#can’t believe I’ve been drawing these two for so long

[nichuuu]

Scatterbrain

Word count: 18k+

They say it takes a village to raise a child. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

302.

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

Then the door opens. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Longer. 

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

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

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

Longer.

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

“I thought you said—”

“Just fucking do it!”

Slack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please! Put them in!”

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

God is she dripping.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harder. Faster. Rougher.

Then you fuck her ass. Hard and fast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cum with me! Fill me!” 

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

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

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

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

You raise an eyebrow. “Um… Ew?”

Wonyoung smirks and gently nudges you with her left foot.

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

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

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

Okay. No dodging. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

Ah. There we go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not that Wonyoung.”

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

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

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

“Yea but—”

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

“Wonyo—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well… Then that settles about everything then.

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

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

But only for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Tight. Hot. Wet. So tight.)

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

Fill me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

You thrust deep inside her. 

Me.

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

Harder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

____________________

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

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

~Lots of love Nichuuu

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

[blackleatherjacketz]

Mouthy

Miguel O'Hara x Female Reader

Summary: Miguel has been watching you, and is willing to do anything it takes to get you to join his team.

Warnings: 18+ Only!, NSFW, Explicit Smut, Teasing, Flirting, Kissing, Biting, Blood Drinking, Licking, Thigh Riding, Undressing, Voyeurism, Female Masturbation, Finger Sucking, Hair Pulling, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex

Word Count: 2.6k+

Read more of my MIGUEL stories!

You had been toying with Miguel all night, sparring with him until your sweaty session had resulted in swinging from rooftop to rooftop, leading his tour of your world to an end at the top of your apartment building. Three separate visits to your universe in the span of two months had led you to believe that he was getting desperate for help, or for something else. The first time he showed up was to help you battle one of the more formidable foes of your crime-fighting career, the second to ask you to join his group of heroes to fight off even bigger threats, and the third, well… you’re still trying to pin down.

If Miguel is anything, it’s persistent.

“Give up already?” He chides, denting the metal of the AC unit with his landing as you finally stop swinging.

“Who’s giving up?” You pull the mask off your sweaty face as his head piece disappears without a trace, revealing his gorgeous features and flowing raven locks.

“It’s only midnight,” he points to his watch as he walks toward you, those hips of his sauntering in a way that nearly hypnotizes you on the spot. “Plenty of other threats around the city to be squashed.”

“Then go squash them.” You challenge, tilting your head to look at him from another angle. Why can’t men in my universe look like him?

“You’d like that, huh?” He keeps advancing until he stops just short of you, his broad shoulders towering over you as a light breeze blows the smoky scent of his cologne into your nostrils. As if you hadn’t already committed it to memory. “If I did all the work?”

“Well, you can’t blame a lady for wanting to know if something’s worth her while.” You tease as he closes the space between you, backing you up against the rusted metal door of the stairwell. “Because if we’re being honest, Miguel, I’ve thought long and hard about it, and I’m perfectly fine here on my own.”

“I can see that.” His irises glow a fiery red against the white sclera of his eyes, searching your face for any hint of doubt or deceit. Your senses had been telling you that he wanted much more from you than just a teammate, the sound of his pulse quickening whenever he looked at you barely louder than the silence of his stilled breath. He wanted you… needed you almost as carnally as you needed him, and it was getting to be more difficult for either of you to ignore it.

“But don’t you want to be more than ‘just fine’?” He plants his palms against the brick structure behind you, his direct proximity tying a knot into your stomach as the night sky behind him somehow bleeds a passionate crimson hue. You can visibly see his intentions, actually feel the desire as it emanates out of his pores and into the hot summer air, drawing you in with its magnetic pull. “Don’t you want to be amazing?”

“I can tell that you do.” You smirk, prolonging your trance as you trace the bright red outline of the spider on his chest, watching it rise and fall faster with each word you speak. “Not everybody wants what you want, Miguel.”

“Is that so?” He leans in close, his full lips brushing against your ear as the hair on the back of your neck stands on end. “Is that why you moan my name at night every time I leave your world?” He slides his knee swiftly between your legs, gently lifting it up the crevice of your thighs until it rubs that sensitive spot between them.

“You’ve been watching me?” You knew that he’d been keeping tabs on you from whatever little hideout he had beyond your known universe, but you didn’t realize that he was paying that close attention to you. How much of your behavior had he actually witnessed? Was he speculating, hopeful, or had he actually watched while you slid your fingers beneath your underwear to satisfy that sudden urge his presence always seemed to evoke?

“You’re surprised?” He jeers confidently, his breath hot on your neck as he draws out a groan from your chest with another brush of his thigh, tapping into your natural moisture.

“That doesn’t really seem fair,” you start, eyes fluttering to catch glimpses of that scarlet sky phasing in and out of black and magenta as he continues to stimulate you. “You get to see all of me, but I don’t get to see any of you.”

You wonder just how far he took his viewings of you late at night; how many times he tuned into his recurring guest appearances in your imagination before you pleasured yourself into a dull, blissful slumber. Had he joined you in your handiwork, stroking himself in tandem, worlds apart, just in time to mutter your name with his release before the connection was lost? Or had he stayed tuned way past your loss of consciousness, hoping to hear some verbal confirmation of his presence even in your dreams?

“We can change that, you know.” He closes his eyes as you run your fingers through his hair, his thick lashes feathering over the shell of your ear as he presses a kiss into your neck.

“You’re gonna let me spy on you when you jerk off, too?” Your breath halts as he tastes the skin behind your ear and underneath your jawline, his teeth nipping at your pulse to make you pay for your quippy retort.

“Aye, cariño, are you always this mouthy?” He grabs onto your chin in a failed attempt to reign you in, the tips of his protracted claws nearly breaking your skin as he thrusts himself against you.

“You have no idea.”

—————————————

Miguel manages to stumble into your apartment with your legs wrapped around his waist, his clawed hands grasping at your thighs as they desperately cling to his hips. He pulls you up into him as he rounds the corner past your couch, his erection stretching the navy blue fabric of his suit as it grows harder against the drenched mound between your legs.

“You fucking taste like heaven, you know that?” He whispers through a dozen hungry kisses, the sharp sting to your skin and the iron of your blood flooding your senses as he bites down onto your bottom lip, wantonly sucking it into his mouth. That twinge of pain that would have hurt before you got your powers is nothing more than a scratch, a mere tickle as the warmth of his tongue soon counters it. He tugs and pulls every bit of flavor he can out of it, savoring each hint of salt and remnant of coffee on your tastebuds as he nearly gnaws your lip right off in the process, running into every wall along the way until he eventually reaches your bedroom.

“I thought you said those things were venomous.” You worry aloud, just now noticing their size and severity as he tosses you onto your bed with a lick of his lips.

“Only when I need them to be.” He grins and helps you peel your suit off your arms and torso, tugging it down past your hips and thighs before stepping out of his own spider suit with unmatchable ease. Eyes ravenous with lust, he watches you pull the last bit of stretchy cloth off your calves and feet, licking the tips of his fangs again as you toss your costume onto the floor.

“Well that’s lucky for me, then.” You sit up and press your knees into the mattress in order to get closer to him.

“Lucky for both of us.” He slides his thumbs beneath his boxer briefs and exposes what he’s working with, stealing the very breath from your lungs. Before you can comment on how big he is, before you can make a joke about how you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, he steps toward you and places his hand in the middle of your chest, pushing you flat onto your back.

“Touch yourself,” he instructs sternly.

“What?” Your brow furrows. Hasn’t he gotten enough of that through his viewfinder? Wasn’t that the whole point of him coming here in person? To actually touch you with his own hands and taste you with his own mouth? So that he didn’t have to just watch?

“I want you to touch yourself like you do when you think I’m not watching,” he reiterates, standing his ground as he resists the temptation to stroke himself, a single droplet of precum leaking from the tip of his cock.

“Oh. Okay.” You nod, his demanding tone of flattery quickly fueling your actions as it overpowers that inherent sense of stage fright nagging in the back of your head. “I can do that.”

You watch him hold his breath as you slide two fingers into your mouth, sucking on them as gratuitously as you can before pulling them out with a long trail of spit leading down your chin. His eyes follow your digits with rapt attention as you bring them down your body, their deep ruby hues darkening to burgundy as his pupils begin to dilate. You hear his breath hitch as you graze over your hardened nipples, snake your way down your navel and finally smooth them in between your soaking wet folds, exciting the sensitive neurons that have been begging for attention since the moment he arrived.

Doing as you’re told, you spread your juices up and down the length of your lips, catching a glimpse of his cock twitching against his stomach in anticipation, throbbing as you slowly pull upward on your clit. You can’t help but wonder how amazing he’s going to feel once he’s inside of you, your fingers barely able to do his length and girth any justice as you slide them inside your walls.

“That’s it, baby, just like that,” he finally exhales with a hint of a moan. He retracts his claws with a bite of his lip, cautiously touching your bare feet with the palms of his hands before slowly spreading your legs apart as he continues to watch you work. “Who knew your pussy’d be just as pretty as your face, huh?”

You huff in exasperation, too stunned to speak as his grin mimics your smile from the edge of the bed.

“You look even better from this angle, you know that?” Another lick of his lips spurns a trail of kisses onto the balls of your feet as he crawls between your legs, sucking little bruises into your calves and behind your knees; mementos for you to remember him by once he inevitably returns to his own world. You keep rubbing your bud up and down as he advances along your body; his lips, teeth and tongue massaging the skin of your inner thigh as waves of pleasure start building up into your core from both of your tantalizing efforts.

It isn’t long before he lifts your leg up over his shoulder, biting into your thigh once more before looking up at you with completely blackened eyes, your blood now staining his lips as it smears across his cheek. You moan as he takes his time lapping up the scarlet fluid as it mixes with his saliva, dripping down between your crevices as his mouth gets that much closer to your needy center.

Without a word of warning, he grabs onto your wrist and carefully pulls your fingers out of your swollen heat before encircling them with his lips. Those charcoal eyes of his roll back into his head, a deep guttural groan vibrating around your fingers as his tongue surrounds them, the savory flavor of your blood now blending in with the sweet tanginess of your sex. You push them in even further past his blood-stained lips, shivering in arousal as he sucks all the way down to your knuckles, making a sloppy show of licking them clean before finally drawing them out.

“Not so mouthy anymore, huh?” He asks, kissing the palm of your hand before lifting it up and placing your wet fingers into his hair.

“Uh-uh,” you whisper, the heat from his breath sending phantom pulses of bliss up through your spine, leaving you practically speechless.

“Then let’s see if I can get you to make some noise.” He licks a stripe up the length of your folds, choosing not to use his fangs on your most sensitive area as he focuses solely on tasting your raw flesh. He groans into your skin as he licks you up and down, inhaling your pheromonal scent as if your very essence is the only thing capable of sustaining him any further.

Your eyelids fall shut as you allow a few breathy moans to escape your lips, his tongue saturating every receptor you have with such an intense euphoria that it forces your hips to buck up into his mouth. Your grip on his onyx locks tightens as he continues to suck on your clit, pulling it taut into his mouth just like he had with your bottom lip, persistently eating you out like a man starved for days.

“See how good you are at following my orders?” He stops licking you just as you’re on the brink of ecstasy, a thin ring of red now glowing around the rims of his irises. “I just need you to do one more thing for me.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s that?” You barely have the capacity to ask, your muscles vibrating beneath him with the promise of release that he so quickly took away from you.

His full lips curl into a smirk as he licks your bud one last time, kissing his way up your belly and breasts before reaching your neck, his cock needily bobbing between your legs until it slides inside you without ceremony. You gasp as his girth fills you up with impeccable ease, your slick walls welcoming his thick throbbing member, clenching down around him as he gently thrusts up into you.

“Miguel!” You shout in a stifled whisper, stars shining in your eyes as the tip of his cock hits that bundle of nerves he’s been teasing all night.

“Come for me,” he growls against your throat, all traces of that controlled man fading away as he pins your wrists to the mattress before bottoming out completely, rutting into you repeatedly like a wild animal.

“Mmm hmm!” Your moans echo off the walls in your bedroom as he drives himself further inside your heat, ricocheting off your nightstand and ceiling fan until they dissipate into the air above you, falling down like raindrops as they cover you both. His hips only quicken their steady pace the deeper he gets, sending hit after hit of white hot bliss up into your core until your body can no longer take it.

That wave of pleasure you’re so used to delivering yourself nearly takes you out completely as it washes over every inch of you from the inside out. It paints every cell in your skin, muscles and bones all the colors of the rainbow under Miguel’s hypnotic thrusts, his sweat dripping down onto you in tiny translucent beads before melting into your skin. Both of you phase in and out a variety of shades and patterns as you wrap your legs around his hips, drawing him in to make sure he feels the heightened state of nirvana he’s finally brought you to.

“I can feel you falling apart around me, cariño,” he whispers into your shoulder, thrusting one last time as hard as he can as he twitches and spasms inside you. Lavender paisleys, red and white stripes, olive and orange checkers all slowly fade away to a calm light blue before he pulls out and eventually lets go of your wrists. “You sure you don’t want to join my team?”

#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #oscar isaac #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099

[greatooglymooglyyy]

My Tears Ricochet (Matthew Sturniolo)

contains: verbal argument, cheating allegations, crying, breakup, no happy ending, 1.5k words

a/n: honestly i'm sorry for this one. ouch. i said it alr but im not doing a part 2 for this one b/c i don't wanna lmao, the song is how writing this made me feel lol, requested by @nicksmainbitch and i took parts of an anon request

“We need to talk.”

I look down and study the message for maybe the hundredth time since Matt sent it an hour ago. Taking a deep steading breath, I kill my car engine and finally open the door. I’ve been sitting in his driveway for ten minutes now and it’s getting pathetic but I couldn’t help it. There’s nothing I hate more than a cryptic message, especially from Matt.

I use my key to let myself in the house, kicking off my shoes at the entrance, and pause when I notice how quiet it seems. Either Nick and Chris aren’t here or something is very wrong but my gut is leaning towards both. I pull out my phone to check their location but my heart drops when I realize all three of them aren’t showing up on Find My Friends.

Okay. It’s fine. Probably just a glitch. It has to be. I take the stairs two at a time and rush into Matt’s room, finding him with his head down at his desk.

“Matt?” I say quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder that he immediately jerks away from like I’ve burned him.

He lifts his head, spinning the chair around my way, and the look he gives me is like a stab to the heart. Because in all the years I’ve known Matt, in all the years I’ve loved him, he’s never looked at me like he’s looking at me now. Like he can see right through me. Like I’m no one at all to him.

“How long?” He asks calmly, his voice like a brewing storm. “Just tell me that. How long have I been a fucking idiot for?”

I stare back at him silently for a minute, caught between confusion and indignation. “What are you talking about?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head before he tilts it up to the ceiling. “Listen. Tell me the truth. If you tell me the truth, I can try…” He stops and clears his throat like the words have jammed there. “I love you enough to try to get over it. But, if you lie-”

“What the fuck are you accusing me of, Matthew?” I snap, cutting him off. I feel the anger rising in my chest and blink away the hot tears that are beginning to gather. If Matt and I had one thing going for us, it was trust. We’ve never touched each other’s phones, never questioned stories. We just believed in our bond. But I can feel that trust starting to crumble around us and I don’t know what to do.

Matt grabs his phone from the desk and thrusts it into my hands. “Here. Your side piece must have gotten tired of waiting.”

I look down and skim the drama page he has pulled up, my jaw going slack. Someone has been sending in “proof” that I’ve been cheating on him. There are text messages with time stamps and they’ve even included pictures of me sleeping.

I look back at Matt and find him watching my reaction with his eyes low. “These are obviously fake-” I start but Matt stands up and walks past me to his closet.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought too. Until I saw the pictures. Go ahead and tell me that’s not your tattoo.” He’s breathing heavily now and I can tell he’s trying not to cry. “One more chance. Tell me the truth. Did you fuck him?”

“Matt. Please.” I walk over to him and spin him around to face me, feeling his body tense against my touch. “You know me better than this.”

I step closer and draw him to me, wrapping my arms around his waist, and he lets me. He buries his head in my hair and breaks down. Deep body wracking sobs. So I just hold him, not knowing what to do or say. I can’t prove I didn’t send a message and I have no idea where those pictures came from or how to show him they must be old. So I’m stuck.

When he finally calms down, he pulls away from me and walks back to the desk. He drops down and slouches, defeated. “Oh my god.” His face is contorted with pain and I’m not sure if his expression or words make me sicker. “I thought you were the one.”

I stand there helpless for a minute, tears streaming down my face before I finally speak. “I can’t make you believe me. You gotta do that on your own.”

When he says nothing, I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and gather up my belongings. Before I turn to leave, I yank his house key off my chain and place it on his desk without meeting his eyes. As soon as I put my hand on the doorknob, I want to fall to my knees and cry but I push down the feeling and swing the door open.

I wait for him to say something, anything when I leave. I wait for it all the way down the stairs. I’m still expecting it when I reach my car, and I pause and listen for him to chase after me, to fight.

But he doesn’t so I drive home, drop into my bed and cry. And when he still doesn’t the next day or the next, I force myself to get up and figure out a new normal.

********************

It’s unusually cold for Los Angeles the night he comes, two months later. When I hear his voice spill through the callbox, it takes everything I have not to let my knees buckle. I’ve spent every day of the last couple of months trying to avoid hearing it at all costs.

He speaks again, begging to be let in and I buzz him up without thinking. I run to throw on some sweatpants and then stand with my arms crossed, trying to prepare myself to see his face.

It doesn’t work. Matt walks through the door like a wrecking ball and I’m caught in his wake. He stands awkwardly near the door, shifting from foot to foot.

“What are you doing here, Matt?” My voice sounds exhausted even to me. All the work I’ve done putting myself back together and here he comes toppling me over again.

“I just…” He trails off and begins pacing. “It was your ex. That fucking loser. The picture was old and he-”

“I know.”

“-fucking edited those texts. The motherfucker hit me up trying to-” He pauses finally registering what I said. “What do you mean you know?”

“He called me a few days after we broke up trying to get back together and I finally remembered the picture,” I say, not letting myself look away like I’m dying to.

Matt freezes at this, staring at me in disbelief, before he pulls out a chair from the table and flops down. “But… why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“How did you expect me to do that? Go to Apple headquarters and ask them to unblock me? Email Laura?” I seethe.

“You could've come over. You should have! It changes everything-”

“It changed nothing for me. I already knew I didn’t fucking cheat on you.” My voice cracks slightly but I shake my head. If my mom taught me one thing, it’s to never cry over a boy to his face.

Matt says my name so softly I almost don’t hear it and I cut my eyes back to his. “What do you want me to do? I will do whatever you need to fix this.”

I huff out a humorless laugh at how much I wanted those words and how empty they sound now. “You don’t get to do this to me.”

“Tell me you don’t love me and I’ll go.” He says and I believe him. I don’t think he’d even hesitate.

“I can’t.” Matt stands and advances quickly toward me but I stop him with a hand on his chest. “But, it doesn’t matter. I don’t trust you.”

He winces, clenching his jaw. "I thought you fucking cheated on me! I thought you were throwing everything away.”

“So you threw it away first.”

He raises his voice now, anger and conviction mixing in his tone. “No! I thought all of that and I was still going to stay. That’s how much I wanted you. That’s how much I love you.”

“Then that’s the difference between me and you.” I breathe out a shaky breath, stepping closer to him. “I don’t think that’s love at all.”

His breathing stutters as he moves backward, studying my face. “So that’s it?”

I force myself to shrug. “I think it’s been it. Since the day I walked out of your house crying and you let me.”

He nods again slowly, whispering a quiet "I'm sorry", before turning and heading for the exit. But before he leaves, Matt pauses looking over his shoulder. “Do you think we got this right somewhere in the multiverse?”

I smile weakly, blinking back my tears. “God, I hope so.”

He returns my smile with a sad one of his own before he opens the door and steps out of my apartment for the last time.

When the door clicks shut, I hold my breath and count to five until I’m sure he’s far enough away. Then I let go, dropping to my knees and finally letting myself fall apart.

taglist:

@sturniolho @sttzee @tillies33ssss @miloisdone1 @sstvrnioloo @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @mrsmiagreer @asturniolos

@teapartyprincess4two @whicked-hazlatwhore @sukiipjs @accio326 @sturniolosmind @imfromthediningtable @rootbeerworshiper

#sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo oneshot #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo headcanon #matt sturniolo angst #matt sturniolo oneshots #chris sturniolo angst #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo headcanon #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x you #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo angst #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo oneshot #sturniolo x reader #maggie b writes #Spotify

[moralesmilesanhour]

teamwork (makes the dream work...?) epilogue

summary: they ass is NOT doing homework 🤣

wc: 1k+

A/N: That's a wrap, guys! tysm for reading and enjoying!

prev 'if you believe in me'

“Miles, what is this emo shit you got me listening to?” you laughed.

Miles was currently in the middle of an imaginary drumming solo next to you, with two mechanical pencils as drumsticks. Once the final cymbal crashed, he turned to you to respond.

“I don’t give a fuck if it’s emo, that beat goes crazy. You done with your conclusion yet?” 

You rolled your eyes.

“No, but I’ve got all my body paragraphs together.”

“That shit is due Monday,” the boy adjusted his glasses, “Mr. Padilla don’t do extensions.”

Shutting your laptop in protest, you got up and stretched your arms. “Can we take, like, a ten-minute break?”

Miles smirked. “The last half hour felt like a ‘break’, but sure.”

The smirk fell from his face when he noticed you staring at something on his desk.

“Aye, don’t touch nothing–”

“Is this me?”

Too late.

Miles’ notebook was already in your hands, flipped to a page full of sketches of your face. There were little lines scratched out next to each sketch, as if he were measuring the proportions of your eyes, nose, ears... 

His lines were sharp and geometrical, as always, but they softened at your hair and lips. Speaking of lips, there was an oddly-detailed sketch of them off to the side. He’d even managed to include the suggestion of gloss.

You looked up to see Miles standing in front of you with his arms crossed, expression unreadable. 

“You done invading my privacy yet?” 

“Nope,” you placed a finger on the page. “How long did you need to stare at my face for this?”

You held back a laugh when he tensed visibly.

“Not long enough for it to matter,” he deadpanned, finally snatching the notebook out of your hand. “It was just a study.”

“Oh, so you’ve been ‘studying’ my lips? Got it.”

Miles’ eyes flickered down at them as you spoke before he returned to his spot on the bed. “Whatever. Break’s over.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” you teased as you followed him, “the drawings are nice! You made me look prettier.”

The boy looked at you like he wanted to say something - to argue - but he remained silent. You elbowed him playfully in the side.

“What, you think I’m ugly, then? I’m telling you, Morales, one day we gon’ fight–”

“No,” he interrupted.

“Complete sentences, please,” you mimicked, laughing when the boy sucked his teeth in response.

“Fine. No, you’re not ugly, and I like drawing you. Can we move on?”

With a triumphant smile, you finally cracked open your laptop again. “Yes, yes we can. I need your genius powers to proofread this for me.”

Miles leaned in to get a good look at your screen, hitting you with the crisp scent of sports deodorant and some generic brand of lotion. You watched his eyes dart back and forth as he read your work out loud to himself in a low mutter. While he read, your gaze drifted away from the screen and landed on his side profile. His ears were now delightfully occupied by tiny gold studs that you would’ve missed at a farther distance. Past his jawline at the nape of his neck, a thin gold chain peeked out at you from beneath his black graphic tee.

Your eyes met Miles’ the moment you brought them back up to his face, amusement playing on his features.

“Yo, are you good? There something on my shirt?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. “Go back to reading.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m done. I just said you need to switch these two body paragraphs so they flow better.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” he laughed, dimples on display. “I’m scared I’mma get my face stolen one day. Do you stare at everybody like that?”

A beat of silence passed as you considered whether to say something bold a second time, if not just for a reaction.

“...Nah, it’s just you.”

Miles blinked, the smile dropping from his face. “Huh?”

“You’re nice to look at, and I can’t draw you in my notebook to make it last longer,” you tilted your head comically. “Staring will have to do.”

Like clockwork, the boy’s hand shot up to his ear to toy with his piercing. He glanced out of the window. 

“The sun’s setting, you should really get that essay done,” he blurted out before narrowing his eyes at you. “What’s so funny?”

You had a hand over your mouth to stifle the laughter. “I’m sorry,” you giggled, “it’s funny when you’re nervous.”

Miles scoffed.

“I’m not nervous.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you sang, beginning to type your conclusion paragraph.

There was no response. 

Your typing slowed as the silence grew long, feeling Miles’ eyes on you until you finally stopped to look at him quizzically.

“Yes?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

He leaned in closer until your noses were in danger of brushing each other, looking determined despite the rapid rise and fall of his chest. You met his gaze with a challenge.

“Well? You just gon’ sit there?”

Miles couldn’t hear anything above the heartbeat pounding in his ears, his eyes squeezed shut as he closed the distance between you. 

No one told him that kissing would feel this weird.

For one, your lip gloss wasn’t half as sticky as he’d anticipated it to be, tasting like artificial fruit flavoring. Your sweaty palm came up to rest on the side of his face and kept him anchored as his breath stuttered. Having no idea where he would put his hands (another thing no one had explained to him), he kept them flat on the mattress for support as you deepened the kiss and he leaned back. 

Your hand was gripping his chin now to guide his face. Having kissed at least two other boys before, you had a vague idea of where it was supposed to go. Unlike the other two, Miles was tense, almost unmoving, despite being the initiator.  

Miles’ head buzzed when you pulled away, chuckling softly.

What the hell was so funny? The boy felt white hot blood rapidly coursing through all of the veins in his body at once. He thought he might start floating, like a hot air balloon. Or explode. Or vomit. Preferably the first one.

“Are you okay?” you asked, dropping your hand. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

He blinked slowly, three times. “Yeah, I’m…fine.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. That was, um…” 

Hand on the neck. “Interesting.”

“A good interesting, I hope,” you laughed.

Miles tilted his head, a small grin spreading across his lips.

“I don’t think I’d mind doing that again.”

Handing the boy your phone, you said, “I think you’d need my number for that.”

-

#miles morales #spiderman across the spiderverse #earth 42 miles morales #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #miles morales x black!reader #moralesanhour

[deanswhiskey]

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲 - 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

summary; it’s deans birthday!!

wc; 844

warnings; just fluff

authors note; real short but just something short for my man’s birthday 🤭

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

“mm, good morning, birthday boy,” you woke dean up by kissing all over his face.

a smile spread on deans face when he felt your gentle lips pepper kisses on him. his hands instinctively moved to hold your waist that was straddled on him. “is this my birthday present?” he asked with a raspy voice and a smirk on his face.

“later,” you just whispered in his ear. dean frowned slightly; he loves morning sex. he groans in response.

you sit up, still straddling his lap. deans eyes finally open and see the beautiful sight before him. the hands that were resting on your waist now moved to a more comfortable position on your thigh; rubbing small circles with his index fingers.

“i’ve got a surprise for you out in the kitchen,” you softly smiled drawing shapes on his chest.

“a surprise? really?”

“mhm, but you have to put pants on and behave,” you nod.

confusion struck deans face, “behave?”

“yep, now come on,” you hurry him.

dean groans as he stands up and makes his way to his dresser, pulling out a pair of blue plaid pj pants. “can’t we just stay here and, you know, fool around,” he whines then smirks. his hands snake around waist and his face buried in your neck. he kisses your neck gently; a breath of satisfaction left your lips as your head leans back, letting him have more access to your neck.

“dean,” you draw out, “we have to go, your surprise is waiting.”

he squeezes your hips one time before pulling away, “okay,” he draws out.

you grab his hand and drag him as you make your way to the kitchen. the two of you had been giggling about something only you two would giggle about as you walked into the kitchen.

“surprise!!” many voices shouted as you entered.

dean jumped back a bit. when he came to it, he noticed his brother, cass, jack, jody, and bobby all there with silly little party hats on. “oh my god, i don’t even know what to say,” his hand laid on his chest. he turned to you, “did you do all this?”

“yep,” you smiled.

dean looked around at everything. there was a cake made by you, a birthday banner, a small pile of presents, everything a typical birthday party had. and a giant pile of pancakes for everyone.

dean was so moved by this; he never had any of this growing up. “i cant believe it, thank you so much,” he pulled you in for a quick kiss and a longing hug. he almost wanted to cry at the thought of all this.

he pulled away and the party began.

everyone had gotten a couple pancakes and ate around the dining table. you all reminisced on memories with your mouths full. laughing so hard you could choke on the pancake bits.

the group of you had moved to the kitchen for the cake. a few candles decorated the cake as the room was dark, only lit by the candles. everyone sang a somewhat harmonious version of the happy birthday song and dean stood right in front of the cake. he had his arm wrapped around your waist pulling you in tight.

he soon blew out the candles and everyone dug in, “what’d you wish for?” you asked him quietly as everyone else was talking and eating.

“i’ve already got everything i wished for,” he smiled sweetly before he leaned in to kiss you.

later on, you all gathered in the living room to open presents. the few he got, he was more than grateful. he never really got presents growing up so he was very excited.

he got a homemade picture frame from jack of you and dean, a couple flannels from sam, whiskey from bobby and jody, and cass gave him a small honey jar he gathered himself along with a new board game for family game night. dean gave out many ‘thank you’s’ before the rest on the day danced away.

the two of you bid your good nights and made your way back to your shared room. you brushed your teeth, showered, and got into your pajamas.

the bathroom light cut off as the two of you made your way into the bedroom. dean turns to face you before you made it to the bed, “thank you for the best birthday ever, baby,” he leans over to kiss you.

“anything for you, handsome,” you return the kiss. your hand moved to cup his face.

deans head tilts, deepening the kiss. “so,” he pulls away, “can i get that birthday present you were talking about this morning?” he says with a smirk.

“mmm, i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you pretended.

“mhm, sure,” dean nodded sarcastically.

you just shrugged in response.

“oh now you’re gettin’ it,” he playfully says lifting and throwing you on the bed. you just giggled in response. he kisses all over you causing a fit of giggles, music to his ears.

this day couldn’t have gone any better.

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

#spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fic #supernatural imagine

[suashii]

୨♡୧ DRUNKEN CONFESSION — geto suguru x reader. sfw. fluff. college au. reader is intoxicated. lots of flirting + kinda self-indulgent.

never in a million years would you have imagined walking side-by-side with geto like this. the man is practically a celebrity at your school—chased after and envied. and, like it’s normal, he’s here beside you. not as discreetly as you think, you spare him a glance out of the corner of your eye.

you had accidentally bumped into him earlier, the collision resulting in a good majority of the contents of your cup ending up on his shirt. profuse, slurred apologies fell from your mouth, but he didn’t seem to mind much about his ruined garment—in fact, he was more concerned about you. so much so that he had been kind enough to offer to walk you home.

thinking back on it now, it was a rather impulsive decision to leave without the group you arrived with, and with a guy you’ve spoken to no more than ten times, at that. but no one’s known for making particularly good decisions while under the influence, right? and, you were smart enough to shoot your friends a text explaining your whereabouts in (what you hoped was) the unlikely event that your choice to take geto up on his offer turned out to be a bad one.

although, that much didn’t seem like it would be the case; he’s been a perfect gentleman thus far—leaving a fair amount of space between the two of you and only letting his hand ghost over the small of your back during those moments when you seem unsteady. you should be thankful that he’s so chivalrous, and you are, but a little part of you, one swayed by the alcohol in your system, was hoping he’d be a little more touchy. nothing inappropriate, just an arm around your shoulder or some simple hand-holding.

you look at geto again, more directly this time. his chocolatey eyes are focused forward and the moonlight glints off the two silver hoops wrapped around his lips. you’ve always found him pretty, but the gentle aura of the night makes his beauty seem even more delicate.

you’re positive you would have ended up staring at him for the rest of the walk if it weren’t for your foot catching on the sudden rise of the sidewalk.

before you’re able to trip forward and make contact with the pavement, geto’s hands are on your hips, firmly pulling your figure against him. “woah, careful there.”

“sorry!” you apologize, wriggling out of his hold so you can turn to face him. he doesn’t look the slightest bit annoyed, in fact, there’s a soft smile tugging at his lips. if you were sober, you’d be capable of picking up on the humor hiding in it.

“it’s fine,” he assures you. you’ve been swaying since you two crossed paths at the party and geto has a hard time believing that’ll wear off any time soon.

“we still have a while ‘til we get to your place,” geto’s voice trails off with the last word as he turns around and crouches. you wordlessly stare at his back until he looks over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows. upon seeing your confusion, he spells it out for you. “hop on.”

“are you sure?” you ask him. “i can walk.”

geto’s is sure that statement isn’t true. “yeah, get on.”

you fight the smile threatening your lips as you climb onto his back, your arms loosely wrapping around his neck, wrists crossing at his collarbone. long legs boost the both of you up and geto’s arms snake under the backs of your knees before he sets off in the direction you’d been walking.

the cool breeze is even more evident against the warmth of your cheeks. this is a new proximity, one you haven’t been warranted before. you can feel the bit of skin exposed from beneath his t-shirt against your forearms, see the scrunchie holding the top half of his hair up in its bun. the scent of his shampoo—coconut, you think— wafts through the air, pleasantly meeting your nostrils. it’s hypnotizing, drawing words out of you that you certainly wouldn’t voice if you were sober. “you know, i’ve never really liked guys with long hair.”

he can’t conceal the snort that sounds in the night air. “is that so?”

you hum in confirmation, nodding your head despite geto not being able to see you. the rational part of your brain that would normally urge you to shut up isn’t functioning at the moment, so you continue. “but i like yours. it’s kind of hot.”

geto’s lips wobble in an attempt to hold back his laugh. alcohol makes you bold, huh? on the few occasions you two have interacted in the past, you were never this forward. geto has an eye for picking out those who are interested in him—they don’t make it hard. though, you completely slipped past his radar.

“you think?” he asks through a chuckle.

“yup,” you reply, popping the “p.” there’s no end to your vomit of words. once you’ve started talking, it’s difficult to get you to stop. “all my friends think it’s sexy when you tie it up before practice.”

geto doesn’t know what’s more surprising—how easily you’re giving up the information or the fact that he somehow missed you in the bleachers. it’s not the moral thing to do considering your current state, but he’s curious enough to ask, “what about you?”

“hm? what about me?”

“do you think it’s sexy?” he clarifies.

the burning in your cheeks is back but you don’t feel embarrassed, not the way you would if geto had asked you any other time. alcohol is your truth serum and without thinking of the consequences you’ll be facing in the future, you tell him, “yeah. you’re, like, super attractive.”

he was only teasing before but your answer makes geto’s eyebrows shoot up. as cocky as it sounds, the man doesn’t normally find such declarations surprising. although, that isn’t the case when it comes to you. he has no intention of telling you so when you’re drunk, but the feeling is mutual. geto clears his throat before his next words. “thank you.”

“you’re welcome.” there’s a sing-songy lilt to your voice that tells him your head is still swimming.

your willingness to so honestly answer each of his inquiries raises another question in geto’s mind. it’s a tad bit shameless on his part but you likely won’t even remember this exchange come morning considering your condition. and, geto thinks, the question is harmless enough—just a little flirting. “so, what do you like most about me?”

“mm, definitely your smile.” your reply comes almost immediately like you had been waiting for the opportunity to tell him so. the observation makes the corners of geto’s lips turn up. “it’s really pretty. but your piercings are a little intimidating.”

“oh?” geto’s pace slows down as he approaches the building you had told him was yours when the two of you were leaving from the party. he squats down to let you off his back and your feet haphazardly meet the pavement before you steady yourself. the crunch of pebbles beneath his shoes sounds in the air as geto turns around to face you. “you don’t like them?”

“i do,” you start, “i just bet it feels weird when you kiss, right?”

once again, geto’s eyebrows meet his hairline in a show of surprise. unconsciously, his tongue pokes out to toy with the cool hoops wrapped around his lips. “wanna see for yourself?”

“what?” you squeak, your eyes widening at geto’s suggestion. sure, you’re curious but that’s not what you meant. for the first time all night, you’re flustered. “i didn’t say that!”

he holds a fist to his mouth to hide his laugh which is still plainly audible despite his effort. with the same hand, he waves you off. “i was kidding.”

your lips are still parted in shock and you can feel your heart beating wildly in your chest, but you nod in understanding.

“come on,” geto jerks his head in the direction of your building, “let’s get you inside.”

he leads the way with your instruction, typing in the four-digit pin to gain access and pressing the button in the elevator to take you to the third floor. you stop outside your door to pull your keys out of your bag, sticking the carved metal into the keyhole after a few attempts. you can’t see it, but geto’s lips pull up as he watches your struggle.

when you finally get the door open, you step inside your apartment. geto’s feet stay rooted to the floor of the hallway.

“drink some water before you go to sleep, okay?” he advises you.

too embarrassed to speak after the last mishap, you stick your arm out and thumb up, a smile accompanying the gesture.

your uncharacteristic silence draws a quiet laugh from geto. he raises his hand in a wave. “see you around.”

thanks for reading! consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed ❤︎

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: jujutsu kaisen #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #geto x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto fluff #jjk fluff #geto drabble #jjk drabbles #geto imagines #jjk imagines #geto scenarios #jjk scenarios

[ki-yomii]

encore | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader

➥ word count | 871

➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, established relationship, edging, handjob, teasing, switch!jk, orgasm control, soft dom!reader

➥summary | continuation of two for the show

➥ notes | for @keroppitae​, hopefully you enjoy this one just as much 😘 

🤎 series masterlist | masterlist | inbox | AO3 🤎

“Just relax,” you breathe, mouth tracing along the cut of Jungkook’s jaw, feeling the muscles bunch and flex against your tongue, “You asked, so let me take care of you now.”

Ever since you walked in on him with a fistful of your panties and a guilty consciousness, you’ve been taunting him. However long ago that was, you’re not sure.

The sparks of sadistic pleasure as you wring precious little whimpers out of him with every teasing half-stoke blur together until you’re throbbing between your thighs, and Jungkook’s desperate and dripping.

Jungkook’s taking it so well, looks as pretty as a picture; spilled across the soaked sheets like an oil painting. The messy briar of his hair clings to his furrowed brow in thick, sweaty clumps.

His slick body glitters with every rolling flex of his hips, his thick cock rutting up into the elusive grasp of your hand.

Whenever he presses a little too firm, thrusts a little too deep into the circle of your fingers, you pull away - a little game that makes him clench and groan in displeasure, pre-cum dripping from the flushed head.

“My handsome baby.” You hum in the back of your throat, stroking your finger up the side of his shaft before lightly digging your nail into the weeping slit. “So big and strong.”

“Shit!” Jungkook hisses, his head slamming back against the pillow. His body jolts, thighs tense and hips twitching as his cock bobs against his stomach.

When he says your name, he sounds absolutely wrecked, “P-Please, that feels - that feels so  - hng! Ohmygod.”

Pausing, you appreciate the debauched sight your boyfriend makes, a bloom of satisfaction unfurling in your chest. God, he’s so gorgeous like this - it’s hard to believe he’s all yours. So fucking lucky.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“Baby, seriously, I can’t…” Jungkook pants, another spurt of clear fluid dribbling down the back of your knuckles. The tips of his ears are cherry red, his pupils blown wide. “No more.”

“But you’re doing such a good job for me,” you reply. As much of a punishment as it is a treat, you tighten your grip on his shaft, tracing the thick vein running up along the underside. “I’m so, so proud of you.”

Hands fisting in the sheets, Jungkook yanks hard as his broad chest rises into a pleasing arch, his abs clenching with overstimulation. “– Haaah fuck.”

“Mm, you look so hot like this. Can’t wait for you to fuck me with this big cock, spread me open and stuff me full.”

He whines.

You smile, and suck at the crook of his neck, lashing your tongue over his thrumming pulse. When you speak, your voice is a lust-filled whisper in his ear, “Would you like that, Kookie - wanna put that big cock of yours in my pretty little pussy?”

The lack of a response makes you frown, and you grind your palm into the sensitive tip of his erection in retaliation. “Not gonna answer me, huh?”

Thrashing in place, Jungkook simultaneously tries to buck up into your touch and escape from the overwhelming waves of pleasure. He’s been edged over and over for the last hour or so, his nerves quickly approaching the point of pain.

You know he won’t be able to take much more - he’s about to burst, pressure building behind his hips.

“Gonna - shit - ‘m gonna...” Heels dig into the mattress, his toes curling in the sheets as his balls draw up towards his body, swollen with cum and aching for release. “Baby - baby, can I? Please, wanna cum.”

His breath hitches desperately, every word a pleasure drunk slur as his eyes meet yours, hazy and fucked out. His mouth is slack, lips puffy and bitten raw. His tongue darts out to swipe along his lip ring.

Beautiful.

“I don’t know…” You smirk, reaching down to tug at his balls. “Are you sure?”

He strains against your touch, gasping, “Please!”

The impending orgasm’s about to slam into him with all the force of a semi-truck, his body locking up as the pit of heat in his belly flares and ecstasy burns through his blood.

Your hand is so soft and warm and wet, and he’s so so close…

“Can’t - fuuuuck, I’m - I’m -”

He gulps down air, his chest heaving with every stuttered breath. His hips rut up into the circle of your slick fist, ready to blow his load. The rhythmic squeeze of your hand milks him for all he’s worth, his cock jerking once, twice and then -

You pull your hand off his cock, dragging your nails along the base of his shaft as a parting gift. A wounded noise leaves him, his desperate little cry making your pussy clench.

Jungkook slumps against the bed with a hoarse cry of your name, a puppet with cut strings.

Little tremors shake through his limbs, his muscles twitching with aftershocks. His face is slack, his eyes glassy. A weak pulse of cum drools from the swollen head, pooling in the dip of his belly.

“Not yet, Kook,” you say, wicking away the spit clinging to his bottom lip, “Want you inside me first. Think you can handle that, baby?”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #bts jungkook #jungkook fanfic

[makismei]

❝ ANGEL

♡ gn!reader x gojo satoru

cw: hurt/ comfort, established relationship

synopsis: gojo is so unserious, but he loves you more than you’ll ever know

wc: 1400+

notes from mei!

hello guys it’s been so long! i’ve rewatched jjk AND WATCHED JJK 0 FINALLY and felt very inspired to write lol (i fully believe gojo is a ginormous piece of shit)

i’m very rusty but i hope u enjoy!

you’ve always known satoru was far different from what people portrayed. he’s so conceited that it’s painful, but you know it’s just because he has insecurities of his own that he feels the need to hide.

he’s not as much of a ladies man as people say—of course, he can have anyone he wants, but he's only ever wanted to be yours.

i’m your perfect match, satoru says, no one can compare!

he’s scared of never-ending cycles and repeated mistakes—of things he should be able to control but somehow can’t—frankly, satoru is the epitome of bullshit.

it’s only now you’ve realized that satoru is the most flawed human you’ll probably ever meet—he’s a wuss who never stops complaining, his mouth going on and on like a never-ending siren. his favourite hobby is to get on people’s nerves then treat himself to that expensive bakery downtown.

satoru is so excellent that his flaws are dimmed by the blinding lights of his perfections.

he can get away with just about anything work wise—but with you and your relationship, there’s a line he constantly loves to jump over, even when he knows you'll never let it slide.

“satoru come on,” you say, hand reaching for his, but as you draw closer you feel a slight resistance, unable to touch him. you draw your hand back, taken aback from his behaviour.

you sigh, quiet and drawn out. gojo feels a chill run through his body as immediate regret pumps through his veins.

"baby—"

"save it, satoru."

he bites his tongue, watching as your eyes glaze over. you turn away from him, crossing your arms as if you were giving yourself a much needed hug. it's silent in his... very large and luxurious penthouse living room and you're once again reminded of the social gap between you and satoru.

for a moment, you can hear the voices of everyone mocking your relationship—criticizing you, laughing at you for even thinking special grade sorcerer gojo satoru could have a soft spot for someone like you.

and you feel played. not by him, but by yourself for believing someone born from money and blessed with strength, could love someone like you—someone who came from nothing and had to work their way up and up, kissing ass and developing thick skin.

you don't think gojo will ever understand how privileged he is.

you also don't think he'll understand how bad he is for you.

"where do you think you're going?" he calls. you think carefully, sliding on your shoes as you undo the lock on his door.

"home."

it's been two days and as your tidying up your apartment, you hear a knock at your door.

you pause, already knowing exactly who it is.

a minute—maybe five passes as you don't hear another knock. you're unnerved because you still see the shadow of him through the very bottom of your door, stubborn as he always is.

you try not to breathe too loud or move too fast, but satoru's always a step ahead and as you're opening your window to escape through the emergency stairs, he's already there.

"that's cold, my love." he says, but it's missing his usual satoru-flare and you know he's not in usual mood.

you don't think you can stomach him being in front of you.

he's wearing his sunglasses, hair down with his hand making sure your window stays open. his other is stuffed in his pocket, casual and uncaring like he always is.

"that's rich coming from you."

satoru loves you.

and it's all he can think about as he looks at you.

he knows you're more hurt than angry, and it's taken him great restraint to not harass you—lovingly—over these past two days. and when he sees you, he realizes he definitely should’ve harassed you instead.

his eyes trace your frown, your posture that shuts him out. he wonders if he'll be able to fix his big mistake.

with you in front of him, gojo doesn't feel like he's the strongest anymore. all the words he prepared to serenade you back into his arms sounded like gibberish and no longer felt right.

"why are you here, satoru?" he doesn't miss the way your voice breaks, "why do you always do this to me?"

tears begin to clump in his your lashes, throat tightening as you stare at him in disbelief. the air is so tense. you feel like you've been stripped bare as a tear rolls down your cheek.

"you make me feel so loved," your voice shakes, "you lift me up so high and make me feel so proud to be me."

satoru wants to tell you that loving you feels so natural.

"but you're so mean," you cry. the tears are falling freely now and you're choking on your words. "you do all these—all these things, making me feel special and—and seen, only for you to neglect me and twist my words a week later, because you can't handle being treated the way you treat me!"

he wants to tell you that seeing you like this is eating him alive.

"you're so ignorant—are you kidding me? thinking i'm overreacting for getting mad th—that you cancelled on like, the third rescheduled date to take on a low-level mission? and when i confronted you about it, forgave you for it, you turn on your infinity when all i wanted to do was hug you?"

your arms fall to your side, sick of his face and the way he’s just standing there silent. "it wasn't even about the date. i feel like you're bored of me and everyone who said we wouldn't last—"

"don't finish that sentence." he interrupts, no longer able to bite his tongue. his lanky figure climbs through your window and you feel even more vulnerable now that he's in your space.

"i'll never get bored of you, you keep me on my toes too much." he lays his cards on the table, knowing this is the last chance he has to prove he loves you more than anything on this earth. "i know how harsh you are to yourself, so i celebrate your tiny achievements because i'm genuinely proud of everything you do. i'm aware that being the best at work doesn't mean i'll be the best boyfriend. i forget that sometimes...” you glare, “most times." he corrects.

satoru takes a careful step toward you. "i care about you—more than you know, i think. you don't deserve to be neglected at all, and you don't.." he inhales through his teeth, "you don't have to put up with me if you don't want to anymore. i know how hard i make it, and i know a sorry isn't going to make it better."

you don't think you've ever seen satoru look so small.

"i can't ask you to stay with me, but we both know how selfish i am, so i'll beg you to stay with me anyways."

he doesn't miss the quick upturn of your lips. but it disappears as fast as it came.

you break eye contact and he feels his world shatter.

"how are you going to fix this?"

"...by reminding you i'm your perfect match?" he squeaks.

you sigh, "you're so unserious."

lanky arms wrap around your figure, caging you against his chest. you close your eyes, naturally sinking into his embrace. "i won't blame you if you break up with me, but i'll just let you know i'll definitely drop dead and you'll be responsible for killing the strongest sorcerer in the universe."

"that doesn’t sound that bad. everyone would know me and fear me—you know how popular i’d be?”

he's silent for a good, long second. "that's cold, my love."

it's so childish, in the way that he speaks. but in a way, he just revealed more to you than his semi-serious little monologue could ever do.

satoru is such a wuss, but he's never had someone love him like you do and he malfunctions. he can't fathom the thought of losing you, but also can't stomach the fact he's not good for you.

but he's trying. you know he is just from the way his knuckles brush against your cheek during the early hours of the morning; you know he's trying when he sneaks off during work to join you on your lunch break.

you know he’s trying because his students say he seems so gentle when he looks at you.

you know he's trying because he's here right now, after showing you he’s not the strongest despite everyone (and himself) proclaiming he is.

your arms curl around him and satoru gets his answer.

he's home.

#angel by beabadoobee ! #i was writing my debut speech for my best friend and i had the strongest urge to write for our beloved old man #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagines #jjk headcanons #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo fluff #gojou satoru x reader #gojo imagines #jujutsu kaisen gojo

[salty-croissants]

this is extremely unnecessarily long, but if it's okay, can I request separate hcs for Bullfrog and Rayman (+ Ramon if it's cool) with a touch-starved, easily flustered and insecure yet passionate fem!reader (who can also REALLY kick ass or speak up when others have messed with the ones she loves) as their friend / s/o (who might or might not be on the spectrum, likes to rant or infodump a LOT about medias that she likes such as games, shows or horror media, who also loves drawing herself with the ones she loves and giving them small things randomly in a way to make them feel better, like snacks, drawings of them, or even something they thought of getting beforehand) ?

Thank you for the request ! 

Don’t worry , the length was okay ! Since it was very detailed it was fun to work with it :D 

Hope it turned out okay !

Details : use of female reader ;

established relationships ; 

no warnings needed , other than a bit of a suggestive line in Ramon’s part

Bullfrog 💚

Bullfrog is a very loving boyfriend , so when you tell him you’re touch-starved he is going to make it his mission to shower you with affection all the time … 

And when I mean all the time , I’m being very serious :

as soon as you wake up , he’s going to cuddle you as long as he can ;

you’re both going somewhere , either a mission or just doing something outside ? He will be holding your hand the whole time ; 

you had a bad day or are feeling tired ? You better believe Bullfrog is going to be holding you in his arms the whole time to help you feel better …

Yeah , no force of nature is going to stop him from displaying his love for you , so … yep , better be ready ! 

If you ever feel insecure about yourself or your relationship , Bullfrog is quick to solve any of your doubts …

< I don’t know … what if you really would be better off with somebody else instead of - > 

< y/n , chérie , you’re the only one for me . 

Nobody else will ever able to make me feel this way , how could I possibly want to leave someone who is beautiful in every way ? > 

He is in love with all the drawings you make featuring the two of you together , and he holds onto each one of them very dearly … 

They have been made by his beloved just for him after all , so Bullfrog is going to cherish them forever .

He also carries some of them with him when he goes on very dangerous missions , keeping them carefully folded in his pocket : he really does think that having a symbol of your love for him by his side will bring him good luck .

As always , Bullfrog is always so happy to listen to you talking about all of your various interests , and it’s not rare for him to start getting into them thanks to you .

< Would it be okay to watch that series finale tonight ? It’s completely fine if you’re busy - > 

< Non , that would be wonderful mon amour ! We don’t have any more missions left , and besides I’m really curious to see what will happen after that cliffhanger ! > 

The way he supports your passion always brings a smile on your face … which is what Bullfrog strives for every day : to see you as happy as you can be ://) 

Rayman 🧡

Since he is often very busy with his shows , Rayman can’t always be around to give you affection … but you can be sure that as soon as he comes home to you he will not be letting you go for hours .

< Oh y/n … I missed you so much , I’ve been looking forward to this all day … >

Those sweet little moments he gets to spend with you are more valuable to him than anything else , and Rayman loves to demonstrate it by showering you with kisses , enjoying your adorable reactions to them .

< Aw , you look so cute when you’re blushing honey ~ > 

< Pfft - stooop ~ > 

Indeed … if you’re someone that gets flustered easily you better prepare yourself , because this man will be complimenting you and every little thing you do at all times .

Rayman really just wants you to know that you’re the most important person in his life , the one who saved him from a life of loneliness … he really wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you were gone .

However , there are also ways to fluster him instead : 

for example if you ever were to stand up for him when somebody is being a douchebag about his species , Rayman will be completely head over heels for you …

< y/n , thank you for what you said back there …

It really meant a lot . > 

< No need to thank me , Ray ! I couldn’t just stand there and let that random guy say all that stuff about you … what kind of girlfriend would let that slide ? >

< Heh … you’re amazing sweetie .

 I love you so much ~ > 

Similarly to Bullfrog , Rayman definitely keeps all the drawings you make for him , hanging them in his office : no matter what anyone’s opinion is , the art made by his sweetheart will all stay right there on the walls , and that’s final . 

He will also be gushing about it to anyone who asks …

< Oh , that ? My beautiful y/n made it for me … isn’t she just so talented ? > 

Rayman remembers all of your interests in full detail , and sometimes he likes to surprise you by buying you gifts related to them , or even more …

< *gasp* oh my god - is that a ticket for that movie I really wanted to watch ? >

< It sure is ! Looks like the Directors haven’t scheduled anything for tomorrow , so I was thinking we could go watch it today … does that sound good ? > 

< It sounds perfect ! Thank you my love , thank you so much ! ~ > 

< It’s the least I could do for you , darling … I just want to see you smile , that’s all that matters to me . >

Ramon 🖤

After everything that’s happened , Ramon has definitely become a lot more protective of you , which means he will be by your side pretty much all the time : 

holding you close to him and feeling your warmth calms him down , so if you’re touch starved it’s an absolute win .

… tough sometimes he might get a bit too attached .

< Ram , honey , I have to go to the bathroom … could you , you know … let me get up for a second ? > 

< Hmmpf … > 

< Pretty please ? ~ > 

< Okay okay … just … come back soon . > 

< I will , don’t worry . > 

Knowing how easy it is to make you flustered , Ramon is definitely going to have a fun time just sneaking behind you and start whispering sweet nothings in your ear , using that deep , raspy voice that he knows will make your whole face turn red …

< You look so pretty , y/n … sometimes I could just eat you up …

I might do just that , actually ~ >

The way you blush is just so cute … Ramon can’t help but want to see that lovely face of yours  every day .

Ramon likes to sit next to you while you draw , silently watching you and all the little expressions you make when you’re focused …

Every piece you make that features him will be kept somewhere safe , maybe something close to an album , so that he’ll be able to look at it whenever you’re away or if he’s not having the best day : seeing such a sincere display of your love for him never fails to bring him joy , and it makes him even more determined to keep you safe no matter what . 

While he likes to stay quiet when you discuss about your interest , Ramon is going to remember every little thing you tell him , and this gets demonstrated when the two of you are watching either a series or a movie you like .

< Hm , that’s the character we saw at the beginning , right ? The one that you mentioned we’d see yesterday ? > 

< Oh - you remember I told you that ? > 

< Mhm , I always remember everything say to me … I love listening to you . > 

< Hehe … thank you , Ramon … 

I love you ~ > 

< Love you too , y/n … and I’ll love you always ~ > 

#captain laserhawk #x reader #rayman x reader #bullfrog x reader #captain lazerhawk rayman #bullfrog captain laserhawk #captain laserhawk bullfrog #rayman #captain lazerhawk bullfrog #female reader

[hongcherry]

pretty please (be a perfect night) || c.sc

You and Seungcheol celebrate your one-month anniversary; however, a guest from the past makes an unexpected appearance.

💞 Pairing: boyfriend!Seungcheol x Reader (afab)

💞 Rating/Genres/AUs: NC-17; Fluff, tad of angst; Established relationship, Pretty Please Couple

💞 Warnings: Name-calling not in bed (bitch), pet names (Cherry, baby, babe), referred to as girl, reader has she/her pronouns, some suggestive content, mentions of sleeping around and family troubles, reader wears cheol's clothes and has "fancy" nails

💞 Word Count: 3.7k

💞 Timeline: Between "(stay with me)" and "(rid your worries)"; Mostly can be read as a standalone but does have some vague references to past parts

💞 Author's Note: Based on this ask! Thank you for the idea. I love seeing people enjoy reading this couple ^-^ Apologies for the long wait! I wrote this a few days later, but then I kept editing and adding more stuff so it ended up being longer than planned fkjbgfdk starting off the new year with this couple feels right 💖

pretty please masterpost | seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

Seungcheol’s hand rests on your thigh, drawing random shapes on your exposed skin. Dim street lights pass by, and you get lost in the repetition.

You had never thought you were a person to celebrate the smaller couple anniversaries, but here you are.

It’s been one month since you and Seungcheol decided to be a couple. A month of affection and care you’re not used to, but it’s a nice change. You insisted you were fine doing something less extravagant for your one-month anniversary, however, Seungcheol refused. He made a dinner reservation at one of the fancier restaurants in town and didn’t give you a chance to decline.

Despite not wanting a formal celebration, you’re glad Seungcheol cares about what you two have so wholeheartedly.

When Seungcheol pulls into a parking spot, you finally turn to him.

He’s already looking at you with a handsome smile. His hair is styled to show the middle of his forehead while strands of his hair frame his face. You can’t believe you ever thought his looks were mediocre.

“You ready to go, Cherry?” he asks.

You nod, reaching for the door, but Seungcheol squeezes your thigh to stop you. You peer at him in confusion.

“You know better,” he says with a small frown.

“Babe,” you sigh, recalling how he likes to open the door for you. Sometimes he’ll let you do it without a fight, but tonight is not one of those times.

“This is a proper date. I want to get the door for you,” he explains.

Relenting, you drop your hand into your lap. “Okay.”

He smiles, then makes his way to your side of the vehicle. He opens the door and holds out a hand. You take it, carefully stepping out and double-checking you have your purse.

“You look incredible, baby,” he murmurs as he stares at you.

You tuck your head down with a smile wide in appreciation. “Thanks.”

He chuckles at your bashfulness. After shutting and locking the door, he leads you to the entrance.

As you near, you say, “You look really nice, too, Cheol. Is this a new suit?”

You pause in your trek to raise a hand to his chest, fingers grazing the material in wonder.

Seungcheol glances at his attire. It’s an all-black suit paired with a checkered-pattern tie. On the left lapel is a Chanel broach.

“No, but I rarely wear this,” he explains. “I had to wear the best for you.”

“Well, I’m honored,” you smile.

Seungcheol covers your hand that’s on his chest with his, giving it a squeeze while he leans in to kiss your head.

As expected, he holds the front doors open for you and takes care of checking you both in. He keeps one hand on you as you follow the waiter to your table. When you arrive, he pulls the chair out and helps you get situated.

You’re a little shy about being treated in such a way, but you know it makes Seungcheol happy.

“You know what I’ve noticed?” he asks while taking his own seat.

You pick up the menu and hum in response.

Seungcheol lowers your menu, so you’re looking at him.

“You get nice when you’re nervous,” he chuckles softly.

You roll your eyes and wiggle the menu from his hold.

“I’m not nervous,” you protest.

Seungcheol smiles. “It’s okay that you are. I’m a little nervous too.”

Your eyes meet his. He leans back in his chair and opens his own menu. His gaze is wandering over the courses with no sign of jitters in sight.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

Seungcheol looks at you. “You don’t believe me, Cherry?”

A shake of your head.

“I’ve taken the prettiest girl I know on a date; she’s dressed so beautifully that it’s hard not to stare. And she’s looking at me with these eyes that make my heart do weird things,” he speaks slowly and earnestly, sitting straighter.

“I want this night to go well, so yes, I’m nervous.”

“C-Cheol,” you say in a whisper.

He just smiles, showing off his dimples and making your heart rate spike.

Seungcheol doesn’t normally say these things unless he’s teasing you.

You want to tell him he makes you feel as though you’re his number one. As if he’ll run a thousand miles just to get to you. You want to say he’s treating you so well that you’re falling harder for him. He’s put so much thought and effort, not only in the planning but his appearance, that you don’t want to mess it up somehow.

The way he’s gone all out for this date is making you feel both cherished and guilty. Cherished because none of your other boyfriends ever took the relationship so seriously, and guilty because you don’t feel you deserve it.

“Order whatever you want, babe,” he finally breaks the silence. There’s a small smile on his lips as if he’s proud to have rendered you speechless. He’s not upset you haven’t said anything, nor did he expect you to. The look on your face tells him enough. He understands your affection comes in the form of actions. Granted, so does his most of the time, but tonight, he wants you to know how he really feels.

When the waiter comes back, you order your drinks and meals. You’re surprised to see Seungcheol ordering a lot of food, some you figure is for you since you didn’t order much—not because you didn’t like any of the options but because a lot of it is expensive.

“I have a gift for you,” Seungcheol announces once the waiter leaves.

You’re sipping your drink and nearly choke on it from shock. The guilt grows in your chest when you realize you didn’t buy him anything. You didn’t even think to get a gift.

“You didn’t need to get me anything,” you say.

“I know,” he replies and retrieves something from his suit pocket.

It’s a black rectangular box. He places it on your end of the table, staring at you expectedly.

You grab the box and open it carefully. Inside is a rhinestone necklace with several cherries dangling from it. For some, all the bling might be gaudy. To you, it’s stunning.

“Wow,” you say and graze your fingers over the accessory.

“Is it too much?” Seungcheol asks, worry in his voice.

You shake your head.

“It’s so pretty. Thank you, Cheol,” you smile and look at him.

“I know you already have one on, but do you wanna,” he trails off.

You touch the necklace you’re already wearing as if to confirm he’s right. “Oh,” you murmur.

When you dress, you ensure every part of your fit matches perfectly. From the shoes to the layers to the accessories, you’re particular with how you style. So, when Seungcheol asks if you want to exchange jewelry, your first reaction is to be hesitant.

The necklace is beautiful, but you’re nervous about switching it when you haven’t tried everything together.

Seungcheol’s shoulders sag ever so slightly at your silence.

“No worries,” he forces a smile. “Forget I asked.”

He averts his gaze to glance around the restaurant.

You frown upon seeing his sad expression. He’s doing a good job hiding his disappointment, but you’re watching him so attentively that you can see it.

“Baby,” you call out softly.

“Hm?” he hums, glancing at you briefly.

You reach a hand across the table to cover his. “Will you help me put it on?”

Seungcheol gives a small smile, lips pressed together. “You don’t—”

“I can’t put it on because of my nails,” you explain. “So, will you help me?”

Seungcheol eyes you for a moment. He gets a feeling you don’t really want to wear it.

With a silent sigh, you remove your hand from his and reach behind your neck to unlatch your necklace. You struggle to unclasp the hook, fingers slipping from the clasp too quickly for you to slide the connecting end away.

Seungcheol stands, makes his way behind you, then replaces your hands with his.

He’s silent as he takes off the jewelry and sets it on the table gently. He grabs the cherry necklace, wrapping it around your neck carefully and securing the ends. The cold metal makes you shiver for a second. You didn’t realize it would fit more like a choker, but it’s nice to have variety in your wardrobe.

Seungcheol’s fingers linger on your skin before he sits back down.

“How does it look?” you wonder with a smile.

“Beautiful. You look beautiful,” he says without a doubt.

You glance in your lap and then look at him again. “I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol tilts his head. “What for?”

“For hesitating.”

He smiles, the same closed-mouth one, but it looks more genuine now.

“I shouldn’t have put you on the spot. Do you want me to take it off?”

“No,” you answer quickly. “I want to keep it on.”

He nods. “I think it suits you well, Cherry.”

“I think so too,” you reply.

Although you haven’t seen yourself fully with it on, it should be fine paired with your simple yet elegant dress.

Soon the tension dissipates, and you both fall into a casual conversation.

The waiter comes back and informs you that it’s taking longer than usual for your meals. Seungcheol doesn’t look pleased momentarily, but he puts on a friendly appearance soon after.

As an apology, the waiter comes back with a complimentary bottle of champagne.

“This just means I get to spend more time with you dressed up,” you say as Seungcheol pours you both a glass.

He peeks at you and sighs. “That’s a good way of putting it.”

“This doesn’t ruin anything,” you reassure, knowing he’s upset that there’s a hiccup in what he hoped would be a perfect date.

Seungcheol nods and hands you your filled glass.

“To being happy,” he says, raising his glass.

You grin at his small toast. It’s nice to know you make him as happy as he makes you.

“To being happy,” you repeat, then clink glasses.

You watch Seungcheol over the rim of your glass as you take a sip, smiling as you make eye contact.

“Good?” he asks.

You nod and place the drink down.

“I’ll be right back. I need to use the restroom,” you inform and slide your chair back.

“Okay,” he says.

Seungcheol watches as you leave, eyes a little more focused than necessary to make sure you get to the restrooms safely. It’s only when you round the corner that he tears his gaze away.

He pulls his phone out and starts scrolling through social media to bypass the time.

“Seungcheol?” a hesitant voice calls in front of him a minute later.

He snaps his gaze up, something about the voice ringing familiarity.

A woman dressed in a long dress stands across the table. Her hair is neatly pulled from her face and a small handbag is in one of her hands. She looks different from the last time he’s seen her.

“Hajun?” Seungcheol asks, shocked.

She grins widely.

“It is you,” she breathes out a sigh of relief. “Not that you look much different, but I thought I was seeing things.”

He hums, an uneasy feeling in his chest.

The last time he spoke to her was at your senior fashion show. Numerous calls and texts from her went ignored; especially, when he found out what she had said to you outside that bathroom on campus. Even now, he can’t stop thinking about her words. The very untrue, and vile words.

“Can I sit real quick? I feel bad with how things ended between us.”

Seungcheol glances behind her. He doesn’t see you and hopes you take your time. He’s sure she’s the last person you want to see.

“Yeah,” he replies.

She nods and takes a seat.

“Look, I’m sorry for how I acted in college. I know it hasn’t been long, but a lot can change in a month.”

“Like?” he ponders.

“For starters, remember that company I really wanted to work for? I got hired there!” she beams. “There are some really nice people helping me improve my skills.”

“That sounds great, Hajun,” Seungcheol congratulates.

“It is,” she smiles. “So, are you doing a business deal or something? I saw you work for Attacca now.”

“I do, but that’s not why I’m here tonight,” he replies.

“Oh,” she says, a little surprised. “Then, why are you dressed up so nicely? You used to only dress like this when we had presentations or something of the sort.”

Her gaze flickers across his body, taking in his nice suit.

“I’m on a date,” he answers plainly, not having any desire to disclose with whom.

Her eyes widen. “Really? Me too!”

This time, it’s Seungcheol’s turn to look shocked.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she laughs. “I’m not totally undesirable.”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “It’s not that, I just…”

Hajun smiles. “I’m just messing with you. Like old times, remember?”

Seungcheol hums. Although Hajun was never nice to you, she always treated him kindly. Sure, she was a gossiper, but nothing came out of it. Not until you came along. Perhaps he just never saw her with the people the gossip was about.

“So, if you’re on a date, does this mean you got over Yn?” she wonders. He gets the impression that she always assumed his liking toward you was temporary. As if Hajun was just waiting for his “phrase” to pass.

Seungcheol’s hands close in fists beneath the table. The conversation was bearable until now. Now, he dreads to hear what Hajun has to say. He doesn’t want a repeat of what happened months ago.

“You’re still thinking of her?” he asks, trying to divert the question.

She shrugs. “Not really, but seeing you reminded me how infatuated you were. I mean, you did ditch me for her.”

She laughs, but it feels forced as if she’s trying to hide how upset she is.

Seungcheol purses his lips. “You know why I ditched you, Hajun.”

“I told you I was just looking out for you, Cheollie,” she exasperates. “All I ever wanted was for you not to get hurt. And can you blame me for worrying? She was known to sleep around and be noncommittal. All her exes said—”

“They were exes for a reason. It seems they were all insecure and needed to start rumors to heal their egos.”

Seungcheol can feel his body heat as the anger begins to rise. It always did when she spoke about you, but now it’s intensified.

“Maybe the reason was because she wasn’t all she made herself out to be,” Hajun argues.

It suddenly feels like he’s in college again, surrounded by the study room walls with his so-called friends. At least he always had Vernon to lean on for reason.

“I think people put labels on her and just went with it,” Seungcheol says.

Hajun scoffs. “Oh, come on, Cheollie. She always acted like she was above everyone else. Perfect grades, perfect family… Yeah, right. I heard her father is a dead-beat and her sister is a—”

“You don’t know shit, Hajun,” he snaps finally. “You never did.”

She frowns, seemingly offended at his words. “You can’t seriously still like her,” she says, flabbergasted.

“Why not?” he challenges.

“You’re better than her!” she huffs. “You’re caring, you’re loyal, you’re smart. She’s none of that. You can reach levels of success she never can. She’s not that talented, and she’s probably not even good in bed.”

“She’s amazing, actually.” He smirks.

Hajun chokes, eyes wide in horror. “W-What?”

Seungcheol leans on the table. He narrows his eyes at her, more serious than ever.

“You haven’t changed, Hajun. You’re still jealous of her and all your shit-talking shows it. Had I never tolerated all your badmouthing, I would’ve been much happier the last few months.”

Hajun blinks; her mouth is slightly ajar as she processes what he said.

“So, you are on a date with her,” Hajun says in realization. There’s disgust evident in her voice that fuels Seungcheol’s irritation. He’s been so engrossed by her that he hasn’t seen you standing behind Hajun. He jumps as if his hand is caught in the cookie jar.

“Why, of course,” you laugh mockingly sweetly. “You still think he’ll give you the time of day?”

Seungcheol’s heart races at seeing you. You don’t look as pissed as he thought you would be, but that doesn’t mean you’re not hiding it.

He’s prepared to tell you Hajun’s just leaving, but he’s interrupted before he can get a syllable out.

“You’re still the bitch you were in college,” Hajun growls, a glare in her eyes.

You smile. “Takes one to know one.”

Hajun’s eyes narrow.

“I see your fashion has improved,” you observe. “Did you learn something from me?”

Hajun reaches for the glass of champagne on the table, fully prepared to drench you with it, but Seungcheol grabs her arm swiftly. Some of it swishes over the lip and spills on the table.

“It’s time for you to go, Hajun. I’m sure your date is wondering where you are,” Seungcheol speaks firmly.

Hajun turns to face him and slowly relaxes in his grip. “You don’t see what she’s doing to you?”

Her voice is softer now; she sounds sad.

“She’s making me happier,” he replies, hand still wrapped around her wrist in case she changes her mind.

“She’s making you a dick,” Hajun corrects. “You’re not the Seungcheol I knew a few months ago.”

“No, Hajun. I’ve just gotten better at standing up for people I care about,” Seungcheol replies. He almost sounds a little defeated by her lack of sense.

Hajun’s stare lingers on his. He watches her search his eyes for what he’s guessing is his past self, but she doesn’t understand he never left. It’s just clearer to him to see who’s worth fighting for.

“Enjoy your night, Hajun,” Seungcheol dismisses.

Hajun inhales deeply before releasing a breath. She eases her grip on the glass and stands from the seat. She gives you one last snarl with her back turned to Seungcheol, then walks to the other end of the restaurant.

As she’s walking away, you shuffle to Seungcheol’s side and call her name.

She turns, already annoyed with whatever you’re about to say.

You give her a small smile before you tilt Seungcheol’s face toward yours and kiss him. Seungcheol nips at your lip at your childish behavior but doesn’t resist.

When you pull away, you see she’s rolling her eyes and giving you the finger.

You’re tempted to reciprocate the gesture, but she turns around before you can lift a hand.

“That was immature,” Seungcheol murmurs, although he doesn’t sound upset.

“So is she,” you argue.

Seungcheol rubs his lips together, not disagreeing with your comment.

“So, what did you hear?” he asks as you sit down.

“That you think I’m amazing in bed,” you grin, crossing your legs and leaning back in your seat.

Seungcheol seems embarrassed for a few seconds, but then he’s smirking and grazing one of your legs with his under the table.

“I’m sure you’ll be amazing in my car too,” he replies.

Your mouth drops slightly. “Seungcheol!”

He cocks an eyebrow up briefly—a habit of his that you’ve started to find more attractive than annoying.

“We can get a to-go,” he offers.

You shake your head and nudge at his leg with yours. “You wanted to eat here, so we’re eating here. Behave yourself.”

Seungcheol’s eyes flicker down at your body, sighing.

“But you make it so hard,” he groans lowly.

You know he’s talking about not being able to behave, but you get the hint he’s also referring to something else.

You resist the urge to glance down, knowing you won’t be able to see what you’re looking for anyway.

“I’m sure I do,” you smile mischievously.

The corner of his lips dips down.

Thankfully, your food arrives before he can reply, and the conversation transitions into something more appropriate.

With the night winding down and a belly filled with delicious food, you begin to get sleepy. Seungcheol pays for the meal and then helps you get into the car. His hand holds yours, and he can’t stop the grin on his face when he feels your grip ease as you fall asleep.

You look so sweet that he doesn’t wake you when he arrives at his apartment. He’s careful to pick you up and carry you to his front door, then to his bedroom.

“Babe,” he finally speaks.

“Hm?” you mumble in his arms.

“We’re at my place, you wanna change for bed?” he asks softly.

Your eyes peel open, glancing around to confirm your whereabouts.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” you mumble.

“It’s no problem, baby,” he says and eases you onto the bed.

“Your clothes or mine?” he asks, opening his closet to get you something more comfortable.

“Yours,” you answer tiredly.

Seungcheol’s not surprised by your answer, yet his heart still skips a beat. He likes that you enjoy his clothes even if they’re not the most stylish. Granted, some are well-known brands, but they’re still just plain.

He hands you a spare shirt and shorts and then changes into his own nightwear. When he looks at you, you’re already tucked under his covers, shorts forgotten at the foot of the bed.

“That sleepy huh?” he chuckles and puts away the unwanted shorts.

“Very,” you sigh.

Seungcheol climbs into bed after turning off the light, immediately getting hugged by you. He wiggles a bit to get comfortable.

“You have a good night, Cherry?” he asks.

You nod, eyes peering up to his. “The best.”

“I’m glad,” he murmurs. “Thank you for letting me take you out to dinner.”

You smile. Despite wanting to keep things small, you’re glad he took you out in the end. It was nice going on a proper date since it’s been a while. Not by choice, but aligning schedules hasn’t been as easy nowadays. You’ve both been busy with your new jobs.

“I didn’t have a choice,” you answer teasingly.

Seungcheol chuckles. “Not really.”

It’s quiet for a moment until Seungcheol begins to speak. 

“I lo—”

“Happy one-month anniversary, Cheol,” you say nearly at the same time; however, you don’t inquire on what he was going to say afterward.

Seungcheol pauses as he contemplates continuing his sentence. He decides against it.

“Happy one month, baby,” he echos instead, leaning down to kiss you sweetly—a faint smile on his lips.

A/N: If anyone is curious, this is how I imagined the necklace/choker to look like.

For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

taglist: @musingsofananxiouspotato, @christinewithluv, @lockburn-castle, @iammisstora, @maknae00, @morklee02, @kittyhui, @cheolcherries, @oncloudvii23*, @mystikha*, @lithelust, @doom-fics, @ellllsia (im debating on only tagging those who specified for the pretty please couple just bc some parts may not make sense if you haven't read the series, but lmk if you have a preference!)

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

#kvanity #kdiarynet #scousp fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #scoups fluff #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol fanfic #scoups x reader #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #svt scoups

[tired0artist]

| barbie meme, but make it dreamling | 

or the alternative title: “interrupted date at long closed off white horse tavern.”

sooo i can’t believe that i’m back with drawing these two! they started up my journey with digital art and well, here they are again!

i honestly see so much progress in my works and it’s been only around 8 months since i’ve started! thanks all of you who followed me since i began posting! it’s been a tough but fun journey! hope to see you all soon with new art! <3 

#dreamling #dream x hob #hob gadling #digital art #lord morpheus #the sandman #the sandman netflix #morpheus/hob #morpheus #robert gadling #dream of the endless #the endless #the barbie meme #based on barbie meme #barbie

[pandorascripts]

I Bet You Think About Me

pairing: wednesday x reader

cw: angst, cheating, tyler galpin.

note: you should know that I made morticia and gomez the mean rich type of people to fit this.

summary: catering your ex-girlfriend’s wedding was certainly not what you wanted to do, but it proves to be fruitful as you get to say goodbye— and taunt her.

song: I Bet You Think About Me (feat. Chris Stapleton) (Taylor’s Version) (From The Vault) by Taylor Swift ;).

proof read like once. I’m finding a lot of mistakes because I’m tired LMAO.

SEND IN REQUESTS BASED ON TS SONGS!

:—-:—- —-:—- —-:—- —-:—- —-:—- —-:—- —-:

It had been exactly three months since Wednesday had called off your relationship. She claimed you were too childish and that you were just too different from her— that you couldn’t fit into her world. Looking back on it now you can only laugh, the true reason why Wednesday broke up with you was because she was too scared of the consequences.

Despite what she claims and what others believe, Wednesday does care about what her family thinks. And her family, the richest and most powerful people in all of New York, had high expectations in who she would date. They certainly didn’t think (or even know) that Wednesday wanted to date someone below her status, below her age for that mater. Nine years wasn’t too bad, but her parents wanted Wednesday to be nine years younger than her rich, male lover. Unfortunately you didn’t fit any boxes where it mattered. 

But as you’re catering her wedding, watching Wednesday dance with her new husband, you really can’t help but chuckle. Wednesday’s been staring at you for the entire event, and you know damn well she’s been thinking about you. You see it in the way she eyes your work attire, — a tight, clad semi-formal suit— and in the way she frowns the moment her husband draws her attention away from you. It’s obvious. 

Buts it’s only until the service is almost over that she approaches you. 

“Hi.”

You look down to the glasses you’d been cleaning previously, trying to help out your friend with his own job. “Mrs. Galpin, is it?”

Wednesday scoffs, arms crossing over her chest. “Yeah, it is now.”

You nod, wiping a white cloth against the crystal glass of the cup. It’s almost as thick as the tension between you two. 

“Look, I want to tell you that I’ve moved on, and that I think it’s really immature of you to show up here.”

Your eyes widen drastically as you stare at Wednesday and her audacity. Grabbing her by the wrist, you drag her into the nearest storage closet so you can scream at her. She doesn’t stop you because she wont dare to make a scene with her filthy-rich family here. Her wrist in your hand brings up dead memories, memories long buried under sadness and anger. 

When the door clicks shut, you finally turn around to yell at her. “I’m doing my job, Wednesday. I didn’t have a choice because unlike you I can’t just wait until my trust fund opens. As you’ve made very, very, very, clear, I don’t have one!”

Wednesday rolls her eyes, her fingers adjusting the hem of her dress. “Just don’t cause anything. You and I both know that you were always dramatic.”

“Oh, I’m dramatic? You got engaged a week after we broke up to please your parents.”

“We were never going to work out! I like him! It wasn’t for my parents.”

“I don’t have to be one of your many shrinks to know you’ll never be happy with him. In fact,” you step closer to Wednesday, rage clouding the thoughts telling you to leave it be, “I bet you think about me.

“You’re out here marrying rich, handsome guys and trying to chase a status your parents want you to have, but I bet you’ve never felt so locked up in your life.”

Wednesday shudders, her cold gaze darting around your face.

“Why’s that?” she asks, still trying to act like she’s in power.

“Because you never felt more free than when you were with me.”

Wednesday gulps, her head whipping to the storage closet as she tries to not look at you. She fails, and proves your point beautifully. You shake your head, disbelief and disappointment the only thing you feel.

“Goodbye, Wednesday. Enjoy the wedding and let me do my job peacefully.”

Your hand retreats from the wall behind her, when they got there you can’t remember, and you turn around. Wednesdays hands reach out to grab your face before you have enough time to register what’s happening. 

Her lips are still just as soft as they were that night she left you. Her kisses are still sweet and passionate, always expressing what she can’t say through words. You sigh, forgetting about the wedding, about her parents, and about her husband waiting for another dance just beyond that door. 

It doesn’t take long until your fingers thread themselves in her dress and then you remember all of those things and more. You remember why she dumped you— why you have to let her go. You pull away harshly, taking a few quick steps back and sprint out the door. Wednesday doesn’t bother chasing after you. 

You run to your friend James, alerting him of your well-earned break that you decide to take. He nods, waving you off as you dart out of the venue. The early spring snow sets against the slush and you sigh. The cold grounds you, remembering the night three months prior. 

You shift on Wednesdays lap, laying your head on her shoulder. She’s reading in peace, a book her friend recommended, you recall. Her friend had claimed it had changed his view on life, and had told Wednesday it would do wonders for her. She was only reading it to poke fun at it. 

The movie in the background was long forgotten by you, your eyes instead lining her jawline and the soft curve of her nose. 

“Wednesday.”

“Yes?” she asks, flipping the page over. She doesn’t look at you, or even stop reading her book. 

You’ve been noticing this for the past two weeks now, her attention has been dwindling. Wednesday’s become more stressed and angry. Fights have been more frequent, at least two every other day. It’s always over minuscule stuff too, like how you dress, where you work, how Wednesday doesn’t like the way you hold your fork, or the way you laugh like a kid. You told her maybe it’s because you are one. After all, you’re twenty two and she’s thirty-one. Wednesday ignored you for hours that day. 

“Will you put the book down?”

“Why?” Again, no eye contact. 

“Because I want to have a real conversation.”

“We are.”

You scoff, swinging your feet off of her thighs and stand up, the book getting knocked to the floor. You don’t apologize despite her shouts, instead you grab your keys and shrug on your coat. 

“Where are you going?” she demands, hands trying to grab the keys out of your pocket. 

You swat her away and tie your shoelaces. “For a walk.”

“The hell you are! It’s eleven at night and December, it’s too late and too cold.”

You ignore her again, swinging the door open and skipping outside. Wednesday doesn’t follow you, but you don’t need to look back to know that. The door slamming tells you enough. 

That night when you got home, a clear head and a fresh apology with you, Wednesday called you childish. She told you that dating you was a mistake, that meeting you was one. And then her bag of belongings— you remember frowning over the fact that she only had an unpacked bag of stuff— was thrown into her corvette. 

It didn’t matter how much you clung to her, begging that she didn’t do this, she shrugged you off and left without so much as a glance back.

When your five minute break was over, you walked back into the wedding and continued working. Wednesday wasn’t anywhere to be seen for the rest of the night.

Maybe it wasn’t the goodbye you wanted, but it sure was a loud one. All you can hope is that Wednesday is tormented by what you once had, because at least you can certainly bet she thinks about you. 

#wednesday series #wednesday x reader #wednesday show #x reader #reader insert #x you #angst #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday tv series #wednesday au #tyler galpin #wednesday x tyler #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams blurb #wednesday imagine #wednesday 2022 #wednesday fanfic #wednesday addams imagine #pandorascript #fanfic #gender neutral fanfic #wednesday x fem!reader #fem!reader #wednesday addams x female reader #netflix wednesday

[atruththatyoudeny]

Happy 28th! Here are all the amazing fics I read this month:

Hiding Green Smiles | HoldingOnToChaos | [45k] Louis’ heart is racing in his chest. The idea of temporary bonding—letting Harry bite down right on that spot without it being a real bond—makes his mouth go dry. He didn’t even know something like this existed! His mind fills with all the possibilities and questions. What’s it going to feel like? How will it affect his orgasms? How will it affect Harry’s knot? What parts of a bond does it simulate? When Louis goes with Liam to a hidden sex shop, he discovers a new sex toy, the BiteMat, and he can't believe his luck. He loves being bitten, has a biting kink, even, and now he can be bitten over his bonding spot without the fear of anything permanent. He hastily buys it to try with Harry, his friend and roommate, and his regular heat/rut partner for the last eighteen months. They've been friends-with-benefits outside heat or rut for eight months now, and Louis' been desperately in love with Harry for at least five of those months. -- Or the BiteMat fic

Secrets in Winter | softfonds | [82k] If Harry Styles thought he was going to have a peaceful winter while staying far away from the rake who lived across the street, he was sorely wrong on two fronts. A Victorian AU.

Don't Change Me | Sharyn28 | [157k] Once in every fifty years, the moon shines brightly over the town of Holmes Chapel for 24 hours. The moment it turns red, any alpha pack leader becomes incredibly and outrageously powerful. For approximately two hours until it subsides, the alpha has the power to change any secondary gender. For example, an alpha can turn another alpha into a beta or omega and so forth. It doesn't matter if the chosen person agrees or disagrees, they have no choice. Once the decision is made, there is no turning back. All it takes to seal the deal...is the alphas howl to the moon, proclaiming their intentions as they stand around a bonfire, where the change will take place immediately. How is Louis going to react when his best friend and alpha leader retracts his alpha status, turning him into an omega so they can mate? Especially when Harry doesn't talk to him about it first.

Drop and Draws - What a feeling | Elmeiko88 | [50k] Ever since he presented as an Alpha, Harry can't stop drawing the same person over again. Louis, since long before he presented as an Omega, has always had behavioural problems... When Niall sees one of Harry's drawings, it becomes clear that these two must meet, and quickly. Everything should be easy, shouldn't it? Except, perhaps, Louis is on the other side of the Atlantic, firmly attached to Ricky...

You Could Give That Aspirin the Headache of Its Life | LetTheMusicMoveYou | [3.6k] Louis had once heard that the chances of being struck by lightning are 1 in 700,000. He wonders now, how those odds compare to randomly being seated next to your ex boyfriend on a 10 hour flight. Honestly, if the universe is going to insist on ruining his life, he really would have preferred the lightning thing. (Or the one where Louis is a football player who gets stuck on a flight with his ex-boyfriend Harry. The universe might be conspiring against him, or is it?)

The Room Thief | 2tiedships2 | [12k] Louis: Can I come over? Need your help. Niall: Did someone die? I don’t need to help you bury a body do I? Wait, did you behead one of your alpha flatmates? I hope it was the one that smells like cherries. That is such a weird scent for an alpha. It’s disturbing. And I can’t even smell it. Louis: I’ve just been kicked out. Can I crash on your couch? Niall: Zayn’s in class. I’m here so get over here NOW. Louis: Thanks mate. Gonna pack a few things and will head over. Be there in about a half hour. --- When Louis comes home and is confronted by his knothead alpha flatmates, he knows it won’t result in anything good, but he didn’t expect to be left homeless, effective immediately. He definitely didn’t expect to fall for the specific knothead who stole his room.

i would know you from touch alone | staybeautiful | [73k] They had never been face to face before now. They’d never touched, skin to skin, until Harry landed a punch to his face, high on his cheekbone. Louis shoved him off and was pulling his fist back from Harry’s abdomen before he realized his face wasn’t tingling because of the pain. It pooled out from his cheek, over his face, down his neck and spine. A shiver in the late September night. Heat, sparks - whatever you wanted to fucking call it. or The Tomlinson and Cox gangs have hated each other for over forty years. Harry Styles, the grandson of Gritty Cox, was freshly back to the city after uni when, on his first night out, he punched the Tomlinson heir in the face. It shouldn’t have mattered, their gangs have done worse to each other. But all it took was one single touch to recognize your soulmate. Louis was adamant that being soulmates changed nothing, not who they were or which family they were loyal to. Or, at least, it shouldn’t have.

In Jest | LadyLondonderry | [4.8k] Louis, who smiles at Harry as he reclines in his chair. Louis, whose soulmark is visible thanks to his low-cut top. Louis, Harry’s soulmate, who seems to either be blissfully ignorant of that fact or maliciously ignoring it. Harry would really like to know which.

find a way (to send me a sign) | we_are_the_same | [666] Everything is dark, and Louis feels like he can’t breathe. For a moment, he is unsure what woke him up, until he hears it again. The soft buzzing of his phone on the bedside table. He pushes down the duvet that’s been covering his face and squints at the clock, the red digits telling him it’s exactly 3:00 AM. Rubbing at his eyes, Louis swallows back a yawn and reaches for his phone, intent on swiping the call away until he notices the name on the display. His heart jumps as he brings the phone to his ear. “Harry?”

Into The Mist | babyhoneyhslt | [63k] Sneaking on board the famous pirate ship Compass Arrow to get a story for his journalist father, Harry must do everything to keep a low profile. But when one of the crew discovers him, hiding from the ruthless Captain Tommo becomes almost impossible.

Tea Thyme | Fandom_Larry | [10k] In a town where omegas are expected to mate young, Harry finds himself still single. Instead of finding love, he chooses to live his life pining away for an alpha far above his class. That is until a mysterious courting gift shows up at his shop. What happens when he lets go of his dream and holds out for reality? Is it possible to still get everything he wants? Only the fates know.

Something About You Feels Like Home | MarWritesStuff (Ta_Ma) | [40k] When Harry starts paying attention, he feels his tummy fluttering. The singer is gorgeous in an almost ethereal way. He can tell that the man is an alpha just by looking at him, and he’s shocked to feel himself getting slightly wet. or The one in which Harry is a sheltered and inexperienced omega, brought up in a very traditional family, who just moved alone to London to finish his studies. There, he attends a concert by indie band The Rogue. Louis is the lead singer of The Rogue and is a bit tired of not finding a connection. Harry wants to let go of his family's rules and restraints, and Louis wants to find an omega to cherish and take care of.

#28th appreciation #fic rec #my fic rec #monthly fic rec #my reads #larry fics

[belovedmusings]

Your Cult Leader

18+ Explicit Smut 🚫minors DNI🚫

Cult leader! music producer! Geto x AFAB! popstar! reader loosely inspired by The Idol (just the dynamic between the two, but in this AU Suguru’s not a psycho POS like the guy is in the show, so no gross themes) where they have sex in the studio.

Relevant tags: light dirty talk, oral sex (AFAB! reader receiving) penetrative sex, missionary/mating press, established relationship of sorts (not together but not not together either…you have a situationship with a hot, rich, talented producer/cult leader Suguru so), he uses the term of endearment “love” once, addresses you without the use of “y/n”

Recommended music while reading: One Of The Girls (The Weeknd, Jennie, Lily Rose Depp), A Lesser Man (The Weeknd), and Double Fantasy (The Weeknd, Future)

Read below cut:

“Ugh,” you groan in frustration, hitting the spacebar on the keyboard in front of you to pause the track. Beside you, Suguru shifts to lean on his knuckles, looking at you curiously.

“Hmm? What’s the matter?”

“It’s not sounding right,” you answer, “Something’s off but I can’t quite place it.”

“Mmm,” he hums, sucking in a breath. “Well, you have been at it like this since after lunch. It’s almost midnight now. You haven’t even eaten yet. Maybe you should take a break.”

“No,” you shake your head, “It’s right there, I just…”

Suguru’s hand slides over yours, thumb gently running over your knuckles. “We talked about you overworking yourself. It isn’t good for you or your creativity.”

You look at him and frown. “Suguru, I know you want me to take better care of myself, but—”

“Your body is your temple,” he interrupts you, pushing his chair closer to yours so that they touch. “Didn’t I teach you that? You need to treat it as if it was sacred. It is sacred. Starving yourself and working off of fumes is only going to drive you to burnout.”

His dark eyes hold yours, and that familiar flutter inside your stomach starts up again—Suguru is a beautiful man, and you thought so the minute you met him at that party for your friend’s album release a few months ago. Right now, under the dim, warm lighting of the studio’s LED lights, he looks just as mesmerizing.

His long, dark hair falls in layered tendrils down his shoulders, beside his gauges, framing his face perfectly, making for the perfect precursor for his gentle eyes, perfectly centered nose, and soft lips. His black shirt lays over his muscular chest unbuttoned at the top to show off his collarbones, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tucked into his black slacks, held up by an expensive belt. As always, he just exudes power. It drives a thrill through you that only he is capable of producing.

“Did I lose you in there?” He asks with an amused smile, bringing you back to yourself. You avert your eyes, shaking your head.

“Sorry. Got distracted.”

He’s silent for a moment. “I think I have a way to solve all of your problems.”

You return your gaze to his face just as he moves his touch down to your thigh, bare due to the shorts you elected to wear this morning. His hand is hot, spreading tingles up your spine like he’s firing off every single one of your nerves on purpose.

“What is it?”

“I’ve talked about it before,” he begins, “But creativity comes from the Sacral chakra. You know where it is, right?”

You draw in a breath, starting to realize where he’s going with this. You two have talked about Suguru’s unique beliefs before. He draws from many different religions and philosophies to create what he calls ‘the one true religion’, one he insists would solve all world conflict if everyone just subscribed to it. So far, everything he’s said makes sense to you.

The human body is, as he said, a temple for the soul, a special sort of energy taken from a piece of the Universe so that it can experience itself. There’s a lot of things he’s said, but right now, the important thing is that he believes bodies have energy points where different types of energy can interact with a human and either take away or give to their soul if activated. These energy points are chakra points, taken from Hinduism and Buddhism, the latter being one of Suguru’s favorite philosophies due to how ‘true’ it is.

You remember he said there are seven chakra points. The one for creativity is…

He moves his hand up your thigh slowly, causing you to breathe deeply, palm slinking up your hip to your abdomen just below your navel.

“Right here,” he tells you. “The sacral chakra is the energy point for both creativity and sexual pleasure. Do you know why that is?”

You blink. He had just explained what they are, but not why or how they’re connected. “No. Not exactly.”

“This is where your womb is,” he explains. “You create there, don’t you? If you were to accept someone’s seed, you’d create life. That’s why it’s both.”

You breathe out, starting to feel a little warm. “That…that makes sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” He agrees with a smile. “Now. You’re having trouble figuring out how to create this song, right? What we need to do is stimulate it.”

Ah, you think. That’s his point. You look at him, taking in the relaxed glint of lust in his eyes, and decide to play along. “How do we stimulate the womb?”

“Well, sacral chakra is all things pertaining to sexual pleasure. So if I make you feel good, I’m activating it.”

You nod, biting on the nail of your thumb. “Well…I have no creativity right now. So do your worst.”

A grin spreads across his lips. “My worst? Are you sure?”

Sex with Suguru is always a wild card. You never know what you’re going to get with him. Sometimes he’s sweet and slow, praising you like you’re his personal divine deity, and sometimes he’s railing you within an inch of your life, bent over the nearest surface, filth spilling from his lips.

“Or your best. Whichever you prefer,” you reply, subtly challenging him to take his pick, to chose how to make you fall apart. The control is his to have.

“Mmm,” he smirks. “I like the sound of that.”

Faster than you can comprehend, he’s out of his seat and grabbing you by the hips, hoisting you up and onto the coffee table where your manager and other producers sit during the day, right behind the mixing table.

He has your shorts off in record time, tossed to the floor unimportantly, and his right hand goes right for the apex of your thighs, rubbing his thumb over your underwear-clad sensitive center in teasingly gentle strokes.

You feel every time his nail grazes that spot, the pearl he seems to know how to work as if only he was given the manual to it.

“Suguru,” you breathe, leaning up on your elbows to see him. He smiles softly at you, lazy gaze fixed on your face.

“Relax,” He tells you, “Just focus on my touches.”

You listen, letting yourself lay back all the way. You even close your eyes, hearing him shuffle, keeping his hand on you. It only moves when it hooks at the fabric and pushes it out of the way.

Exposed to the air abruptly, you gasp quietly, but that gets replaced by an even louder gasp as a hot, wet tongue slides right over the neediest part of you.

“Suguru,” you exhale, biting your lip as he does it again, hands bracing your hips to keep you still.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, hot breath fanning over your pelvis. “And you taste good, too.”

Your face gets hot. “Don’t stare. It’s embarrassing.”

“Like I said,” he replies, wetly kissing your mound. “Your body is a temple. And I intend to worship it.”

His face is buried in you in the next instance, licking a fat stripe over you before flicking his tongue rapidly, stimulating all of your nerves at once.

“Suguru,” you gasp. “Oh fuck…”

He slurps lewdly, groaning, swirling his tongue in the way he knows drives you insane.

“Suguru,” you mewl again, arching up. He sucks intently, right hand moving down the inside of your thigh to where wetness has been pooling since he started touching you.

When his finger prods at your folds, you flinch, sensitive to the touch, and he becomes more bold, slipping two inside at once.

“Ah,” you moan loudly, pushing your hips down on his hand. His fingers are long and thick inside of you, curling up and fucking at a focused, teasing pace.

“We should record your sounds,” he states, “I’d use them in a track. Hmm…but then I’d get jealous when other people hear them.”

He adds a third finger, wrapping his lips around your pearl and running his tongue up and down, pulling another ragged moan from your throat.

“You’re mine,” He continues in a pant, coming up for air. “All mine. Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you reply without hesitation. This man is all you could ever need. No one else could satisfy you like he can.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, rewarding your loyalty by flicking his tongue again, causing you to tighten around him. He fucks his fingers harder, getting excess slick on the table. You grind down, feeling that coil wind tighter and tighter in your core.

When he flattens his tongue and flutters it over your mound at the same time he curls his fingers up, you’re done for, orgasm hitting you in a dizzying wave of pleasure.

“Suguru, Suguru,” you drawl out, hands threading in his hair as he kisses your puffy apex through the bliss. When he lifts his head, his mouth is covered in your essence, and he looks impossibly fucking hot.

“How do you feel?” He asks, “Feeling inspired yet?”

You blink. Inspired? Who the hell knows. You’re horny as hell and you want this gorgeous man to fuck you so hard you see stars, being one be damned.

“I still feel stuck.”

He feigns a pout of sympathy, raising himself up on his knees.

“We can't have that, now can we?” He asks you, and now that he’s kneeling on his knees, you can see his body clearly. Your eyes draw onto the obvious, big bulge under his belt buckle, and heat surges through you. You want that. Now.

“I need more inspiration.”

He grins, standing up and scooping you up into his arms, stepping around the coffee table to lay you out on the leather sofa behind it. He pulls the waistband of your underwear down your legs, letting them fall to the floor.

You then watch as he undoes his belt, hands working at the buckle expertly to unlatch it. He then pulls it open, not bothering to take it off before he undoes his buttons and zipper, pushing his boxers down far enough to let himself spring free.

The sight of his red, hard cock never ceases to fan the flames of your fire for him, no reservations in your heart as he kneels on the cushion, getting between your willingly spread legs.

He smiles down at you and grabs his member, guiding it to rub against your dripping folds.

“Mmh,” you breathe, grinding against him needily.

“This way, I can transfer some of my creativity to you,” He says, “How does that sound?”

Anything to make him enter you.

You nod, reaching up and grabbing his firm biceps through his shirt.

“Please, Suguru,” you say, “Need it.”

And you don’t mean the creativity.

The man above you grins, letting his tip catch on your entrance and pushing in without hesitation.

He sinks in slowly, letting you feel the stretch of his thick girth, the heat of his bare cock inside of you.

“Fuck,” you curse, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“So tight,” he murmurs, pulling back and thrusting back in languidly, doing it again a few times to get you used to him, a dull ache seating inside you at the sensation. The fact that it hurts a little bit makes your heart beat faster, and you angle your hips up, desperate to give him better access.

He huffs an amused laugh, putting more energy into his movements and speeding up.

“Ah,” you gasp, nails digging into his arms. “Yes, Suguru…”

“Does that feel good?” He asks, slightly winded, and you nod, swallowing thickly.

“So good,” is your response, one of your hands running up the expanse of his shoulder to his neck, up to cup his jaw. He leans into the touch, even turning his head to kiss your palm. It causes you to flutter around him, and he groans at the feeling, picking up his pace even more.

You pull your knees back more towards your chest as best as you can without your hands to help, making room for him to go deeper. It causes his tip to push against your cervix, and it pulls a high-pitched gasp from you.

“That’s it,” he pants, leaning down over you, sliding his hands underneath your arms to grip your shoulders, balancing on his elbows to drive harder into you, hitting that spot every single time he pushes in. “Oh, fuck yes…”

It’s breathy, and the knowledge that you are the one making him lose his composure heightens your euphoria. You look up into his eyes, which are only a few inches from yours now.

He gives you a loose smile. “Getting inspiration?”

You laugh despite yourself. “Yeah…fuck yeah I am…”

“Good,” he grins, “Never hurts to give more, does it?”

You wonder what he means for a mere moment before he stops thrusting for a moment to hike your legs up, hooking your knees on his shoulders and then leaning back down to grab your waist, effectively bending you in half.

“Shit,” you hiss, eyes widening when he starts a grueling pace up. “Suguru!”

“Fuck,” he curses, the slap of your wet skin meeting over and over again bouncing off the sound-treated walls along with your mixed pants to make a song only the two of you can create together.

His dark hair hangs down over your face, hot breaths hitting your skin rhythmically, and he lowers himself fully to kiss you, tongue sliding into your mouth to claim you in yet another way. Your eyes shut to enjoy the sensation of two parts of him inside you, kissing back greedily, fisting your hands in his hair.

He groans lowly when you pull, knowing he likes it, putting more vigor into the way he kisses you, almost like he’s trying to devour your soul.

His hips keep slamming against yours, walls sore with the exertion of having been pushed to the limits. He’s relentless and you think about how you’ll feel him there even tomorrow, and what a welcome thought that is.

You pull harder on his hair and he responds by biting your bottom lip, feeding you a winded groan. The primal scent of your kiss buzzes around in your senses, melding with his heady jasmine cologne, concocting your own personal brand of heroin. You feel him everywhere, and the weight of his firm body covering yours is something you could never recreate without him.

You’re so lost in your own pleasure that you don’t notice his thrusts starting to turn erratic until he breaks the kiss to gasp for air.

“You feel so good,” he pants, “Now I’m inspired.”

That does something to you. This man, who is always at the top of the charts, collaborating with A-list artist after A-list artist is inspired by you, by the sex that you’re giving him. It inflates your ego to a staggering point and you brush his bangs from his eyes, looking deeply into them. A warm feeling spreads through your chest, that familiar danger zone when you’re around Suguru for too long coming into sight once again.

You know he’s off-limits. Between balancing the group he’s leading and his full-time job as a producer, he’s busier than any other man you know, and you aren’t naive enough to delude yourself into thinking he reserves himself solely for you.

He’s a gorgeous man. He’s talented, charismatic, and as a result he has people worshiping the ground he walks on. He can have anyone and everyone he wants, and as a man as powerful as he is, who would he be not to indulge himself? He’s a god among men, and you’ve resigned yourself to being one of his earthly concubines with the self-assurance that you’re among his favorites.

He spends a majority of his free time with you, and when he’s busy he calls when he can. He texts you to ask how you are, makes sure that you stay out of trouble, and he protects you from slimy industry heads ready to take advantage of you. You go to his penthouse so much you’ve started leaving clothes and belongings there, but you know he could switch up at any moment, so you refuse to acknowledge what is trying to burrow its way into your heart when you look at him.

Except, when he smiles so charmingly at you like he is, pupils blown and lips kissed swollen, it’s so hard not to fall for him.

His eyes slide shut and his brows furrow, sucking his lip between his teeth as he concentrates his thrusts to hit that one spot inside of you that has you seeing the cosmos.

“Ah!” You cry, “Suguru, Suguru…”

The pleasure undulates up your body like electric currents, making you over-sensitive. You can feel his big hands holding your waist so tightly you know it’ll bruise, yet another future reminder he was on top of you.

“That’s it,” he praises, “Come on, I know you’re close, love.”

Love.

Your eyes snap open again and he’s back to watching your face with a gentle expression. You want to say something but find your words robbed, an intensifying heat building and building deep at your center.

“Suguru,” you gasp, hands grappling at his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh there for purchase. It won’t stop, your climax approaching faster and faster, and he doubles down on his thrusts, aiming his cock so precisely you think for a moment you might die of pleasure. “Suguru…”

“You’re right there,” he urges, warm baritones lighting you up from the inside, “Come on, come on, show me how good it is…”

It hits you more abruptly than you’re prepared for. Your entire body tenses up and you throw your head back, arching up as you shout his name desperately, “Suguru! Oh my god, Suguru, Suguru…”

You tighten on him and gush around his length, the sensations faltering his pace, and he moans loudly above you, hips stuttering. Then you feel it. A ticklish, warm sensation inside of you, his release spilling right against your cervix as he presses as far as he can go.

“Fuck,” he groans brokenly, rolling his hips languid against yours, burying his nose in your neck and leaving sloppy kisses there. You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close, relishing in the sensation of him in and all around you. He’s never finished inside you before—you’ve always had protection. Blearily, you wonder what it means that he has, but you don’t want to bring it up right now. It would just break through the veil of bliss you’re in, and you don’t want to leave it yet.

The two of you stay locked like that until the stiffness of your muscles starts making itself known, and he pushes himself off of you, pulling out carefully. You wince in sensitivity, and he rubs your thigh soothingly. His eyes fix on your entrance, thoroughly used and dripping with your mixed releases.

“Shit,” he breathes, “You look good like this…”

You feel your face heat up, legs closing now that he’s not between them anymore. “We need to clean up.”

He laughs softly, leaning over and grabbing some tissues from the coffee table.

“You’re right. I’ll get to it.”

He painstakingly takes care of you first, wiping up all of the fluids you two exchanged from your body and then the leather couch before taking care of himself, tossing the tissues into the trash can by the door. He bends down and grabs the underwear you had on from the floor, fixing them in his hold to slide you back into them.

“How do you feel?” He asks, sitting beside you as you slowly get to a seated position.

“Thoroughly fucked,” you reply bluntly, and he laughs, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his lap. You curl into the crook of his neck, closing your eyes. “But also…very inspired.”

“Yeah?” He asks, rubbing the outside of your leg gently. “Good.”

You want to stay in his arms for the rest of the night, but you are in the studio to work. So, you summon the willpower to get off of the couch, moving to go back to the desk when he pulls you back down.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks, a playful lilt to his voice.

“To work,” you answer, heart racing as he smiles at you.

“So soon? Let me hold you for a little while.”

You want to ask what it means that he wants to do that with you, but a larger, more prominent part of you wins out, and you don’t say a thing. Like this, you can imagine it means what you want it to, even if it doesn’t.

You settle back in his arms, burying your face into his neck and closing your eyes, content to let him cradle you in his big arms. His scent wraps around you like a blanket, and your heart settles down as you relax.

He presses a kiss to your hair, and you decide that as long as you get to keep having this with him, whatever it is, you are content.

_ _ _

a/n: what's funny is that Suguru isn't even my main jjk guy, I just had a demon come over me and wrote this out.

edit: after I re-read i think i’m gonna make this a series bc i can see drama going down and i want to write it 😈

please do not repost or copy my work, but feel free to reblog and share. hope you enjoyed!

#geto x reader #suguru x reader #getou x reader #getou suguru #jjk getou #getou smut #suguru #getou suguru x reader #geto x you #geto suguru x you #suguru geto x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #suguru imagine #geto imagines #geto smut #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader

[usernameforaboredcat]

Head Over Heels (Law X TomBoyF!Reader)

(A little dabble I thought while taking a piss 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 like 3 minutes ago)

Warnings⚠: None

[Part 1/?]

Law meets Luffys older (by like a year) sister who honestly the type of girl he’d imagine being the big sister to the Straw Hat and BOY is she just fiiiiiiiine!

3 brothers!

Imagine growing up with 3 idiot brothers with only one of them being less stupid. Fist fights, rolling around in mud and dirt, covered in blood from hunting, needing a bath every night to not get sick. Haha God I love those idiots!

~

Law doesn’t know why he’s here, walking down a random street on a random island with the idiot Straw Hat Luffy. As the two walk, Luffy lets out a loud yell as he sees a familiar older girl walking down the street. “HEEEEEEY! (YYYYY/NNN)!”. He calls way too loudly, drawing the attention of everyone including the girl. She turns in confusion, the gasps as she looks over with wide eyes and a bright smile.

Luffy jolts off over to the girl, the Captain of the Heart Pirates groaning as he slowly walks to catch up. He sees her wearing baggy long pants and a bikini, saddles and a small pack bag through the belt parts of her pants. Luffy jumps and hugs her, who hugs him back. “No way! It’s so good to see you again little dude!”. She greets him. “I’ve missed you so much!”. Luffy cries. (Y/n) pulls off the younger kid, putting him in a headlock as she ruffles his hair with his knuckles.

“You little fuck! I thought your ass was dead you little shit! Scared me half to death! I swore I saw the light!”. She snaps at him angrily, tightening her hold as he starts to choke. “I-I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me!”. Luffy breathes out, spazzing in her hold.

The Heart Pirate Captain finally catches up, looking at the two with a raised eyebrow. “The hell are you?”. (Y/n) asks the taller man, looking up at him. A thump goes through his whole body, strange. “Th-this is my friend!”. Luffy chokes out, now trying to pull her arm away. “No shit! Can’t believing you made a friend that isn’t some 30 year old guy!”. She says happily.

Law looks at his now turning blue friend, his cheeks reddening at the sign of his face so squished against her boob. “Hope this little turd hasn’t been too much of a pain in the ass”. She tells him, finally letting go of Luffy to let him fall to the ground. ‘Yes, he has been a giant pain in my fucking ass’. “No, not at all”. He responds. ‘Damn it!’.

She then hums, getting on her tippy toes and leans right up into his face. “Holy crap! You’re that Law guy! I heard about you! Your bounty is like crazy high at like 3,000,000,000 berries!”. She points out in shock. “Yeah! Isn’t he awesome!”. Luffy cheers, now back on his feet. “It is quite impressive, I must say”. She hums, holding her chin with her hand as she nods.

“Uh…th-thanks”. He mutters, gripping the brim of his hat to lower it to hide his slowly growing blush. ‘What’s with this woman? Why am I like this? Damn it!’. “So, whatchu up to these days?”. Luffy asks his older sister, the two turning to each other. “Oh ya know, just traveling around looking for anything to do! Probably doing the least to piss off the old man out of us kids”. She answers, leaning with her hand on her hip.

“How bout you? I’ve seen that your bounty has only been goin up so ya still trying to be King of the Pirates?”. She asks. “Yep! And it’s only gonna go up and I’m gonna be king!”. He responds happily. She chuckles at her little brother. “I believe it! Remember I’ve been your number one supporter since day one”. She reminds him, nudging his arms with her elbow.

She then turns back to the other captain, feeling an arrow go through his heart when her eyes meet his. “Mind if I hang with you guys for a while? Just for a bit, I wanna catch up with my baby brother”. She asks him oh so kindly. Law felt as if his heart stopped, chocking and spitting out his own spit. Luffy laughs at his reaction while his sister just stares.

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a handkerchief, holding it out to him. “Do you…need this?”. She asks nervously, never really seeing a guy act like this before in her life. “Uh…”. He takes the handkerchief from her, feeling the soft fabric on his fingers. “Thanks”. He thanks, raising it to clean his face. “Oh man! You should have seen your face!”. Luffy laughs at his older friend.

He holds the handkerchief back to her, her hand grazing his as she takes it back. Her finger tips are as soft as silk, her fingers smoothly sliding off his. Laws nose suddenly bursts, blood gushing out his nose like a hose. “Holy crap!”. The girl yelps, jumping back while Luffy bursts out laughing again. “Hahaha! Now you’re like Sanji!”. He laughs, holding his stomach from all his laughing.

(Y/n) looks at her brother with a concerned expression. “Is he uh…usually like this?”. She asks him. “Hehehe, nope!”. He simply answers. All Law can do it turn away from the two, his face a dark beet red. Never in his life has he been this embarrassed just because of some girl. (Y/n) leans over so she can whisper in Luffys ear. “Should I leave and we catch up a different time?”. She whisper asks him, causing the younger boy to turn and look at her.

“No no it’s fiiiine! Just give him a minute”. He reassures her. She hums as she leans away from her baby brother, then just to lean back over. “He said he acts like a friend of yours, what’s he like?”. She asks him. “Oh you mean Sanji? He usually acts like that around girls, he really likes girls”. Luffy answer. Oh…OH!!! Oh~. “Oh I see~”. She coos, leaning away from her little brother again.

“Huh? Get what?”. Luffy questions. (Y/n) then grabs Laws hand, gaining his attention and causing him to freeze in place. “So Law, are you here for long? Perhaps we can meet up and you can tell me some stories of dumb shit my baby brother has done?”. She asks him, sending him a little wink. His nose starts to bleed again, but he’s able to muster out a nod. “Cool! Now why don’t we go somewhere nice and chat!?”. She says happily, linking arms with her brother and dragging the two down the street.

Trafalgar Law, Died Age 26

Death By Blood Loss & Heart Attack Caused By Luffys Hot Older Sister

#one piece law x you #one piece x reader #one piece law #one piece law x yn #one piece trafalgar law #one piece trafalgar law x reader #one piece trafalgar law x yn #one piece trafalgar law x you #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law x yn #trafalgar law x you

[aro-comics]

Aros In Relationships - Update Post

Oh god, everyone, it’s been SO long. I Just wanted to say (even if the bulk of my life updates soon here), that I’ve missed you all so so much, and I’m so glad I get to finally be able to share my work on these. It’s certainly been a long time coming.

But onto my personal note for this series - I’m really grateful that I’ve had the chance to transcribe their stories. Talking to these people, hearing their stories, their words … I can’t even describe how many times I couldn’t believe what I was hearing/reading, because everything they were saying felt so similar to something I would have said. I almost felt like they were reading out the thoughts and experiences in my own head!!

And I guess that’s why they call it a community – we do have a lot in common! But obviously, our experiences haven’t been identical on the romance front, and it was really nice to get to hear from other aromantic people about what this is like.

Image Descriptions:

Title Card: Cover Image. This Comic series is titled “Aromanticism and Romantic Relationships”. A subtitle underneath says that it is a collaborative sketch comic series. Four people are illustrated on the cover. On the far left is Arrow, a person with an undercut and wavy brown hair. Standing next to them is Lucien, who is wearing a hoodie and a collar with a pentagram charm. They have short brown hair and tan skin. Further to the right is Dot; she has pale skin with light freckles, long slightly curly brown hair in a high ponytail, and a grey hairband. On the very right is May, who has long curly brown hair, tan skin, and is wearing a maroon shirt with a striped dark jacket, and a necklace with a ring on it.

Slide 1: Celia  faces the reader, hand at the back of her neck. “Hey everyone – it’s been an eon (ok, like a year or so). I’ll explain more about where I’ve been on my tumblr, but for this series I thought I’d make an intro for what it’s all about.”

Slide 2: Celia continues,  “A while back, I was asked to make a comic about being in a romantic relationship as an aro person – Which, given the nature of my comics –I can’t really do, because I’ve never dated anyone.”

Slide 3: “Thankfully, some arospec people who had been in romantic relationships reached out – and were really kind in volunteering their time and personal stories to help me record their perspectives.” 

Celia sits at a table, typing away at her laptop while interviewing May. Celia says: “Wait – you too?” in surprise as she realizes she relates to the story May is telling her. They reply: “Yeah! And when…” as they continue their story. 

Slide 4: “And they’ve had *such* incredible patience for me these past two years I chipped away at these comics –” 

A scene from the two years it took to get this comic series out the door. This was during Celia’s completion of her university thesis project. She holds a draft in her hands, reading out to the participant that she calls on her phone, “On page 9, I wasn’t sure exactly what to draw… I could show the progress of what y’all did on the date?” 

They reply: “That works! The sketch is mostly accurate…”

In the background, references to upholstering a bench like padded chair, design sketches, and a poster with a map and circled possible apartment locations is depicted. 

Slides 5-6: The scene switches to a group shot with Celia and the participants. She stands with one hand on her hip and the other outstretched, gesturing to them. 

 “So, without further ado – please welcome May, Arrow, Dot, and Lucien!”

The four are sitting at a table with nameplates set in front of them. Arrow waves a hand at the reader, while Lucien has their arms folded and resting on the table. May and Dot both smile in a friendly manner at the reader. 

Celia continues, “You’ll be hearing from them over the course of this series – which I’ve adapted as long form comics like my “What is Love” comic over on my tumblr.”

Slide 7: “My process for these comics was highly collaborative. I worked together with these people as I wrote the script and drew the storyboard, because I want to be as authentic to their voices as possible. If they read a little different from my usual work – that’s because they are! And I hope you’ll enjoy getting the chance to hear from other Arospec folks' perspectives.”

Slide 7: “I’ll share each person’s comic with their cover page on Tumblr – the whole thing!” The cover page for May’s comic is shown, decorated with doodles of stars. It has the caption: “May – They/Them * Aro Demiace”

“And in parts with a collaborative IG account opened for each person’s comic.”

Also shown is a screenshot of an account named arosinrelationships_may. The description of the account reads: “May’s comics as part of @aro_comics series posted here”

Celia signs off on the note ‘See you soon!’ and a heart.

#RegularComic #ArosInRelationshipsComic #introduction #aromantic