… I do think her legs would get tired after a while. That is something I should perhaps be worried about. Especially if she did want to move, and fast. To seek release.

If she did, I would help her. The book did not detail how, as Lady Coryanne was a servant at the time, but… I could figure it out. I could move my hips up to meet hers, or even lift her on my own? I think doing so with my hands on her hips would give me the most leverage. Or perhaps her rear?

I am very drawn to the idea of holding her close as we reach our peaks. Of feeling her breath on my skin, being close enough to hear each little noise she makes, and the sensation of her gripping me as tight as she can as she comes. Even the thought of her nails digging into me brings a certain thrill. And if I don’t reach my peak with her – which, I think, is very unlikely – we can always continue. Or move somewhere more comfortable if her legs do get tired.

At this point, I think I am more than ready to practice. Of course, this wasn’t my intention when I started writing, but… yes, I am most definitely ready. And anything else I wanted to write about seems inconsequential now.

You dropped the diary onto your heaving chest, the image Aemond’s words had painted still burning in your mind. Seven Hells, you could practically feel his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you to his chest as you moved together, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered words of praise between desperate kisses.

With a hazy smile, you snuggled further into the couch and beneath your blanket. As exhilarating as the descriptions of his desires were, what truly warmed your heart was the way he wrote about you, the two of you together.

The connection of your souls as one? It was exactly what you’d dreamed of when first told of your betrothal. Aemond was what you dreamed of.

Why did he have to stop writing? What in the name of the Seven was he practising that was more important than that?

Frustrated and with your pleasure now truly over, you closed the diary and turned on your side, resigned to simply stewing in your own thoughts for the few hours left until your maids returned.

After a light, solitary afternoon meal, you again dismissed your maids. By this point, they were more than a little suspicious about the titleless book you were reading. But, you insisted that you simply wanted to be alone, for your moon’s blood still plagued you. It wasn’t entirely a lie. You did still have some cramping and a slight headache.

In truth, it was because you knew what would happen in just a few entries – your second night together.

It surely wouldn’t be as thrilling as some of his other fantasies. You knew that firsthand. But after learning what Aemond felt for you, you were desperate to know his side of that night.

So desperate, in fact, that you barely skimmed the following two entries in your haste to reach it. Both primarily had to do with whatever smut he had read in A Caution for Young Girls. The first was a rather exhaustive list of all the ways he wanted to kiss you – and there were far more ways than you were previously aware of.

The second caused your most intense blushing yet, for it was near treasonous! After reading another story of Coryanne Wylde ‘riding’ a man, he fantasised about you riding him while he sat on the Iron Throne. It was an intriguing idea, but it seemed a little too hazardous to tempt you.

Finally, you reached what you had been waiting for.

The 26th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I had hoped not to make an entry today – for I had every intention of spending tonight in my wife’s chambers. But she is there, and tragically, I am here.

Tonight was almost worse than our wedding night.

When I saw her watching me in the training yard today, I thought… she was almost smiling – at me! She had no obligation to be there, and yet she was! She sought me out! She wanted to see me!

I had to bite back a cry of joy and relief. I immediately abandoned the rest of my training, nearly impaling the poor squire with my sword for how hard I threw it at him, so I could rush to the ramparts and greet her.

But when I got there, she was gone. I asked a few of the other lords and ladies that were there, but no one knew where she went. Even after speaking to her, however briefly, I still do not understand why she left.

You felt your cheeks flush with shame. Aemond hadn’t grimaced at you that day – quite the opposite. He had been so excited to see you there, and as usual, you had misinterpreted his reaction.

Or, based on how frequently these misunderstandings occurred, perhaps his expressions were merely indecipherable to normal people. Or, more likely, maybe just to you.

You set his diary down, careful to use one of your discarded ribbons to mark your place, and picked up your own. By this point, you had filled several pages with your reactions to Aemond’s writing – some of it sincere, some bordering on humour.

Yet you had no words to express how sorry you were that you had so thoroughly misjudged him. So you wrote nothing and just kept reading.

When I went to her chambers to check on her, I encountered one of her maids, who told me she had retired early with a headache and would not be joining the family for dinner.

Perhaps I should have gone into her chambers then and asked what was wrong. I knew – or at least suspected – that the headache was a lie. An excuse to allow her privacy. I often do the same, citing my scar. Which, as I told her, is not always a lie.

But if I had gone to her, as I wished. I would not have known what to say. Ask her why she ran from the training yard without speaking to me? Or why she wanted to avoid me and the family? Tell her I’m sorry for the disappointment of our wedding night? Ask Beg for a second chance?

I could not do it. I was tired from training and admittedly still somewhat discombobulated from realising she had been watching me. Though I did make it to her door, I merely touched the handle for a moment before retiring to my own chambers.

Now, after yet another disastrous visit… I should have gone to her earlier. I should have trusted my instincts (as Aegon often encourages me to do) instead of allowing my mind to think itself into an inescapable hole.

As I bathed and redressed, and even while attending court and dinner, I could not stop thinking about her. Agonising over what I may have done to make her flee from me?

I never even considered that she may actually have a headache until I was again at her door after dinner. The fear that I was disturbing her, perhaps making her pain worse, was nearly enough to make me turn and flee.

But then, her voice came, soft and light and so enticing. Of course, I somehow managed to answer idiotically when she asked who it was. Though she lessened the sting of embarrassment with a small joke. She is so achingly clever!

I asked her how she was, and her answer made it evident that the headache was a ruse. I am trying not to be too proud that my deduction was correct. She is not used to lying, nor is she good at it. And it is yet another thing I admire about her.

For hours, I planned what I would say to her. It was eloquent and thoughtful – practically poetry.

The tail of the last ‘y’ extended nearly an inch, and you imagined Aemond just staring at the page, consumed by his thoughts for a moment.

But her room looked different tonight. She finally unpacked.

There is a large tapestry above her hearth depicting her home keep, the field below filled with vibrant pink flowers with bright yellow centres. The same flowers appear nearly everywhere. On framed examples of embroidery, on her curtains, pillows, and even the blanket strewn over the back of her couch.

I must find out what they are, for they are clearly very important to her.

You looked up from the diary, glancing about your room. Indeed, you had not realised how many dog roses decorated your possessions. It was no wonder he guessed they were your favourite.

‘I was quite impressed when you brought me my favourite flower,’ you wrote in your diary. ‘I thought you had somehow read my thoughts. I suppose I made it easy for you.’

She also has a large bookcase in her sitting room, which was specifically requested when her father sent word accepting the betrothal. Since the last time I was in her chambers, she has begun to fill the shelves with books and trinkets. I spotted a small silver bell, a wooden box carved with various birds, and a little glass flower. It was not the same flower that is so prevalent elsewhere in her chambers (this one was a pale purple rather than pink), but still quite pretty.

While pondering that flower, I returned to the couch to compare it to the pink flower on her blanket and saw what she had been reading – “The Last Dragonlords,” my first, and still favourite, history of my house. It is not a particularly rigorous academic work, but I prefer it for the sense of wonder it has for the story of my ancestors.

If, at that point, I remembered any of what I wanted to say to her, the sight of that book, and the knowledge that she was somehow reading my favourite… I lost all words. I fear I fell silent for an uncomfortably long time, for she spoke next.

She wanted to know the reason for my visit. I asked her directly about the ruse of her headache. She seemed nervous, so I told her I do the same and that I often experience lingering pain. I was tempted to remove my patch and show her, but… she was already quite nervous. I did not want to make her more so, or frighten her so thoroughly that she will never warm to me.

What lay beneath his eyepatch that would frighten you so? You had heard many rumours. That his lost eye was nothing more than a pit of darkness. That he had replaced it with a jewel. That an ever-burning fire, fueled by his hatred and rage, burned within.

Despite the stories, you felt a twinge of shame and hurt that, despite his love for you, he did not trust you with seeing him truly bare. He thought you could be frightened away.

Somehow, that shame far overshadowed any curiosity or fear about what lay beneath the brown leather of his eyepatch.

I could already tell it wasn’t going to go how I wanted – she would not meet my eye. So, I offered to leave. I would not impose myself on her when she did not want me to. That is not how I want to start this. Or, start it again.

But she did want me to go! At least, that is what I thought she meant. I am not so sure anymore. She said something about my right to be there as her husband. At the time, I thought it was her shy way of asking me to stay. Now… I think she may have just been repeating something her mother or a Septa taught her.

There was another small patch of angry scribbles.

I’m so stupid! And hardly better than Aegon. No – she may not have been particularly enthusiastic, but I am sure if she genuinely did not want me there, she would have said so. And I would have obeyed. After all, she was quick to ask me to stop some of the other things I tried to do.

She did not like the kissing.

When I first mentioned that I would like to lie with her – which I foolishly reasoned was out of my desire for an heir instead of my desire for her – she simply laid on the bed like on our wedding night. But that is not what I want. I do not want this to simply be a union of duty! At least, not anymore. And I so wanted to kiss her.

So, I beckoned her to me, and she obeyed. My hopes that this would be different were still relatively high. I got closer, touched her face, and asked if I could kiss her.

And she asked, ‘Why?’

I swear that one little word hurt more than any pain I’ve felt in the training yard. Almost more than… well, not quite more than that. But close.

I could not think of any reason other than that she is my wife, and I love her and want more than anything to kiss her. I only told her the former and the latter, for I think if I told her I loved her, she would have been more afraid than if she had seen me without my patch. And the gods must be good, for she said yes.

Then I kissed her. I held her close, and I kissed her.

It was the most wonderful thing! She was soft and warm. And when I laced my hand through her hair, she made the most delightful sound! I could have just kissed her forever.

But then it was over. She shouted and pushed me away. It was… it was just after I tried to use my tongue. I don’t think she liked it.

She asked me why I ‘needed’ to kiss her. She must have disliked it very much.

I had no other explanation than what I had already offered. At least, none that I could tell her without sending her running from me forever. So I stopped and told her I did not need it – the first lie I’ve ever told her.

When she moved back to the bed, I could not help myself. I could not let us be in a marriage where we lie together out of nothing more than duty, fully clothed and anxious to get it over with. It was foolish, and I probably scared her with the request, but I asked her to remove her nightgown. She had already taken off her robe – a massive thing in her house colours that practically drowns her.

You allowed a brief kernel of anger to spark within you, enough for you to pick up your pen and write him another little message in your diary.

‘That robe is dear to me, thank you very much. What is it that makes you hate it so?’

There is nothing more beautiful in the world than her. She puts even the Maiden to shame. I would have been happy to stare at her, to take in that beauty until I had my fill – if I would ever get my fill.

She got on the bed and positioned herself exactly how she was on our wedding night. Not quite how I pictured it, but considering her hesitancy, I did not want to push her.

It took all my control to stop myself from kissing her again when I undressed and joined her. But I did. I also resisted doing anything more than just looking at her breasts.

I sat between her legs and stared at her. While I was more than ready to begin, she was not. At all. Of course, I knew I would have to prepare her, but I hoped she would have had at least some desire for me already.

I started with gentle touches, drawing circles on her thighs. She shivered a bit when I began, but she didn’t ask me to stop. From where I was sitting, I could tell she enjoyed it, even if she didn’t understand it. She did ask me to explain, and my answer was probably lacking – how does one explain why he was so inadequate? – but she gave a small nod when I promised that tonight would be better.

Then I finally touched her where I really wanted to and was delighted to find her… well, not as wet as I’d hoped, but it was an improvement upon our wedding night! I ran my fingers over her entrance, hoping to coax more wetness from her before I truly began. And when I looked at her again to ensure I wasn’t hurting her, she smiled at me!

Encouraged, I kept my fingers at her entrance, not venturing inside yet, but continuing my preparations there while I began to seek her pearl. As the books said, I only had to draw a straight line upward from her entrance to find it.

And, oh, when I found it! Her eyes snapped shut, her back arched off the bed, and the most glorious whine escaped her! It was everything I had imagined and more. Gods, I think I could have peaked just from watching her as I circled her pearl again and again, faster and faster.

But then, she asked me to stop – begged me to.

I thought I must have done something wrong, but she shook her head when I asked if it hurt. And when I asked if it felt good, she would not answer. She merely requested that I get on with what I needed to do and leave, for she was tired. This wound cut even deeper than before with the kissing.

I wanted to prepare her more – I was going to use my mouth on her. To show her how dearly I wish to please her, how much I want to worship and love her, if only she’d let me.

In anticipation of that act, I have been consulting Coryanne Wylde’s various accounts and expert critiques of the act in order to form the perfect strategy.

To begin, I would undress her, as I planned to do on our wedding night, laying gentle, nearly chaste kisses on each new bit of skin I revealed. Once she was bare, I would kiss her. Deeply. To give her a taste of what is to come. Then, I would kiss my way down. Her jaw, her throat, her collarbone, her breasts, and the plane of her stomach.

Once I made it past her navel, I would take her leg in my hand and begin a new trail of kisses upwards. The book says to start at the ankle, but I am too impatient for that – I will begin at the knee instead.

Just when she thought I was finally about to give her what she craved more than anything, I would once again change course to kiss her lips one final time. Then, I would descend.

I would start slowly, experimenting with different tactics to determine what drives her deliciously mad. Once I knew, I would feast. I would devour her like her pleasure was the air I needed to breathe. Like her cries of pleasure were beautiful music, and I would die if it ever stopped.

I would bring her to peak once with my mouth on her entrance. Again on her pearl. Then again and again in whichever way made her scream the loudest.

Only when she was so drunk with pleasure that she could no longer rise to meet my mouth or grasp at my hair would I relent. I would make my way back up to her mouth and soothe her with gentle kisses until she had regained herself and was begging for me to finally fuck her.

But I didn’t get to do any of that.

She asked me to stop, so I did. I pumped myself a little to ensure the disappointment hadn’t rendered me incapable of performing my duty and entered her.

The preparation did help. Entering her was easier, and she did not wince as much as the first time. And she felt even more heavenly somehow. The feeling was so intense that I had to take a moment to remind myself that she only wanted me to finish quickly so she would not have to endure me any longer.

So, I fucked her. I did not make love to her, as is my true desire. I just fucked her, like she was just any woman and not the love of my life.

And then, a miracle! I thrust into her, something about the angle allowing me in quite deep, and she reacted. She gasped, breathless, and her hips snapped up to meet mine. I froze in surprise and elation. I found her ‘sweet spot!’

But when I smiled at her, she turned away and refused to look at me again.

I just kept going. I did not try to hit that spot again, so as to not upset her further. I finished as quickly as I could and left the bed.

It was stupid of me, but I turned back to her after dressing. Everything had gone so horribly, but I still love her. I still need her. So I could not just leave her like that.

I asked if I could kiss her again. She let me. I was quick, as promised.

Then I came back here, once again alone and no closer to earning her love than I was before.

I must meet with my advisors again tomorrow. Perhaps they can help me understand why I keep fucking this up so badly when all I want is for her to let me love her the way I want to and for her to love me in return.

Your heart ached so severely that you thought there might be bruises when you looked down at your chest. But there was just skin – skin that Aemond would have happily kissed, had you let him.

As horrible and confusing as that night had been for you, it had been so tenfold for Aemond. He had wanted a grand, romantic evening, and you had greeted him with only coldness and suspicion.

He called you ‘the love of his life.’ You ran your finger over those words so many times that they became smudged, then went to write something in your diary but halted with your pen hovering over the paper.

What could you write to match what he’d said about you? Even if you could, would it really be true? How many times could you say, ‘I’m sorry?’

Well, at least one more time. ‘I’m so sorry, Aemond,’ you wrote, ‘I didn’t know, and I was still scared. Not of you, but of what I thought my life was to be. If you had only told me… I do not blame you, I swear. I just wish the both of us had been more honest with each other.’

You were far too exhausted to continue. It was not yet midafternoon, and you had already been from the near-heights of carnal pleasure to the depths of your despair that the unfortunate state of your marriage was, in actuality, mostly your fault.

So, after setting Aemond’s diary aside, you picked up your embroidery basket and began to work while your mind wandered.

It was only when your maids arrived to bring you dinner that you realised that, somehow, the dog roses you intended to make had become a sprawling wisteria vine.

You dreamed of the castle garden in late spring when all the flowers were in bloom. As you walked down the garden path, you saw every colour imaginable amongst the vibrant greens. But there was only one flower you really wanted to see – and the man you knew would be waiting for you beneath them.

Just as the first purple tendrils came into view, the dream faded, and you woke to see the first hints of dawn still beneath the horizon.

Drawing your blankets over your head, you squeezed your eyes shut and stubbornly tried to fall back asleep and return to your dream – to no avail. You were well and truly awake. And it would be some time before your maids came to dress you for the day.

So, dragging the blanket from your bed with you, you trudged back into your solar and settled into the couch before picking up Aemond’s diary again.

The 27th day in the 5th moon of the year

I met with Lord Wylde, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Aegon this morning. They had advice, but it was not as… straightforward as I had hoped. There is no simple trick to get her to love me. Nothing I can study from a book and then implement with assured success.

I have to woo her. I have to be witty and pleasant and charming and… romantic.

I do not think this is going to work.

Especially not after my first attempt was so disastrous.

Lord Wylde asked that I tell him about her, so I did. When he learned she enjoys reading as much as I do, he suggested I try to find common ground there. So, I went to try and find her in the library.

She was exactly where she was the last time I saw her there, still reading “The Last Dragonlords.” I watched her for a moment, savouring the look of contentment on her face as she read, as well as a few quick reactions to the book. How I love it when her nose scrunches in displeasure!

‘That is quite the odd thing to fixate on,’ you wrote in your diary. It seemed a decent night’s sleep had helped recover some of your humour. ‘What is it, in particular, that you like about my scrunched nose?’

She did smile at me when I approached, but I think she thought I was a Maester, for her smile faltered when I greeted her. And she was so shy. Usually, when I struggle to find the right words, she breaks the silence. Today, she did not.

At least it gave me time to remember why I came to the library. She was still reading “The Last Dragonlords,” so I told her it was my favourite and asked if I could join her. I think she was somewhat embarrassed about reading a children’s book, but I assured her it was no matter and that I would nonetheless enjoy reading it with her, and she allowed me to sit with her.

My plan was to sit with her, discuss the histories, and perhaps, in time, hold her hand as a first step toward genuine affection. But the plan quickly went awry.

It all happened so fast that I don’t even remember exactly what I said. But somehow, I insinuated that she was not intelligent enough to understand the book. The book meant for children – young children.

She was very upset with me. Rightfully so! Still upset enough that she stormed out of the library after making several cutting remarks that proved that she is, in fact, quite intelligent.

After several minutes and a brief reprimand from one of the Maesters, I finally gathered myself enough to realise that she had left the book there. As well as several pages of notes.

Of course, the noble thing would have been to not look and ask a servant to return them to her. But in that moment, I was desperate, not noble. So, I looked.

Her notes were beautifully organised and remarkably thorough – the work of a true scholar! She even crafted a beautiful family tree all the way through Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters. Had I not fumbled our initial interaction so entirely, we would have had a wonderful discussion.

You had feared him finding the notes, but you had never considered that he would be impressed rather than arrogantly amused. It made sense now that you knew his true nature. Perhaps, once whatever was between you was resolved, you could have that discussion.

In all honesty, there were a few questions you had that you hoped he would be able to answer. Not least of which being why in more than a thousand years, Targaryens had only come up with a dozen names that they repeated over and over again. You wrote as much in your diary.

It was useless for me to sulk in the library, agonising over what I should have said, so I gathered the book and her notes and left the library.

An apology was more than necessary, so I went to Aegon’s rooms. After all, there is perhaps no one with more experience apologising to women. Even if his apologies are self-serving.

When I arrived, I found Mother had already found Aegon first, and was well into another tirade about his behaviour. Normally, I would be happy to watch Mother yelling at him, but I did not feel I had time to. And Aegon was glad that I granted him a reprieve.

Admittedly, I had not wanted to admit to Mother that my wife and I were… not as close as I wanted. But, as she always is, she was eminently understanding, and far more helpful than Aegon was. His only suggestion was to bring her something nice – jewels, silks, or the like.

On the other hand, Mother gave me sage advice on what to say when I go to her. As my words have been my primary point of failure, I was very grateful for this. She did also say that a gift would not be amiss. An ‘offering of peace,’ she called it. But she advised something personal, not luxurious. If the gift is too valuable, she says, it will seem as if I am trying to buy her forgiveness rather than earn it.

I knew immediately what I should get her. I thanked Mother (and Aegon) and left at once for the gardens.

I found them – the flowers she loves so dearly. Dog roses, they are called. Unfortunately, they do not grow well in our climate, but the Maester’s managed to coax a few to bloom with their various potions and other horticultural creations.

They are almost as beautiful as her.

The Maester I spoke to said that it would be best if I had them cut just before I brought them to her, to preserve their beauty. So that is what I will do.

I will not practice tonight. At least… not that kind of practice. Instead, I will rehearse my apology. I cannot fail tomorrow.

You winced slightly, knowing that the next day would not go as Aemond planned and feeling as though it was your fault. But there was no changing that now. And you had already apologised – often and profusely.

So, you wrote only a simple note: ‘I don’t recall seeing dog roses on our tour of the gardens. Did you pluck them all?’

Looking back at his diary, you took a deep, steadying breath. Only two ribbons left.

The 28th day in the 5th moon of the year

I am the stupidest, most idiotic man in all the seven fucking kingdoms.

All I was trying to do was apologise to her for my unkind – though unintentionally so! – words in the library, but somehow it ended with her crying and me fleeing from her chambers yet again.

You cringed at the memory, almost not wanting to read on.

Aegon gladly offered his explanation, even after I told him I did not want it. He insists that I have so thoroughly repulsed her that she cannot help but burst into tears at the sight of me.

Mother thinks that she is just missing her family and her home, as she said. That she is overwhelmed by being alone in a strange place, and the familiar sight of the flowers – dog roses, as I have learned – brought those feelings to bursting.

Perhaps Mother is right. But her parents left a fortnight ago, and she has shown no other signs of homesickness. And she is not alone! She has the other ladies of the court to talk to, and Helaena and Mother adore her. And me.

If she came to me, I would do anything to cheer her. Not that she would seek comfort from me, no matter how dearly I wish she would. She certainly won’t after today.

After the disaster in the library yesterday and the scolding I received from Grand Maester Orwyle after my training this morning, I knew beyond a doubt that I needed to apologise. I… the shame I feel for having played any part in the state Orwyle described her in is unbearable.

So, I went to the gardens and had a Maester cut the flowers for me and arrange them in a simple bouquet.

She was on her couch when I arrived in her rooms – still in her nightgown and that robe. And again, she did not look at me. She had eyes only for the flowers. I thought then that they had been the right choice.

I apologised, but she did not react. She still just stared at the bouquet. So, I went ahead with the rest of my apology.

Then she touched my hand. It startled me, and I pulled away from her on instinct, dropping the bouquet in her lap. She looked at them like I had dropped a helpless kitten rather than flowers!

And she started crying. Softly, the tears welling in her eyes for a long moment before spilling over. I do not understand what I did to upset her. I said only what I had planned last night. It was so hard to resist brushing the tears away, but she seemed nearly volatile, and I did not want to make things worse.

‘I miss home,’ she said, finally.

It did sting that she does not consider King’s Landing and her life with me her home – it still does. But she is hundreds of miles away from the family of her birth, from the people who have undoubtedly treated her better than I have. I cannot blame her.

I apologised again for upsetting her and left.

At dinner, I had planned to ask Mother and Grandsire if we could find a way to send her home, at least for a little while. So she could be happy. Perhaps I could even go with her. I might have an easier time talking to her without the pressures of my family and the capital upon me.

You smiled at the thought of Aemond at your home keep. Of him in all his black leather among the fields of dog roses. Talking with your father in the library. Him training with your brothers – you were confident he could defeat any one of them alone, but knowing your brothers, they would absolutely gang up on him.

‘One day,’ you wrote, ‘I would love to show you my home.’

I was waiting for the opportunity to ask when she arrived! After this afternoon, I did not think she would come to dinner, but she did! I could have wept for my relief.

And when I offered my hand to her, she took it. Not only that, but she squeezed it – hard. I think believe it was her way of accepting my apology.

She did not speak during dinner, nor did anyone ask her too many questions. Aegon was his typically infuriating self, silently encouraging me to do something with her. What he expects me to do when in front of the entire family, I do not know.

After the meal, I offered to escort her back to her chambers, which she accepted. And once we were alone, she thanked me for the flowers!

It was going unusually well. That is, until I decided to open my mouth. I only meant to compliment her, as she did look quite beautiful, but… I just kept talking. And then I had suddenly insulted her gown from yesterday and her robe.

She closed herself off from me then, shoving away my arm. Why could I not just shut up? I know my words are the source of so many of our misunderstandings, yet I keep talking! At this point, I am strongly considering a vow of silence.

‘Please don’t take a vow of silence!’ you wrote, scrambling for your diary as if it mattered how quickly you got the words down. ‘Your voice is far too lovely for me to never hear it again.’

Tomorrow, I am going to try a suggestion from Lord Wylde. Show her that I am not a failure in everything I do. I pray it works.

You turned the page, expecting to find the entry for the next day, but there was none. There had been a page between the entries for the 28th and the 30th, but it had been sloppily torn out. All that remained was the beginnings of the date in the upper corner.

It was entirely against what you knew of Aemond. The man who had dutifully started his journal on the first day of the year and began each entry on a new page would not do something like this.

What had upset him so? Had you said something to him?

No, of course not. The only time you had seen him that day was in the training yard, and you hadn’t spoken to each other, not after… not after he stormed off. Had he actually been hurt in his fight with the Kingsguard? Or was he just embarrassed that you had witnessed him fall?

Gods, how you wished you had gone to him that night. But perhaps you could make up for it now.

‘After you were absent for dinner,’ you wrote to him in your diary, ‘I almost came to your rooms. I was worried for you. Though I confess, that was the only reason I found myself walking toward you… I missed you, at dinner. I missed you helping me into my chair. I missed your smile. I missed the way you’d hold the plates for me. Most of all, I missed your voice, and your presence next to me.’

You sniffled slightly, staring at a lamp on your wall to dry the tears that were forming before finishing the entry, ‘I’ve missed you these past days, as well. But I’m almost done. I’ll see you soon.’

The 30th day in the 5th moon of the year

I have made my gravest sin yet. And my most foolish.

We had the perfect morning together in the gardens. Silent, mostly, but perfect. She smiled at me! She allowed me to lead her through the gardens on my arm. It was… precisely what I had hoped for.

Until I once again acted like an absolute fucking fool.

Before I had to leave for court, I asked if I could come to her rooms that night. And for one perfect moment, I really believed she was going to say yes.

But then she mentioned her moon’s blood, and I just… panicked. I am not entirely an idiot (though I become less sure of that declaration with each passing moment), I know what that means.

It means that I’ve failed her. In even more ways than I knew.

I have made her miserable. I have made her cry. I have failed in every duty of a good husband, including the most basic of tasks – I have not given her a child.

I cannot go on like this – trapped in an endless cycle of misery where I can do nothing but hurt the both of us. I must do something to free us from this.

It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t love or even like me. I just want her to be happy. If that means that I never get to see her or love her again, I will make myself accept that.

First, she needs to know why I’ve acted this way. To know my true feelings so she can decide what she wants me to do. Gods, if she wanted me to go to Essos and never return, I would.

A blot of ink covered half the page, as though he had simply set his pen down while he thought.

I know what to do. I just pray she understands.

“I understand,” you said aloud, as though Aemond were before you. But, of course, he wasn’t. He was halfway across the castle, a distance that suddenly felt like the Narrow Sea itself. Throwing down your blanket, you shouted for your maids to dress you at once, your morning meal be damned. The moment finished tying off the last lace of your gown, you ran.

You had only been shown where Aemond’s chambers were once – on your first tour of the Holdfast. Then, you did not know whether to be disappointed or thankful that they were far from yours. Now, as your nervousness flooded through every part of your body, you hated the distance more than anything.

Each step was an effort, as with every one, your legs felt heavier and heavier, as if they were made of iron. Your blood felt as though it was rushing dangerously fast, carrying with it a marked chill. Despite feeling frozen within, sweat still somehow beaded at your brow. Yet you could not wipe it away, for your hands were all but stitched to the two diaries you carried.

Was this a terrible idea? Would Aemond laugh at you for all your silly little notes? Would he be angry with you for taking days to fulfil his request? You came to a halt in the middle of the corridor, tears prickling in your eyes as you considered so many horrible possibilities.

No, you thought, the word echoed by the impact of your foot on stone as you took a heavy, sure step forward.

The Aemond you thought you knew would do those things. But that Aemond wasn’t real – and never was. He had only ever lived in your terrified imagination.

The real Aemond was the one who had been so awestruck upon first seeing you that he could not say anything other than your name. Who had fallen for you so quickly and with such intensity that he forgot how to act like a proper person and instead stumbled over his words and actions like a drunk man through a crowded alley. Who had been so desperate for you to return his affections that he swallowed his pride to seek help. And who had finally given you his diary when he could think of no other way to show you how he really felt and who he truly was.

It was the thought of finally meeting that Aemond that made you put one foot in front of the other, faster and faster, until you were sprinting down the halls, only stopping when you came to the door you had seen only once before – his door.

You did not understand how you had found it again after only seeing it only once before. Nor did you remember knocking on the smooth, dark wood.

But then you heard footsteps approaching.

Hastily, you transferred the diaries to one hand and wiped the sweat from your brow with the sleeve of the other. You wanted to straighten your hair, for it had surely come loose from its braid after running so fast. But there was no time for that.

There was the dull, metallic sound of the door being unlatched, and then there he was.

Aemond stood before you, breathing heavily himself as though he, too, had been running. His silver hair was mussed, and there were smudges of purple beneath his widened eyes – his eyes.

He was not wearing his eyepatch.

Your mouth fell open at the sight. At least one of the rumours had been true. Beneath the raised, rough skin of his scar, in place of his lost eye, was a brilliant blue sapphire. It suited him perfectly and was perhaps the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

He looked at you for a moment, the corners of his mouth lifting in a hesitant smile before realising what had caught your attention so thoroughly.

“Oh gods,” he whispered, covering the sapphire with his hands and turning away. He took a few steps into the room before speaking again. “I did not mean for you to see this. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please…”

You said nothing. Silently, you moved into the room and shut the door. Aemond stared at you, his good eye watering as you approached him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “You should not have had to – ” He startled when you brought your free hand up to his wrist and started trying to tug his hand away from his face. “What are you…?”

When your only response was to continue tugging, he relented, allowing you to lower his hand. He swallowed thickly, fixing his good eye on the wall behind you instead of at you. Seeing his shyness, and now knowing it for what it was, almost made you smile.

But your own shyness took hold of you as you guided his hand down and wrapped it around the spines of the twin journals you held. When you looked back up at Aemond, he was staring at them and the green ribbon that now marked a page within your diary.

“I don’t understand,” he breathed, tightening his hold on the books.

With a slight smirk, you gazed up at him and dropped your hand from the diaries. “It’s your turn.”

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lovelytsunoda · 1 year

Text

the day you kissed a writer in the dark // han lue (tokyo drift)

summary: she's stood by his side for years. his loyal mechanic, the brains behind his brawn. but she'd be lying if she said that it didn't hurt to watch him flirt with those other women in his club, when he came home to her every night in secret.

bet you rue the day you kissed a writer in the dark, now she's gonna play and sing and lock you in her heart. i am my mother's child, i'll love you 'till my breathing stops.

pairing: han lue x mechanic! reader

warnings: smut, inappropriate use of a drifting car, insecurity and self-doubt, secret relationships, unplanned pregnancy.

author's note: here's something a little different today, lovelies! it's a departure from the usual realm of f1 content i usually bless you all with, but i felt like i needed to do something different to avoid burning myself out, and rewatching tokyo drift gave me the inspiration that i needed :)

she hated the club.

in the back end of her mind, she always resented the mere existence of that secret room leading to han's garage. the fact that he chose to surround himself with women in tight dresses with long legs and perky boobs like he was some kind of yakuza punk.

well, this wasn't crows fucking zero. this was real life.

she couldn't help but draw comparisons between these beautiful girls and herself. as she curled in on herself to duck through the crowd, she frowned at her reflection in the window: her torn up jeans, the grease stain on the cuff of her army-green sweater, the zip barely done up enough to cover up her double-d's, a small nut from her very first car hanging limply from a chain around her neck.

some days, she wondered why han had chosen her of all people.

"sean?" she asked quietly, poking the young american boy in the arm, practically shouting to be heard. "have you seen han?"

sean shook his head. "no, sorry. have you checked the garage?"

"i'm heading back there now. thanks, sean." she sighed, backing out the way that she came, trying not to think about all of the places that her boyfriend could be right now.

the anxiety ate away at her. was he with one of the other girls? one of the prettier, taller, thinner ones? was that why he wanted to keep the relationship under wraps?

was han ashamed of her?

she hurried down the rickety metal staircase, dropping her purse on the workbench as she went, subconsciously placing a hand over her stomach as she thought about the white plastic stick inside the fake leather bag.

they'd been sneaking around for a year, but they'd known each other far longer. she had come to tokyo when she was twenty-one, with a pocketful of cash and a monkey wrench. she had a high school diploma, but that didn't mean much to the rally teams she had applied to work on the pit crews for.

and that's when han swooped her up. when she became the bonnie to his clyde, the mechanic for his little street racing gambit.

that was three years ago. now she was almost twenty-five, he was twenty-seven, and he was in far too deep for them to keep going like this.

she knew why he had to keep it a secret. telling the world that she was his lover would put a target on her back. because that's what happens when you get in deep with someone like dk.

she pulled her hair back with the green rubber band on her wrist, pushing up her sleeves as she reached for a ratchet and approached han's car, the hood already open and ready for her.

working on the cars had always been her safe haven. her distraction from the outside world. fixing something that was broken gave her a satisfaction like no other.

"babe?" han's voice echoed through the garage, and she hated herself for the way that she froze up, fingers tightening around the ratchet. "sean said you were asking around for me? is everything okay?"

she withdrew from the car, slamming the hood down. "you're pushing the car too far. the engine is wearing down, you have to get something stronger. the serpentine belt is at it's brink."

"and that's why you're the brains of this operation and i'm just the pretty boy who drifts." han said playfully, wrapping his arms around her midsection as resting his chin on her shoulder.

"be more careful out there, seoul-oh." she said softly, placing a cold hand on top of his warm one before turning her head and kissing him softly. "i don't know what i'd do if anything ever happened to you."

han spun her body around gently, his hands on her waist as she jumped to perch her body on the edge of the hood, her fingers tangling in his dark, silky hair.

"you don't need to worry about me, sweetheart. i'm going to be okay."

she sighed, lacing her fingers together behind his neck. "where were you, han? wandering around your club with a girl on each arm? a girl that's three times prettier than i am, maybe one who's clothes are a little more revealing-"

"y/n, stop." han said firmly. "baby, you're the only one. my only one." he kissed her on the forehead softly. "i love you. i love you so much that it hurts. i wish i could shout it from the rooftops, but i can't put you in danger like that. i don't want dk to know, because that's a target on your back that i don't want there."

he pulled her as close as he could, arms wrapped securely around her as he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. "i couldn't live with myself if anything ever happened to you."

the sincerity in the older man's voice was reassuring. but some days, it wasn't enough. she loved him more than words could say, but she was getting tired of being his little secret.

but at the end of the day, it was her bed that he always came home to. his arms she woke up in. his terrible singing in the kitchen while he made coffee with breakfast.

han lue was hers.

she kissed him again, still sitting on the edge of the toyota's hood. this kiss was stronger, harder. with more feeling as she bunched han's sweater up in her fingers, trying to wrestle it off his broad shoulders, his hands gripping her thighs tight enough to make her moan against his lips.

"seoul-oh." she mumbled as han broke away from her, pulling his sweater off the rest of the way before tugging his everlast t-shirt over his head.

they fit together like well-worn puzzle pieces, his lips finding that place on her neck that made her crumble, turned her legs to jelly as he slipped a hand up the front of her sweater, thumb tracing comforting shapes against her stomach as he nipped at her neck, biting down gently. there would be a hickey there in a mere matter of hours.

trailing kisses back up her neck, he gently bit her earlobe before placing one hand on the side of her face to guide her lips back to his, the other hand braced against the hood of the car to hold himself up. she bit down on his bottom lip, wrenching a growl from the back of han's throat.

he pulled away, dropping to his knees in front of the car as his large hands dipped under the waistband of her jeans. after reaching down to untie and kick off her beat up vans, she reached above her to grab the exposed beam in the garage ceiling, pulling her body up and allowing han to pull her jeans and panties down her legs in one fell swoop.

"oh, not on the car, baby. you'll stain the bodywork."

"don't care." han hummed, kissing the soft skin of her thigh. "i can't think of anything prettier than you. on the hood of my car, legs spread wide for me." he mumbled in between kisses, inching ever closer to where y/n needed him most, her arousal dripping onto the cool metal hood of the drift car.

and when his lips touched her throbbing clit, she could have sworn she turned electric, using one hand to brace herself against the car and burying the other in han's hair as she threw her head back in a throaty moan.

"han." she panted, grinding against his face as his tongue licked and sucked at her core. "oh, baby, yes."

han smiled to himself, kissing her clit gently as he held her thighs open with his hands. "still think that i don't find you attractive any more?"

"shut up, please. i need you so bad." she'd barely finished speaking when another low, seductive moan left her mouth. the arm that was holding her body up threatened to buckle underneath her as she tugged on han's hair, urging him to keep going.

han chuckled, the vibrations sending shockwaves through her body as her arm buckled, and she found herself lying against the hood, her head on the windscreen as she bucked her hips, searching for more as her lover tongue-fucked her, her legs thrown over his shoulders with reckless abandon.

"seoul-oh." she whined, clenching her thighs around han's head

"i know, baby." he mumbled softly, kissing her thigh. "you're doing so well darling. come for me."

and that's exactly what she did. with a moan so loud that she was shocked that the patrons of the club couldn't hear it echoing through the garage, she let go, her juices coating the lower half of han's face as he licked her clean before wiping off the bottom half of his face with the back of his hand.

"fuck." he mumbled, standing between her legs and leaning over the car to kiss her. "i can't get enough of you, baby. i think i'm gonna need more."

"oh yeah?" she smiled sitting up slightly, resting her weight on her elbows and raising an eyebrow when she saw the obvious hard-on struggling to break free from the confines of han lue's jeans. "and what do you think we should do about it?"

"back. room. now." he said, softly but firmly, kissing her in between each word as she wrapped her bare legs around his body, allowing han to pick her up and carry her over to the back room, where a double bed was piled high with blankets for the nights where they worked late, or drift races lasted until the mere hours of the morning.

or, nights where neither of them wanted to go home. han was sure that they had fucked on almost every available surface of the garage.

she undid her sweater slowly, revealing the lacy white bra underneath, the makeshift pendant on her necklace hanging delicately just above the hollow of her breasts as she cast the fabric aside, reaching up to snap the elastic band in her hair, letting it cascade in waves down her shoulders.

"you're beautiful, you know that?" he said softly, kneeling on the mattress as he rested one hand gently against her cheek.

she leaned into his touch, reaching up to wrap her slender fingers around his wrist, pressing a soft kiss to the heel of his hand.

she knew she should tell him. han needed to know.

but now was definitely not the time.

not that she could find the words while he kissed her neck, her chest, her stomach, his fingers dancing across her back as he fumbled with the clasp of her bra, erection straining against his jeans.

"han, babe." she mumbled, reaching behind her. "it's been a year now, you should know how to undo a bra, mr. womanizer." she joked, pushing his hands away as she pulled the bra off by herself.

"why would i need to know how to do it when you just take it off by yourself most of the time?" he grinned, standing up to unbuckle his belt.

he started to undo his jeans, pausing halfway as if he had forgotten something before he darted over to the rolling toolbox in the back of the room, pulling a small foil packet out of the top drawer.

fat lot of good a condom would do them now.

not when she was already carrying his baby inside of her.

her body trembled with anticipation as she watched han rid himself of his jeans, the echo of his belt buckle hitting the floor echoing around the room before he rolled the latex sheath onto his thick, hard cock.

god, she was a fool in love. han seoul-oh made her feel every range of emotions all at once.

"seoul-oh." she mumbled, lips against his as he clambered onto the bed, covering her body with his broad one.

"hm?" han mumbled, pressing kisses all over her face.

"i love you, han lue." she said firmly, gently pushing his face away so she could look him in the eyes. "i mean it, babe. you've ruined me for anybody else. you're it for me."

"good, because i don't think i could love anybody else if i tried." han breathed out, kissing her again, the tip of his cock teasing her entrance.

she squirmed under him, a small gasp escaping her lips before she bit down on her bottom lip.

she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of hearing her beg. that wasn't what tonight was for.

han knew this as well, gently pushing himself inside her. tonight was about more than just chasing a high. for both of them. it was about love, and reassurance, and intimacy.

she threaded her fingers through his hair, whining as han moved ever so slightly, the sensations they both felt sending shockwaves through their bodies.

"seoul-oh." she moaned softly. "please. god, you feel incredible."

"yeah?" han crooned, thrusting softly and barely holding back a moan of his own. "you look so pretty with my cock inside you, my sweet sweet girl."

"just like that." she whined as he thrusted again, bucking her hips into him, trying to take his length deeper. "keep doing that, fuck."

when han's nimble fingers came up grip and massage her right breast, she knew she was a goner, arching her back to drive her body into him with a moan as he kissed her chest.

"you like that, baby? yeah, you love having my hands all over you. and i love touching your beautiful body." han murmured, sucking a hickey onto her collarbone. he could feel himself unravelling, knew that the end was nigh as he moaned against her skin, blindly reaching for her hand.

there were no more slow thrusts as the driver began to pick up the pace, his lover's legs wrapped tightly around him as she moaned his name.

"oh god, han, baby. fuck, keep going." she panted, one hand trailing down her body to play with her clit. anything to get her closer to that release she craved as she whined and squirmed under han's touch.

she'd seen this film before, and she already knew the ending. and the start if the sequel.

"come for me, baby. i know you can take it, just give me one more, okay?"

"han, han, holy shit." she moaned, feeling the coil in her stomach finally snap, her high crashing over her like a wave.

her lover groaned above her, a guttural sound ripped straight from his throat before han gently pulled out of her sensitive body, the evidence of his own peak contained within the clear latex that he slid off his member, tying the condom off in a knot before punting it into the trash can next to his desk.

she pulled the blankets up as han settled in the bed next to her, his warm fingers dancing in gentle circles against her sweaty skin as they laid together in the afterglow, a content look on his face as he kissed her on the forehead.

"seoul-oh." she said quietly, twirling his long, dark locks of hair around her fingertip. "i have to tell you something."

"what's on your mind, pretty girl?" worry creased han seoul-oh's face, a pit forming in his stomach.

he hated seeing her like this.

"i'm pregnant."

han's eyes widened. "what? babe, why didn't you tell me?"

"i've been trying all day. but you've had your hands full with dk and sean and drifting." she said sadly. "but i can't raise this baby with dk breathing down our necks. you need to get out of this life, seoul-oh."

han frowned thoughtfully, one hand resting against the side of her face. "i'm going to be a father. fucking hell, babe this is incredible. i promise you, i'm going to make a plan, and i'm going to get us out of tokyo."

"you know we can't keep this a secret any longer, right? i'm already eight weeks along, once the first trimester ends, i won't be able to hide it."

"you're right, you're right. we'll test the waters. i'll tell sean and twinkie in the morning, see how the news of our relationship goes over with them. i want to keep it from dk until i can find a way to get us out of here."

y/n nodded, lacing her fingers with han's and placing his hand on her stomach. "okay. let's do this thing." she broke out into a smile. "we're going to be parents, han. can't you picture it? sitting behind the wheel of your toyota, with our little gremlin on your lap, teaching them how to drive before they can even walk."

han laughed. "they'll be born with a monkey wrench in one hand and a bag of lays in the other."

"i love you, seoul-oh." she said softly, kissing him gently. "i'm so glad i found you three years ago.

"i love you more, y/n. and i can't wait to raise this kid with you."

Tags (though im not sure if any of you are interested loll):

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @sidcrosbyspuck @scuderiamh

#han lue x reader #fast and the furious #tokyo drift #fast and the furious x reader #han lue #han lue smut #fast and the furious smut #tokyo drift imagine

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deepestnightcolor · 2 months

Text

☾ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇʀ’ꜱ (ᴄᴏᴄᴋ) ʙʟᴏᴄᴋ ☽

ᴀ/ɴ: It is me - and I am back with some new smut. Next up will be Sam, but here, our writer needs some help. So please, if you will, take a seat and enjoy the show.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Elliott (SDV) x GN!Reader

ᴡᴄ: 3111 words.

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: handjob, cursing, kissing, teasing, praising.

He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t. He had been staring at the piece of paper in front of him for hours now, and he could have sworn by now it was mocking him. “The big author can’t even write a teeny tiny chapter, huhhh? Yeah, that’s right,” he heard the blank piece whisper to him. His head gave it a voice and all, and he had to wonder; why would that piece of flesh up there betray him in such ways? It was part of him, for goodness’ sake!

Groaning, Elliott hid his face in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut to fend off that annoying, pestering, absolutely stupid voice that bounced around his head like a ping-pong ball, before he let his slender fingers run through his long hair.

Alright. He could do this. He was an author, after all. A creative, hard-working author. No bare sheet of paper would force him into surrender. He gripped his feather again, dipping it into the tin of ink next to him before he hovered it over the paper, ready to write, ready to finish this book! And…

Nothing. Nothing happened. He didn’t even hear the gears in his head turning like he usually did when he was searching for ideas within the depths of his brain. Another groan left his swollen lips – he had been biting around on them all day – and in moments like this, he wished he wouldn’t have quit smoking his pipe when he had moved here.

“What’s wrong with you, sweets?” A voice from behind suddenly asked, making Elliott’s eyes flicker to the window in disbelief. He hadn’t even noticed how the brightness of the day had slowly been replaced by the darkness as the sun had slowly found the arms of the ground to rest. He had agreed upon meeting you at his shed tonight as he was leaving your farmhouse that morning. He thought back bitterly; just mere hours ago he had felt like he could finish thousands of books; that the tip of his feather would break from all the writing he was doing. He hadn’t expected that it would be his spirit breaking from the terrible blockage that kept the well of creativity sealed. Tightly sealed, at that! Scandalous, utterly scandalous.

The brunet was so lost in his thoughts, perhaps even in quite some self-pitying, that he didn’t even realize his lack of answer. An act of rudeness he would have never forgiven himself for in any other situation, but this, this was different. He hadn’t experienced such a silence in his head in ages, and he didn’t know how to handle it.

Of course, all of this didn’t go unnoticed. You slowly put down the basket of freshly harvested vegetables you had brought so you and your lover could cook a meal tonight, carefully stepping up to him. You placed your hands on his shoulder slowly, gently beginning to massage them. You hadn’t ever seen Elliott this tense before, so full of… frustration. But you were glad to see that he almost immediately relaxed beneath the touch of your warm hands, his head falling backwards to lean against your chest, quite obviously seeking comfort. You brought up your hands to head and gently began massaging his scalp, your eyes falling on to the empty paper in front of him. So that was his problem – writer’s block. You yourself had been haunted by artist’s block or just plain lack of motivation when it came to your passions one too many times, which made you coo in understanding. You leaned down and kissed his forehead, getting a small, barely audible sigh in return. “Poor you,” you murmured, eyes trailing to his fist that was still tightly clenched around the feather. Usually, it was you that would have your emotions soothed by Elliott – there hadn’t been a single day in your relationship when this man hadn’t been calm, optimistic gentleman, only showing a sliver of anxiety when he had confessed his feelings to you. Which didn’t mean you weren’t happy to assist, quite the opposite, to be honest.

While you kept caressing your boyfriend’s long hair, your brain began forming an idea. Only yesterday you had come across an article that discussed about how blockades in creativity could be overcome by giving the brain a source of positive hormones, such as dopamine or even oxytocin. The problem about that was that people experiencing said blockage wouldn’t usually seek out such source themselves; too focused on trying to overcome the hurdle of not being able to do what they would like to do by simply trying to do it. The article also mentioned what could be the source of such positive hormones. You figured it was worth a try – seeing your boyfriend in such state of despair made your heart ache, and if you could be of assistance, you would try to be.

You rounded the chair your lover affectionately called his “writing chair”, taking a seat on the armrest. You were still massaging Elliott’s scalp with one hand, worry arising in the pit of stomach when there wasn’t even the meekest of complaints about how you were messing up his hair. However the fact that he had begun to melt in your touch felt good to you, like it always did. Elliott had always been sensitive to touch. Especially your touch.

Running your fingers down his arms usually resulted in goosebumps raising on his skin and a shudder rippling down his spine. You playing with strands of his hair often meant for him to lie completely still, mouth agape and eyes closed. Yes, Elliott was weak for being touched, and not even writer’s block could change that.

“El?”

“Yes, my love?” He murmured, voice soft, yet not able to cover the frustration lingering in each letter. He wanted to write, or at least know that he was able to. You knew he would be restless until that was the case.

“Would it be okay…for me to try and help you?”

Elliott’s eyes fluttered weakly as he gave you a shrug. “You can try, however… What if I am helpless case? Forever robbed of the power to access my very own creati- ah!” You had cut off his stream of words by brushing your thumbs over his nipples, something that always got him distracted in one way or another.

“What are you doing, my love? Oh!” You rolled the hardened buds between your index fingers and thumbs now, eyes focused on the writer’s face. You never wanted to go too far, and Elliott’s face was, ironically, like an open book. And right now, he was wordlessly urging you to go on. Smiling to yourself, you let your hands wander beneath the white dress shirt he always wore, even in the comfort of his own home, soaking in the shudder that rippled through his whole body when skin met skin. “Pretty boy,” you assure him, shifting on the piece of wood you had found your seat on to get closer to his face, your lips meeting his jaw and pressing gentle kisses on it.

Elliott’s breathing was laboured already; the sensations your lips and hands caused making each nerve tingle, the skin your fingers brushed burning up instantly. Your hands slipped from beneath his shirt, the loud whine of protest giving your confidence a boost and the feeling of guilt all the same. This was about him, your boyfriend. The same boyfriend that gave you his all, each day and every day. “Just gonna unbutton your shirt,” you mumbled against his jaw, allowing your lips to brush along his cheek now before pressing a kiss to the warm skin. Your lover relaxed almost immediately, his hands reaching to pop open the buttons but were stopped in their tracks by yours.

You smiled at him and began to undo each button yourself. Usually, you would take your time, tease him a little. See how far you could push him until he took matters into his own hands and made love to you, but not this time. When his upper body was revealed, you allowed yourself a moment to just take him in. His chest was toned from working on his little boat and heaving and right now, it was raising and falling quickly in anticipation.

You leaned in again, your lips finding his jaw again, ghosting over his lips which he desperately tried to meet with yours. You allowed it, albeit only for a fleeting moment as you let your own continue their journey. You kissed his neck, your kisses leaving a trail of goosebumps behind as you made your way to his chest. You sighed wistfully, eyes flicking up to his face. “Aren’t you absolutely stunning?”

The praise made a blush spread on his cheeks, but the smile that caressed his lips like yours had done just moments before was quite telling.

You smiled, blowing hot air against the spot that you had just kissed, using the gentle moan that you were rewarded with as a guide to keep going.

You got up from your seat and stepped between Elliott’s thighs, who happily obliged by opening them up to give you more space. You found your new place on your knees in front of him, hunched forward to have free access to his skin. Again, you began to kiss and lick at his skin, before finally letting your mouth engulf his hardened nipple. Not wanting to leave the other one without attention, you took it between your index finger and thumb again, adding gentle pressure into your caressing. “Yes! Yes, please…”

You were pretty sure you would be able to get Elliott to cum in his pants just by playing with his nipples; a glance downwards showed you that he was as hard as a rock already, and you would have bet money that you would be able to feel a wet spot on his boxers if you reached your hands down his pants. His hips were bucking up when he particularly big jolt of pleasure when through his body, breathless begs spilling from his mouth. He absolutely loved your touch. He would have given everything to have this feeling engraved on his skin, to always be kept on this level of ecstasy that his heart was pumping through his veins with great vigour.

However, you knew you wouldn’t let him come from just playing with his nipples a little, after all, the perfect opportunity was right in the palm of your hand. Well, maybe it was wrapped around your fingers; just before you had left your house you had slipped on the two rings that your boyfriend had gifted you for your one-year anniversary. The two of them were elegantly simple, and you loved wearing them whenever you could, though taking a closer look at them, you decided they could be of advantage, and maybe Elliott had had the same thing in mind when he had gotten them for you. One of the rings was a little bumpy in texture, while the other was smooth and soothing against your skin. You decided it was time to test your theory, pulling away from Elliott’s nipple with your eyes already trained on the crotch of his pants, when you felt a hand on your head, pushing you back against his chest.

“More,” he ordered, voice rough around the edges, but still full of despair, showing you a side of the writer that rarely, if ever, got to see the light of day. “But your-“

His hand kept pressing your lips towards him, breathing heavy as his other one reached down. You could hear the buckle of a belt, a sound that was like music to your ears, and then you could feel him struggling against the fabric. His hips rutted in the air again, but you admittedly weren’t quite sure if it the sole attempt of getting rid of his pants or him greedily trying to fuck the air. Since this was supposed to be about him, you decided to obey. Your mouth pressed kisses onto his skin against and you made sure to switch between sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, and quick, hard pecks, each sensation luring a different reaction out of him.

“Holy shit, don’t stop.”

This time it was you that shuddered – Elliott cursing? Certainly a new one. You swallowed thickly as you sucked on the man, trying to leave as many marks as possible, and maybe, just perhaps, you were selfishly trying to get more curses around of him.

Finally, you felt him settle into the chair again, his pants down far enough to reveal his black boxers. Just as you had expected when your fingers brushed over his still clothed shaft your fingertips were greeted with a spot of precum. He was desperate after all, chasing every single feeling of you touching him, not able to get enough. Maybe he just didn’t want to get enough because this was the perfect distraction. The voice in his head had gone quiet, being replaced by another, needier one that whispered nothing but please, please, please. He knew he was on your beck and call like this, but there were little things he cared less about. He hadn’t ever expected that he could have reached a cloud this high, but here he was. Touched by the love of his life and chasing a orgasm- Oh Yoba. Your fingers had found their way underneath the fabric of his boxers and around his cock. Something was different, however. Something besides your fingers was pressed against his girth. His eyes fluttered open, landing on you between his knees. Did he ever tell you how pretty you looked down there? He knew it wasn’t very polite to have you on the ground while he sat on a chair, but oh goodness you began moving your hand. An exasperated gasp left his neck and his head fell back, the feeling of something cold mixing with the warmth of your finger. His hands wrapped around the armrests of his chair, knuckles turning white from how hard he was holding on – he was sure his soul would leave his body if he didn’t. He just couldn’t make out the feeling against his dick. There were your fingers, but also something bumpy, and something so smooth that. The combination made his heart stutter, his hips snapping upward to get more. Much more.

“Please, love. Please,” he begged, and how could you deny him?

Your thumb collected some of the slick that was leaking from his tip already, using it to lube him up a bit just to clench your fingers a little tighter around him. The way Elliott was panting and rutting his hips into your hand showed you that you definitely were doing something right, leading him to the source of dopamine and oxytocin.

Your hand began to move up and down his shaft, rings massaging the veiny skin with every move. From above you came breathless moans and gasps; Elliott’s head was completely thrown against the head rest, his thighs twitching with every move of your hand, with every flick of your wrist. You were pretty sure he even kicked the air at some point. And really, the man couldn’t handle all this pleasure that was washing over him. It was overwhelming, tearing him apart, burning him alive. Flashes of hot white entered his vision; the time he had been able to see straight and formulate coherent sentences long gone.

Mumbles and groans of “yes”s and “please”s could be heard, the sound of your fist working his slicked up cock filling the shed instead of frustrated begs for his lack of ability to write to end.

“You gonna cum for me, Elliott? Hmm? Pretty please…I wanna see you cum for me,” you cooed, turning your head to the side to press kisses to the inside of his thighs, only pushing him closer to the edge.

You moved your hand fast one moment, just to use your fist to glide over his length carefully the next. He never knew what to anticipate next, because whenever he could feel his orgasm being so close, close enough for him to be able to almost grasp it you slowed down again. And whenever the lingering feeling of his peak began to loosen up, you made sure his balls tightened again by allowing him to fuck your fist and massaging his balls through the fabric of his underwear.

This was torture, really. No, it was heaven. Heavenly torture, maybe, he didn’t care. He was so close again.

He wasn’t going to finish the sentence; the cry that tore from his throat doing just little to showcase that immense orgasm that ripped through him. His legs straightened out, toes curling as his back arched in, the air being knocked out of his lungs. He was pretty sure he could smell every single colour on this green planet, and taste sounds at that. Spurts and spurts of cum covered your hand, and the inside of his underwear. But that was a problem for future Elliott; his problem seemingly was surviving right now.

“Mhm! Mhm! Oh shit, oh shit, sorry!”

The man was squirming beneath your touch now, nerve endings alarming his brain that he was overstimulated already, but he would have rather forever endured writer’s block than for you to stop. The feeling of the metal against his cock was driving him wild; drool was slipping from his lips, onto his glistening his chest.

“Gonna cum, love! Gonna-“

Panting still, Elliott’s cock was throbbing violently in your hand, that had slowed its pace by now. Your eyes were fixated on your boyfriend’s face, watching him go through all the emotions that seemingly came with his orgasm.

It took him several moments of sucking in as much air as possible, not daring to open up his green eyes. If his head already was spinning like this, he didn’t want to know what the world would look like.

“El?” You asked carefully, your hand still holding firmly onto the base of his cock.

“Oh…my…,” he murmured, voice just barely above a whisper. “What…what was that? Against..against me?”

You bit your lip, slowly pulling your hand from the writer’s boxers, holding it up almost guiltily. Elliott blinked a few times, before leaning down to take in your hand. His corners of his mouth quivered, making you unsure if he was about to cry for a split second.

“I knew they would come in handy once,” he chuckled, closing his eyes once more. You chuckled as well, slowly getting to your feet. You were about to wander over to sink to wash your hands when slender fingers wrapped around your wrist. Elliott brought your hand to his mouth without hesitation, tongue lolling out to lick each digit, before sucking one after the other into his mouth. He looked up at you while he was doing it, enjoying the look of complete shock on your face. He released your hand and cautiously pulled you down in a kiss, letting you taste him on his tongue.

The overstimulating feeling, however, made him whimper and slowly pull away.

“Thank you, my love.”

You smiled, quietly kissing his forehead that was covered by a thin layer of sweet, pride swelling in your chest.

The two of you settled into the silence, quietly holding hands when Elliott opened his eyes again, the green orbs falling onto the piece of paper that was resting on the table still. You sucked in a breath when he picked up the feather, hovering it over the paper.

And…

He wrote. A smile tugged at your lips, and you kissed his head, quietly making your way over to the basket. Thank Yoba you liked to read research papers when you couldn’t sleep.

#stardew valley #sdv #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley farmer #stardew valley smut #sdv fanfic #smut #fanfic #sdv elliott #stardew valley elliott #SDV bachelor #sdv bachelors #reader #x reader smut #smut fic #stardew elliott

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hinaaspanda · 9 months

Text

the act of love | p.sh

pairing: idol actor! park sunghoon x idol actor! fem reader warnings: swearing, mentions of food + dieting, alcohol genre: enemies to lovers, secret pining, angst, slight fluff, smut: protected sex, fingering, slight dirty talk and praise wc: 10,639

Park Sunghoon was heartless; you were convinced. After selfishly leaving you for another company, Park Sunghoon was now your enemy. Now, with years past and both of your careers sky rocketing as famous idols, you thought you were done dealing with him. However, life had other plans; placing the two of you as main leads in an upcoming romantic drama!

hi! after months of writers block i am finally back with another sunghoon fic! i missed writing for my bae! also, this fic mentions idols not being allowed in relationships, so i just wanna make it clear; i know idols can probably date if they wanted to (unless theres a dating ban) and theyre entilited to their personal lives! i just wanted to add drama teehee. anyways, enjoy!

“Go out with me.”

His voice rasped against your skin, his face mere centimetres from yours; lips even closer. Puffs of the cold air sprouted at each hitched breath, every impatient inhale. Rain drizzled around you, encasing your frames like a protective barrier. The world was no one else’s but yours. The streetlamp cast a warm light against your figures; in the spotlight of your own stage. His hand brushes your hair behind your ear, his touch as light as a feather. It sends shivers down your spine. Your pounding heart leaped from your chest, getting stuck between the walls of your throat. His eyes bore through your frame, keeping yours locked in its grasp.

“I-”

“CUT!”

The muffled, yet heavily amplified voice of your director shocked your ears through the megaphone. Well, yours and the rest of the staff that surrounded you and your co-star. You jolted, eyes quickly scanning the filming set, complete with the fake rain machines, fans, and stage lights. Eventually they landed on your director, whose ears were practically puffing out steam.

“You’re late again, y/n!” The director irritatedly reminds you, pinching the bridge of his nose. You wince, beating yourself up for your stupid mistake. He only sighs, his face growing less red, his tone becoming more forgiving. “Memorise your queues, okay? Now, that’s a wrap for today. Good work!”

After your director finally dismisses the clamour of staff members and actors, clacks of footsteps suddenly peak from behind you. You only roll your eyes. You knew exactly who it was, and he didn’t deserve even an ounce of your attention.

Park Sunghoon. The man you hated most.

The man you were forced to work with for this stupid idol drama.

“If you needed my help you could’ve just said so,” Sunghoon crossed his arm, his face cold and indifferent. You scowled. His words may have seemed innocent, helpful even. But his snarky tone made it overwhelmingly clear; his words were nothing but harsh insults.

Park Sunghoon was just heartless like that.

“Piss off, will you? I didn’t have enough time!” You were telling the truth; your schedule had been jam packed with dance practice and promotional events—the typical life of an idol. You puff your chest out like some dumb chicken, only earning a huff from Sunghoon’s lips as he steps closer to you. You couldn’t help but notice how much he towered over your frame with his lanky one. How small locks of his hair hung above his eyes like curtains. He probably got a kick out of it all. The thought alone made you sick.

“And whose fault is that?” Sunghoon only cocked an eyebrow.

Mine, you thought bitterly. You hated when he was right.

“Why don’t you rehearse the scene where you learn to shut up?” You spat back instead. With that, you spun away from him, retreating to your change room within the filming set. Leaving Park Sunghoon to fend for himself.

Truth be told, you didn't always hate him. Years ago, you and Sunghoon were actually close. Best friends, in fact. The both of you grew up together, spent your school years together, and you shared the dream of stardom and fame. You both wanted to be idols, and so you auditioned for the same company.

Amidst all of this, the two of you swore on one sole promise; never leave the other behind. To never put the likes of stardom and fame before your friendship. Of course you were able to hold your end of the bargain. But Sunghoon? He couldn’t quite say the same.

It was two years into training with the company. Sunghoon had grown awfully distant from you. For some, the changes were subtle, practically unnoticeable. You, however, certainly noticed, but you never thought much of it. Always hiding your feelings under the guise of your busy, clashing schedules. Always making excuses for his heartless actions—until Sunghoon told you he was leaving the company.

You remembered it as if it was yesterday. His eyes held no emotion. His posture was calm, laid back. Another, bigger company, was offering him a higher pay and a debut date that was fast approaching. You thought it was crazy. You were sure he would never switch so easily. He wouldn’t break the promise the two of you made years ago. He wouldn’t betray you in just the blink of an eye.

You were wrong.

He announced that he would officially leave in a week, but his dorm was empty in just two days—it was no surprise that he lied. Nevertheless, in those same two days, you vowed to make an enemy out of Park Sunghoon; the man heartless enough to betray you.

And yet, you were here. Stuck as his co-star for an idol drama you didn’t even want. Just to listen to your company's orders. It irked you beyond belief.

You haphazardly threw your purse over your shoulder, adjusting the hem of your hoodie before heading out the door to meet your manager.

ENHYPEN’s Park Sunghoon and HEARTBEAT’s Ahn y/n to star in upcoming drama

You found yourself scowling at the article in front of you, the glare of the laptop screen burning white against the darkness of your bedroom. With a huff, your head sunk further into the plush of the pillow, your frame burying itself into the covers. Maybe then, you could hide away from this cursed reality. This cursed world in which you were stuck working with the man you loathed.

The article purged open the gates of your mind, allowing memories to seep through. Unwanted memories of Park Sunghoon. Staying up past your curfews just to practise together; ‘practising’ your vocal lessons at the karaoke bar down the street from your dorms; secretly rigging group games so the two of you ended up together. Now, they were all just bittersweet memories that plagued your mind.

You wouldn’t be lying if you said you missed those times. A small sliver of you wouldn’t mind miraculously travelling back in time just to see your best friend again. To relive those memories once again.

Nevertheless, the Park Sunghoon you were forced to work with was not your childhood friend. In your eyes, he was a complete stranger.

Throwing a stuffie at your laptop, you bit the inside of your cheek, tucking your face into your knees. Even when you first reunited for the first day of shooting, that asshole didn’t even bother to apologise. You could barely recognize him.

“Throwing your stuffies at his picture won’t get rid of him, you know.” A voice rang in your ears. Kiri—your team’s main dancer and your roommate—slumped against the doorframe with her arms crossed against her chest. Kiri inches forward sitting on the edge of your bed as you huff a groan. “It should. You’d think we’d have the technology for it by now.”

“You think anyone’s petty enough to make something like that?”

“Not petty. Efficient,” you crossed your arms.

Kiri leaned back, tilting her head. “How are you two ever gonna work together if you can’t even stand his picture?”

“I don’t know! They probably should’ve thought of that before slapping our names on a contract neither of us even wanted!” Your arms flailed in defeat.

“Maybe it’s a sign?” Kiri hesitated. “Like—the universe wanted the two of you to make up, or something.”

Your figure erupts in laughter, but Kiri’s unflinching demeanour suggests that she wasn’t trying to make you laugh with a joke. Your giggles fizzle out within seconds. “You’re serious?”

Kiri only huffs, shooting up from her seat. “I dunno, but just give him a chance. Maybe Sunghoon changed for the better?”

You watched Kiri’s back as she trekked out of your room. You only scoffed. Now that was something impossible.

Despite the relentless physical activities, and clamour of people within the building, going to the gym was one of your favourite pastimes. It allowed you and your teammates to unwind after a long day of idol activities. All of your worries and troubles—washed away by a quick jog on the treadmill.

Right now, you needed that more than anything.

“Gonna run today?” Kiri probed, sinking into a wide leg stretch and twisting her shoulders around. You hum positive, crossing your arm over in a stretch. “Yeah, I need to clear my head.”

Kiri only nodded, yanking dumbbells off of a community rack before sinking into the first squat of her first session. You trek a few paces over to the treadmill aisles, sliding your headphones over your ears and swiping at your phone screen to play some music. Soon enough, you were off, your heels and toes pressing repeatedly onto the platform, your heart rate rising at a steady pace. Step by step, your mind was gradually clearing, de-stressing. Like a cloud flying away from an otherwise bluesky, all of your worries surrounding your idol activities, that stupid drama, and that stupid Park Sunghoon whisked themselves away. For once in what seemed like forever, you were at peace.

“y/n.”

A voice roughly jolted you back to reality. Hastily, you push your headphones off, hooking them around your neck before glancing around to find the owner of the voice. The voice that ruined your peaceful evening.

You choke.

Park Sunghoon stood before you, his hands shoved in his pockets as he leaned back in a nonchalant manner. You took note of his black shirt; the way it was tight enough to see his chest peeking through, the way his short sleeves were rolled up, exposing his biceps. You cursed at yourself for looking.

You simply stood there, eyes wide and spilling from their sockets. Your hand snakes up, fiddling with the treadmill dashboard to stop the equipment from moving. You cling onto the handle bars; maybe for stability, maybe for protection. You weren’t sure. You glance to the side, another figure taking up your view. He looked vaguely familiar; you’ve probably seen him during live shows before. A gulp runs down your throat as you collect yourself.

“The hell are you doing here?”

Sunghoon crossed his arms, your eyes glance at his pecks. Bruh. “I came here to work out. What’s wrong with that?”

“Isn’t there another gym near you?”

“This is my gym. I go here regularly.”

Your brows furrow. “What? This is my gym! I never see you here.”

“That’s a you problem,” Sunghoon tilted his head coyly, earning a groan from you. Sunghoon cleared his throat. “Besides, I’m not here for you. Jake wanted to say hi.”

Sunghoon jutted a thumb at the man beside him. His face held a wide grin as he held out his hand. You clung onto his palm in a swift hand shake, a smile now plastered onto your face. Jake’s eye smile never went away as he introduced himself.

“I’m Jake, one of Sunghoon’s teammates! So nice to finally meet you!”

With a grin, you reciprocate his kind words. The two of you fell into wholesome small talk, completely forgetting the nuisance beside you. You already liked this guy way more. You and Jake talked endlessly about your similar hobbies, your overlapping interests. You enjoyed it, talking to the personified bundle of joy. It made you wonder why he was friends with someone like Sunghoon.

Sunghoon cleared his throat, the sudden boom startling both you and Jake.

“Let’s head back, man. I wanna get started on my reps.”

Jake only glanced back before turning around to face you, waving his hand at Sunghoon. “Start without me. I’ll catch up later.”

Sunghoon grumbled, turning around before marching over to the dumbbells. Only after he turned around did you notice the shells of his ears burning bright pink. Weird.

You and Jake continued but something was off. You couldn’t quite focus. As the two of you were about to enter the conversation topic of favourite foods, your stubborn eyes began to wander to the view of Park Sunghoon. You watched as he sat hunched over on a random bench, his hands clinging onto a dumbbell as he curled the equipment up to his chin, and back down slowly. You watched as his muscles tensed, his sweat beaded off of his face, drenching his hairline. He looked good; and you hated it.

Sunghoon’s eyes darted towards you, scanning back and forth between you and Jake. His eyes burned a hole through his teammate’s chest. His tongue poked beneath his cheek before his eyes darted away. Watching him, you found your heart racing. Odd, considering you hadn’t been running for a while. Something was really wrong with you.

You waited for Jake to leave before collecting your belongings and dashing off the treadmill. You made a b-line for Kiri, innocently working out. Kiri glances up, a confused and weary look on her face. “You good?”

“No.” You murmur, your heart racing even more. What was going on? “I wanna go home.”

“That’s a wrap for today!” The director’s voice echoed through the building, signalling the end of another successful shoot, but you could barely pay any mind. Not with your stomach grumbling like a lion dying of hunger.

This should’ve been an easy fix. With the table of refreshments, reserved just for the staff and cast members just 4 paces away from you, it was easy for anyone to take a quick bit and become instantly satisfied. Yet,your case was awfully special. You were currently on a diet.

It was a common occurrence for someone in the industry in order to look your best in time for a special event. With group activities fast approaching for you and your group, the practice of dieting was natural to expect.

Suddenly, the crackles of an open wrapper stung through your ears. Your head snaps to the sound, your senses heightened by the possibility of food. You squinted to get a better look. An overly seasoned rice ball, burning auburn in colour, with a dark strip of crispy seaweed running down the middle. It was a sight for sore eyes; your mouth watered. The way the oil glistened under the setlights above, the way each rice grain fell between the perfect balance of crisp and chewy, it all made your cravings skyrocket. You were about to take a step towards the godlike piece of food before your eyes remembered to scan the rest of the figure; the owner of the seaweed-wrapped gold.

You stopped.

It was Park Sunghoon. He was the one digging into the last riceball from the refreshments table. He was the one responsible for your suffering.

Your mind replays images from the gym; your last unfortunate encounter with the man you hated. The way your eyes wandered to places you didn’t want to see, the way your heart raced at his presence. It all stung you. And yet, here he was, making his way over to you. You found yourself coddling your stomach.

“What do you want?”

“You were the one staring at me, y/n.”

You gulp. You try to look away from the bothersome man, you really did. However, with Sunghoon bringing the rice ball closer and closer to your starving frame, facing away from him was even hard to manage. You couldn’t help but steal a glance or two from his mouth watering snack.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?” You only gulp. Were you that obvious?

You stepped back from the idol. “I’m dieting. Everything makes me hungry.” You noticed your words wavering at the last half or your sentence.

Slowly, you walked away. You were expecting that interaction to be over, anyway. There was no use talking to him if he wasn’t going to provide you with any sort of solace. And besides, this was Park Sunghoon. Since when did you give him the light of day?

“There’s a convenience store down the street,” You heard Sunghoon’s voice as he jogged over to your escaping frame. “Let’s go.”

The convenience store? With Park Sunghoon?

“Are you dumb? My manager will kill me!”

A sudden warmth ghosted around the curve of your wrist. Sunghoon’s fingers clung gently around your skin, dragging your frame closer to his.

“We’ll be quick.”

Running. You and Park Sunghoon were running. Pushing past the equipment and staff members scattered across the filming set, all yelling at you to come back. With your hand in his, and an optimal view of Sunghoon’s back, the two of you dashed out of the filming set doors, escaping into the daylight. It was odd. It was as if the world surrounding you completely vanished, leaving the two of you secluded. Just for this maybe 5 minute run to the convenience store, the world was your and yours alone.

“You’re paying?”

“Yeah. You need to eat.”

Your brows furrowed. Since when did he care?

Your shoulder was nudged, and a rice ball fell into your hand. Your eyes met Sunghoon’s, whose eyes were already on you. “Here.”

You clear your throat. Your voice was small; an attempt to hide your fluttering heart. “Thanks.”

You dash in front of him, not wanting to look at him more than you needed to. This was the end of it all, anyways. You got what you wanted, and you were now on your merry way.

“Wait—” A tug on your wrist once again. Sunghoon pulled your frame close to his chest, away from the sliding doors behind you.

“Let’s stay here. Our managers will both have our heads if they see where we are,” Sunghoon huffed a chuckle.

“You only realised that now?”

“Just eat your rice ball” Sunghoon rolled his eyes.

Unwrapping the golden deity of rice and seaweed, you and Sunghoon step to the side, huddling together at the corner of the lottery ticket station. The silver light above you flickered, the buzzing of the electricity humming across the entire room. However, you couldn’t give your surroundings even a sliver of your attention. You were too busy dying of hunger to care.

“Look at you two!” The honey-like voice of an elderly woman seeped through your ears, breaking your attention away from your feast. It was the cashier, taking 5 from her work. “What a cute couple you are!”

You choked on your rice. A couple? Was that what the two of you looked like? Sure, Sunghoon bought your food for you, and you did just come running into the store holding hands. You sort of understood the confusion. But hell, was this lady ever wrong. Never in a million years would Park Sunghoon come close to someone you’d want to be a couple with. You would never give the thought the light of day. Dating Park Sunghoon? Nice try. He would need a heart of his own before getting a chance at capturing yours.

You shined a bogus smile. “Oh no—”

“Thank you!” Sunghoon’s voice collided with yours. You choke on your rice again, despite no rice being ingested to begin with. Maybe you were simply choking on the audacity Park Sunghoon had at this very moment. You step up, desperately in need of clearing up the miscommunication, but the lady was already occupied with her next customer. You huff a sigh, returning to the last bites of your blessed rice ball.

As you shoved the remaining food into your jacket, you and Sunghoon slip out of the convenience store, a cloud rumbling over your head, and your cheeks erupting into flames. You’ve been doing that a lot lately. Grumbling, you turn to him.

“What was that!?” Your voice squeaked a little.

Sunghoon only shrugged, throwing his elbows in the air and his palms at the back of his head. “I couldn’t correct that sweet old lady! Plus, it’s not like we’re ever gonna see her again.”

The speed in which Sunghoon dismissed the situation agitated you to your core, but you couldn’t help but notice the shell of Sunghoon’s ear flashing red again.

Currently, you sat on the curb as you took 5 from an outdoor shoot. Knees tucked into your chest, and your lunch balancing on your kneecaps, you munched on your food peacefully. The sky that was suspended over your head painted a simple wash of blue. It carried a few splotches of white clouds, the same way your brain carried few thoughts in its head. For the first time in a while, your mind was at peace.

A certain warmth ghosted your side, snapping you out of your peaceful trance. It was Sunghoon, choosing to sit right next to you. Sunghoon waited a few paces before taking a bite of his lunch. Only then did he consider looking over at you. You, however, were already looking in his direction. Baffled.

“Relax. This was the only place I could sit.”

You grumbled under your breath.

You glance at Sunghoon’s lunch. A simple fruit salad; pieces of fruit cubed and tossed together in a plastic bowl. You watched as Sunghoon periodically pushed the mountain of mangoes further into the corner, minimising the chances of them mixing into the rest of his salad. Suddenly, memories from your trainee days flooded your brain. Memories of Sunghoon scooping the mangoes off of a fruit cake; of Sunghoon wincing the moment he tasted mangoes in his fruit cup; of Sunghoon always remembering to give you the pieces he never wanted because he knew you liked them.

Your chest twinged.

“You still don’t like mangoes?” Your words were uttered before you could think them through. You wince; only now realising that the usage of ‘still’ implies that you remembered the past. Fuck.

You watch the corner of Sunghoon’s lip twitch up before his head hangs down, as if he was trying to hide a smile. “You still remember that?”

You stayed silent. The answer was obvious, unfortunately. A lump jumped from your throat. “You’re still weird for that, by the way. Who the hell doesn’t like mangoes?”

“They're always bad. Too sour.”

“You’re just bad at picking them out.”

“Also they’re slimy. Gross.”

“They’re not—” You heave a sigh. “You’re so dumb.”

The two of you pause, your eyes holding onto each other as if a thread had hung in the balance. As if on queue, the two of you suddenly burst out into fits of laughter. You didn’t know exactly what came over you at that moment. It was as if your body had become possessed, manoeuvred by a puppet master. Yet somehow, sitting here, on this random curb, laughing with Park Sunghoon—it brought you a strange sense of comfort.

As the laughter dialled down, and the two you grew silent, Sunghoon still held onto your attention. Slowly, Sunghoon picked off the mango cubes from his bowl, reached over and plopped down onto yours. You only looked up at him, confused.

“They’re your favourite, right?” Sunghoon simply asked, a grin stretching across his face. Your stomach felt queasy. “You’re not the only one who remembers, you know.”

Why was your heart racing?

Today was the day. The day you dreaded the most.

“You’ve already survived this far, I really doubt today’s gonna be any different,” Kiri reasoned from her end of the company van. You hated how logical and indifferent she was, and how you were the complete opposite right now.

You curled up in a ball on your car seat, your forehead resting on your knees. “Do you even know what scene we’re filming?”

Kiri only huffed as the company van slowly pulled into the driveway. “Yes, y/n. You’ve only told me everyday for the past week.” You huffed. So much for having a friend who understood you.

The van shifted into park, and Kiri released herself from the confines of her seat belt. With one last glance back at you, your teammate hops out of her car door, making her way to her individual schedule for the day. It took you every ounce of energy in your body to not reach over and grab her in a tight hug; steal her for yourself and your much needed moral support.

“You’ll be okay, y/n. Trust me.” The car door slammed shut.

Kiri definitely could not be trusted. Not when the particular scene you had scheduled was a kiss scene. With the one and only Park Sunghoon. You had every right to be just a little bit panicked.

The director’s run down of today’s schedule seemed shorter than usual. Or maybe it wasn’t—maybe you were just desperate to stall the inevitable. Either way, you still found yourself sitting behind the snack table. It was the corner of the room; the farthest corner from the filming set. The set you’d soon occupy with the man of the hour.

Park Sunghoon was the man you hated. He was the man that broke your promise, leaving you to bask in your loneliness. He was the man that abandoned your friendship in favour of fame. You hated him for all of it. Kissing Park Sunghoon went against everything your entire being had to offer.

And yet, you couldn’t get the thought of him out of your mind.

You let your stubborn eyes wander as you stood in the middle of the scene. Now, you were in-between takes, and you simply stood there as a makeup artist touched up Sunghoon’s face. Slowly, your eyes approached him. In the next 5 minutes, you would’ve kissed him, and this will all be over.

In 5 minutes. you would have kissed Park Sunghoon.

You’ll kiss Park Sunghoon.

“I’m yours, Choi Min Ah. No one else’s.” Sunghoon’s toasted breath wrapped your skin in a blanket of warmth. His voice was sweet; dipped in honey. Or, his character, Kwang Ill Han’s voice was. That’s who the voice belonged to—not Sunghoon. Recently, you’ve been having a difficult time differentiating the two. Sunghoon folded a hand over your cheek, slowly and gently linking his lips with yours. You crashed into the plush of his lips, your skin swiping at his. Your heart was racing again.

This was the kiss scene between Choi Min Ah and Kwang Ill Han. Not yours. So why was it affecting you?

The director yells cut, and the last scene for the day finishes. The clamour of staff members and actors run around, preparing to leave. However, you simply stood there. Trapped in the middle of the filming platform. Trapped in your own thoughts. Thoughts that Park Sunghoon had selfishly plagued.

You knew it was childish. You knew it was stupid. But it was what you needed to quell your erratic heart.

So you ran.

Park Sunghoon was a selfish prick.

It was the thought that tainted Sunghoon’s mind as he watched you escape the film set earlier that afternoon, and it stayed plaguing his mind for the duration of that evening—even until he got home. He sunk into the plush of the couch, not bothering to pay any mind to the colossal mess his members left in the living room. Instead, Sunghoon simply gazed at the lamp above him, glowing a deep amber—letting his thoughts eat him alive.

He let himself get carried away.

Sunghoon knew this would happen. He knew the risks that laced the opportunity of a reunion with you. He knew that, at just the slightest chance, Sunghoon would fall in love with you all over again. And, as far as his career was concerned; falling in love was forbidden.

It all started years ago, a couple of years after the two of you joined the same entertainment company—though Sunghoon remembered it like it was yesterday. Sunghoon had just finished up his vocal lessons for the evening when the company CEO sat Sunghoon down in front of a laptop. It was littered with pictures that Sunghoon was a part of. However, all these shots had one thing in common; they were all pictures of you and him. Pictures of Sunghoon staring into your eyes lovingly as you decorated a cake for your group leader, of Sunghoon intimately adjusting your hair, clueless to the cameras filming you. Pictures of Sunghoon that expose his feelings for you.

In other words; a relationship rumour was bound to spread, if it hadn’t already, and Park Sunghoon was screwed.

The CEO goes on to tell Sunghoon the dangers that this holds. How a dating rumour during their trainee years had a greater chance of ruining their careers, their images. He scolded Sunghoon for being dumb and reckless. It was natural; you had a knack for making Sunghoon go crazy ever since he first met you in grade school. Park Sunghoon was smitten for you, and now he finally had to pay the price.

The CEO, however, proposes a solution that would dial down the situation. Sunghoon would transfer to BELIFT LAB, a company in need of a male trainee for an upcoming debut of their new boy group. With Sunghoon now out of the way, there would be no room for rumours between the two trainees to spread. And with the sudden news of Sunghoon signing with a new company ranking first in the spotlight, dedicated fans were bound to simply forget any rumours would even exist.

Sunghoon didn’t know much when it came to this line of work. So, he agreed to the scheme. Anything to keep his career, and you, safe.

The hardest part about it all was keeping it a secret from you. It was on company’s orders; you didn’t have a clue what was going on at the time, so it was best to just leave you in your blissful ignorance. The company ordered him to distance himself from you. To break away from the bond the two of you shared for years. It was no wonder you hated him; you had every right. And so, Park Sunghoon tried to shut down his feelings for you. Hiding his heart behind a fake persona that hated you the same way you hated him—thorns against his skin. Nevertheless, it was the only way to keep you somewhat in his life.

Park Sunghoon knew it was bad news when he found out the two of you would reunite under the shackles of this web drama project. Park Sunghoon knew he couldn’t control himself around you; that you knew just how to drive his heart crazy. That was exactly why he was left here, alone in the living room, with the image of you running away from him replaying in his brain.

His feelings for you have sparked once again. He wasn’t quite sure if they even left to begin with.

But there was no way in hell your feelings would ever reciprocate. Not in a million years. It was clear the moment you ran away from him.

A ping! jumps from Sunghoon’s phone, the light from the screen catching his attention. His thumb swipes at the notification; a message from his manager. It reveals a calendar with the upcoming weekend highlighted a bright green. The coloured boxes read only one sentence, but it was a sentence that would be burned in Sunghoon’s brain for a lifetime.

FILMING AT JEJU - WEEKEND SHOOT + WRAP UP PARTY

A weekend away at Jeju island. With you.

Sunghoon’s heart leaped from his chest.

Jeju island was a tourist spot most notably known for its beach resorts, pearl blue ocean water, and unique cuisine. For most, it’s considered a home away from home, a paradise to let your hair down, to destress from the chaos of life.

For you, however, it’s a different story.

“There must’ve been some mistake!” Your manager’s voice echoed through the hotel lobby. You still managed to hear her loud and clear despite sitting across the large room. “You mean there’s no room booked?”

The hotel staff only glared back at your manager, face deadpan. “I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t see your name on the list. We’re fully booked at the moment. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

With a huff escaping her lips, your manager treks back to your figure, her shoulders slumped to the ground. You didn’t even need to ask. Based on her defeated demeanour, and the fact that you overheard the whole conversation from where you sat, you understood; you had no place to stay. Here you were; in the paradise of Jeju Island, homeless for the weekend. Stress washed over you.

Your manager whips her phone out, swiping aggressively as she buried her face into the screen. “I’m so sorry, y/n, but we’re gonna have to find a motel tonight. I’ll look for the nearest one right now.”

“That isn’t necessary, miss.” A voice perks up behind you. A voice that needed no introduction as your frame froze in its place. Sunghoon sauntered away from his visibly worried manager, and towards your sunken figures, hands nonchalantly in his pockets. “You two can stay with me and my manager.”

You choked. What sick game was Sunghoon playing?

Your manager politely waves her hands to refuse, but you quickly step in, hands crossed over your puffed chest as an act of defence. You barely even managed to keep steady eye contact. “We don’t want your help. A motel will do just fine.”

“No one should have to pay extra just for a motel,” Sunghoon reasons, not backing down. “We also booked the deluxe suite; there’s plenty of room for the four of us.”

Your manager’s resolve quickly faded away the moment Sunghoon mentioned paying extra for a last minute room. Her eyes grew wary, shaky. The harsh reality of finances crashing down on her in an instant. She wasn’t going to give in so easily, was she?

She was.

She looked at you with doe-like eyes. “We should accept their offer, y/n. It’s only for the weekend.”

Before you knew it, you and your bags were being taken up to the top floor of the hotel. Into the deluxe suite that belonged to the one and only Park Sunghoon.

A defeated sigh. It was the only reaction your body could muster amidst the sheer buffoonery of your current situation. Being forced to room with the man that drove you crazy; how's that for comedy?

You shot up from the edge of the bed, the thought of your depressing situation suddenly parching your throat. You pivot towards the kitchen, attempting to pay no mind to the series of zips and rummaging of luggage currently happening in the living room. You didn’t want to give Sunghoon the light of day, even if he was just innocently unpacking his suitcase.

Crisp ice water slides down your throat as your eyes wander. Stubbornly. Eventually landing on the man you swore you would ignore.

His eyes were on you, too.

You quickly dart away, your heart beating rapidly.

Sunghoon roughly clears his throat, the sound echoing around the walls of the living room. You glance back, watching him cling unto the nape of his neck with one hand, while the other loosely tosses a card onto the armrest of the couch. Almost immediately after, Sunghoon turned away from you. “Here’s the second keycard—your manager forgot to pick it up before she left.”

You only nodded, shuffling over to retrieve it. Of course he didn’t consider throwing it somewhere actually close to you.

The closer you got to the furniture, the more Sunghoon’s belongings appeared before you. His sweaters and shirts were folded in a neat and compact manner and sitting at the corner of the couch, his towel draped over the backrest. Miscellaneous items were littered across the surface of the couch, items you didn’t pay much attention to. Except for one.

A polaroid stuck out of Sunghoon’s wallet. You checked to see if Sunghoon was watching before snatching it away. It was an image of a younger Sunghoon standing in the middle, holding up a cake as frosting was smudged on his nose and cheek. A wide grin was plastered on his face as other trainees surrounded him. You were in the picture, too, right by his side as you held onto one side of the cake. A finger covered in frosting suggests that you were the culprit of his smudged face. He didn’t seem to care, considering Sunghoon’s cheeky grin was directed at you. Devil horns were drawn on Sunghoon’s head, and a messy heart was traced around your face.

A date was etched into the bottom of the polaroid. 12/08/2018. Sunghoon’s birthday; the last birthday he had before leaving the company. Your eyes widen, heart racing.

Why would he keep something like this?

“You still have this?” Your voice trembled. Sunghoon’s head whips back to find you holding the polaroid, his eyes widened in surprise. He treks over to you, swatting the picture away from your hands. “What are you doing!?”

You fidget with your fingers, eyes gazing on the carpet. How long has he had that picture? What did that mean? You look up at Sunghoon once again, slow steps bringing you closer to his frame.

“Why do you still have this?”

“I just do.” Sunghoon’s eyes held yours hostage. He didn’t say much, yet the weight of his stare was enough to move worlds.

His eyes quickly diverted from your gaze as he continued to unpack. You nipped at your lip; Sunghoon’s answer wasn’t enough. Questions spiralled in your head. Your world was unravelling before you. You retired back to your room, your back keeping the door shut. Your face was flushed, your chest heaved.

What was Park Sunghoon doing to you?

“We’ll have you two start from the couch and then move onto the bed. We’ll end the scene when Sunghoon takes his shirt off.” Your director instructs, his hands blocking the scene directions on your last official filming session.

Normally, you would’ve been elated at that fact. However, if this trip has proven anything to you, it's that the universe wants you to suffer. And so, this exciting final scene you were currently stuck filming was none other than a steamy makeout session between the two main characters at a romantic getaway.

Fear shot down your spine, your brain hot-wiring at that very moment. You were already overwhelmed with the revelation that Sunghoon’s polaroid from last night brought you. By then, your heart was already leaping from your chest. The last thing you needed was to lock lips with the man responsible for your malfunctioning brain.

Nevertheless, you hiked towards the couch like a mindless drone. You’ve given up on fighting for what you want. Sitting on the couch, you suddenly grew overwhelmingly conscious of your clothes—or lack thereof. You dawned a tank top etched in lace trim, shorts of the same pattern, and a satin robe to cover your arms. You knew that this outfit was necessary for the scene, but that didn’t stop fear from shooting down your spine.

Sunghoon soon joins you on the couch, dawning a simple white button down, with a few buttons undone—exposing his bare chest. Instinctively, you hug your chest, shielding your skin with the satin fabric of your robe. You caught a glance of his collarbones, the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped. Heat creeped against your cheeks.

Sunghoon averted his gaze from you, yet you still felt as though all attention was within your grasp. His hand rested on his knee, fingers fidgeting the wrinkles of his trousers.

“Tell me if you get uncomfortable, alright? I’ll stop—even if the scene isn’t finished.”

There he was, reassuring you like the caring asshole he is. Your heart leaped.

“Okay.”

It didn’t take long before your lips were snug against his, his weight overpowering yours as he moved to lay on top of you. Sunghoon’s hand snaked against your jaw, gently creeping further to the back of your head to provide you a makeshift headrest. Your hands reached up around his neck and his shirt collar, pulling his frame closer against your exposed chest. Sunghoon’s skin was warm. His other hand grips your waist, a finger poking beneath your shield of fabric. His touch was soft.

Your heart was pounding so hard, it pulsated through your ears.

This was just a scene, you reminded yourself.

Your breaths grew hazy as Sunghoon lifted your frame into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his hips instantly—clockwork. In just a few steps, Sunghoon’s knees reached the edge of the bed. He laid you back down gently, your frame sinking into the plush of the bed. Your arms refused to let go, holding him closer for more kisses. Your stomach flipped in on itself. Sunghoon gently pulled himself away, standing up straight. You watched as his hands trailed up to the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning them one by one. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

Within seconds, Sunghoon slipped the white fabric off of his broad shoulders, tossing it aside before bending back down to meet your lips once more. Your fingertips grazed against his skin tracing his shoulder blades. His skin grew warmer against your touch, as if you were lighting him on fire.

This was just a scene, you reminded yourself once more.

“CUT!” Your director’s voice pierced through your ears, pulling you back to reality. Sunghoon immediately jumps off of you, trekking off to retrieve his shirt back. His back was turned towards you, but a quick glance could confirm his cheeks were currently flaring red. You, however, couldn’t say much on the matter—you were in even more of a mess than he was.

The two of you linked eyes for a split second, tension fogging up the air around you. All while your heart was still pounding so loud your ears could hear.

Distracted. Park Sunghoon was distracted. And it was all thanks to you.

The spice of liquor scratched against his throat, the ice cubes kissing his lips. He huffed a sigh, running a hand through his hair for the umteenth time that evening of the wrap up party. He didn’t even bother listening to the boring speech his director was giving, or anyone else who was talking that night—it all washed away, like grains of sand parallel to a body of water.

Sunghoon couldn’t figure out what exactly was causing this feeling. Maybe it was the fact that he so foolishly let you stay over in his hotel room. Now, he was stuck sleeping just a few paces away from the woman he loved but couldn’t have. Torture. He gulped down another sour sip. Or maybe it was the way you kissed him that afternoon. Even if it was just for a simple scene, the way you melted into his lips made Sunghoon wish everything was real. Maybe he was drunk on your kisses, and a little bit of booze, too.

His eyes wandered, only to be led straight to you. With a glass of wine in your hand, you stood in a small huddle consisting of your manager and a few other faces Sunghoon couldn’t recognize.

Maybe it was the way you glistened without the need for any light. You lit the dim banquet hall up with your smile. The smile Sunghoon missed so dearly.

Another gulp.

Or maybe it was the way you wouldn’t even spare Sunghoon a glance since the wrap up party. The way he had let himself get carried away trying to get close to you, and ultimately driving you further away. Maybe Sunghoon just needed to finally accept everything.

A distraction. You needed a distraction. From Park Sunghoon, specifically.

Park Sunghoon had unwantedly staked his claim on your brain for longer than you wanted. The man you knew to be selfish and cruel, willing to break your friendship in the blink of an eye, was turning your world upside down. He was caring for you, ensuring your comfort, putting you first. It all confused you, set your brain into overdrive.

And that polaroid. The picture the size of your palm, capable of burning everything you knew into flames of the unknown. It left you with endless questions; though one stood out like a sore thumb.

Did Sunghoon miss you?

That was an absurd thought.

Nevertheless, it was a thought that nipped and itched at your brain for the rest of the evening, and you needed a way out. Your first course of action was to hide. Sitting at a table that was oceans away from where Sunghoon and his manager sat during your director’s long and drawn out speech. Shoving and squeezing yourself into groups of people you barely knew; you basically trailed your manager around like a lost puppy.

When you weren’t wandering around aimlessly, however, you were tucked away in the washrooms, calling Kiri as you sat hunched over on a closed toilet seat, whisper-shouting as you explained the escalated situation.

“Just ask him, y/n.” Kiri huffed over the phone. “It’ll give you peace of mind.”

“I can’t just approach him!”

“Why not?”

“I dunno, I just can’t think straight around him! He’s constantly on my mind and he drives me crazy! I think my blood pressure spikes the moment I’m near him—”

“y/n?” Kiri interrupts. You gulp. “Yeah?”

“Do you like Sunghoon?”

You choked, turning a few heads of guests washing their hands at the bathroom sink. Was Kiri being serious? You didn’t like Sunghoon. He drove you clinically insane, he was so unpredictable it made you want to rip your own hair out. Whenever you were around him, your heart stubbornly danced beneath your chest, your mind went haywire.

Oh god.

You liked Park Sunghoon.

“I-I have to go.” You hung up at the speed of light.

You didn’t need a distraction. You needed answers.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you scanned the venue. Your eyes landed on a glass of wine resting in someone’s hand. Your eyes then pivot to the open bar, empty and barren. A lightbulb springs from your head.

The last thing Sunghoon expected to see tonight was you, piss drunk and toppled over on the counter of the open bar.

Your face was hidden in the nest of your forearms, your hair was messy and spread out. Sunghoon was positive a strand or two had fallen into your mouth. Peaking through the bush of your hair, Sunghoon gazed at your droopy eyes, eyelids practically sealed shut by fatigue. Empty glasses outlined your figure, but you couldn’t bother to pay it any mind. The outside world didn’t matter when you were this drunk.

That was the problem. You couldn’t care less about your surroundings; it was dangerous.

Sunghoon nipped at his lips, his eyes holding onto your frame like his life depended on it. He knew leaving you alone and unattended was irresponsible, that it would place your life in grave danger. You were smack dab in the middle of a social event, strangers littered all around you. Anything could happen at any moment.

Nevertheless, Sunghoon also knew your current resolve when it came to him. He knew you hated him, you couldn’t stand being near him. A hand ran through his hair. Would he even be of any help?

Sunghoon sighed, drilling his hands through his pockets. Someone else could probably help you just fine. You probably didn’t need him.

In 3 seconds he changed his mind.

A fire burned in his chest, his jaw tensing as he saw your passed out frame. Sunghoon marched over to your seat, his blazer slipping off of his shoulders and into his hands. Sunghoon soon spread the blazer over your shoulders, which were exposed and laced with goosebumps from the air-conditioned room. He caught the attention of people passing by when he pulled your frame up by your shoulders, gently resting your head against his chest as he swung down to pick up your legs. He swung your frame away from the open bar and out of the banquet hall.

He trudged towards the hotel elevators, your figure slumped in his arms. He couldn’t help but glance at your sleeping frame.

Even now, you looked beautiful as ever.

Opening your eyes, you were greeted with two things; the hotel room’s ceiling, and Park Sunghoon’s blazer enveloping your torso.

Your stomach was flipping in on itself, your heart racing. It actually worked. Your suspicions were right. Park Sunghoon actually brought you to your hotel room—your and his room, anyway.

To say that you didn’t feel just a little bit guilty would be a big understatement. Pretending you were drunk out of your mind at an open bar, hoping the man you just found out you had feelings for would see you and take you to his room just to test whether or not he cared for you—maybe it wasn’t the best idea. You, however, were desperate. You needed to know where Sunghoon’s heart stood.

As you rose up into a sitting position, A figure shuffled into the room. A figure that needed no introduction.

“You’re not really drunk, are you?” Sunghoon accused, a hand dropping a glass of water gently onto the desk left of his hips. You only gulp, murmuring your response.

“M-maybe.”

Exasperated, Sunghoon heaves a deep sigh. His head is thrown back, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down. You watched as he shuffled over to you, his figure plopping onto the edge of your bed.

“Don’t scare me like that!”

Sunghoon’s eyes held you hostage, boring into you. As if he was reaching into your soul and claiming it as his own. You, however, stood still, in a trance. Unable to move under his presence. A blanket of silence fell on top of you—it was so silent you could hear your heartbeat pulsating in your ears. Quickly, you snap out of your trance, eyes severing the contact as you scurried away from his frame.

“Then don’t get so scared.” you spat defensively.

Sunghoon clung onto the nape of his neck. “How could I not? It’s dangerous—”

“Just—stop it already!” you snapped, interrupting him as your palms pushed into the mattress. “Stop getting scared for me, caring for me—stop that!”

Sunghoon's eyes gaze down at his feet before trailing up to meet yours. As you continue, your eyes couldn’t help but follow suit, hanging onto his gaze like your life depended on it. You shoot up from your spot on the bed, your heart stuck in your windpipe as you towered over him.

“You’re supposed to hate me! Call me names, make fun of me. Instead, you’re this caring, sweet guy that I can’t stop thinking about! I mean, we’re supposed to be enemies. You know, when you left the agency that day; when you left me that day, I swore I would hate you with all my heart. How the hell are you gonna be my enemy when my heart races at the thought of you? If you’re all that's on my mind?”

You gulp. “How the hell am I supposed to hate you when I like you so much?”

“You like me?”

A hand slapped over your mouth. Sunghoon’s eyes widened as he gazed up at you. His jaw practically grazed the floor. He blinked a few times as your heartbeat pounded again in your ears.

“Leaving the agency was never my choice.” Sunghoon’s voice was hushed.

What?

Slowly you sat down. Sunghoon watched you, his eyes holding yours hostage the entire time you sunk down onto your side of the bed.

“I know that this sounds like some sick excuse, but I never wanted to leave. The CEO saw how close we were during our days as trainees, and thought that it would threaten our careers if we ever had any rumours spread about us.” A hand brushed over Sunghoon’s hair. “So, he asked me to leave. The CEO had no plans on telling you about any of this, so I had to keep it from you, too.”

Suddenly, Sunghoon slid off of the bed, kneeling before your figure. He gazed up at you once more. “I’m sorry—for everything.”

Your heart was racing. Sunghoon continued. “I’m sorry for keeping the truth from you, for leaving you that day. None of that would’ve happened if I was careful, if my heart wasn’t so stubborn.”

“What are you saying?” Your voice trembled.

Sunghoon heaved a deep sigh. “I liked you, y/n. I liked you so much that I could barely keep it in, barely keep composure. I tried my hardest to get over you, but it was no use.”

Sunghoon’s eyes glistened under the amber hotel lights. “I knew my feelings for you only grew.”

A thread hung in the balance as the two of you continued to stare into each other’s eyes—a thread you wouldn’t dare sever, never in this lifetime. You watched as they sparkled; held the stars beneath their surface. You watched as they stared lovingly at you, yet hungry for you all at the same time. You also watched as your own hands grew minds of their own, reaching out to Sunghoon’s cheek before stopping mid-air. “Sunghoon?”

“Hm?”

“I think I need to kiss you.”

As he pressed your trembling hands up against his soft cheek, Sunghoon’s lips folded up into a grin, his voice melting like honey. “I’m all yours.”

Park Sunghoon tasted sweet against your lips— Sweet floral scents, most likely his cologne, puffed out from his frame as you held him close. You snaked an arm around his neck, fingers clinging around the nape. His palms hooked onto your waist, fingertips digging into your skin. As if you were minutes away from leaving his touch; he wasn’t about to let that happen again. Your grip on him grew tighter, too. You didn’t want him slipping from your fingertips either. Never again.

A part of you felt warm and fuzzy; this kiss was real.

With his weight overtaking you, Sunghoon leans further into the kiss, his lips pushing deep into yours. Your shoulders press deep into the plush of the mattress as his figure shells over you, shielding you from the outside world. Fireworks pop against your skin. Your stomach flips in on itself each time Sunghoon nibbles at your bottom lip; teasing you. Your hands roam around his back, tracing each bump and crevice of his body, relishing in his touch. His palm cradled your head, lacing between your hair strands. It was as if you were floating on a cloud.

With one swipe of his tongue at your lips, Sunghoon deepened your kiss, his tongue sliding against yours. His movements grow rash, fierce. As if he’d been starving for centuries; and you were his next meal. His hand glides up and down your waist, your skin tight dress doing nothing to conceal the friction. Heat bundles up between your legs.

You wanted more.

A moan slips from your lips, entrapped in your kiss. That, however, didn’t stop Sunghoon from hearing you loud and clear; from igniting a flame within his chest. With you, his mind was a ticking bomb. Gently, Sunghoon pushes away from the kiss, his breath hazing against your lips. His eyes flickered open, immediately gazing down at you.

“How far are we going, tonight?” Sunghoon huffed. “I’m not moving until you tell me.”

Your fingers traced his muscles. They were tense and flexed; he was clearly restraining himself. Stopping himself from indulging in you like some beast. You gazed up at him. The way his collar bones peaked through his neckline, his cheeks flushed a rosy pink; as if he was drunk on your presence. The way his hair hung over his starry eyes.

You’ve never felt more certain of something in your life.

Your hand cradled Sunghoon’s cheeks. “I want you, Hoonie. All of you.

At the sound of your nickname, Sunghoon’s eyes grew hungry, dark as he harshly pressed into your lips. His tongue slid up against yours. They tangle, intertwine; eliciting another mewl from your lips. Sunghoon was certain his brain short circuited at your voice. Slyly, Sunghoon pressed his knee against your inner thigh, outlining its frame before slowly inching closer to your centre. The pressure sent shivers down your spine, your back instinctively arching forwards. Like you were aching to be closer, to hold him tighter.

Sunghoon’s knee pressed further into your clothed core; one that was practically soaked. He moved the knee up and down, left to right; your brows furrowed in euphoria. A full, booming moan echoed, earning a needy grunt from the man who drove you insane.

“That sound is driving me crazy, baby.” Sunghoon gritted through his teeth. “Moan more for me, yeah?”

You didn’t even need to try.

Slowly, Sunghoon peppered kisses down your jaw, sucking against your searing skin. With a hand at the small of your back, Sunghoon lifts you up from the bed, his hand trailing up and fiddling with the zipper of your dress. He pulls the zipper down, and you’ve never been more grateful for built-in bra pads. His lips, however, never once breached contact, his lips gently migrating down to your collar bones, your chest, and eventually the swell of your breasts. Your breath hitched as you felt his warmth circulate your nipples. Sunghoon takes a breast into his lips, his tongue swirling and flicking against your stiffened. You whimper at the contact, your core pooling in lust.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

After blindly searching for his hand, you tug on his wrist, positioning it between his thighs. Sunghoon smirked against your skin, the vibrations of his chuckle shuddering through your body—he heard you, loud and clear. After pulling down the rest of your dress, Sunghoon feathers his touch against your inner thighs, teasing you. You throw your head back, swimming in ecstasy.

Softly, too soft, he drew circles around your clothed pussy. He grazed against your clit, driving you crazy. For a split second, Sunghoon parted his lips from your skin, moving up to meet your ear. “Where do you want my fingers, darling?”

You whimper, trying to find the words as Sunghoon toyed with your folds beneath the fabric. “In—fuck—inside. Please.”

In an instant, Sunghoon pushed aside the measly fabric, finding your core dripping in heat; dripping for him. A digit slides into your folds, exploring your walls. He pumps his finger slowly, in and out as your back arches in desire. Your body spazzed and jolted. His knuckles grazed against your walls as he pumped faster and faster. Sunghoon slyly pushes in another finger, and then another, stretching your pussy around the width. You felt every inch of him, every section of his skin. As his pumps grow faster, harsher, Sunghoon’s fingers curl inwards, hitting your spot.

You couldn’t keep in your noises, your lew moan bouncing against the walls, the same way your hips bounced against his fingers. In a weak effort to quiet down, you bite your finger. Sunghoon, however, quickly notices, gripping your hand by the wrist. “Don’t—I wanna hear you, princess.”

You only whimper a response, your legs growing further apart with each pump of his fingers. A knot begins to crumple together at the pit of your stomach, your moans growing louder and louder. You found yourself shouting Sunghoon’s name without realising it, gripping into his skin. Sunghoon dips his hips against your bare core, pressing his digits further into you. You felt a tenting sensation against your core.

The knot grew tighter and tighter as Sunghoon’s pumps grew hasty and messy. Wet sloshes echo in the room, though they were overpowered by your lust-ridden mewls. Sunghoon grinds into you, the metal of his belt buckle shocking your core frozen.

“Cum on me, princess.” Sunghoon demands.

On cue, the knot finally pops open, and juices drip out of your pussy as you scream out his name. It coated your walls, his fingers, even the bed beneath you. Sunghoon made sure you watched as he took his dirty fingers into his mouth, sucking your sweet juices dry.

“How much more can you handle, baby?” Sunghoon askes between huffs. You glance down, the zipper of his pant’s barely holding in the tent beneath his pants. You only nod, lust hazing over your eyes. Sunghoon smiles, kissing your temple. “Good. We’re not even close to done, princess.”

In a few swift moments, Sunghoon unbuckled his pants. You watched as the fabric dropped down to his knees, his length revealing itself. Your eyes gawked at the sight, earning only a chuckle from Sunghoon as he brought your wrist up to his lips.

“Only you make me like this, y/n.” He kissed your skin.

An ache clouded your pussy. Suddenly, you felt empty, needy. You needed him. You mewl, gaining his attention in an instant. “I need your cock, Hoon.”

Rolling a condom around his dick, Sunghoon positions his tip at your entrance. You send a signal before Sunghoon presses into you. You throw your head back, eyes rolling to the heavens at the contact. His cock filled you up, grazing and sliding against your walls. Your skin slaps against each other with each slow thrust, the dirty noises filling up the room. Sunghoon throws your legs over his shoulders, giving him more access to your wet, needy pussy. Your hands gripped the sheets; anything to stay tethered to reality.

Sunghoon’s thrusts grow messy and rough. That familiar knot bundles up beneath your stomach as an idea pops into your mind.

“Can I go on top?” You huff breathlessly. Sunghoon gulps, covering his embarrassed face with the back of his palm. “Y-yeah. Please.”

You and Sunghoon clamour around to switch positions, reaching for random kisses back and forth. Your back faced him, your ass grinding against his abs, your shoulder blades rubbing against his chest. Slowly, you sink onto his dick, your folds enveloping his throbbing length. Sunghoon grunts closely behind you, concealing his sounds with kisses against your neck. His hands roam around you; digging into your hips, fondling your breasts. Though, it was the mischievous massaging of your clit that sent your brain to short circuit. You bounced on his cock faster, your and his moans intertwining in the night air.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamt of this, princess,” Sunghoon strained. “Of you bouncing on my cock—shit—just like that.”

His words send butterflies through your stomach. Your pussy clamps down on his cock as the two of you scream each other’s name. You weren’t far from your second climax of the night. One more bounce against his dick sent your juices overflowing. Sunghoon’s pools up at the tip of his condom. Slowly, you pull away from his length, plopping down beside him on the bed, huffing from exhaustion. Sunghoon lays down with you, cradling his frame in your arms.

“That was amazing.” You hum into his skin. Sunghoon traces small shapes along your bare back. “You were amazing, baby.”

Suddenly, the jingle of keys sound from across the hotel room.

Your managers. They were back from the party.

Uh oh.

“You realise how dangerous this is, right?” Your CEO pinches his nose bridge, leaning back into his office chair. “The press won’t react lightly to this.”

You and Sunghoon glanced at each other, shoulders pressed against one another as you stood before your CEO. Sweat beaded from your forehead. Though, you had every right to be nervous; you were currently asking for permission to go public with Park Sunghoon. The man you loved most.

“Yes—”

“Let me finish,” Your CEO raised his hand. “But, seeing as though you both are highly regarded and successful artists, and no longer trainees—I’ll allow it.”

The two of you lit up, immediately gazing at each other with smiles. You cling onto one another in a sweet embrace. As he only half-payed attention to your CEO’s orders of letting his company know, Sunghoon peppers kisses on your cheek.

Sunghoon pushes your hair behind your ear, smiling. “You’re finally mine, baby.”

#enhypen #enhypen park sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon #park sunghoon #park sunghoon x reader #enhypen x reader #enha #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen smut #enhypen angst #my writing #fanfiction #enemies to lovers #one sided enemies to lovers #smut #kpop #kpop fanfics #kpop fanfiction

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bowtiepastabitch · 3 months

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Deeply Transgender and Vividly Pornographic: a deep dive into what makes a fic queer

This is a response to the wonderful @ineffabildaddy making this post, which it was originally going to just be a reblog to but once I started approaching a thousand words it was a bit unwieldy so we're just going all the way. If second base is reading their fics and third base is actually talking to your mutuals, I have no clue what this is.

Here's the prompt text that started it all:

Alright, well I am nothing if not a scientist (narrator voice: they were, in fact, a humanities major), so I spent several hours of my weekend putting this together because I'm a burnt out academic and this is the enrichment in my enclosure. Readers, this is going to contain experpts of some very spicy stuff, so stop here if you're not interested. Me bringing porn? To your tumblr dash? It's more likely than you think.

All fics and such referenced will be linked at the bottom of the page.

~~~

Heteronormativity and cisnormativity, while unfortunately the dominant norm for mainstream pornography, make little appearance within the fandom writing spaces I myself spend time in. That's not to say I haven't read my fair shair of painfully straight smut in my lifetime, but simply that I have taste and am lucky to be neck deep in a fandom with very little of it. Nonetheless, as a card-carrying queer and writer myself, I consider myself quite familiar with the distinctive traits and patterns of queer and cishet pornographic writing. Beyond merely a focus on non-male pleasure or the subtle presence of queer or trans characters, the characterization of queer fanfiction is distinct and has entirely different mannerisms in dealing with conceptions of the body and pleasure. I'll primarily be citing Ineffabildaddy's work, for the sake of a focused analysis, who I will henceforth be referring to as Sam for the sake of pseudo-academic flow.

There are certain linguistic patterns that tend to distinguish heterosexual and heteronormative depictions of sex from queer ones. For instance, "cunt" is utilized sparingly within heteronormative contexts for its vulgarity and added obscenity, whilst queer writers use it pretty universally and without the same subtext. Throughout his writing, Sam works with this queer-coded vocabulary pretty consistently. In "Strawberry Scripture" (F/M), he describes how "Crowley's cunt... was damn-near swollen" and how Aziraphale has to resist "Bury[ing] his face in it immediately." No cis-het man has ever thought about eating pussy that way, and if you find one I'll eat my fucking hat. Likewise, vocabulary for the phallic tends to veer in the direction of "cock" over anything else. Interestingly, this creates a set of contrasting pairings. Heteronormative slang, from my obvervation, is more likely to use 'dick' and 'pussy', and, especially in conjunction, it creates a very distinctive mouthfeel that separates the two and poses them as opposites. 'Pussy', in particular, has a much more feminized feel when juxtaposed against 'dick', favoring much softer consonants and the english diminutive 'y' ending. 'Cock' and 'cunt', in comparison, have a very similar sound and feeling to them, distancing itself from hetero-cis-normative gender dualism of the language. There is, of course, plenty of nuance to this and the use of a variety of language in subverting cisnormative ideas about the sexed body as well, with phrases like 'boypussy' and 'girldick' being rather essential to the way many trans people describe their own bodies. "Fandom's Pornagraphic Subset," (yes I'm stealing sources from my research paper on monsterfucking, suck my dick) an article published in 2021 by Silja Kukka, describes how the "fleshy, hyperbolic descriptions of sex" that characterize this kind of writing are essential to what she dubs the "[creation of] a new genderqueer place outside of the gender dichotomy"(57). If you read enough smut, you know exactly what this is talking about. For example, in "Despite Knowing Better,"(F/M) we get vivid imagery to describe the way "streaks of her spit oozed from her mouth even as Aziraphale fucked it"(Ch5) and of "her walls quivering and clenching around him."(Ch3) This level of graphic sexual depiction goes beyond what would be considered 'tasteful' or 'sexy' in a heteronormative concept of pornography.

In terms of tropes, let's do a deep dive into "Strawberry Scripture"(F/M) to find what makes it queer beyond it's apparently straight pairing. To preface, this fic involves both foodplay and monsterfucking, but we're only gonna analyze one. The inherent queerness of monsterfucking is actually something I've written an entire academic paper on, so I suppose I'll start there. There's something very queer and often very trans about subverting the standard playbook of sexual acts, and while kink itself can easily be heterosexual, most monsterfucking falls far outside that category no matter what genital configuration those involved have. Monsterfucking tends to reject the phallocentrism of heteronormativity and mainstream kink by subverting the concept of the human body itself, giving inhuman and monstrous qualities to characters usually for sex appeal or general kinky shenanigans. While there's an argument to be made for heteronormativity still being able to creep into certain spaces, that certainly isn't true for this fic. There's something intrinsically transgressive about creating an erogenous zone out of a feature that would largely be considered horror or 'gross' in any other form of media, which is exactly what Sam does here as he describes the "cool, satiny sensation that the plates of her scales against his tip engendered." The scales are not merely called apon for their invocation of the unusual but to give them an eroticism in and of themselves, with Crowley reaching orgasm through their stimulation. We also slide gently into Monsterfucker territory in "Close (well you couldn't get much closer)" (M/M), where an argument could be made that the most trans-coded element isn't even Crowley's T-dick but instead the presence of a magic angel dildo. (sentences I never thought I'd fucking say but here we are.) There's something deeply transgender about the deconstruction of genital purpose in sex that recontextualizes the gendered body's role in pleasure. It falls into the same semiotic revolution and reclaiming of the body as the changes in language used by trans folks to rename and reidentify the literal physicality of the body by ones own standards (ie T-dick).

Another major trademark in departing from heteronormatized porn is the shift in narrative focus away from penetrative sex. That is, even in paragraphs where the main sex event is penetration, it rarely takes up even half the prose. The majority of narration is focused on surrounding or tangential actions: "the flowing movement of ... hips was sedate and wanton and lusciously provocative,"(1) "watching the muscles which resided there tense and relax alternately with pleasure,"(2) "his tongue stole past his teeth and slid over them,"(3) and "he whispered, his voice aching and curling and stretching for her"(4); all excerpts pulled from moments in which penetration is taking place, yet the concentration is anywhere but. Likewise, the act of penetration itself only takes up a small portion of physical sex acts in the grander scheme of Sam's writing. Instead, we as readers are presented with a vast spread of cock-sucking, pussy-eating, fingering, teasing, frottage, kissing, and more. Contrast this with the cis-hetero norm, where penetrative sex is the endgoal, and any other action is shucked aside to play second fiddle as mere foreplay. It's the reason virginity as a concept is directly tied to the mystical hymen and one's experience with penetration; a straight girl can suck dick a thousand times and still consider herself a virgin. As such, in a piece of pornographic writing where I have significant trouble finding lines to pull specifically and exclusively describing penetration (seriously, try it out yourself), the heterosexual influence is negligible. And yes, I'm talking about all of them. I had to restructure an entire argument that focused on comparing lines from different works because it was so difficult to find them.

So, in conclusion, Sam, love, there is not an ounce of heteronormativity in even the "straightest" of your writing. Congratulations.

Links, in order of reference:

Strawberry Scripture (3)

Fandom's Pornographic Subset, article by Silja Kukka and a great read

Despite Knowing Better... (4)

Close (you couldn't be much closer)

Many Different Ways to Eat an Oyster (1)

I'm Beginning to See the Light (2)

Author's notes, and then I promise I'll leave y'all alone: Hi! This started as a short analysis but quickly became a three(?)(maybe more?) hour labor of love analyzing the things I love most about both Sam's writing and the writing in this community as a whole. Please please please ask me questions, I'm an autistic little bitch and I like knowing things. My ask box? Open. Comments? Open. Reblogs? Open. If you've read this far, I fucking love you and I am kissing you on the mouth right now. Don't worry, my gender is just queer so it's gay no matter what. <3<3<3

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #good omens fandom #nerd shit #why do any of you follow me #gomens

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moondirti · 9 months

Text

11. SUCK IT UP

CHAPTER ELEVEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter ten / chapter twelve ⇀

summary: you aren't feeling too good. miguel helps you get over it, in more ways than one.

explicit (18+) | 6.7k words warnings: enemies to lovers, smut, cunnilingus, face-sitting, fingering, squirting, power imbalance (everything is consensual), miguel is... sweet (?), mild fluff, angst, very little plot, mentions of death/gore notes: inspired by this hysterical ask. twas supposed to be a bit of short fun but i am a chronic over-writer. thus, i present to you – a week late tangent about miguel's magical tongue! enjoy

The night ends with you riding Miguel’s face, panties ripped and cartons of food waiting idly on your desk. If you could shatter the pleasure that seizes your brain with a vice-like grip, you would take a moment to admit one thing.

You don’t know how you got here.

It’s not the fact of it that’s got you fazed; no, you’ve long since come to terms with the new perimeters of your relationship. Really, it’s been the only active component in your life as of late, serving itself in all your food for thought. You’ve contemplated it before going to bed, upon waking up, during your lunches with Hobie – where the spider critiques your mentor so often that you’ve learnt not to mention your less-than-professional relationship out loud.

And, well– For every moment in between, you’re caught up in this exact transgression.

If you’re being perfectly honest with yourself, it’s fruitless to attempt to rationalise it. The day’s happenings couldn’t have hinted towards this at all. In fact, your morning had started miles off from where you are now. Laying on the ground, ambition fried save for one goal:

To take a break.

Your dreams still burn on your eyelids when you blink them open. They’re feverish, ochre and plum and sickly green, a little too blurry to make out the details that would’ve otherwise helped you decipher their meaning. It was something about blood, something about patchouli, and a conclusive explosion that fizzled with bright light.

Though the latter might merely be ideation. You forgot to close your blinds before falling asleep – the only reason you’re awake being the sun bathing your room in white.

A migraine strikes at your temple, rhythmic and reinforced with stainless steel. It’s vengeful. Your entire body is, actually. Sour aches run up your muscles, swelling around your joints, digging into your bones. When you attempt to readjust, your spine screams in protest. So does your stomach, gurgling for either food or relief. It’s hard to tell really; the pain is so profound that blaming a particular area would be dismissing the others.

You do know who to blame, though.

That asshole.

He’s ruthless. An absolute implacable force that grills you almost every hour of the day. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have said that his concern with your training is due to a growing fondness for you. But you’ve seen enough evidence of his method to prove otherwise – he’s merely approaching it with as much dedication as he prescribes anything else. Like the fate of the multiverse relies on your betterment, like his seeing to it is some sort of commandment by God.

(Perhaps it is.

But not even you take gospel this seriously.)

It’s been a couple weeks and you’re still not used to it. Over the year since gaining your powers, you’ve never exerted yourself this much. You’re so weak, you find, that your strength can be likened to that of a civilian. The constant wear and tear hasn’t pushed that front, either – the first few sessions, you’d come dangerously close to throwing up from the sheer exhaustion of it all. Your gut turned into itself, gags coated with bile as you ushered Miguel away from your perimeter. The only thing that held you back was a lack of energy to actually commit to the issue.

That, and the promise of his fingers buried deep in your cunt.

You’ve begun to understand him, though. The scientist part of you can’t help but pick up on his patterns, storing them in one place for further analysis. Eventually, having enough data allowed you to draw up a trend.

It tends to go something like this:

He compiles an exercise to help you learn a lesson. It’s devised to push you both mentally and physically – a killing of two birds with one stone. To phrase it like that, plain cut and simple, makes it sound almost juvenile, like a look into a kindergarten teacher’s book of discipline. The punishment should fit the crime, or however it goes. But it isn’t easy, not by a long shot. He seems to see what you have trouble harrowing from yourself; those meaty flaws, fattened from neglect, maggot-strewn and pulsing with a verve of their own. They’re pinpointed, slated, and then he gives you the knife all expectantly, like you can kill it by yourself.

The beasts’ name has been resilience lately. According to him, planking for two minutes wasn’t a sufficient enough appeasement to it.

Because the next day, he always expounds upon the lesson from the last. The training is a developed form of the one that nearly just killed you, and he tests how you respond. Your enthusiasm or lack thereof doesn’t matter, it’s your perseverance despite it that he rewards. You can smile every time you fall, if you don’t get up, then he doesn’t grant you an orgasm.

If you do, however–

Then, fuck. It’s so good that you often forget the struggle it took to earn it in the first place.

A strict system. One with little room for loopholes or faults. You can tell he’s thought it through – every exertion is met with an upside, a failsafe tailored to the type of pupil you’re proving to be. It means that he’s done this before; is accustomed to the patience and regimen it takes to guide someone as wayward as you.

You add it to your tally of proof that he’s a father.

(He’s able to come up with detailed plans surrounding your weaknesses.

You, on the other hand, have to resort to contrived assumptions to get a glimpse into who he is.

The imbalance is present, glaring. Enough to irk you but not enough to implode just yet. You stuff it away for later.)

Solid system aside, it certainly doesn’t account for how much of it you can tolerate. You’re paralyzed, hollowed out by the endless workouts. And while, yes, you could go to the cafeteria to fill up with fuel that alleviates the effects, you physically can’t move out from under your sheets – limp as the mattress that cushions you.

You wonder what he would say if he saw you like this. It’s become harder to guess now that you’re unsure of his true feelings towards you. A Spanish taunt, likely; something along the lines of have I worn you out already? And you’d huff but secretly squirm under the prospect of disappointing him, a scolded schoolgirl caught with a lame excuse between index and thumb.

Hell, he’s not even around and you’re still plump with shame. Your room doesn’t feel nearly as comforting with the knowledge of what waits outside. Down the hall, up the staircase. Through the common room and across the lobby. In that little gym, hidden in a corner near the med-bay, where no one frequents when the more advanced training facilities are in another sector entirely. You check the alarm on your desk – 09:00. He’s probably there already, waiting on you with arms crossed.

In your mind's eye, he’s wearing that black compression top he seems to resort to on laundry days. Grey sweatpants too. You don’t know what to call the passing reflection – fantasy is all too mortifying a word. Wish? Absolutely not. You wish for nothing when it comes to him. Except maybe–

Thighs squeezing, you brush the objection away. You could get it easily if you’re able to muster the energy. Take it one step at a time. Change into your athletic gear. Eat a light breakfast. Show up, if not a little late. Miguel would make a passing comment about it but nod at the fact that you came at all. And it would be enough, that little assurement, to motivate you through whatever gruelling exercise he has planned today.

If you let him know, though – how hard it was for you to go – would he add to your reward? So far it’s only been his fingers on you, rubbing you while you run slick onto him. Deliciously thick as they fuck into you, long and perfect at pinpointing that one spot that makes you just burst. Certainly better than your own, but…

His touch is beginning to lose its novelty. Increasingly, you’re left wanting more. You come down from your highs gaping, clenching around the memory of a length that’s only ever been in your mouth. And if he’s able to make you see stars with just his hand–

Then you’d abandon the cosmos just to get him to fuck you.

(A proclamation you’d never say out loud. Even your conscious cringes at just how depraved it sounds.)

So, you try.

Really, you do. With the fear of failing him and the lust that’s taken root in your core, you kick your legs off the edge of your bed. The air is frigid, biting at your heels as they press to tile, which is just as cold itself. You let it diffuse into your feet, getting used to it while bracing yourself for the pain bound to reemerge. Black broaches your vision, blotting its edges. You opt to ignore the blatant warning, sucking in a hurried breath – resilience – before rising to a stand.

Two seconds pass. You go blind. Like a marionette with its strings cut, you tip over and collapse to the floor.

Whether a headrush or your muscles finally giving up on you, you can’t help but attribute the display to none other than your ‘mentor’ himself. Cocky bastard with his stupid fucking philosophies. Resilience my ass. Look where that’s gotten you now; capsized like a turtle with a shell too big for its own good.

Groaning, you flip over to your side. Your elbow had taken the brunt of the impact, yet your head rings with alarm nonetheless. You’ll just… You’ll just stay right here. Yeah.

He’ll understand.

(And, if not, then you’ve dealt with him in poorer moods.)

18:00.

You’re pathetic.

So much more than that, actually. Pathetic is a description reserved for the pitiable. A person has to actually sympathise with you in order for it to be true, and you’re sure that if anyone saw you in this state – God forbid – then they’d convulse in disgust instead.

You cycle through a list of viable synonyms. Miserable. Lame. An absolute tragic case of wasted potential. None quite fit like you want them to. They all feel wrong – mirrors so distorted you can’t make out your reflection in them if you tried.

It’s just… becoming of you.

If there were a word that specifically meant befitting to Wraith, then you’d clutch it close to your chest for how validating it would read. It feels like all the work you’ve put in thus far was for nothing. Despite how it may seem, you didn’t just do it for Miguel. If it had been, then you would’ve given in half a year ago upon realising just how attractive your pursuer was.

(You remember it, clear as a waxy moon on an ink-blot night.

He’d thrown you into dry-wall and you’d called him a coward for not looking you in the eye. It must’ve hit him where it hurt, because his mask drew back and before you knew it, you were phasing in and out to the beat of your fluttering heart.

It was the first time you saw him. Once you managed to escape, your fist suffered through its duty in muffling your moans, cut by biting incisors as you rubbed one out in a hostel bed.)

No. It was for you. To put distance between the inconsiderate menace you were before Earth-15 and the woman you desperately want to be. You’d started to notice the difference too. Mentally, sure – where your self-hatred was tamped to the background, and every action you took was opened with weighty contemplation. But even physically – your eyebags had faded and you looked much cleaner than you have in a long, long time.

Where’s that progress now?

Because you’re crumpled on the spot where you fell almost eleven hours ago, with the addition of a pillow to support your head. You’re much like a wad of chewed gum, spit out by some being greater than this dimension. Gross and regressive and littering this world with your very existence.

It’s a close parallel to how downtrodden you’d felt in that convenience store bathroom, bandaging your forearm where Miguel’s claws had dug deep into the flesh. Your throat had been tight with suppressed sobs, both pain and primal fear replacing the pus that surged from your wound. The wash area was filthy. Dirt-packed grout and grey tap water. Paper towels balled in wet wads. But it felt right for you at the time, like you deserved no better.

Of course, you didn’t. Don’t. You went out and got an innocent woman killed not much later.

You still think about her sometimes. Her blood had been piping hot, almost bubbling from the yawning hole in her throat. The rescue was half-assed – you could’ve incapacitated the robber after knocking him out – but you’d been so filled with false bravado at actually having done something that it never occurred to you. The instinct lacking. Your spider-sense, absent. If you’d ever considered grasping the reins to your powers, you could’ve prevented the bullet from phasing through you and meeting her instead. You’ve always been short-sighted like that; prioritising the now over the what if.

And that’s what you stayed here to remedy. But if the same thing happened tomorrow, what’s stopping you from repeating your mistakes? You’d been too broken this morning to process that.

You should’ve just sucked it up and went.

From your place on the floor, out the window, only the top of Nueva York’s cityscape is visible. The sky has darkened to the colour of a bruised peach – an oxidised sort of orange that reminds you of last night’s dream – and the nightlights of some buildings flicker on cue when the sun dips below the horizon. You can see the ninety-degree highway up to Second Base from here. It’s been your entertainment for today, with its little commuting cars and the train that zips back and forth.

If you focus hard enough, then you can trick yourself into believing that the space station is visible, floating just above the stratosphere – where gravity is weak enough to let it hold its place. But you’re a woman of science and you know that it's impossible, that the silhouette you’re picturing is a figment of your wild reverie and you’re still anchored to earth where dreams are just that. Dreams. Your eyes burn from attempting it, anyway, those damn dust motes cropping up again.

Christ.

Given that life’s slowed, you’re spotting them more often. Back in that empty storelot, right after being bit, you’d fixated on them for a brief instant. They fit in with the setting back then, lazy in a stream of sunlight. Colourful – pink, green, orange, gold – flipping through the shades in a way that made sense. But their appearances have lost that sense of cohesion. Now, they emerge when you least expect them. In shadows. Hovering in corners not too far away. Places where it’s unnatural for them to be.

You reach a hand out. There’s no purpose behind it. Just… an exploratory action. To test the unknown. Your shoulder aches when you do, and so you don’t notice how odd it feels at first. Like electricity, buzzing at your fingertips. The motes start to drift towards your skin, magnetised to something you can’t explain.

When you sit up to investigate it further, there’s a knock at your door.

Hobie?

Couldn’t be. He mentioned he’d be away for a while last you talked.

There are few others who know of your assignment. Reilly, but he hasn’t paid mind to you since introducing your room. Jess Drew, maybe, though that’s far-fetched.

So–

You look down at your dishevelled state. In just a plain shirt and your pair of oldest underwear, you’re hardly dressed for entertainment. Especially when it’s him.

Is he checking up on you?

It’s so stupid that even in a depressive slump you’re able to laugh at yourself. Check up is the only way you can put it without making things worse. If he’s passing by, then it would be in suspicion. You’re no idiot, after all, in spite of your dejection. He wouldn’t let you roam free without having measures in place to ensure you don’t leave. That may just mean looking in from time to time.

Though it’s practically guaranteed that it isn’t out of concern.

(You have to remind yourself; you wish for nothing when it comes to Miguel O’Hara.)

Another knock. It’s hastier this time. Three raps with sharp knuckles. Impatient.

Panic overtakes all motor functions as you scramble to a stand. Yesterday’s joggers are thrown over your desk chair, in need of a wash with all the fluids secreted in them. They’re the closest in your vicinity, though, and will have to do for now. You briefly fuss over how your hair looks, whether your unwashed face is visibly oily – all fixable things that you dismiss while tripping to the doorway. The waistband is barely over your ass before you swing it open, greeting Miguel with a grimace.

Idiot. You shouldn’t have opened it that wide. Now he can see your mess of a r–

“Bad time, I’m guessing.” Is all he says, voice lilting into a question. You can’t help but register it with a tone of condescension; the raised eyebrows certainly don’t convince you otherwise.

All you really want to do is tell him off for the impromptu visit. The chagrin is there, latched onto your throat. But before you can, and against your better judgement, you give him an extensive once-over, taking heed of his state. What’s ironic – a tranquillising point that promptly shuts you up – is that it’s worse than yours.

In the complete opposite way.

Three big rips run along his torso, interfering with the technology of his spider-suit. It glitches between static and a transparent condition, baring the bronzed skin of his chest. There’s blood there too, reiterating the crimson that peeks from beneath his floppy hair, which is sweat-drenched. Tousled. He’s tousled, like he waltzed directly from a fight. A particularly bad one at that.

(And of course he still looks better.)

“One can say the same about you.” You bite.

“Don’t be smart.” He says. It isn't the snap you take it to be, more a mumble with consequence to his fangs. His mouth doesn't sit right when they’re withdrawn. You run your tongue along your gums upon remembering how they’d felt, pierced in your neck. “I couldn’t make our session this morning. An urgent issue came up.”

Immediately, something fresh smooths over you, like a balm to the anxiety that’d been plaguing you all day. He wasn’t even there. You’re tempted to laugh, but your humour dims on its way out. And when all is said and done, you find the disquietude is still there, nestled between your ribs.

You just blink in acknowledgement.

His jaw tenses. “We can reschedule.”

“You don’t have to sound so guilty about it.” The joke contains perhaps more sarcasm than you intend for it. It echoes, spiteful, and you at least have the sense to be ashamed, for you follow it up with a small reassurance. “It’s fine. I never showed.”

“Sick?”

“Something like that.”

(Lie.

Look at you, just embodying ignobility today.)

He nods, scanning your dishevelled clothing and chapped lips. Your only drink of water all day had been from the bathroom tap in an especially lamentable episode. It smacks, as though it were filled with cotton, the inside of your cheeks dry paper.

You wait for him to say something, unease broiling in your core. He does the same, gaze shifting from the scars on your arm to your bedroom and everything in between. It lingers on the external hallway, scanning for passersby. You recognise the indecision. Deliberation. Still – the long stretch of silence that hangs between you is awkward, broadening with every passing second, a gluttonous sort of tension whose favourite meal is the undefined mess that is your relationship to one another.

Finally, Miguel speaks up. “I’ll be back.”

And then he leaves.

He just… fucking–

Walks away, off to whatever takes precedence over your less-than-invigorating conversation. Which, admittedly, could be counted as anything in the world. But seriously, where is the decorum? Showing up unannounced only to leave you waiting? You run through the various reasons he couldn’t stand to be in your presence any longer, and what he expects you to do before his return.

The most plausible is that his injuries needed tending to. If they were that severe though, then why he saw stopping by first a greater priority is beyond you. In any case, he’ll probably return refreshed. But for what? Your response couldn’t have been misinterpreted to mean that you wanted to reschedule the missed session for tonight. You’re still sore, thank you very much, and in a much shoddier mood than you had been previous.

(This is what you wanted though; a second chance.

‘Just suck it up.’)

Steeling yourself, you shut the door and hobble down to the back of your room, stripping on your way. You’ll tidy up after your shower – it's bound to wash at least half of your self-loathing.

You just hope your leggings are clean.

As it turns out, you were the one who misinterpreted things.

Dressed in your athletic gear with damp skin and your sneakers primed to go, the dread had started to ebb away into a begrudging acceptance. Yes, your body still tenses with lactic-mutiny, raging where you’ve exerted it in the past, and your head still sings in migraine tones. But they all came second to the split-second fluster that had risen when he’d knocked on your door. That fear of disappointment returned with a vengeance, your worry for regression packing the final punch.

And, really. What were you supposed to think?

He left without so much as an excuse. It was up to you to decide what he’d see upon coming back. Just based on the nature of your prior meetings, the answer heavily leaned towards your own durability. Ready to face whatever exercise he has to throw your way, supposed sickness aside. You were actually quite proud of yourself for it, directing a heavy-handed pat on the back for the nail you ‘hit on its head.’

Never in your blurry dreams could you have predicted this.

Your face burns hot with puerile embarrassment.

“Um–”

“I figured you haven’t eaten.” Miguel explains, curling the plastic bags up in a gesture akin to surrender. They’re solid white, those thin types that bend under the weight of the cartons packed inside. You’re unable to process it before your stomach does, growling in suppressed hunger.

“No.” You shuffle to the side to allow him in. He takes the invitation, carefully, traipsing within your quarters to place the food on your desk. “I haven’t.”

The air resumes its resting level of edginess, however you’re far too wrapped up in your own head to buckle underneath it this time. It’s cold, you ascertain, your skin puckering in a gradient from foot to toe. His survey follows the same line, regarding your changed appearance in intrigue, cheeks sinking with a downward smile. It looks positively smug.

“Sorry, I thought… You’re not here to dole out another one of your lessons?”

“You’re sick aren’t you.” He isn’t interrogative in the slightest. You can’t bring yourself to lie again, so you stay silent. “I see you got dressed regardless.”

“Well, that’s me. Just a sucker for appearances.” You scoff, shutting the door behind you. The room appears infinitesimal in his presence, collapsing into those broad shoulders. “Tidied the space too and everything.”

Tall, packed with undiluted muscle. No longer in his spider-suit, but clothes more casual. A bandage stretched across his forehead. It’s stark against his skin, white on bronze and you can’t help but follow the way he gleams under the warm lighting. Fresh – he must’ve showered too, further evidence found in the way his hair curls, dips, drops of water rolling down his nape. You dig your teeth into your lip. Any closer and you’re bound to hit a wall of patchouli, that aphrodisiacal scent that triggers you like an animal in heat.

“Is that so?” He prods, unconvinced. It’s dark outside and you feel confined to this box. “You weren’t just anticipating it?”

“Anticipation is a forgiving word. No one would look forward to torment.”

His brows knit together, the creases between them playful, like the very implication is offensive on the same magnitude as a low-life’s taunt.

“But…” There’s nowhere to back into when he takes a step closer, your bed hitting the back of your knees. “You got dressed regardless.” He reinstates, emphasising each word, syllables punctuated to make his point. If you weren’t cornered, snared in the clutches of a cat celebrating its next meal, you’d have been able to see where this is going.

As it stands, you’re blind.

“You know what I think?” He adds upon your reticence. You shake your head. “I think, it’s finally starting to hit you.”

“Hit… Wh–”

“The point. These past few weeks have been tough, I won’t pretend otherwise.” Miguel clarifies. “But it was only the first part of it. Withstanding struggle, that torment you speak so… fondly of.”

“Like you said,” You catch on, recalling the reality check he’d given you that day with the plank. “Y’know. Resilience.”

“Remind me of the other half of it again.”

“There’s… Withstanding struggle,” You repeat stupidly, working overtime to try and fetch his exact words. It’s an almost impossible feat, the gears in your mind turning on empty fuel. The initial lecture wasn’t that long ago, but it’s been intercepted by a million other philosophies. And he’s right there, ducked close to your level, keen eyes patiently waiting for you to continue. His breath fans across your cheek. The pressure worsens. You feel dumb. “And–”

You resort to context, then – grasping for the crux of his little tangent. What did you do to inspire it, anyway?

It hits you so suddenly your neck twinges with phantom whiplash.

“Recovering when you fall.” You complete.

“That’s it.” The whispered praise tickles you, like sand filling an hourglass. Your tummy sinks, heavy with it. It’s warm and dry and feels much like how his bare hand did, supporting your neck under rubble. Behind your back, your own wind together as you shoot him a vampish look.

“Who would’ve thought.”

He shrugs. “Was your faith that lacking?”

“There were a few times, yeah. You should’ve seen me this morning,”

“Oh, I can imagine.”

“Fell right to the floor. Almost died, I’m telling you. I stayed right here,” You tap the ground with your heel. “All day.”

“It was not that bad,” He insists, speaking with a levity you don’t often hear from him. It’s nice when he reciprocates like this. You’ve always reckoned that he took himself seriously one-hundred percent of the time. You find that you get along better when he doesn’t.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.” You pop the P, using the excuse to wet your lips. The guard you keep constantly raised bends to the contours of his face, curved elegantly around those high cheekbones and the jaw he must physically sharpen to get looking so pronounced. He’s studying you – you sense it, teasing your lashes, noting the way your eyes pointedly avoid his. They’re planted firmly to his neck, where corded muscles stretch under skin, so strong you can practically hear them creak.

Your heartbeat skips from between your thighs. When you rub them together, they glide easily, lubricated by the slick pooling into your panties.

“No logical reason you should continue putting up with it, then.”

It could turn out that Miguel’s voice is modulated and you wouldn’t be surprised given how pleasing it is to listen to. Deep, controlled from a low point in his chest where smouldering coal chars it until it’s rugged. You always pay closer attention to the letters through which his accent comes through; short O’s and throaty D’s. His mouth hardly moves when he speaks. You wonder when he chooses to properly utilise it. Whether he does at all.

Your kiss had been entirely one-sided. His rewards are so detached. There’s a lot you haven’t explored yet; with every passing second, the greater the urge is to push and find out.

“Except we can both appreciate why I do,” You breathe, throwing caution to the wind and catching his stare. An irrepressible smile blooms at the spirited expression he gives you. Eyebrows raised in a thick arch, forming an amused look that only bolsters you further.

“For your redemption?” He baits, only to interrupt your response. “Or…” Your nerves spark. “For this–”

And then he cups you over your leggings, pawing where you’re brim with molten arousal. Hips bucking, your jaw hinges to expel a high-pitched keen, pinched from the back of your gullet. You latch onto his wrist, eager to either neg him on or push him away – but with the torrid fuzz that gains control of your systems, you can’t work it out.

“Do you deserve it?” His ask caresses the shell of your ear, a whisper, fingers slowing until you land on an answer.

Distrusting yourself to verbalise it, you give a frantic nod, mortifyingly desperate. It’s as much of a revelation for you as it is for him, manifested with every needy rut you give his hand. Miguel lets you seek the pleasure, pinning harder to provide the pressure you need, before withdrawing just as assuredly.

You could almost sob. Your nose is stuffy and your lips bitten and you so badly wish to be filled with anything to help you forget your miserable day. When he taps your ass, you assign every ounce of remaining intellect to decipher the vague gesture – eventually falling back on your bed in a close measure of what you assume he means. It’s a sterling guess. Your shoes are shucked off in the process and he leans over you, one knee anchored to the surface as he tucks into the waistband of your pants. They slide off with his help, separating from heated flesh like velcro.

It occurs to you that this is the first time he’ll see you. So far, your body is familiar to him in touch alone – hurried, stolen and shoved under your panties in semi-public spaces while you fight to endure the conflicting sensations. There’s mind to currently faux humility – a game you liked to play with your college conquests. Batted eyelashes and babydoll modesty; a secret thrill present in watching them come undone at your relinquished control.

But Miguel is no lover, and you’re far too gone to play nice now.

You scoot back to your pile of pillows when he joins you. It’s unreal seeing him in such a domestic setting. Civilian attire, combed hair. In high nature. If it weren’t for the bandage on his temple and the shadows making allusions to the brawn he keeps at bay, then you could’ve fooled yourself into trusting his normality. That he isn’t larger than life – solely here because he’s like you, a person trying to make well for themselves.

As it is, though, he’s still impenetrable. Fully clothed while you lay bottomless.

(Again, you’re reminded that you don’t know him. The man sacking you of your underwear could have a spouse, for all you’re privy to.

It just adds another layer of distance you should be thankful for.)

Manic with lust, you’re barely enlightened to what’s coming when your mentor captures each leg in a separate grip. Big hands cradle their bends, under your knees where your skin is unconventionally soft. It poses a contrast to the calluses on his palm, worn by years of crime-fighting and swinging on reinforced webs. They’re warm and rough and scratch you, sending a nervous buzz down to your core.

He guides your limbs up. Your ankles sway. Definitely strong; he almost syphons the breath right out through your stomach. If you close your eyes, you can imagine that this is just another exercise, a preliminary stretch.

But you don’t. Folded with your thighs pinned to your chest, you can only fluster with real self-consciousness. Your cunt is exposed to the filtered air, biting the heated centre with its opposite degree. Perhaps more wickedly, however, is the way you’re spread to Miguel’s hawk-like gaze. He inspects the way you glow, humiliated, the sticky confirmation of your desire smeared across your puffy lips. Is he turned off by the sight – your eagerness a violation of the pseudo-professional boundaries marked around your deal?

No, you decide. He’s all too content when he ducks to face it, laying a heavy mouth to your throbbing clit. It’s intoxicating, the cool slice of oxygenated air after months of smoke inhalation. You forget your insecure tangent entirely, tipping your chin back to moan your encouragement.

Fuck, he’s good.

More than good. You scramble for a better description, hands clawing for purchase on your sheets. It’s indescribable in its obscenity – lewd and dirty and slow, mapping every fold and crevice with his tongue. The sweltering muscle, like velvet, swirls across your sensitive bud, taking in its high reactivity, before lapping at the hood above it. You hone in to every miniscule movement, raptured by its dexterity and unwilling to fully let yourself go.

Miguel hums, low, tasting the agony that pours from his skill. His fingertips paint bruises where they dig, holding your thrashing hips still. You find there’s nothing else you can do to bear it, your arms flailing pathetically, toes curling. You pant and it doesn’t help dissuade the indulgence building up within you, crashing against a dam that’s starting to crack. It’s almost as though you’re doing too much to seek it out, afraid he’ll turn to ash at any second and leave you wanting.

“Oh– O’h… Shit, shit!” You whine, pounding your heel on his broad back. He barely notices, peering up at you through dark lashes. “If I had… Don’t stop! Please, p–” His crimson eyes gleam dark and bloody, obscured in shadow. Sobbing, you suck in large gulps of heady air. “If you promised this earlier, I would’ve climbed up fucking buildings to earn it.”

“Mmm-” He ignores your plea, breaking away to bring two digits to his mouth. Your right leg flops uselessly to his side. “Good idea.” One lick and they’re covered in spit. You can’t help but notice the discolouration on his knuckles, deep red and purple, as he uses his index and middle to fan out your lower lips.

And then he’s back to eating you out. This time, though, he’s drinking from your weeping slit. Breaching it, exploring the perimeter that stretches to accommodate his pistoning tongue. Despite pursed lips, your scream still manages to sound through the way it vibrates your lungs. Rattling you, much like he does now, from inside out. His nose is pressed to your mound. You don’t doubt he can smell you, potent sex and clean sweat, contracting every joint until you’re an immovable board.

“Don’t do that,” Miguel groans, scorching the space he creates to reprimand you. Crying, you obey what he says, melting into a puddle of nectar. He strikes a fair point; things feel exponentially better when you aren’t tense, nerve pathways unobstructed in sending pleasure signals to your blank brain. Discerning the shift, he huffs. “Good.”

Stars and heaven above, your consequent wail is unhinged. Your hands fly to his hair, seizing the wavy tresses in a smarting hold. The praise serves as an amplifier to every sense. Hips bucking, free calf curling around his neck. His fingers plunge into you, scissoring your tight walls as he spits onto your pussy, gathering the pearlescent fluid with his thumb and using it as aid. Like you need the extra help.

Because you’re soaked. The dam is broken. Everything gushes out of you in an ugly mess, glossing his palm and the duvet below. He nips your clit, grazing his teeth along the swollen sprout, teasing, then places his mouth back onto you. Brown locks curl to his brow. You brush them back, shoving him harder, closer. Sort of power-drunk at the sight of him succumbing to your command.

It’s short lived. You’re about to cum when he chooses the inopportune moment to speak.

Growls, actually. “Hold on.”

Capturing you to his face, he makes sure you’re steady before relinquishing his fingers from your hole and upending you both.

Suddenly, you’re on top and he’s the one framed by your pillows. Your back bends and you almost crumble on top of him – an old building met with a wrecking ball of celestial proportions. You can’t hold your weight on your haunches. They’re practically useless like this, quivering with suspense. Where guilt would be the appropriate response at such a prospect, you’re bound by awe instead. He’s no doubt suffocated by your squeezed thighs and seated pussy – the force of which aided by gravity – but something tells you that’s what he wants. For the first time, his eyes flutter shut.

A sting – concentrated on the globe of your ass – registers only seconds later where he had slapped you. Go, it demands silently. You force yourself to muster the energy to do so.

You can’t last very long, anyway.

Pelvis waving, you ride his face, back arched away from his hand. It irons over your covered waist, wet and soaking the breathable material of your shirt. The position proves to be a workout in of itself, your core strength tested in the motions. For the first time, you find yourself thanking his training. You wouldn’t have persisted otherwise.

Your orgasm rises again, faster now that you’re properly edged. It floods up from your feet like a high tide, sweeping all the seaweed and shells and stability from your abdomen. Lost at shore, a stranded sailor waking up from a tempests’ shipwreck; dazed, sun-blanched on splintered wood. There’s sand on your skin – it clears that too. You’re renewed in briny water. Freshened, addicted to the feeling of the sea pulling you back into its gentle but firm embrace.

You take back what you said. About his mouth and how he chooses to use it. It’s none of your business so long as he keeps it on you, sucking and drinking the cum he milks for all its worth. It just keeps coming, no start or end in sight. It’s all you can do to withstand your weakened centre constantly clenching and still breathe, tears budding hot and heavy. Your nails scratch his scalp. Miguel gives a minute mmmm.

And in the wake of it, while he lays there and laps you clean, the echoes of your moans still rings from the walls.

Forget what you said. Technically, the night didn’t end there.

Much later, you’re both washed and warm. It took you a while to wipe the slick from your folds. He used your bathroom to cleanse his hands and face.

The same cartons of food now sit open between you, on the desk he’d manoeuvred off the wall to divide its chair from your bed. He’s much too big for the seat, but when you’d offered him the mattress, he brushed you off. You currently sit cross legged, cushions bare – sheets in the wash.

And it’s quiet. The empty type, strangely enough. Devoid of any of your usual sarcasm or awkwardness. Sort of… suspended between both, in the foreign land of amity.

Perhaps that’s what convinces you to ask. The inherent safety of the moment. There’s not much you can say to offend in the post-smut glow. Slurping the tail end of a noodle, you look away from your rapture with the illuminated highway outside to take him in. The train had just passed.

“Are you married?”

Miguel doesn’t reply immediately, chewing a mouthful of seasoned vegetables. Instead, he looks at you with mild amusement. Eventually, his adam's apple bobs in a thick swallow.

“No.” He says.

chapter twelve

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honeybubblebeeeeee · 5 months

Text

Breaking Up Slowly || Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

Gojo had broken up with you, for his own reasons but he still couldn’t stay away from you.

Part 2

You may read this and be like huh not realistic but i am writing this bec i was in this situation and it still got me messed up XD smut/hurt no comfort ://// (oral giving/receiving, penetration, creampie, nothing crazy) bad at writing smut bear with me

(also send requests! i appreciate them they help smmmm with writers block <3)

Your relationship with Satoru wasn’t ever a negative one. You two were compatible in all aspects. Your relationship was healthy. Until it wasn’t.

“I don’t understand! Just tell me what I did!” Tears were overflowing from your eyes as Satoru just stood at the door, a bag of his clothes over his shoulder. He couldn’t look at you even thought he was the one that ended things.

“It’s not you. I just don’t want a relationship anymore.” He looked to his feet and shifted uncomfortably.

You stared in disbelief. You had done nothing but give him everything. Anything he needed, you gave. You didn’t make a big deal when he was gone a long time and wouldn’t even answer his phone. You didn’t make a scene even when he was around and still needed space. You understood his job was hard. You didn't get mad at him when you hadn't seen him for weeks and when you finally did he didn't want to spend time with you.

“But why? Am I too much? Did I do something? Did I not do something?” You overthought every moment in an instant. You two had always talked when something was wrong. This is the first time there has been an issue and it wasn’t spoken about.

“No. I told you it’s not you. I just don’t want to be in a relationship. I have other things to focus on.” His blindfold masked any emotion that could be behind his eyes. It wasn’t often he wore it around you. So this felt like a punishment.

Taking in a breath you asked the hard question. “Are you seeing someone else?”

His head snapped to you and he took a step towards you but stopped himself from advancing further. “What? No. Of course not. I still want to be friends with you. I want to help you when you need it and….. and if you want we can still be, ya know, intimate.”

You scoffed at him. “You want nothing to do with me but you still want to have sex with me.”

Satoru sighed. “I still want you around. I just don’t want a relationship.”

Your heart felt like it was snapping in two. “Go. Get out.”

Satoru held out a hand. “Look Y/N, I-“

“Just go Gojo.” A flash of hurt crossed his face at your refusal to even use his name. He merely nodded at you and left.

. . .

A few days had gone by. Gojo had not spoken to you. You considered blocking his contact but it hurt too much. Part of you wanted him to take it back. To say he didn’t mean it and to come back. However part of you felt better with him gone. True feelings of how lonely you actually felt around him had risen to the surface now that you weren’t blinded by your love for him.

You were making your way to a hiking trail nearby your house when your phone started to ring. Pulling it out of your pocket, Gojo’s face lit up the screen. It felt like your heart was breaking all over again.

You considered not answering it but as the last ring started you accepted the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey! I just had to tell you this so I’m out with Yuji right. We were walking through the market and this curse comes out of nowhere. Sukuna and Yuji switch and apparently Sukuna knew the curse.” Gojo ranted on about whatever predicament he had been in. You were too stunned to say anything but oh, okay and force a laugh where it seemed appropriate. “So yeah I just thought it was so funny I had to call you to tell you.”

“Um yeah that is pretty funny.” Your mind spun. Did you imagine him breaking up with you?

“Anyway sorry to interrupt if you were busy. I just really wanted to tell you.” He sounded as if not a single aspect of this seemed wrong.

“I uh no. I wasn’t busy. I was just going to the trail by my apartment for a walk.” Through all his talking you had made it out of your apartment and almost to the trail.

“Oh really? I’m pretty close to there. I’ll come with you. I wouldn’t mind a walk. See you in a sec.” And with that he hung up.

You gaped at your phone. You almost wanted to call him back just to scream at him. You shook your head and kept walking, maybe he wouldn't be able to find you.

Just as you entered the trail, Gojo came up behind you. He smiled and waved, his dark sunglasses on. "Hey! It's nice out today huh?" You swallowed harshly and forced a smile at him. You walked in silence for a little while, Gojo's phone ringing broke the silence. "Oh sorry let me answer this." He walked away answering his phone, you stood there still in shock of how to even react to this entire situation. He was your ex-boyfriend now. So why was he acting like nothing ever happened?

He hung up and walked back towards you. "I have to go sorry but I'll catch up with you later?" He waved to you and made his way back in the direction you had both come from. You raised your hand weakly to wave to him.

. . .

A few weeks had gone by. Gojo hadn't spoken to you much. A few 'hey' and 'how are you' texts but they never went past a couple messages. Ironically it was him that was leaving you on read even though it was him who was texting you first. You hadn't physically seen him since that day in the woods.

It was late in the evening. You weren't tired but you didn't feel like doing anything in particular. In cases like this you resorted to weird hobbies at unconventional times, like baking at 11:00 pm. You had made a few batches of double chocolate chips cookies. One that had been your favourite and Gojo's. The man had a ridiculous sweet tooth and had always begged you to make them. You rarely had time to bake. It was one of those things you took for granted and regretted. If you had more time would he have stayed? Is that one of the reasons why he left?

Unsure what possessed you in the moment but you went for your phone and snapped a picture. Then sent it to him.

You: (Pic) i finally had time to make some more Gojo: ....are those the double chocolate chip ones that always stay super soft???!!! You: maybe Gojo: this physically pains me

You smiled at his silliness. You wanted to punch yourself for what you were about to do.

You: you could come by and have some i can even put some in a container for you to take home

He read the message and a few minutes had gone by. You cursed yourself. Gojo was your ex. Gojo broke up with you and here you were inviting him over cookies late at night. Smart. Real smart. You sighed ready to bask in your melancholy as your phone rang. Gojo was calling. You shouldn't answer right away right? Don't want to seem desperate... right?

"Hello?"

"I'm outside, buzz me in?"

You gaped for a moment before coming back to reality. "Oh right." You hung up and walked towards the pad by your front door, pressing the button, allowing him to enter the building. After a few minutes a knock sounded at the front door and of course you opened it to reveal Gojo. He had his black circle sunglasses on.

"Oh uh come in." Stepping out of the way to let him enter. Gojo slipped off his shoes and made his was to the kitchen. You shut the door quickly and followed him. He was practically drooling over the cookies. "Did you want a glass of milk or something?"

He turned to you. "Yeah but don't worry I'll get it. You sit."

You nodded as you leaned against the counter while he munched down the cookies in front of you. "These are so good. You always make the best treats." He leaned against the opposite counter across from you.

You two were really only an arms length apart from each other. You could reach over and pull off his glasses without even moving too much. "I'm glad you like them."

Gojo picked up another one. "You want one?"

"Sure" You shrugged and moved to reach for it but he moved faster and held it to you lips. You took a soft and tentative bite out of it. His sunglasses covered anything his eyes would reveal. He moved it away for a moment before feeding you the rest of it, then leaning back and simply watching you.

He took a shuddering breath before standing straight. "Did you see that movie sequel that came out? We used to watch the first one all the time." He moved over to your living room and plopped himself on the couch. You followed behind him, sitting on the farthest side from him. "Yeah... I haven't had any way to watch it though."

He smiled boyishly. "I downloaded it." He took a few minutes plugging something into the tv, where he pulled it out of you were not sure.

You sat separately as the movie started. Gojo paused it and looked to you. "Do you want popcorn?"

"Uh, yeah sure" You got up to move, but he ushered you to stay put.

"No, no I got it. Don't worry." He sauntered off to the kitchen. I guess on the plus side he knew where everything was. After a few minutes he came back, a large bowl of popcorn in hand. He sat more in the middle of the couch now. The bowl taking up the only space remaining between. Gojo slipped off his glasses placing them on his head.

The movie resumed. Both of you slowly ate at the popcorn while watching. Your hands brushed periodically and it made your skin heat. Occasionally you snuck glances at him. His soft frosty locks, his white eyelashes fluttering as he blinked. You could just barely see the crystal blue of his eyes.

You looked away quickly before he could notice but at some points you could just barely see him turning to you in your peripheral and not turning back right away. Sure, he could be looking past you but you doubted it.

The popcorn had been devoured. It was one of your favourite snacks and you knew he knew that. He placed the empty bowl on the table and subtly moved closer to you. You pulled your legs up in front of you, your feet facing him.

Your toes brushed the side of his legs. Even that little bit of contact almost had you begging for him. Mentally you scolded yourself. Swiftly, he scooped his arm under your legs and stretched them across his lap. "You can stretch out, it's a long movie." Gojo looked to you, a soft smile playing on his lips. His blue eyes dipped to your lips, your neck before snapping back up and then returning to the movie.

You swallowed sharply before looking back to the tv. Was it hot in here? You felt hot.

Gojo settled his hands atop your legs and leaned more into the couch. His fingers playing with the fabric of your pants absentmindedly as he watched on. You shivered slightly at the touch. "You cold?"

Coughing to cover your stutter, "Oh uh yeah a little." Actually your body was on fire and your heart was racing but you didn't stop him from reaching over and grabbing the throw blanket that rested on the side of the couch. Gojo strategically threw it over you both. You thought this would give you more of a barrier between you to stop his incessant touching that you were not going to out right say no to.

However to your horror or your relief his hands stayed under the blanket and continued his movements. You could feel him testing how far you would let him go. His hand rubbed up and down your shins, massaging softly. Could he hear the pounding in your chest?

Slowly the area he occupied increased, his hand running up your thigh, squeezing after a random amount of strokes. Could he feel you squeeze your thighs together every time he did? You were fidgeting. Flexing and wriggling your feet. Your hands busily picked at your shirt under the blanket.

Gojo's hand slowed and stopped. You took in a deep breath. Maybe his torment had stopped but you hated that it did. He readjusted your legs to move from sitting by his knees, to right in his lap. One hand moved to rest just above your hip and the other stayed, making taunting circles on your thigh. You forgot you were staring when he turned and looked at you. "You okay?"

"Uhuh." Swallowing you turned back to the movie. A few minutes passed. His hand on the thigh kept making taunting delicious circles while the other slowly started to move back and fourth.

You hated this, how he broke your heart, acted like nothing happened and then came over here like he still had some sort of say over your body. What you hated more was that your body didn't hate it, that you couldn't stop him. You could feel the slickness collecting between your legs. The way your body begged for his touch.

The circles above your hip had started out on top of your shirt. At some point that you hadn't noticed his thumb had slipped underneath and was toying with the skin right above your waistband. You adjusted your legs, he halted for a moment letting you move. You brushed the need that had developed in his pants. His face pinched at the contact, his chest rising and falling heavily.

As you settled, Gojo returned to his current occupation. The movie still played, you didn't even know what was happening. You pulled your legs away and stood up. The blanket falling, your eyes catching his hardness but you quickly looked away. "I um just need some water. Would you like anything?"

He spread his arms along the back of the couch, not even remotely embarrassed of his length pushing through his pants. "No, I'm okay. Thank you." You nodded quickly and moved to the kitchen. He continued watching the movie.

Grabbing a glass and a straw, some ice and some cold water you sat back onto the couch. What had possessed you to sit right next to him, under his arm? He threw the blanket back over you, draping your legs over his, while the arm behind the couch wrapped around you and he slipped his hand into your waistband.

You could feel his fingers running up and down the skin of your hip, if he moved anymore to the side he would have a handful of your ass.

Shakily, you sipped on your water, the ice clinking grabbed his attention. Gojo's crystal blue eyes looked down on you and you hated the way it made your core tighten.

"Thirsty?" You held the straw towards him in offering. Watching as his mouth found the straw, sucking softly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. God, you have never wanted to be a straw so bad. What was wrong with you? He let it go, water droplets on his lips. "Thank you."

A shaky hand reached up and wiped the water from hip lip with your thumb. You hesitated right over his mouth. His lips parting, his warmth breath caressing your skin. Without hesitation he kissed the tip of your thumb, taking back the water droplets, the moisture wetting his already soft pink lips.

You let out a shuttering breath, his hands gripped you. One free hand grabbed your glass and set it on the table. You couldn't stop yourself from staring at his lips, against your better judgement your hands snakes around his neck, tangling your fingers into his white locks.

Gojo licked his lips, eyeing yours. "Can I kiss you princess?" Words failed you, so you settled for nodding your head. You wanted him bad. It was wrong but it didn't matter.

He hesitated at first then in record speed gripped the back of your head and pulled you into him. You couldn't even stay you didn't also pull him towards you. You clashed in a frenzy of lips, teeth and tongue.

Tugging at his hair caused delicious moans to leave his mouth and you swallowed them greedily. You nipped at his lip and he opened easily allowing you to slip your tongue past his lips. He pulled away for a breath. Both you of gasping, chests rising and falling rapidly. The way you had looked, eyes blown, hair a mess, lips puffy, must have triggered something primal in him. He latched onto your neck biting, nipping and sucking down to your collar bones and across. You knew he was leaving red angry marks but you had no intention of stopping him.

He couldn’t take it much longer. His hard throbbing length ground into you and it only made your core flare with need. Almost as if sensing it, Gojo picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and walking you to the bedroom. In that time it became a personal mission to leave just as many red marks on him as you were sure he left on you.

He deposited you on the bed, his glasses thrown to the side and his shirt discarded on the floor. Gojo grabbed you by the thighs and pulled you to the edge of the bed, slipping off your shorts and underwear in record timing.

"Wait, Toru I-" He stopped and looked up as you sat up and moved away a bit. A wave of disappointment crossed his face. "Do you not want to?"

"No, I do I just.." He grabbed you again, pulling you back down. "Then lay down baby and let me taste you yeah?"

His kissed up the inside of your thighs, nipping and sucking as he went. Small gasps left you lips and you looked down to see him already watching you. As he approached your center, you both stared at each other. His tongue licked a slow strip. "Mmmm... I missed the way you tasted. So sweet." You could not control the soft moans that left you lips as he slowed licked and sucked your clit. You writhed under him, to stop you from moving away he wrapped an arm around your waist, gripping your thighs.

With his other hand, he teased a finger along your opening. "You're so wet for me baby, fuck." Whining you gripped his locks, pulling his face back towards you. Gojo chuckled at your neediness. His long index finger slowly pushed into you as he sucked harshly on your clit.

"Toru, i- fuck" Your breaths were heavy as your chest heaved. His movements continued, his pace increased as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. "Toru, I'm so close, I- I can't-"

"Come for me princess, I wanna taste you, it's okay baby" Gojo continued his assault as he pulled you over the edge and let you ride his face as you rode out your high. Your body relaxed, eyes closed as his touch disappeared. You were too strung out to even really think.

He moved around the room but you didn't pay attention to him. You were so relaxed now you could have slept. Probably better than you had since he had left.

Satoru grabbed the back of your head and pulled you up to your knees on the edge of the bed. His cock on your lips, pre cum dripping out as you took him in. "Ugh fuck baby" His hand on the back of your head encouraged your movements as his length hit the back of your throat.

He did not give you time in between thrusts, relentlessly fucking your face until you were a drooling mess upon him.

Gojo pulled out with a pop and leaned down to bring his face to your level. "You look so good with my cock in your mouth princess. Did you miss my cock?" You couldn't say much, your brain clearly was not working so you nodded at him. His blue eyes were wide with desire as he smashed his lips against yours and pulled away abruptly.

"Turn around. I want to fuck you from behind. I love the way you look when I'm deep inside you from this angle." With slow movements you turned around, he grabbed your thighs to pull your knees right to the edge. Your reflection in the mirror on the other side of the room stared back at you.

His cock caressed your folds as he pressed down on your back making you arch into position. "Look at me." Your eyes snapped to his in the mirror. Slowly he pushed into you. Groaning as he did. Holding still once he was fully seated.

"Fuck~ you're so wet, your pussy is gripping my dick so hard it almost hurts. I can tell you missed me inside you." Both of you shuddered as he slowly pulled out to the tip and slammed back in.

Your nails dug into the blanket, soft moans leaving you both as his paced increased. One hand gripping your hip and the other pushing you down, keeping you in position as he slammed into you relentlessly. "I'm going to come baby, you feel too good I can't stop..."

His thrusts became stuttered as he pushed into you with one last thrust. Bending over you as you both panted heavily. Gojo kissed along your shoulder, across your back and down your other shoulder while still being seated inside of you. After a few moments he reached for the towel and set it underneath you, wincing as he pulled out and left you in a pool of your own mess while he cleaned himself off.

Your brain was still jumbled as your sat on the towel, before you even could come to your senses he was already dressed. His white locks a sweaty mess upon his head, his black sunglasses covering his eyes.

"Oh, you're leaving?" You couldn't stop the disappointment from entangling with your voice.

"Uh... yeah. I can't stay so." Gojo kissed the top of your head and went for the bedroom door. "I'm free later in the week. We can hang out again if you like. I'll text you." Before you could usher a response he left, closing the door behind him.

Tears welled and fell and quiet whimpers turned into full sobs as you sat in the mess of the both of you. You hated yourself for giving into him, for letting him touch you and be inside you again but what you hated more was that you knew he would be over again and you knew you couldn't bring yourself to say no.

#jjk gojo #gojo x you #gojo saturo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo angst

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blessedwithabadomen · 1 month

Text

in love with the mess - day ten

summary : Aubrey is going on tour and, for once, she's decided to focus on having as much fun as possible. Oli can be a little shit but he does nothing short of adore Audrey and... well, maybe Noah a little, too. Noah likes the flirting, as long as no one gets too close, emotionally. But what will happen when the three of them take it too far?

content : smut (p in v, dirty talk, oral (f and m receiving), hints at anal play), angst, fluff

length : 10k

tags (let me know if you want to be tagged!) : @veronicaphoenix @cookiesupplier @lma1986 @jilliemiw86 @bngurngheart @lacktoesandtoddlerants @narcissisticbehavior81 @flowery-mess @shilohrosechicken @justeli6 @starvingarsyn @floatinglikeaswan @blacksoul-27 @somebodyels3 @kageyasma @spikeisdaddy @broken0mens

a/n : Hope you enjoy this one!! Comments and reblogs keep the writer writing 💕

•••

day ten

I was getting tired of unexpected knocks on my hotel room door. Especially when it was much too early and I was already rushing to get ready after something had prevented me from properly packing my suitcase last night. Now I had mere minutes until I needed to be downstairs with the rest of the crew and the band because Bring Me had an awfully early bus call to get to Sheffield. I couldn’t blame them for that - it was home, after all. Most of them were using the day off to visit friends and family, but Oli and, as far as I knew Matt too, were heading for the store for the day.

I ripped the door open as much as I could under the weight to find none other than Oli himself standing in the hallway, an amused smirk on his face.

“I don’t know how well you slept last night, but this hotel really has to work on soundproofing their walls,” he chuckled, letting himself in just past the doorway as I stood frozen. “‘Cause I was definitely wide awake hearing two people have the fuck of their lives. Like, holy shit, staying quiet definitely wasn’t part of their vocabulary at all. Did you hear them at all?”

“I…”

“Not gonna lie, it sounded pretty hot, I was almost a little tempted to, you know.”

He raised his eyebrows at me as he motioned toward his crotch.

“Oli-”

“Did you really not hear anything?”

The bathroom door opened so abruptly I almost jumped at the sound. Noah had freshened up but was still very much in yesterday’s clothes and extremely sleepy. I could basically see the gears turning in Oli’s head as he looked back and forth between us.

“That was you! Oh you dirty, dirty kids,” he laughed. Noah looked thoroughly confused, still standing in the doorway of the bathroom. Oli gave another chuckle, but something was amiss. I’d known him for years. I knew Oli’s teasing face, the way he sounded, the way his eyes crinkled in earnest. This wasn’t it. And it kept me silent, somehow.

“Well, bus call’s soon, so no time for a second round, eh?” His voice didn’t match his words. I couldn’t quite figure it out just yet, but it made me feel uncomfortable and awkward. Noah seemed to think the same as he stayed suspiciously silent, toying with the hem of his shirt.

“Yeah, no, I’ll… I’ll catch you downstairs, yeah?” I finally managed to vomit out. Oli simply nodded, raised his hand in what I assumed should be a form of goodbye and then vanished back into the hallway.

It was only when the door clicked back into its lock that Noah moved next to me. Grabbing whatever he had left in the room - he briefly paused as he saw the bottle of Hennessey, but ultimately decided not to touch it - he got ready as if his bus call was imminent.

“I keep fucking up,” he said, more to himself than anything else as he moved past me to put on his shoes.

“Noah, you’re-”

“No, I am. It’s- it’s fine, I just need to-”

My hand on his arm stopped him just before he reached the door. He looked so conflicted, so torn, that it broke my heart along with his. I wanted to tell him it was going to be okay, that we could be okay, that Oli would be okay, but even in my head it sounded like a lie. I couldn’t promise him something like that. All I could do was allow myself to be his for the taking if he ever decided to, well, take me on.

I pulled him down with a hand on his neck and put my lips on it and I hoped it would tell him everything I couldn’t say.

•••

Oli wasn’t waiting for me when I arrived downstairs. He wasn’t in the parking lot either. Or downstairs in the bus, or in the lounge. But the curtain of his bunk was pulled tightly shut and it worried me beyond belief. I wasn’t quite sure what exactly had caused him to withdraw, but my brain was providing me with a multitude of options, spinning through all of them at lighting speed as if it could make me decide on one of them, and it made me dizzy.

Especially because simply pulling away was so out of character for him. I’d expected him to make a fuss, pick a fight, get mean, argue with either me or Noah or both of us at such a volume that the rest of the hotel voluntarily evacuated, but none of that had happened. Not even a tiny remark shot our way. Not a single item thrown around the bus in frustration.

Either way, I was just so over not communicating.

Aubrey u up?

I was almost shaking waiting for his reply. It seemed silly, texting him the very thing he’d texted me that first night before the tour had really started, but I hoped he would recognise it and not consider my joking offensive when he was dealing with… something. When my phone displayed a new message, I almost threw it away in surprise, as if I’d been expecting radio silence.

Oli Is this a bootycall?

So - he didn’t hate me. And he remembered. It was a relief, really. With a slight smile playing on my face, I walked back towards his bunk and pulled the curtain back. He didn’t noticeably react, simply kept lying with his back turned to me. He did, however, shuffle forward just the tiniest bit and I took it as an invitation to climb in and shut the curtain behind me.

It was a tight fit, both of us in his bunk, especially since Oli had gotten noticeably more buff than the last time we’d done this on a tour, but with a bit of rearranging and me spooning him closely, we made it work. I placed my hand over his heart, feeling it beat underneath my fingertips, so fast it was almost concerning.

“Hey,” I whispered, quietly, as if anyone else could overhear us, as if it would matter if they did. Oli didn’t answer in words, but put his hand over mine, stroking the skin delicately. “Talk to me.”

“Don’t wanna,” he mumbled, like a stubborn little child. I couldn’t see his face, but I imagined him to be pouting as he spoke. Was this better than the explosions we usually faced when he got mad? I decided yes.

“Oli,” I replied, hoping his name in my mouth would sound vaguely scolding. “We talked about that. Communication and all that? Come on. I can’t bear it when you withdraw like this.”

He sighed so heavily it moved my body along with his.

“It’s embarrassing though.”

“And you can blush all you like, but you’re going to tell me. I’m not even looking at you. It literally won’t get better than this. And I won’t let you off the hook any time soon, I hope you know that.”

He grumbled for a little bit longer but I sat it out, knowing he’d come around sooner or later. The sooner was reached a lot more quickly than expected. I had been well prepared to spend most of the drive to Sheffield here, in silence, just holding him and waiting it out.

“It’s stupid, really, but seeing you with Noah this morning, knowing what you’d done…” He took a deep breath. I didn’t interrupt him even though the thoughts were already running through my head at high speed again. “I don’t mind that you fucked, you know. It just feels like… like he got something from you before I did and… it makes me feel like a leftover. Like the two of you don’t need me.”

I desperately tried to wrap my mind around what Oli was telling me. He was jealous that Noah got to have me first? That I’d decided - although it wasn’t much of a planned decision, but he couldn’t know that - to sleep with him before I considered Oli? That maybe I desired the other man more? Wanted him closer, in a more intimate setting, than Oli?

“And I know we’ve, like, done stuff before, all of us,” he continued. It seemed like now that he’d started, he barely managed to stop. “But I don’t just sleep with anyone and, fuck, this sounds so stupid, but I thought it might be special, sleeping with you for the first time, sleeping with both of you, and now I feel like I’m not really part of it anymore…”

He wasn’t just thinking about Noah being the first one to sleep with me. He was also thinking about me being the first one to sleep with Noah. I gave myself some time to think during the moments he stayed quiet. How would I have felt if they’d gotten together first? Leaving me as the odd one out, the one that hadn’t been present when they shared this new level of intimacy.

I probably would have felt rejected too.

“If it helps at all, neither of us planned to have sex last night,” I explained. “It was very much a spur of the moment thing after he crashed at mine because he’d been drinking. I think… I think I would have preferred it with you around as well.”

I hadn’t realised it until the words left my mouth, but it was true. Sleeping with Noah had been amazing - but if we’d shared that experience as a threesome, all sober and fully awake, it would have been phenomenal. I had no doubt about that.

“And you’re not second best. Not at all. You and Noah… I have so much love for both of you, in such different and such similar ways all at once. I could never prefer him over you, just like I could never prefer you over him. I’m sorry that it happened like this and that you had to find out like that.”

I didn’t know what else to say. How else to make him understand. I couldn’t take back what had happened. I couldn’t magically turn back time and turn Noah down, or make Oli appear in the room too. I could only try to make up for it moving forward. And I planned to.

“Dinner’s still on tonight, right? The three of us?”

Oli nodded. I wouldn’t have noticed if we’d not been so close. I pressed a kiss into his dark locks.

“We’ll make it up to you. Noah and I. Promise. Will you let us?”

It took a moment of Oli struggling for me to realise he was attempting to turn around. I almost slid off the edge, already imagining myself falling to the floor in the little walkway between bunks, but Oli quickly shifted and put an arm around me in the most complicated way to keep me safe. There was a lot more shuffling, trying to keep our limbs intact and our hair from getting caught up somewhere, until we settled on a final position, our legs intertwined, foreheads pressed against each other.

“As if I could ever resist you, Aubrey. You and Noah, both.”

•••

As it turned out, I didn’t have all that much to do when I travelled to the store with Oli and Mat. Most of the organisational matters had been taken care of by the local workers, those in charge of Drop Dead and everything around it, and I was barely much more than a glorified babysitter as I ushered Oli back and forth to where he was needed.

At least his mood had improved considerably. I hoped I had played some sort of part in it. When he talked to the people around him, waved to a couple of fans, studied the designs he’d helped with, I knew it wasn’t a facade. He was truly happy here, and I caught myself thinking that maybe he could be truly happy with me and Noah, too.

“I don’t really know how long this will take, but it might be a while, so if you want to leave, I don’t know, walk through the city, get a nap, you really don’t have to stay here,” Oli told me when I managed to catch up with him. I knew he meant it. He wasn’t one for playing games like that. “I can text you and Noah the address of the place I reserved at, and the time. How’s that sound?”

I agreed, not because I was bored but because I felt wholly unneeded and kept standing in the way. The question of what I was going to do with my time was answered much quicker than expected as I ran into Becky on the way out.

“You know, I think we get a discount on this stuff. And if not I’ll make Oli give you one,” I grinned as I watched her flip through some of the shirts.

“Thank god, because this shit is expensive,” she replied, immediately letting go of the fabric in ther hands. “What do you say we go for an equally as overpriced coffee instead?”

“I do love me a good dose of caffeine,” I admitted.

Becky held out her arm for me to take it and I complied with a giggle, leaving the store with her and wandering the streets, making small talk as we tried to find a coffee shop to our liking. When we finally located one, ordered and sat down, I felt all the exhaustion I’d been carrying with me take over. I sank deeper into the comfortable armchair, wondering if it’d be inappropriate to get in a little cat nap.

“Looks like Oli is keeping you up. Or was that Noah?”

I briefly panicked, wondering if, somehow, word had gotten around that I’d slept with Noah.

“You’re hanging out with both of them a lot. Now I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted trying to keep my one man at home happy, never mind two. And those two out of everyone! You truly picked the most exhausting ones to be friends with.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, hoping it wasn’t too visible and took a quick sip of coffee to hide my embarrassment.

“Yeah, they're… a handful. But I doubt it's much better for them, I'm sure I can be just as exhausting,” I laughed. “So you got a man at home, hm? Is he gonna visit on tour or has he already and I've simply missed him?”

“Oh no, he's going to be around in Dublin. It's where we live, actually. Got abducted to the other isle by an Irishman. In my defence though, he looks like Hozier's younger brother and he's just as tall, so really, how could I have resisted!”

“Tall men, eh,” I agreed, moving my cup to cheers with hers.

“Tall men, indeed.”

We stayed quiet for a moment, both of us lost in thoughts, but I wasn't a fan of the silence for long.

“Are you looking forward to going home then? We only have four more dates left, right?”

“So much. Unfortunately it's not for long. I'm leaving again on the 26th for the Bad Omens tour.”

“You’re heading on their tour with them?” This was news to me. I was well aware Bad Omens were still going to be in Europe for a while and I had absolutely been staring at those tour dates as they were selling out one by one, tempted to make a trip somewhere to see them headline, but with no work lined up it was impossible to plan. The fact that Becky had been hired by them hadn’t been relayed to me.

“Yeah, apparently they were looking for someone local and Bring Me suggested me since I’d already worked a few shows with them before. No rest for the wicked, eh!”

“No rest indeed,” I sighed. I wished I wouldn’t be getting any rest either. Maybe I should beg someone for a merch job on that tour. They probably had all their positions filled, but I was getting desperate at this point. Being away would also give me some time to find a new place to live. But did I have the guts to straight up beg for it, knownig I’d probably only get it because they took pity on me and not because they really needed me?

“So, you’re basically in a long-distance relationship then, with you being away so much, aren’t you?”

Becky exhaled into her cup of coffee. “We make it work, you know? It was tough in the beginning. He has a very steady, reliable, boring day job and I’m just all over the continent but we’ve accepted that about each other. We check in and I usually video call him in the evening. And, well you can get creative with what you do on video, too.”

I almost spewed out the coffee at her remark, knowing fully well by the tone in her voice what she was referring to. The wiggling eyebrows sealed the deal.

“Sorry,” she giggled. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“By all means, I’m glad you’re having a good sex life still.”

I put the cup back on the table. I wasn’t sure how long it had been empty for, but I knew I’d been holding onto it for no obvious reason.

“Did he ever mind? Knowing that being with you would mean being away from you for a long time?” I paused for a moment, suddenly feeling self-conscious about my questions. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that, I’m just sitting here interrogating you like you’re on trial.”

“Oh, don’t worry about, darling. Ask all you want. For us, it was never a question, really. What can I say? We fell hard and fast. I could have moved to Australia and he would have made it work.”

I didn’t know why I felt like crying. I tried to hide the tears that were on the edge of emerging by organising the items on the little table in front of us until they had straightened out and seemed in order. Maybe that was more suspicious than me getting emotional.

“So, it’s all about love, isn’t it,” I said, trying hard not to sniffle. “As long as you love them enough, you make it happen.”

I only looked up when Becky put her hand over mine. Her eyes were soft, but there was no pity in them and I silently thanked her for it.

“Sometimes you have to realise just how in love you are first. Or allow yourself to admit it.”

•••

By pure luck and what I could only call a miracle, I bumped into Noah in the hallway of the hotel, on the way back to my room. He stopped immediately, and then let me into his room, assuring me it was empty for now, when he realised I didn’t want to have this conversation where we could possibly be overheard.

“Aubrey, I’m sorry,” he started but I held my hand up to stop him before he got any farther.

“I know. I know you are. I don’t know what kind of stuff you need to figure out for yourself, but I’m giving you the time to do it, okay? You’re always welcome in my room and, well, in my bed and just about everywhere else and if there’s things you want to discuss, I’ll make time for you. I’m just asking you not to keep going back and forth and changing your opinion and treating me like someone you’re dating as long as you’re not. Dating me that is. Alright?”

I took a deep breath, holding my head up high. Somewhere in the edges of my brain, I could almost hear Lia cheering me on, congratulating me for speaking my mind and putting up boundaries. I knew it was the right thing to do. For myself, for once.

“Alright,” he simply said. He deserved a little more space to think over what I’d just told him. I hoped he would.

“Well, in completely contrasting news, I hope you know we’re going out for dinner with Oli tonight?”

Noah nodded.

“Good. Because we’re going to treat him right, okay? He’s been… well, he feels a little left out of whatever the three of us have going on and that’s not happening on my watch. So we’re going to be real good to him tonight, whatever that entails and wherever we end up with. Anything to let him know he’s just as important and cherished. Is that something you can do?”

“Yeah… yeah, I think I can.”

“Good.” I gave him a smile, feeling the energy leave me as I finally got everything out I had come here to say. “Put on something nice. Apparently it’s a place that needed a reservation.” I walked a little closer, putting my hand on his chest. “I think we’d all enjoy the turtleneck a lot.”

•••

Oli and Noah looked positively divine when we met up at the restaurant later that night. Noah was every bit as gorgeous as I had hoped he’d be in the turtleneck. Even Oli gave him an appreciative whistle as he saw him, which once again caused Noah to sport a lovely little blush. Oli himself was wearing a white shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders and had entirely too few buttons opened. I briefly considered ignoring our dinner reservation as just taking them back to the hotel immediately and by the way the two of them were mustering me, those thoughts seemed to be mutual.

I’d made an effort. My black dress, thin, with lace and spaghetti straps, had an asymmetrical cut, showing off much more of my right thigh than my left. It was a shame I couldn’t wear it without tights, but the January cold simply wasn’t allowing it. The heels were the only ones I could walk in confidently, with a wide block heel, velvety and sexy. Both men still towered over me.

I’d also put on my dark red lipstick, at Oli’s request. The one that would smudge if touched. It might make dinner a little more complicated, but that was a challenge I was willing to accept.

Luckily, the place didn’t turn out to be too fancy, I realised as a waiter showed us to our seats, Oli’s hand on the small of my back and his other resting on Noah’s arm. Oli hadn’t needed a reservation because it was so impossibly packed during a random Thursday in January. He had needed one because he had asked for a very special table.

The waiter led us to a little platform on which sat what I could only describe as a bird-cage-esque structure, a hexagon of lightly coloured, wooden walls, two of them completely open and leading in and out of the main restaurant area, the other four adorned with a grid of windows. It seemed like there was a spotlight on it, right in the middle of the room, but as soon as I stepped inside and took my seat, I realised it also came with a lot of privacy. It was perfect.

“Bottle of wine?” Oli asked as we flipped through the drinks menu.

I looked over at Noah, but even before he could have seen me stare, he shook his head. “None for me today. I’s rather be sober.”

I wanted to tell him thank you and I know why but either would have opened up questions about what had happened the last two nights, things Oli wasn’t in the loop about, and it didn’t feel like my place to tell. Either way, Oli accepted quickly, ordering some water and and mocktails for the table, claiming that just because we were abstaining from alcohol didn’t mean we couldn’t have some fancy looking drinks.

“I can’t believe we only have four more shows on this run,” I sighed. I hadn’t meant to mention it really, but it was starting to weigh on my mind after my talk with Becky earlier. It had made me realise just how close we were to saying goodbye, going our separate ways. Oli back to recording the album, Noah still on tour, me… well, I’d have to figure that one out, too. So far my search for both a job and a place to stay hadn’t been very successful.

“Hey,” Oli interrupted my pondering, putting his hand over mine. Noah seemed to briefly feel left out, grabbing my other hand to mirror the sentiment. “No being sad at our date. It’s not like we’ll never see each other after.”

I wasn’t quite that confident in the future, but he was right. Now was not the time or place to start overthinking.

“Date, eh?” I joked instead. Deep down, I wanted confirmation, but I was too cowardly to ask outright. Then I remembered Noah’s hesitation to the idea of us going on a date before, but he was simply sipping his newly arrived drink, either ignoring the underlying question or being at peace with it. I couldn’t quite figure it out yet.

“I figured it should be one, you know,” Oli mused in fake contemplation. “Only seems fair to take you two out for dinner before I fuck you.”

If Noah had been slightly apathetic at the conversation before, he now put himself in the middle of it as he did a literal spit take, droplets of his mocktail landing on the wooden table. I was quick to mop it up with my napkin, trying to hold the laughter at bay. Oli didn’t care. He gave a bark that was loud enough to be heard by just about everyone in the restaurant. There were some spots on Noah’s turtleneck too and even though they would probably dry to be invisible on the dark shirt, I reached out to pat at it too.

He stood up a little abruptly, feeling the wet fabric with his fingers. “I’m just gonna head to the bathroom. Order me the chickenburger, yeah?”

Oli and I were still giggling by the time he disappeared from view.

“Should I go after him?” he questioned with a smirk. “Or is that gonna make things worse?”

“The latter probably,” I giggled. “He might think you’re trying to fuck him in the bathroom stalls.” Oli made a face that suggested he was thinking about it. I smacked my hand against his shoulder. “I’ll go check on him. Order me whatever, you know what I like.”

By the time I’d reached the toilets, Noah was already exiting the room again. I approached him slowly, a hand coming to rest on his chest when I was close enough.

“Oli a bit much for you?”

“When is he not,” he sighed but immediately followed it up with a smile. “It just came a little unexpectedly.”

His hand reached for mine, again, playing with my fingers and stroking the back of it as I kept it on his chest, heavy breathing underneath.

“You know he doesn’t expect anything of you, right? You don’t have to go home with him, or us. And if you do, no one’s making you do anything. He knows you’ve never, you know… been with a man like that.”

“I want to,” Noah stated, voice much more steadfast that I would have expected. “I really do. I’m just… nervous I won’t be any good.”

“Oli’s so into you, I don’t think he’d care even if you did everything wrong your possibly could,” I giggled. Relief flooded my veins when he joined in. “Besides, he’s no better off. He talks a lot of shit and he’s really good at pretending, but unless he has a whole other life he hasn’t shared with me, his experience with men doesn’t go further than some drunken make-out sessions either.”

Noah nodded, perhaps slightly unconvinced, but a lot less jittery than before. I pressed a kiss to his lips, delighted by the fact that I didn’t have to get on my usual tiptoes with the heels I was wearing. He kept me there, for a moment, with his hand at the nape of my neck, even when the kiss had ended. Simply breathing each other in. I allowed him to decide when to break the contact. I figured he needed it.

“Thank you”, he whispered.

“What for?”

“Just being you.”

•••

The rest of our outing continued much less dramatically, but filled with laughter and little flirts. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so good, just by being around these two. Oli had ordered for all of us as the waiter had indeed come by while Noah and I were gone. There was a good chance I was making heart eyes at him when a plate of curry appeared in front of me. He’d known it was my favourite. He seemed to know it all, I realised.

We ended up squeezed in the backseat of a cab, each of us with a to-go back with desserts on our laps. Oli insisted on taking them, even though neither of us were thinking very much about eating right about now. The tension in the backseat was thick - not necessarily bad, considering growing arousal and excitement were pumping through my veins as I tried to imagine what was to come.

The car took a sharp turn, prompting a low gasp from Noah when my body pressed closer to his. On his exhale, a soft hum was pulled from his throat. A reminder that I wasn’t the only one who was about to benefit from this.

The scenery outside changed, restaurants and cafés and shops giving way to a residential area, little blocks of flat, small houses with tiny gardens in front. Not the industrial complexes, the hotels, the high-rise buildings I was expecting.

“This isn’t the way to the hotel.”

As I turned to Oli, I was caught off guard by the smirk on his face. That fucker. He had ordered the cab, he had planned this. Planned - what, though? He let out a chuckle at my confusion, clearly pleased with my reaction.

“Because we’re not going there.” Oli leaned in, lips brushing my ear, yet speaking loudly enough that Noah wouldn’t be left out of the conversation. “Did you really think I’d let you bed me in a random hotel room and not my place when we’re in Sheffield?”

Noah tensed next to me. As I turned to look at him, Oli’s lips once again brushing my skin, I realised he was clutching the takeaway container a little more desperately. He’d definitely heard. And by the way he was trying to press the box down against his crotch, it had gotten him just as hot as it had gotten me.

The driver announcing our arrival saved either of us from reacting to the fact that Oli had just all but told the driver we were going to hook up in some capacity or other. All of us scrambled to get out into the cold night, no thoughts left but to get inside as quickly as possible. All I wanted was to get those two undressed, get my hands on them, my lips, I didn’t care if it was going to be a bedroom or not. I was beyond superficial details like that.

Noah wrapped an arm around me as I shivered in my coat, both of us careful not to drop the desserts. The building towered over us, several stories high and quite obviously new. Much more expensive than I could ever afford. I hoped it would have more soul once we were inside. Oli unlocked the door, the little Powerpuff Girls charm dangling from his key ring, and led us to the lift. It went all the way to the top floor where he let us into his apartment.

It was… perfectly Oli. The place had a homely feel to it, not small enough to feel cramped, not big enough to get lost in the feeling of its vastness. I wanted to stay forever, go through his things, study the way he decorated, how he sorted his stuff, what he had kept over the years and what had gotten moved into a faraway closet that never got opened. All the things that made him tick.

The large bookcase was filled with novels that called out for me to leaf through, study their contents, let my fingers run along their spines, ask him which ones he had read yet, see how his collection compared to my much smaller one. Little trinkets and souvenirs from all over the world were placed in between. So many stories to tell. So many anecdotes I hadn’t gotten to hear yet.

My eyes fell on the floor-length windows. They provided a stunning view all over the city, lights twinkling in the dark. I could stay here and watch forever. If I could afford it, I’d surely get a place like this too. As I stepped closer, trying to avoid the glare from inside lights, the container in my hands almost bumped into the window pane. Right. The desserts.

“Oli, where do-”

While I had been exploring Oli’s living room, Noah had apparently started exploring Oli’s body. The takeaway boxes safely set on the counter of the open kitchen, the two of them were tightly intertwined. Oli was holding Noah close, his arms wrapped around the other’s waist as Noah perfectly molded himself to Oli’s chest. His own hands were impatiently touching his back, his arse, his shoulders, as if they couldn’t get enough of what they were feeling. It was a familiar sentiment.

I approached the pair, dropping the takeaway next to theirs, allowing my fingers to trail over both of their bodies. Noah pulled back when he realised, lips already red from the intense kiss.

“Bedroom?” I simply asked. Noah nodded enthusiastically as Oli untangled himself with a smirk. He led us through a short hallway, past his bathroom which seemed even more luxurious than the hotel ones I’d been fawning over, and into his bedroom, the second to last door.

It was much less decorated than the living area, but still drew me in. The dark carpet, heavy curtains that hid the window, the plush bed - the bed was large enough that, if I hadn’t known better, I would have assumed Oli had ordered it specifically for the three of us. We’d fit in much better than at the hotel which was more than an advantage for what we were planning to do that night.

Noah seemed to have the same thought as he pushed Oli onto the mattress, immediately dropping to his knees in front of him and starting to work on removing Oli’s trousers. Not wanting to be left out, I moved onto the bed as well, slowly unbuttoning Oli’s dress shirt, one by one, my fingers tracing over every inch of hot skin that revealed itself. Oli was already growing restless, one of his hands covering mine to speed up my movements, but I remained relentless.

I didn’t care to remove the shirt completely as I pushed the fabric away, revealing a chest full of tattoos I would never get sick of staring at. Oli’s breathing quickened as I let my fingertips run over the lines, his nipples, up his neck.

“Aubrey, I swear to god, if you don’t kiss me soon-”

I leaned down, letting my lips touch the shell of his ear, just as he had done in the cab.

“Yeah? Then what?”

I didn’t torture him by waiting for an answer, instead putting my lips on his with no further warning, immediately catching him in a passionate kiss. He sighed, then gasped into it, leaving me to wonder what Noah was currently up to, but when Oli tried to get me to open my mouth, deepen our connection further, I pulled back. His lips were tinted red now, a slight stain of my lipstick even on the skin around his mouth.

I wasn’t quite sure why yet, but it was a sight that utterly captivated me and made me adore him more. I wanted to kiss him stupid, leave my mark all over, see my lips all over his body, every day. I pressed another kiss on his cheek, then in the middle of the rose on his neck, where the red was losing itself in between the thicker, black lines, a colouring book I wanted to try all my shades on.

Looking behind me, I watched as Noah pulled Oli’s underwear down his legs, discarding them without much care, much too preoccupied with the way Oli’s dick bounced upward as it was freed from the fabric, already considerably hard and mouth-wateringly delicious. Feeling my stare on him, he managed to tear his gaze away, only to grin at me in the most devilish way, motioning for me to join him on the floor. I did without hesitation.

He pulled me in for a quick kiss, allowing me to leave more of my lipstick on him too, even though the marks were already becoming more faint in their intensity. I could only imagine the way my own face looked, colour shifting around my mouth, no precision left in the outline.

“Help me treat Oli right?” Noah whispered against my lips. “I bet he’ll love two mouths on his dick even more than one.”

He did. He couldn’t be blamed - I wasn’t sure how I’d cope if I had two pairs of lips, two tongues, playing with my pussy at the same time. As soon as Noah and I both started leaving teasing little kisses on Oli’s length, he dissolved into a puddle of moans. He was still propped up on his elbows, watching the two of us on our knees, so it was impossible to tell if it was just the feeling of it or the visual as well.

It wasn’t the most technically perfect blowjob in history as Noah and I kept clashing, getting more and more lost in our own lust of getting our mouths on Oli, tasting him, swallowing him, then licking him while the other person swallowed him. Oli’s hands were all over the place, completely uncoordinated as they grasped at the backs of our heads, our hair, the bedsheets, anything they could find. One of my hands had travelled to Noah’s crotch.

I was much too distracted to do much but enjoy the way he was growing in his trousers. Or how my knees were uncomfortably rubbing against the hard floor. My brain was clouded with lust and the need to get Oli to come. Tonight was going to be all about him, in away he’d let it, and just the thought of spending a few more hours with my hands on Oli, getting him high again and again, hopefully finally feeling his dick inside me, had me delirious.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna last,” Oli mumbled. When his hand found the back of my head again, gripping my hair and pulling me off him, it was with intention. His eyes were almost pleading when I looked up. “Can I-?”

I nodded before he posed the complete question. He could. In fact, I was gagging for it. As much as I’d enjoyed blowjobs before in my life, never had I been craving for their smells, their taste, their cum as much as I did with these two.

Noah pulled away, letting his fingers play with the part I wouldn’t manage to get in my mouth, fondling his balls, as I slowly took Oli as deep as I could without gagging, still missing a good portion, but all aspirations to swallow him whole would have to wait another day.

Oli wasn’t lying when he said he was close. His hips were starting to shift off the bed, fighting a losing battle as he tried to keep himself from fucking my mouth, his noises an amalgamation I wanted to record and put in a song. When he came, he did so with a punched-out sound, shallow thrusts that slowly stopped as I swallowed as much as I could. When I let him drop from my mouth, I could feel some of it dripping from my lips still. Noah caught me in a kiss, greedily licking at them until there was nothing left.

“Jesus Christ, you two are nasty,” Oli groaned, but all of us knew it was the opposite of a complaint. He sat up a little more, face flushed, looking utterly satisfied. “Now why the fuck are you still dressed?”

I stood up eagerly. The whole scene between the three of us had gotten me uncomfortably wet, my panties noticeably sticky. I didn’t care what exactly would follow, as long as it included an orgasm of my own sooner or later. I’d barely grasped the seam of my dress when Noah’s hands appeared on my legs. Their warmth seeped through my tights, mixing with the hotness of my own skin.

“Let me,” he whispered, still on his knees, hands travelling upward, slowly and teasingly, until they reached the hem of my tights. He rolled down the fabric, over my thighs, where he paused to press a kiss to the snake tattoo, over my knees, my shins. He only stopped to take off my boots, then resumed his task, until my feet and legs were bare.

For a moment, as I looked down, Noah on his knees before me, those big brown eyes staring up at me, adoration radiating from his whole being, his hands under my dress, it felt like a worship I wasn’t deserving of.

Then, he got up to pull the dress over my head before I could ruminate on it or start to cry. Noah never let me miss his touch for too long, toying with the clasp of my bra as he peppered kisses all over the side of my neck, finally unhooking and removing it completely, only for his lips to attach themselves to my nipples. I couldn’t seem to do much but take it all in, sighing at each and every touch, purely giving into pleasure.

His fingers were tracing over the fabric, so lightly I could barely feel it at all, but it was enough to cause my knees to buckle and my hands to grasp onto his body for fear of falling. I was so hopelessly turned on, every tiny thing had me losing my mind.

“She’s so fucking wet, she’s basically dripping on my fingers,” Noah chuckled. “Where do you want her?”

“Right here, on my face.”

I stiffened immediately, eyes snapping open and staring at Oli, who had gotten comfortable on the bed, in all his naked glory, motioning for me to join him. I felt equal parts insecure and excited - I’d never sat on anyone’s face. Not only had no one ever offered, I was also terrified of being too much. My thighs suffocating the other person. Looking awful from their angle. Not being able to come because I was so tense from holding myself up so desperately.

But Oli… Oli wasn’t just looking at me with lust. He wasn’t doing this for any reason but because he craved it. Because he knew he could make it good for me. And, even if my heart was beating out of my chest with nerves, I trusted him.

“I thought tonight was going to be all about you?” I teased, still stalling. Noah was busy pulling my underwear down my legs, tapping on each ankle in turn so I would lift my feet, aiding him in removing the item.

“Who said this is anything but a treat for me?”

Somehow, that sealed the deal. On slightly shaky legs, I crossed the short distance, climbed on the bed and then hesitated as I kneeled next to Oli’s body.

“How-”

I didn’t need to finish the question. Oli, once again, knew exactly what I was thinking.

“Face that way,” he ordered, motioning toward the room, toward the other man. “I’m sure Noah can think of something to make it even better for you.”

With a nod, I awkwardly climbed over Oli’s body, trying to position myself over his face, much too preoccupied with what I was doing and how it would look and whether I might squish Oli to watch the other man. I found myself shuffling, again and again, the muscles in my thighs straining as I held myself up. I didn’t know where to put my hands, or whether to lean in any particular way. Even Noah removing his tight turtleneck and shoving down his trousers couldn’t sufficiently distract me.

“Aubrey, what the fuck are you doing,” Oli mumbled from underneath me, making me halt in my movements.

“I just-”

“It’s called sitting on someone’s face, not hovering.”

I was about to protest, but then his hands heavily grasped onto my thighs, pulling me down so decidedly that I had no option to fight against it, and then, the words still on my tongue, he licked through my wetness and I was so over convincing him of anything that didn’t include his mouth on me.

A moan was ripped from my throat as I dropped my hands forward onto Oli’s chest. Fuck. I’d severely underestimated just how turned on I was. His tongue was flicking my clit ever so slightly, every now and then, before going back to explore the rest of my pussy, and I was already throbbing.

Noah crawled onto the bed next to us, fully naked now, his hard cock standing proudly, and somehow, the pure sight of it heightened my arousal. I ground my hips downward, unable to get enough of Oli, but his hands, clasped tightly on my thighs, kept me exactly where he wanted me. It was as exhilarating as it was frustrating.

I was desperate to come now. I was desperate to feel something inside of me, too, in addition to Oli’s tongue on my clit, but I didn’t want to beg. Not yet. And this night was about Oli - if he’d wanted his fingers in me, they would already be there. All I could do was let myself fall into the sensations, trust that his teasing would result in an orgasm, and study Noah, who was now climbing onto Oli’s frame as well.

I watched as he took his own cock in his hand, admiring the way his fingers looked wrapped around it, then he ground his hips against Oli’s. Oli’s dick gave a twitch in response, ready to grow hard once again, and the moan vibrated through me so deliciously that I felt like screaming. I kept eye contact with Noah through it, as difficult as it was becoming. His smile told me he knew exactly what he was doing - both to Oli and to me.

With a sly grin, Noah repeated his action. His whole body shuddered at the contact, obviously desperate for release, but his focus was solely on Oli and me. Oli moaned again, loud enough that I could both hear and feel it, and it was good, it was so much more than good, and I needed it badly, so, so badly. Noah knew. He grasped onto both of their dicks now, wrapping his long fingers about him and Oli, getting the other more and more hard, jacking both of them off.

Oli was growing restless again, his hips thrusting upward to meet Noah’s movements, his mouth now constantly moaning against me, his vibrations ever increasing. He closed his lips around my clit now, so delicately and yet strongly enough and I came, shouting and screaming and clawing at his chest as my legs trembled and then gave in, almost dropping fully on Oli’s body.

Noah was quicker, though, catching me easily, strong hands holding me up until I managed to drop onto the mattress as all of my muscles refused to work. Then he bent down toward Oli and I turned my head just quickly enough to see the wetness I had left on Oli’s face and how Noah proceeded to kiss all of it away.

Oli lost himself in it for a moment, but he wouldn’t let Noah have the upper hand for long. With a quick move, he turned the two of them around, trapping Noah against the mattress. Noah, so tall and broad, suddenly looked utterly smitten and small underneath him.

“How have we gone so long without my mouth on your dick,” Oli mused as he kissed his way down Noah’s chest. “You already got to suck me off twice.” He was now palming Noah’s dick, his mouth stilling somewhere along his hips. “Now it’s time for me to get mine. You gonna be a good boy, Noah? Keep your hips still so I can blow you? You better be or this is gonna be over before you know it.”

Noah nodded, eagerly, falling into this submissive role with ease, which I couldn’t help but take note of. It was fascinating watching him, who was always so self-assured and in control on stage, let go of it all and simply put himself into Oli’s hands, knowing and trusting he would get exactly what he needed, if not always what he wanted.

Oli’s mouth hovered over Noah’s dick now, his breath already hitting the tip, but before he gave into Noah’s wishes, he turned his head toward me. I’d since sat up, craving nothing more than a front-row seat to the spectacle as my body slowly came back to life.

“And you be a good girl too and prepare yourself for me, yeah? I’m going to fuck you when he’s finished and I’m not going to put any fingers in you first.”

My face was heating up with such intensity, I could only imagine how red it was. But I, too, nodded, shifting my body slightly and parting my legs, ready to do as he asked. What I was seeing in front of me would drench me once again in no time anyway.

Oli engulfed Noah’s tip without any further hesitation now. Noah’s hands flew to the back of Oli’s head, halting in their movements immediately but then relaxing into his hair as he realised Oli wasn’t going to scold him for it. I let my fingers wander between my thighs, another wave of wetness hitting me as I watched the two men. Oli had clearly done his research, expertly bobbing his head, taking Noah a little deeper, but keeping to the rules he had put to Noah just days before to save his voice for the rest of the tour and moving his hand to pleasure all of him.

When I slipped a finger inside of me, I found no resistance, just slick walls begging for more, begging to be filled properly, so I let another finger join. The noises of me pumping my fingers in and out were impossible to ignore, but they still paled in comparison to Noah’s low groans and the way Oli was starting to drool around Noah’s cock.

The third finger was a stretch, but Oli was big enough that I knew I needed it to take him comfortably. I didn’t mind it. I enjoyed it just that bit more if it was a little too much, a little too intense, a little too fast. I would probably love taking Oli without any preparation at all. I pushed the thought away for another day.

Noah was close now. I could tell from the noises that escaped his mouth, the way his fingers were all but tearing at Oli’s hair. He had trouble keeping his hips down, but if there was one thing to know about Oli is that his threats usually weren’t empty. Oli sped up further, both his mouth and his hand. I quickly removed my fingers from my pussy, just in time, as Noah came, moaning so beautifully, unable to stop thrusting into Oli’s mouth once, twice. I would have come on the spot too if I’d still been touching myself.

Oli pulled himself off, licking up everything that had escaped him from Noah’s cock, who whined pitifully. The way he wiped his mouth on his hand almost seemed obscene. Even after all that had transpired already. Noah was busy catching his breath, eyes closed, looking utterly satisfied. Oli, however, was far from done.

Crawling over to the bedside table, he opened the uppermost drawer. Filled with condoms, lube and wipes, as far as I could see, it obviously served as his closest assembly of anything he could need for spontaneous sex. Though I didn’t doubt he’d have a much bigger collection of things somewhere else. He blindly grabbed one of the condoms, tearing it open and rolling it onto his thick, hard erection. My mouth was watering already. In an instant, he was on me, pulling me into a bruising kiss.

“How did he fuck you, Aubrey?” His lips was wandering from my neck down to my chest, pushing me backwards until I was lying flat, then letting his teeth graze over my nipples. I cried out at the feeling, sensitive to a fault and yet not getting anywhere near enough. “Did you do it missionary, like an old couple? Did he make you ride him, watch your pretty tits bounce? No… He did you from behind, didn’t he?”

His hands harshly grabbed onto my hips and before I knew it, Oli had turned me on my front, pulling me up to my knees in front of him. I propped myself up on my elbows, ready to let him do whatever he wanted to me as long as it involved his dick in me. His fingertips were digging into my flesh now, hard enough that I knew it would leave bruises. I couldn’t wait to see them.

“Let’s see who can do it better, doll.”

I didn’t have any more time to prepare as he pushed in roughly, not stopping until he was entirely buried in me and I was crying out at the delicious stretch. He felt amazing in me, even without moving, but when he finally did, it brought me to new heights without any trouble at all. He didn’t show any mercy, thrusting so hard that the bed was moving along with us, the sound of skin slapping echoing the room. I gave myself over to him completely, allowing him to treat me however he liked, utterly brainless, unable to care about anything but the fire in my lower belly burning hotter and hotter.

I barely realised Noah was moving, much too distracted by the way Oli was fucking me to take note of anything else, until he appeared in my field of vision, fumbling with the drawer Oli had left open. Curious, I tried my best to lift my head to see what his plan was, but Oli gave me another hard thrust that caused my arms to falter completely, my chest hitting the mattress. I didn’t try to hoist myself up again.

I heard a click, some shuffling behind me, then-

“Fuck!” Oli exclaimed, pushing into me again with a shudder. “Oh, fuck.”

I didn’t know what had just changed, but suddenly, Oli was a mess, irregular in how he fucked me. I pushed back into him, missing the rhythm he had established, but he was still slightly distracted.

“Fuck, Noah, that’s-”

I allowed myself to turn my head, struggling with the position, but managing just enough to see Noah standing behind Oli. There was no way to see exactly what was happening, but with the way Oli was now arching both toward me and toward Noah, his body seemingly unable to decide which way to go and-

“Did Noah just put a finger in your arse?”

“Two, love. Two;” Oli moaned, losing control at the treatment. Then, as if remembering his main goal, he crowded against my back, positioning me just the way he liked and fucked me hard, again, bringing me to the brink of my orgasm in a matter of moments.

I was loving the sounds in the room, the filthy atmosphere, the way Oli and I were chasing our heights, the way Noah made himself part of it, how Oli faltered under it. It was only a matter of moments, my own hand reaching between my legs, and then I was clenching around Oli, crying out at the force that hit me, riding it until I felt utterly spent, letting Oli, who was now nothing but a sweaty mess against my back, fuck me harshly until he came too, shooting into the condom with high-pitched moans.

Oli just about managed to pull out before collapsing on my back, pressing me into the mattress, until I started struggling underneath him, his ever heavier growing figure leaving me gasping for a breath I wasn’t able to catch yet anyway. Noah was the one who ended up providing the most aftercare, stashing the lube he’d used on Oli, passing around wipes and water he got from somewhere I couldn’t quite follow, but he was also the only one out of us whose brain still seemed to work at least a little.

I ended up making grabby hands at him like a little child as the sweat on my body slowly turned cold, leaving an entirely different type of goosebumps to wreak havoc on my skin. Noah saw, pulling the plush blanket up with him as he got into bed next to me, making sure to tuck both me and Oli in before hugging close to me.

Oli was still on his back, staring at the ceiling, apparently questioning… his life, maybe? He certainly looked like it. I figured it might have had something to do with the surprise action he got from behind this time. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a first for him.

Oli, who always seemed so experience, never showed any hesitation or shyness about anything we did, surely had his boundaries too. And letting someone finger his arse surely wasn’t something he casually shared with a lot of people. What would that mean for the two of them? Noah had taken a brave step today. All I could hope was that it would open a door to more between the two of them. I knew they wanted it; they simply needed to admit it too.

Noah was still nestled into my side when Oli finally decided it was time to cuddle for him as well. There was no room for talking, not tonight. All of the unspoken things were going to be left to fester in our brains for a little while more, threatening to become more clear as the post-orgasmic haze lifted bit by bit, but I was hoping we’d be drifting off to sleep before it engulfed us. Talking was for tomorrow. No travelling, very few things on the agenda, a hometown show at night. It could wait.

Oli’s mouth was on my neck, nuzzling his nose into my hair. But this time, his warm breath was comforting instead of arousing. Until he left a much-too-hard bite on my earlobe, obnoxious as usual, and I blindly swatted at his head.

I was just about to drift off, fully comfortable sandwiched between the two men, when Oli spoke up.

“So, who fucked you better, doll, me or Noah?”

I wanted to be appalled, offended or at least pretend I was, but all that happened was that an insane giggle left my mouth, shaking my whole body until it had spread to the sides and taken Oli and Noah as well. Noah buried his head into the other side of my neck as I awkwardly slung my arm around him. Turning my face toward Oli, I grabbed onto his chin just enough to move his mouth to mine, pressing a short but heavy kiss against it.

“Guess you’ll both have to fuck me during the same evening for optimal comparisons.”

#Noah Sebastian fic #Noah Sebastian #Oli Sykes fic #Oli Sykes #Noah Sebastian x reader #Oli Sykes x reader #in love with the mess

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sapphicvqmpires · 6 months

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❁ཻུ۪۪♡ Vampire Series | Shuri Udaku

✰ Masterlist ✰

Pairing - vampire!shuri x black fem!reader

✦ ˖*°࿐

✰ PART ONE - Who Are You?

— Sneak Peak - But she did not budge. Perched there, she observed you, and an increasing fear of her began to gnaw at you and Shuri seemed to sense this. She rose from her seat, advancing toward you, firmly placing her hands on the armrests of your chair as she hovered over you. Her lips were mere whispers away from yours, and the desire to both flee from and lean into her lips was a thin line in difference. You were torn between pushing her away and surrendering to the magnetic pull. Even though she had always held a certain dominance in your relationship, it was different now. It was hunter and hunted. Predator and prey. You felt so small, utterly defenseless, and you swallowed in anticipation, awaiting her next move

✰ PART TWO - Who Are We? coming soon…

✰ PART THREE - Who Am I? coming soon…

✦ ˖*°࿐

Contains - smut (18+), angst, fluff

Divider From - @firefly-graphics

Tags - @inmyheadimobsessed @amplifiedmoan @vampzxi @abenomeiiii @heejayy @shurislover @shurismainbxtch @shuriszn @naomis-daydream @prettymrswright @pocketsizedpanther @gardenof-venus @tiii-iiiiii @verachii @ihearttish @playhousedistee @somethingcleaverandwhitty @niyahwrites @tishsrealwife @oceean @sookiesookie @myaraines @cafehyunji @6-noir @ventingfanfics @marsology @imjusthere2readbruv @desswright29 @ooglyboooglybitxh @sweetalittleselfish-honey (comment if you want to be added, 18+ only)

Writers Note: if there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I’m a vampire whore. I love everything, and anything vampires. I’ve been wanting to write vamp Shuri for a hot minute now and I’ve had this story planned out for months and I’m excited to finally bring her to life (and death, sorry for that lame joke, I just had to), but anyway, part 1 will be up before the end of the month. Thank you everyone for your patience and for supporting my work ❁ཻུ۪۪♡

Vampire Lore:

Powers Include:

Super Speed

Super Strength

Heightened Senses

Heightened Stamina

Heightened Durability

Telepathy

Dream Manipulation

Blood Tracking

Mind Control

Weaknesses Include:

Sunlight

Stake to the Heart

Decapitation

Starvation

To Become a Vampire:

Victim must be at the brink of death before the vampire turns them (turned by blood exchange). If the vampire turns the victim their self, while the victim is completely healthy, that victim will become attached to their maker (sired) until they learn to become their own

#shuri black panther #shuri fanfiction #shuri x you #shuri x reader #smut #shuri smut #lesbian #vampire #sapphicvqmpires

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bugs1nmybrain · 6 months

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Fruity Drinks: L x Reader - Drunk Sex (Minors Don't Interact)

Writer's Notes: Can you tell that I'm running out of ideas? First Shigaraki's stoned smut and now L's drunk smut. I don't encourage substance use!! It's just funny to write about with my favorite characters.

Warnings: VERY ooc L, silly L, fem reader, alcohol use, drunk sex (L and reader are both drunk), the reader is described as a young adult, oral sex (m and f receiving), 69, no penetrative sex, comedy smut sorta, lame and cheesy but kind of fluff ending

How L ended up agreeing to this little arrangement was beyond him. It wasn't that he had never consumed alcohol before. There were a few times when he'd buy a sweet drink from a nice restaurant when he went out. Drinking enough to get drunk, though? L couldn't recall ever doing that. He hated the idea of his judgement and self-control being impaired.

However, he had recently solved a very internationally significant case. You insisted that he and you should celebrate. L didn't really understand the point, he solved cases left and right all the time. He had so many under his belt that it didn't necessarily add to his notoriety anymore. In actuality, though, you simply wanted a night where you and L felt like two typical young adults, wanting to have some fun and loosen up. His solving his latest case was merely an excuse, a poor one in L's opinion.

So you and him sat in one of his more cozy rooms at his house. The room was big and decorated nicely. You questioned if L had chosen the interior design or if it was how the room was before he purchased the house. Or maybe a product of Watari's doing? Themes of white and gold rained prominent throughout the room, which added to the novelty. In front of you and L were many drinks, accompanied by juices and soda that you thought would make the drinks more tolerable. L expressed to you that he could hardly bear the taste of alcohol, so you made sure to accommodate him with some easier options.

"So, it must feel nice to have gotten that case out of the way," you comment.

A part of L was agitated by that question, perceiving it as petty small talk. "Yes, it is. Admittedly, every time I solve a case, I feel disappointed knowing there's no more to uncover from said case; that the war has been won. The satisfaction from my victory is more to compensate for it, though. I'll just have to go searching for another, now."

"Mhm. Did you have any ideas on what drinks you were interested in?" you asked.

"Hard to say. Something sweet, for sure."

"No need to over-explain yourself. I'm sure it'll be perfectly fine."

You chuckle at his very obvious statement, "I could've guessed that. I heard that vodka cranberries were sweet, so I chose stuff for that, if it's alright. I will warn you that I am not someone who mixes drinks often. I kind of don't even know what I am doing, but I tried coming prepared."

So you continued to pour L a drink, mixing vodka and cranberry juice like an amateur bartender. You also made yourself one, hoping that the matching drinks would provide some nice bonding between the two of you. When you were done, you handed your lover his drink and he held the glass with his pointer and thumb, eyeballing it for a moment.

"This would have been nice with some cherries," he comments.

"I'll remember that for next time," you chuckle, taking a sip from your drink.

L began drinking his beverage as well, furrowing his brows at the sting of the alcohol in his throat. You eyeball him, finding his face of discomfort adorable.

"Are you alright?" you ask.

"Yes, love. It's not as bad as I thought. I think the cranberry juice dilutes the taste of the alcohol, but there's still a burning sensation."

"Makes sense."

"Why exactly are we doing this again?"

"To have fun. Loosen up a little."

"Ah, I see. You know that I'm not one to do this sort of thing. Especially not anything that would impair my reasoning abilities."

"I know. Is it okay? We can stop if you'd like."

"I didn't mean that, exactly. Honestly, I'm a little curious to what you are like while intoxicated. Is that strange of me to say?" he questions, giving you an engaged expression.

"That's true, though. Perhaps I should indulge your curiosity. You deserve the privilege for being such an outstanding girlfriend, " he eyes you with a neutral expression.

You blush and laugh a bit, "No. I don't mind that."

Honestly, L being nosy was something that was a surprising turn on often.

"I actually wanted to see how you'd be, honestly. I've never seen you drunk or high or anything like that and I was curious on how your behavior would shift."

"You're the perfect psychologist."

You chuckle abruptly in response.

You laugh at his compliments, feeling a sense of comfort in knowing his admiration for you. L continues to drink his vodka cran, watching you as you drink yours as well.

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

About an hour rolls by and you and L are absolutely hammered. This was a surprise for sure. L had never submitted to this kind of lack of cognitive control, and you had surely never seen this side of him.

The two of you hadn't simply sat there and drank. You had turned on some crime documentary and sat side by side, with your form leaning onto his shoulder. L seemed to really be enjoying his drinks, as he downed one after the other. It was actually very concerning. In truth, he just really liked the taste of them and you two hadn't gotten snacks.

It seemed that L could hold his liquor quite well, and he did when he was simply watching TV. Until now. You sat as the documentary began to give the viewers options as to who they thought the suspect was in the series of murders. L went from dead quiet to deeply and prominently vocal, so much so that it startled you.

"It's him. How..? A seven year old could guess who the murderer is...that one-uh-guy."

Your eyes shot wide open and you tried your hardest to hold in a laugh.

"I'm shutting this off," L announces, clumsily reaching for the remote. He grips it sluggishly and flicks the tv off, slouching back onto the couch. He still sat in his typical position but with his head titled to the side, looking as though he was about to fall over.

You hadn't exactly processed your own intoxication up to this point. It was terribly difficult not to hold back your laughter, and ultimately, you failed. You let out the most uncensored laugh, and L shot his face your way with his finger pressed to his lip.

"What's funny?"

"You. You're cute."

"Oooooh. Yes, you tell me that very often."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh no need..my love. You're, quite "cute" yourself. Did you know that?"

Your flustered face beams a glow, both from the alcohol and your embarrassment. You continue to chuckle for way too many seconds. You sat rigidly in response, thighs pressed together and hands on top of them.

"You..."L begins. You could tell that him never being drunk before contributed to his very apparent intoxication.

"You're so pretty. Your hair,,, and your eyes...you're..how did I manage to end up with such a beautiful lady?? You're so gorgeous, Y/N."

He was plastered. This was hilarious. You thought he was lying but when you looked at him and saw his cheeks flushed and eyes heavy, along with his finger teasing his lips, you could tell he was genuine. He was cute, so much so that you couldn't control more flustered laughter escaping your lips.

"Am I funny?" L asked. You couldn't tell if he was insulted or not. You hoped that it wasn't the case, as your laughter was far from out of a malicious nature.

"Yeah. I think you're the funniest person I know. You make me laugh without even meaning to, like all the time."

"Hmm...you like me that much? Do I have really have that affect on you?"

Even though you were very drunk, you could hear the tone of his voice become rather flirtatious, though uncoordinated.

"I've noticed, Y/N. You're rather addicted to my attention. And when you look at me, your face lights up. Your body tenses. Your speech becomes stammered. I'm not referring to the alcohol, nuh uh. You love me."

"Yes, of course, I love you. Why wouldn't I?"

You felt hurt a little, so you held your head down. It made you upset, because yes, he was a rather sneaky and occasionally manipulative partner. He wasn't harsh or anything, or trying to corrupt you, at least you thought. But he would try and pry out information and reactions from you, and get you to say things that would help him understand your tricks and own manipulation tactics.

"Because I am a treacherous, inhumane liar. Who's to say..I'm not lying right now? About how pretty you are, hm?"

L is always a thousand steps ahead of you, easily picking up on your suspicions of the genuineness in his compliments.

"Lovee...don't frown. I didn't meaan that. I actually, have proof. That you're pretty."

"Huh?"

"Yes. Do you want to see the evidence?????"

The drunkenness of yourself and his slurred speech confused you and so you cocked an eyebrow and let out another, "Huh?"

"Come here..Sit right here, next to me."

So you complied. You scooched directly next to L. He reaches to cup your shoulder and presses you close to him. He takes your hand carefully and sets it down over his crotch. Your heart jumps at the touch of his stabbing bulge, straining against his jeans.

"You see, do you see my point?"

You could feel his point, for sure. An unexpected moan escapes your lips, and you can feel yourself become wet instantly from the knowledge of his attraction to you. It didn't help that you loved his cock, either. You feel incredibly embarrassed at the noise you made uncontrollably, and bury your face into your hands.

"No, don't do that, my love." He takes your hand and sets it on his bulge again. "I want you. Would you be willing to indulge me? In your beauty?"

"Mmmmm...yea. Yea, I'd..like that a lot," Your verbal communication has gone out the window and you are unable to manage your composure at all. "Y-yes..yes please..."

"You're so cute," without much warning, L crawls on top of you, fumbling as he does so. He hovers over you and looks you in the eyes for a moment as his hair falls downward. With lustful, lidded eyes he makes his way to kiss the nape of your neck. Even intoxicated, he manages to maintain his romantic and calculated movements, even if they are a little sloppy.

"Mmm!"

"That's it..."

L's desperate need for stimulation encourages him to grind his clothed cock on your thigh for relief. He groans as he kisses your neck, lightly nipping at it. Your gasps cause him to twitch in his pants and he yearns out in painful arousal.

"Mmm, you're soooo pretty. Can I see your breasts? They're so nice. I want to see them."

It was a little humorous when L would talk about your body. He hardly used slang terms, such as tits. His use of clinical language was cute, though awkward. You nod with an eager, "mhm."

It took him a bit to remove your shirt and unhook your bra. Surprising for him, L is usually so good at coordinated actions. Once you were exposed for him, he merely stared at you for many seconds, cock pulsing at the sight of you.

"Oh my goodness," he comments, making you embarrassed.

You can feel your face flush and grow hotter and hotter, as well as your cunt. You couldn't help it when you began squirming your thighs together in arousal, and L let out a sigh at the impact of your movements against his erection. His penis was painfully sensitive, perhaps caused by blood flow from the alcohol.

You gripped his pants, pulling the hem to release his member so you could touch him. You tuck your hand under his waistband and wrap your fingers gently around him. He sighed heavily as you stroked him clumsily. His hips rocked himself into your hand, basking in how good it felt.

"Are you,, do you feel good?" you ask with a slurred tone.

"You have no idea."

He continues nipping at your neck. His hands were relentless, searching for any part of your body to squish or tease.

"Are you turned on?" L asks with a tone of voice that makes him almost sound guilty. He knew full well he was losing control of his gravitation toward you and perhaps wasn't being the most romantic or courteous.

"How about you look for evidence?"

"Hmm.."

L did just that, hand slipped into your pants to feel your pussy. When he discovered you had a hot, wet secretion that drenched you, he slowly plunged two fingers inside out you. You whimper in tension, but once he began rubbing your special spot, your body relaxed to his touch.

His fingers pulled out, making sure to rub your clitoris a bit. The lubricant from your pussy made his motions much more fluid. Fuck, even while he was hammered he was so precise. Sloppier than usual, but still knew exactly what they were doing.

"I...i want to taste you so badly right now," he yearns as he stops fingering you. He begins moving his way down to your crotch but you grip his hair before he can make it.

"I want to..to make you feel good, too. Let me do it to you."

"What? No. I want to bury my face in you, like right now. I don't have time for your mouth."

wow.

"I think people do like, 69? Right?"

"I'm not extremely educated in that department. But...that could be nice.."

You and L exchange a few more lusty kisses until he pushes you to lie on top of him. "You should turn the other way, right?"

Without a response you turned your body so that your ass was facing him. Your cunt hovered above him, to which he glanced at for a few moments. He cupped his hands around your ass and pulled you down so that your heat was pressed against his mouth.

You yelp quietly at the contact. You hadn't ever tried 69 and the position was rather vulnerable. However, the way L was devouring your cunt made it clear he wasn't bothered in the slightest.

He lied down with his legs crunched so that his knees were bent. You took his cock in your hand, giving it a few tender strokes and finally stuffing it in your mouth. L moaned against your pussy, enhancing the stimulation. He sucked on your clit vigorously while holding you in place.

L was interesting in that he adored eating you out. You felt bad as if you were a burden for wanting that kind of pleasure. He never objected, though. He had a pretty significant oral fixation, and running his tongue along your cunt was strangely soothing. Plus, the added bonus of the pride he felt when he made you cum was incredibly rewarding.

Blowing him was kind of difficult right now. Your mouth had a hard time coordinating, but you managed to bob your head along him. He must've been enjoying it by the muffles he made against your cunt. L's cock was a bit long, which made taking his whole length tricky. His hips jolted forward on impulse, gagging you a little.

"Shit! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

"It's..okay," you said in between kisses along his cock. L wanted to chuckle at how you were treating his length, but he was far too concentrated on making you cum. You were taking a little longer than usual, but it was alright. L simply thrust his fingers inside of you for a bit and rubbed your G-spot.

He could feel himself building slowly, and he wondered if he could make the two of you orgasm at the same time.

"Mmfm...you taste incredible," he comments. "You're so pretty down here, too."

L's praise always made your heart jolt a little. Sometimes you questioned his sincerity, but he seemed to want you to feel good about yourself for whatever reason. It still made you feel validated nonetheless.

You hummed on his dick in a pleasant response. L kept running his tongue along your clit in consistent motions, and you can start feeling your cunt quiver. L knows, recognizing the way your pussy twitched in his mouth. A smirk grazes his face as your cunt spasms in convulsions and you have to pop your head up for air as you mewl uncontrollably. L allows himself to let go as well as his cum spurts out onto your face while you gave him a mess as well.

You and L both were panting, absolutely overwhelmed by your sensations. An instant exhaustion washed over and you collapsed on top of him.

"Come here," L requests. You pull yourself to face him and L kisses you deeply, not caring about the swapping of genital fluids. "Tonight has been very pleasant, wouldn't you agree?"

"Hehe...I suppose. That felt very, very good."

"I thought so, perhaps we should do that more often."

"What about the drinking, should we do that more often?

"Honestly, I'm not the biggest fan. I feel very out of control of my inhibitions," he admits. Tonight was surely fun, though.

"That makes sense."

"I liked tonight though. And I'm happy I got to spend time with you."

"Me too," you fall on L's chest, and if he wasn't so drunk, he'd probably leave once you fell asleep. But he let himself drift along with you this time, enjoying your warmth. You were already sleeping, but he planted a kiss on your temple and allowed himself comfort in your love for him.

#l lawliet smut #l lawliet x reader #l lawliet

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