#half the point of course is that at some point you start to feel that the book is also bigger on the inside

[ceesimz]

Kissing a Fool

This is a classic sick fic - a quick trip to the out of hours doctors but nothing extreme.

If there was one thing that Alexia was, it was determined. That was what had gotten her to the place she was today, with countless trophies and awards in her possession, stadiums filled by fans adorning jerseys with her name and number, an endless amount of brands desperate to work with her, and millions around the world idolising her.

However, nobody was perfect.

Sometimes, Alexia's determination can, and will, bleed into pure stubbornnes. And that's when things can start to go a little downhill.

It all started one morning when she woke up beside you with a certain scratchiness in her throat and a dull ache behind her eyes. She ignored it, obviously.

Ignored it throughout your shared morning routine, paying you no mind when you asked if she was okay due to the disgruntled furrow in her brow and how she squinted uncomfortably with every slight increase of light. She also ignored it as she kept her sunglasses on whilst moving from her car to the main building for training, again acting none the wiser to the face you pulled at her as she walked around the facilities with the glasses still firmly planted and seemingly going nowhere anytime soon.

"Ale, you know you can't wear them for training?" You wonder amusedly as she holds the door to the locker room open for you. Shockingly, she doesn't reply, she just answers with a noise that can only be described as a huff. "If your head is hurting, take some pills before we start. Don't be stubborn."

"No. Todo está bien." She offers a tight-lipped smile as a consolation to her bare-faced lie, and the only thing you can do is sigh, nod, and leave her be until she finally gives in.

Though, in her world, giving in wasn't even a concept, nevermind an option. As expected, she woke up the next day feeling so much worse, to the point where she had no appetite and even if she wanted to eat, her throat was in way too much agony to simply just entertain that thought.

That was something you didn't realise though, because she normally had breakfast whilst you showered in the morning, meaning you didn't spot she had skipped that step. You also overlooked the fact she'd been completely non-verbal that day as she dared not to speak through fear of her voice failing her. It was only when you were rushing around, last minute of course, to pack your training bag when you needed her help.

"Ale, where are my new boots?" You called out from the bedroom, knowing she was at least somewhere in the flat. When you didn't get a response, you groaned frustratedly and marched out into the kitchen.

"Did you hear me?" You ask where she was seated at the kitchen island, slowly drinking a mug of honey and lemon tea whilst scrolling through her phone.

"I can't find my boots. Ale!"

Looking across at her from your place in the hallway by the front door, rooting through the storage cupboard beside it, Alexia shrugs half-heartedly.

"Okay, amazing, thanks for all your help. Don't blow up at me if we're late." You scoff at her, turning back to the cupboard.

Amidst your frantic search, you miss the way Alexia leans her body weight on the island counter in front of her as she stands, and the pained groan that goes with that. She walks over to the coffee table and pulls out the Nike box you were looking for from the bottom half of the unit, clearing her throat with a grimace before presenting it to you.

"Oh, thank god. Thanks, I'll be ready in literally just a minute, I swear." With a quick kiss to her cheek, you sprint back off to the bedroom to continue packing for the day.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Alexia fixes herself another honey and lemon tea that she purposely adds an ice cube to just so she can drink it before you come back in. It doesn't help at all though, and the realistic part of her mind immediately notices that is a huge red flag, but of course her workaholic mindset overrides it and shoves that thought to the side.

So when you come rushing back in, packed bag in hand, she offers a smile and leads you out of the apartment with a caring hand on your lower back.

Her untimely crash arrived later that day. The combination of a high fever and the symptoms that came with that and her illness, as well as the lack of food and the Barcelona sun, all colluded together to tear her down until all that was left was a lethargic and downtrodden shell of her.

You waited for what felt like forever as she showered, to the point where you were the only one left in the locker room. At some point she finally did walk out, her hair unbrushed and her face bright red and clammy despite the fact she had just showered, and her actions the past two days along with this appearance of hers caused alarm bells to ring in your head.

"Be honest, Alexia, how do you feel?" You question her pointedly, watching with a careful eye as she avoided your eyeline and cleared her throat for possibly the hundredth time that day.

"Fine." It was then that you realised that was the first time you'd actually heard her talk that day, and the sound of her voice sounded as comfortable as nails on a chalk board.

"Please, Ale, just be honest. You look awful." You tell her, to which she lets out a sharp breath, otherwise known as her attempt at a suppressed laugh. "What do you get out of lying about it? Nothing. If you're sick and feeling like shit, just admit it so we can figure out how to make you better."

The fact you said 'we' when talking about her being ill made the prospect of just dropping her act and accepting she's sick exceptionally more appealing, but she just couldn't do it. Tomorrow was an important Champion's League game, and there was no way she was going to miss it. Not a chance in hell.

"I am okay, I am coping. Let's go home." She managed to get out, swallowing harshly after speaking to choke down a gag due to the agonising burn of her throat.

"Will you at least take some medicine at home? There's no use feeling like this when there's things you can have to at least take the edge off." You try to compromise, knowing at the very least you will force some pills down her throat one way or the other.

She nods, finally admitting defeat to one little thing, and your stern persona softens a little. Under the light of the changing room, her face is pale apart from her rosy cheeks and there's a sheen to her forehead that indicates just how terrible she's feeling. And there was no point sugar-coating it, she really did look awful.

"Hey. Come here."

Offering your arms out for a hug, Alexia mumbles something you can't quite make out before stepping into your embrace and deflating with a deep sigh.

"It's all well and good hiding how you feel around the team, but not me. Please don't do it around me. A blind person could see you feel atrocious so please admit that and accept my help." You whisper, rubbing a hand up and down her back comfortingly.

"Don't want you to get sick." She mutters at the quietest volume she can, giving you a hint at just how much discomfort she was in.

"That doesn't matter to me. Let me take care of you. Please?" Hesitantly, she nods after a moment, so you pull back to get a good look at her face. What you're met with breaks your heart. "Oh, Ale. Let's get you home."

You do exactly that, demanding that she go get in bed the second you're through the door to your apartment. Now, in the comfort of her own home, you hope that she'll fully drop her guard down, but it seems a little trickier than you thought. She rejects the bed and settles for the sofa, though she grabs her laptop from the coffee table and opens it to start doing some work admin.

"What are you doing?" You ask when you come over with a glass of ice water and a pack of tablets.

"Work." She answers with a shrug. This was part of her routine, but you had guessed, incorrectly, that she would drop this part of the day considering how she was feeling.

"No, you should be resting." You tell her, sitting beside her and offering her the box of pills.

"I am not running on a football field anymore. I am on the couch like you asked. This is routine." Alexia answers. Her voice is barely there anymore, it was merely just a rasp, and the pain she hid was evident in each word.

"Alexia." You sigh disapprovingly, popping two tablets out of the packet for her. "If you're going to be like this, at least for the love of god take these pills."

She does as you say, swallowing them both with a grimace before turning her attention straight back to her laptop screen. You had tried your best to help her, but pressuring her further would only make the situation worse, so you relent and stifle a sigh. There was a little bit of guilt you felt at getting annoyed at her, but this was just who Alexia was. You didn't like this process, you despised it, but there would eventually be a time where she would come crawling back to you when her stubborn tendencies had taken it too far, you just hoped she was sensible about it.

It was undeniably difficult watching her as the afternoon bled into the evening, knowing at some point her meds had worn off and she was putting herself through torture for nothing. Still, she was adamant as ever that she was okay, so there was little you could do about it without causing an argument. The only positive was that she somewhat relaxed after eating less than a third of her dinner, cuddling up to you as the pair of you watched a film on the sofa.

Her blinks got slower and her eyelids drooped a little over halfway through though, so you decided it was time to usher her to bed. And if she refused, that would be your last straw before you blew up at her.

Thankfully, and quite surprisingly, she agreed and stood up before walking, very sluggishly, to your shared bedroom.

At her request, you make her a cup of the tea she'd had before and bring it to where she lay on her side once she'd done her routine, a hand covering her eyes to block any light. Placing the mug down on the table, you draw the curtains and sit beside her, one hand falling to her head to gently massage her scalp.

"Rest. Early night. Big game tomorrow." Alexia insists weakly, barely able to string a sentence together as she pats the space beside her for you to lay down.

"You've not taken any tablets, or drank your tea. I'm not resting until you do." You state, not-so-discreetly laying the back of your palm on her forehead to gauge her temperature. Her skin is burning, and you curse the pair of you for somehow not owning a thermometer in your flat. "Ale, you're really unwell."

"It's not too bad." She argues feebly, leaning up on shaky arms to sit up against the head board. You hand her the tea and tablets, watching as she winces even more than earlier whilst struggling to swallow the pills.

"Ale." You warn her. "I doubt you should even play tomorrow."

"No!" She croaks out, coughing afterwards. "I am playing. No other option."

Speechless at her defiance, you just shake your head and go about your own night routine. As you brush your teeth, you watch her through the crack in the door and see how she is when no one is around. Her face scrunches up every time she swallows, and her hand clutches at her throat too. Not only that, but you hear her let out strangled groans every so often whenever she moves, her body aching and her head pounding. This all indicates the exact kind of state she's in, and it's not one fit for a 90+ minute long, possibly intense, football game.

"Alexia, listen to me." You demand tenderly, sitting beside her again and taking her hand. "You are not well. Stop resisting that because you will only get worse. This game tomorrow, the rest of the team have it. I believe that absolutely, and I know you do too but you won't admit that aloud. I know what's going on in that head of yours; you're scared of letting people down and disappointing yourself, your family, me, and the fans. Well, I'll tell you. You won't let anyone down by not playing. People, and that includes me, just want you to be healthy. You can gaslight yourself into thinking you've not got a minor injury, but you can't do that in this situation. You need to slow down and rest before you end up in the back of an ambulance."

"It won't end like that." Alexia shakes her head.

"That was just an exaggeration, Ale. I have no doubt that you will be sensible and not let it get to that point. Please, for your own sake, prove me right." You sigh once more, flicking off the lamp to delve the room into darkness so you can settle for the night. "Get some sleep at least. I love you and I only want the best for you."

"Love you too."

The way she tucks herself up beside you for the night, her face buried in the gap between your neck and shoulder, tells you all you need to know. It's a subliminal sign of how much she needs you, a subconscious message that conveys how much she wants to give in to whatever illness she's got and let you take care of her. The thing is, she's not quite at that stage yet mentally.

So when you line up in the stadium tunnel the next day, a few people in between you both, you're staring daggers into the back of her head that she can surely sense.

Your attempts throughout the day to get her to skip just one match, where Barcelona were already winning 2-0 on aggregate, were completely futile because - shock horror! - she just would not listen. You gave her a piece of your mind multiple times, as did Irene and Marta and Mapi and other members of the Barcelona staff. What frustrated you most though, aside from Alexia's stubbornness, was Jona's willingness to put her on the pitch. He didn't think twice when Alexia confirmed with an apprehensive nod that she was well enough for the match today, and that's how you were in this situation now.

Throughout the whole first half, where Salma scored to make it 3-0 on aggregate, your eyes were on her any chance they could. By the 30th minute, her movements were sluggish and slightly lacklustre, you were adamant it was clear for everyone to see that playing today was not the right choice. Did that mean the referee or the match officials or Jona and his staff did anything about it? Absolutely not.

At a lull in the game, where the opposing goalkeeper was getting the ball for a goalkick, you jogged over to her and tugged on her jersey.

"You need to get off this pitch, Alexia. You are not fit to play." You warned her through gritted teeth before walking off without a response.

That didn't seem to deter her from continuing though, because she carried on playing like you hadn't spoken a word to her. Your fury only grew, and it took everything in you for it not to show through your actions in the game. You managed to suppress it until halftime, where you sprinted off the pitch to give Jona a lecture about the circumstances.

You were almost certain that, when Alexia walked back onto the pitch for the second half, there was steam coming out of your ears like a comedy sketch. If you thought your girlfriend looked awful the previous day, she looked even worse now.

"She snuck off to the toilets at halftime to... you know, throw up." Esmee reveals as you go to join the team huddle. That revelation just added fuel to the fire.

After the huddle, you carefully grasped her arm to give her another warning.

"Alexia, I know you were sick at the break. You need to get off the pitch, you are worrying me now." You choose a softer approach, hoping it'll get through to her.

"No. Leave it." She grunted, jogging away towards her starting position.

Turns out, as you had told her for the past 72 hours, that statement could not be more wrong. By the 60th minute, her movements were lethargic and lacked any strength or power, and each kick of the ball stole more energy from her already severely depleted endurance. Every step, every little movement felt like she was fighting a losing battle, and it was obvious to everybody at this point. Any longer and she would have had to been taken off on a stretcher.

But finally, finally, it seemed concerns were raised about her because she was substituted off. Alexia decided now was the time to give in, because truthfully she had never felt worse in her life.

The words from the staff and her teammates around her simply weren't registering in her head as she grabbed a puffer coat, zipped it up to her chin with the hood up, and staggered down the tunnel. She was freezing cold, yet to the touch of anyone else she was sure they'd be burnt at how hot her skin was. Stumbling through the door of the physio room, she just about made it to one of the beds before she collapsed down onto it.

By the time one of the team doctors caught up to her, she was shivering at an extreme level, also unable to stop the pathetic whimpers and whines that left her. The next period of time was a blur as the medics worked around her, urging her to take off the jacket as a cold cloth was draped across her neck and a bottle of water with electrolytes in it was handed to her. She sipped at it periodically, eyes tightly shut as the effect of her defiance ripped through her. With not much else to do right now but bask in self-pity, she was filled with regret and shame for letting it get to this point, where she couldn't even finish a game. If you were to ask her now, not that she could really talk, she would confess that she absolutely should not have played today.

To put it simply, she had exerted herself far too much and pushed way beyond the limits that her health could handle. Her actions were dangerous, to no one other than herself, and that paired with the worry people no doubt felt for her, eventually led to tears seeping from her eyes. She would never admit that they were mostly a result of how unwell she was feeling, no, she wasn't at that point yet.

The only saving grace in this whole thing was when you rushed into the room once the match was over. When you approached her, her eyes were still closed and she appeared to be stuck in some kind of trance. Your hand on her waist didn't alert her, neither did the hand that brushed her hair out of her face where it stuck to her forehead.

"Ale?" You whispered, jumping a little when her eyes flew open.

There was no other reaction from her though, she just looked at you with wide, frantic, fearful eyes that seemed to plead for help. It was then that you realised the trance she was in was a state of shock, and it instilled fear in you too.

"We think it's best we take her to the out of hours doctors. She has symptoms of tonsillitis, I doubt it is anything more severe than that, and it's just been made worse by playing today and not resting." One of the members of the medical team advised, to which you nodded instantly.

"Yeah, absolutely. Can someone drive us there please?" You asked, glancing back down at your girlfriend to see her eyes had shut again as more tears streamed from them. You took one of her hands and cupped her cheek, your thumb gently stroking over the burning skin of her face.

"Of course. We'll have it outside in a few minutes."

It was a struggle trying to get her to the car, but eventually you were in the backseat with her leaning heavily against you, her head on your shoulder. You clutched at her hand for the whole drive, filled with intense concern for the woman beside you. She could barely keep her eyes open, nevermind talk or move. To sum it up, she was ruined. And though, rationally, you knew it was all her own doing, you couldn't help but feel somewhat at fault for it getting this bad. Ultimately, there were lessons to be learnt for the both of you, and you'd be damned if you weren't going to do better next time. You never wanted to go through this again, nor did you ever want to even imagine Alexia this sick again.

The team doctor that accompanied you explained the situation to the receptionist at the sign-in desk, and fortunately there was a doctor available immediately for Alexia to see. That was a huge weight off your shoulders, literally, because the nurses helped to guide Alexia to the consultation room and assisted her in laying down on the bed.

It was quickly decided that giving Alexia an IV was the best way to start as it would provide her with fluids that she had lacked recently, before the doctor assessed how bad her tonsillitis was. He then prescribed her a round of strong antibiotics for her to take for the next ten days, something that would be a struggle due to the condition her throat was in but she'd get it done.

Now in proper care receiving treatment, Alexia was feeling slightly better and a lot less spaced out. The staff member from Barca had left a while ago once Alexia had been seen to, and for the moment the doctor had stepped out of the room to get her tablets. That left the pair of you alone now, for the first time since before the game earlier.

You were stood beside her bed, still grasping tightly to one hand as the other repeatedly ran over her hair to comfort her. Though, out of nowhere, Alexia rolled over and it worried your for a moment, thinking she might be sick, but she only dropped your hand and pulled you closer by the waist so that she could hide her face in your jersey covered stomach. With a soft smile, you let her rest there, glad she was doing well now.

No words needed to be uttered, it was a moment of silent intimacy that allowed both of you to process the events that had occurred and begin to decompress from the stress of it all. There was no doubt in your mind that your girlfriend was still feeling rougher than ever, but there was comfort found in the fact that she wasn't hiding her true feelings now. What she needed was you, that's all she wanted all along, and in this moment now she started to think she was borderline crazy for denying herself from that.

You could pin-point the exact moment she had that thought, because despite her weakness, she managed to pull you tighter to herself. Additionally, you felt her body deflate as she sighed into your shirt.

"Sorry."

Through her limited words that you had quickly grown accustomed to over the past few days, you know there are about a hundred other things she wants to say in this moment, but her voice and her vocabulary fail her. You couldn't blame her or fault her though, you never could, because that one word placed a plaster over an anxious crack that had formed with everything that had occurred.

"It's alright, Ale. I'm just glad you're on the mend now." She leans back a little and looks up at you with anxious, bloodshot eyes, and you understand the message she's trying to communicate. Your heart plunged at the broken sight of her, but you quickly reminded yourself this wasn't the time for that. You needed to relax almost as much as she did. "Don't worry about it, my love. Just relax for now, that's all I ask of you."

That seems to do the trick, because she settles back down afterwards and the last bout of stress leaves her body. Despite her weakened movements, her grip on your waist never faltered. The simple fact of it all was that you both needed the proximity right now. Love languages always came across as a bit of a farce to you both, but it was hard to deny that right now one of them was being portrayed at its utmost strength.

There was one last thing, however, that you had to do to settle those last niggling anxieties.

You move out of Alexia's space momentarily, smiling slightly at the disapproving mewl she lets out, and she watches with one eye as you pull up a chair beside her so that you're at a more equal level. She's still lay on her side facing you, one side of her face smushed against the bed which makes you let out a quiet giggle that pulls a confused look out of Alexia.

"You look a bit cute right now." You tell her, grinning when she huffed and closed her eyes. From your new position, you raise a hand and slowly start tracing your index finger up over her nose and down the right side of her face, repeating the movement over and over again. "I love you."

Her eyes opened once more at the statement you uttered, a hint of a genuine smile blooming on her face for what might be the first time that day.

"Same." Was all she could mumble, making you laugh and the sound of it caused her smile to grow.

"I feel bad for laughing but I can't help it." You somewhat apologise, and Alexia rolls her eyes jokingly.

When she gazes at you again, you're completely overcome with love and admiration for her, knowing there's not a soul on earth you could adore in the same way you do for her. At that, you lean forward to press your lips against hers, but upon first contact, she jolts away with wide eyes.

"No, amor." She grumbled despite the pain it caused her.

"Why not?" You wondered, feeling a little butt hurt at the rejection.

"You will get sick." The midfielder states like it's an obvious fact. Well, she was wrong.

"No I won't." You claim with a sly grin. When she frowned in confusion, you giggled. "I had my tonsils removed when I was younger."

A look of understanding and relief crosses her face, before she smiles and pouts up at you dramatically. To deny her now would be sinful. Her lips are a little chapped, but in the grand scheme of things, that minor fact is like a drop in the ocean, because your girlfriend is here, and she's safe, and she's going to get better, and most importantly of all, she's in love with you. In sickness and in health, right?

"You really are as white as a piece of paper, Ale."

"Stop being mean."

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas #woso #woso community #woso imagine

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for getting snippy at somebody over how they handled their mom's death? At the beginning of 2021 ballpark, a friend's mother was having some neurological symptoms two or three weeks after getting a covid vaccine. Notable detail: the friend in question has a diagnosis that causes seizures and is genetic, so something neurological had to come from one of their parents, but we didn't know which. The mother went to the doctor who referred her to a specialist, and the specialist basically saw that she was dead broke and made getting her a CT scan or an MRI the absolute bottom of his list of priorities. She was sent home without any tests being done. She died about a day and a half later of "unexplained causes". (Amerikkkan healthcare for ya)

My friend, instead of blaming the neurologist who blew them off, decided to blame... you guess it: the covid vaccine. Claimed vaccines now give you encephalitis out of nowhere. Went on a full rant on facebook and then proceeded to act very smug about refusing any and all vaccines from that point forward.

I hadn't heard anything from them in years and was shocked to see something like that, but more to the point, I work in the healthcare industry. I know vaccines don't and CAN'T do that. It's way more likely that their family neurological thing reared up and started causing problems, and the lack of medical treatment was what killed her.

I tried to keep my response clinical and explain exactly why the vaccine definitely did not kill my friend's mom, but I can't deny that I got a little judgmental when pointing out that processing your grief like this actively puts other people in danger because now you're running around with no vaccine and are at greater risk of spreading something - because of course, the friend is also refusing flu shots. Even if my friend never spread anything, I don't want them to GET sick with covid either. Covid sucks and it'd be nice if my friends did not sustain permanent brain and vascular damage from it.

But still, I basically lectured a person after they just told me their mom died in a traumatic way, which feels very shitty. AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole

[storywriter007]

You Came Back - Jason Grace x Fem!Reader

summary: in which y/n tells jason grace something she thought she'd never ever say

warnings: cursing, emotional turmoil, heartbreak, mention of sex

genre: heartbreak/angst

word count: 826

--------------------------

y/n heard someone shuffle through the door of the principia. they tried sneaking in, quietly, but it was a failed attempt.

"you missed it." she said, not even turning around, and continuing to organize papers. "it's over."

"y/n," he sighed. "i'm sorry, i'm so, so, sorry. i was at camp half-blood, and i lost track of time-"

"don't apologize to me." she said calmly. "apologize to the kids. they were upset when you didn't show up."

fifteen little kids, all between the ages of six and ten, wondering why their hero hadn't shown up to spend the day with them. fifteen little kids asking y/n, "where's jason?" with disappointment in their eyes.

"maybe, i can talk to them tomorrow? or maybe, thursday?" he suggested.

"tomorrow, we have a senate meeting. thursday, we've got paperwork due. the next date you can take the kids around new rome is in around two months." she said. "when did i become the organized one, grace?"

"i know, i know. i fucked up. i was with piper, and i completely forgot i had to be here. i came here as fast as i could."

of course he'd been at the other camp, with his other friends, with his other girl.

"they were so hurt, jason." she said, feeling upset on behalf of all the younger children. "they were so excited to finally have a one-on-one with their hero. just for me to tell them that you got caught up in some last-minute, saving-the-world shit. and still, they left with their feet dragging and their heads down." she said, finally turning to meet his blue eyes.

he looked ashamed. he should be.

"thank you, for protecting my reputation." he said. "but you didn't have to lie for me."

"what was i going to say? i knew where you were, you're always there. 'sorry kids, jason's at his other camp right now, he probably forgot.' or should i have gone with 'don't worry kids, he probably lost track of time because he's with another girl right now. he'll be back when he's done.'" she said, sarcastically. "c'mon."

she was extra pissy with him today. usually, it would just be, "it's alright, don't do it again" even though it always happened again. but today was different.

the principia door opened, and a group of young children stood at the door frame. there were four of them, two boys and two girls. y/n knew them, since she'd taught all of them.

"what're you kids doing out of bed?" y/n smiled, her voice softening.

"hey, jason's back!" one of the kids pointed out.

"yes, yes he is. but why are you bunch out of bed?" she laughed.

they shuffled forward, and gave her a cupcake.

"happy birthday y/n!" they said in unison.

jason's face fell to the floor.

"aw, thank you guys." she smiled, giving the kids a big hug. "real sweethearts, aren't you guys?"

after a few minutes of further talking, y/n walked the kids back to their cabins, and returned to the principia.

"oh my god. y/n, i'm so sorry-" jason started once again.

she chuckled. "y'know, in the ten years i've know you, and in eight and a half you were my best friend, i never thought you'd be one to forget."

"i'm so sorry. i can't believe i forgot-"

"i can." she said. "you seem to forget just about everything relating to this camp."

"that's not fair. that's not fair, i didn't want to forget." he said.

"i'm not talking about your amnesia. i'm talking about now. i'm talking about the missed senate meetings, and missed deadlines, and missed expectations." she said. "you've forgotten everything about this place and everyone in it. it's been this way since you came back. and you say sorry, but you don't change."

"camp half-blood is my home just as much as camp jupiter is." he defended.

"i waited a long time for you, grace." she started. "i waited for eight months. i waited for you while everyone else thought you were gone. i thought you were dead, but i still waited."

"i came back."

"you did." she agreed, feeling her voice break. "but, sometimes, i really wish you didn't."

they were standing face to face, but her gaze was to the side, while he looked at her.

"because i would rather spend the rest of my life wondering what happened to you than you coming back and not recognizing my face." a tear fell from her cheek.

"i would rather have lost you forever than knowing a ghost of you." she paused. "i would have rather lived in misery than grief ."

"you came back. you sure as hell did." she smiled. "but your body came back, not your character." her voice broke.

she could see the hurt in his eyes. they were both griefing.

jason grieved over what he had done.

y/n grieved over who she had known.

--------------------------

there is not enough jason grace content on tumblr

#angst #heroes of olympus #hoo #pjo #percy jackson #jason x reader #jason grace x reader #jason grace #jason grace x y/n #jason grace angst #jason x y/n #hoo x reader #heroes of olympus x reader #heroes of olympus x y/n #heartbreak #camp jupiter

[keingleichgewicht]

what's house of leaves?

the short version is, it's a book about a book about a book about a book about a movie that never existed about a house that's bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. it is probably the single most famous/notorious existing work of "ergodic fiction", meaning basically fiction which exists in such a complex relationship with its medium that it takes nontrivial effort just to consume, meaning uhhhh a lot of it looks like this,

or worse!

it's like, fifty percent an extremely high-effort mockery of modern academia, it's often doing its active best to be completely incomprehensible to you, its and i cannot emphasize this enough A Space With A Beast In It. its awfully dear to my heart also. or as mark z danielewsky who wrote it puts it:

"I had one woman come up to me in a bookstore and say, 'You know, everyone told me it was a horror book, but when I finished it, I realized that it was a love story.' And she's absolutely right.

#house of leaves #hol #ask #anonymous #to clarify the first bit it is specifically like. an onion of unreliable narrators. scheherazade tactics with in-text citations #mark z danielewsky made a book about the editors making a book about johnny truant making a book about zampano making #a book about will navidson making a movie #about his family in A House Which Is Bigger On The Inside. #half the point of course is that at some point you start to feel that the book is also bigger on the inside

[soullessjack]

idk i just think it’s a little weird that almost every character who gets the “innocent baby” / “little ray of sunshine” treatment usually ends up just having neurodivergent traits and actual negative traits in the show that nobody pays attention to. like idk man it just feels like diet infantilization to me and it’s a teeny weeny bit uncomfortable to see all the time

#what’s even weirder is that half of these precious sunshine baby characters will canonically have some kind of temper too 😭😭 #like sorry I don’t think Adrien is an innocent ray of sunshine he was literally destroying property out of spite 😭😭 #cal.txt #autism stuff #fandom ableism #infantilization #she ra spop #entrapta #spn #supernatural #jack kline #autistic jack kline #adrien agreste #Like of course he isn’t canonically ND but the whole angle of his social awkwardness and unawareness #miraculous ladybug #it’s still a common trait in ND people and it’s probably the most infantilized aspect of us #but come on man #and don’t even get me started on jack. we know how I feel #TLDR jack strangling the gas n sip employee in a rage so blind he had to be shot in the back to snap out of it #like am I alone in this am I detecting a pattern that nobody else is . #siigghhh #we will never be free 😭😭😭😭 #castiel #at some point in the fandom and probably still in a few corners #autistic representation #this goes for when a character is simply coded that way too #like I cannot stress enough how coding and representation work #I also cannot stress enough that ableism does not have to be intentional to be ableism holy BALLS dude #you can do it by accident!!! you can play into tropes that you didn’t realize were bad!!!! ITS NOT A MORAL FAILING ON YOUR PART #it’s just a product of society like everything else.

[doctorweebmd]

coming out of my baldurs gate 3 delirium (aka i am working a night shift and can't physically play it. at work.) to say that horikoshi. horikoshi when i GET YOU. you are NOT leaving izuku with no quirk and no arms. i am in your walls

#bnha spoilers #also. more evidence that horikoshi read zero-sum game #like come on the twins thing the izuku losing his quirk thing the losing his arm thing the shiggy getting decay from afo thing #TELL ME THE TRUTH HORIKOSHI. DID YOU READ MY FANFIC. #i'm joking of course. he's just done a really good job of foreshadowing through the series. its a marker of an amazing author #and i know that izuku probably won't lose both his arms and his quirk. i fully expect it to be a happy ending in some way shape or form #this is a sixteen year old boy who sacrificed EVERYTHING. more than he ever had to give #and he had less than a year. LESS THAN A YEAR. #sorry i'm already crying thinking about the scene of him holding shigaraki's hand even though it will decay him........ #izuku who knows better than ANYONE what shigaraki's power can do.... reaching out to him. caring more about others than about himself. #he's just. he's so good. he's SO GOOD. he deserves the world #tbh i feel like eri HAS to be involved at this point. she's the deus ex machina in all this #that or overhaul #both of their abilities can at least physically restructure izuku's body #it would actually be a very interesting redemption point for overhaul....... #i mean WHY ELSE RESCUE HIM. and why give him THE SAME FUCKING INJURY #what a powerful thing it would be to have eri give overhaul his arms back #and overhaul learning about goodness and forgiveness from this girl he's done nothing but abuse and torture #and saves izuku........ #its about ATONEMENT. its about GROWTH. its about IT NEVER BEING TOO LATE. #AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I LOVE YOU MY HERO ACADEMIA #... ok. i'm normal. its fine. #on another note #i loved the ending to my first bg3 run which i think i finished Tuesday/Wednesday. i cried. #IMMEDIATELY started a durge run where i'm playing a male human bard instead of the female half-wood elf ranger #i was like 'haha. i'll make a character based on hisoka from hxh! i'm gonna be SOOOO evil! >:)) #and guess who still isn't good at being big evil. ME. at worst i'm probably chaotic neutral. #its wild i'm already finding SO MANY new scenes i missed on the first playthrough even though i'm making a lot of the same choices #so it still feels super fun and fresh. more so now because i kind of know the characters and the mechanics better #my current playthrough i'm with lae'zel shadowheart and asterion with no intention of switching out

[yelloworangesoda]

maxwell and sammy are all mine and i love them like my children but its pretty hard to divorce them from fnaf enough to make them straight up ocs. sammy especially bc hes technically not my oc, even if i made up every aspect about him except his name and dead twin sister

#my point being i keep seeing oc post and going ‘omg me about sammy’ but sammy isnt an oc. technically #i literally wont even change his name if i do ever just make him all mine. i love him sammy is my bff forevers. #sammy smiles real wide and has sharp canines. he cant stand silence and talks to himself CONSTANTLY and its worse around other people #he interrupts people a lot by accident. and is really bad about holding friendships and doesnt reach out to people. after he took max in it #was impossible to shut him up bc someone was actually there now. he has serious trust issues and thinks ppl dont like him bc he thinks #everyone to have some big secret theyre all collectively keeping from him to keep him ‘’safe’’ which stems from. his mom doing this to him #about his sister and dad she just straight up refused to tell him until he found out on his own. so for 11 years he knew that. they for sure #you cant just split up your family in half in a divorce. something seems incredibly wrong about that but he didnt know what actually #happened there. also they were young when she died but he still felt like a part of him went missing and without the knowledge she died he #assumed. hed see her again and fill that hole. and of course that wasnt true. so anyway he struggles to make and keep friends #hes had like 8 different partners who lasted more than a month (most of them didnt want to deal with max) and he cant keep any of them bc a #a lot of people meet this cute charming guy with a lot to say and realize hes literally like this all the time and it stops being cute and #starts being annoying. he wanted to have kids bc he really likes kids but nobody wants him unfortunately and also he had. max for 8 years #and max is for sure his kid (from his perspective max is weird about it bc max thinks of his dad. as his Parent and sammy as more of #brother) but like max was not really what he was thinking when he thought he wanted kids right. and he feels bad about thinking that but #he does. think that. he wants a kid of his own. sammy is a therapist for kids with trauma specifically so that also impacts his ability to #have a kid. he worries that. bc of his personal experience of what Can happen that he may in turn be a helicopter parent or way #overprotective. yknow. he #ive got to go to bed omg. i got enough thoughts down!!!! #simons spouting #a lot of this is just awfully written but you cant read back or edit tags on mobile. not my fault

[allbark-no-bite]

things friends do.

felix catton x reader (wc: 3.1k)

summary: things friends do include but are not excluded to: sleeping in each other’s bed, kissing, sharing beer, fucking each other

warnings: 18+ smut, unprotected sex

author’s note: y’all i have refused to believe that jacob elordi was attractive but saltburn did me in

————————————————————————

You were not in love with Felix Catton.

And Felix Catton was not in love with you.

He was a lover boy, but he was not your lover boy.

The thing about Felix was that he had just about everyone at his disposal. Girls, guys, it didn't matter. Everything belonged to him so long as he wanted it. But it didn't feel that way. You never felt as though you were owned by him. It was just that he was Felix and who didn't want to belong to him?

Of course 'just friends' didn't constantly have their hands all over each other, didn't sleep in each other's bed or see each other inappropriately naked. And 'just friends' definitely didn't kiss each other on the mouth.

But this was Felix.

Not Oliver, or Farleigh, or Veneita. Felix.

—

The party is so electric that you're not sure if it's the music or your own erratic heartbeat thumping in your ears. The place is so packed that at some point the entire bar had become part of the main dance floor in order to accommodate for the dizzying array of overheated, intoxicated bodies moving this way and that. Blue light illuminates the otherwise dark room. Flashes of neon green splash across swaying bodies, highlighting dancers as they navigate the floor.

To no one's surprise, Felix is in the center of it all. He'd gravitated towards the pole in the middle of the room like a magnet and had taken to it to pay his dues, his slender body rolling to the music with all of his typical charisma.

After a few beers, you're pleasantly buzzed, but you'll probably be toeing the line once you finish the fourth in your hand. Felix is well on his way to a monster hangover, one that he'll sleep off on the floor of your dorm room. Farleigh is right behind him, likely just as intoxicated, but with him you could never tell. Farleigh was always the same catty bitch no matter how drunk or sober he was. You loved him, but he was a bitch.

A heavy weight suddenly staggers upon your shoulders, and you groan against the weight, both you and Felix swaying dangerously to the side as he throws his arm around you. Usually this wouldn't work because he's so ridiculously tall but the alcohol had made him a little less coordinated than usual and he's slouched down to closer to your height. Beer sloshes over the rim of his plastic cup and splashes onto the floor at your feet.

"Having fun, darling?" he asks, half shouting in your ear to be heard over the music.

"Always," you laugh, though it's mostly directed at him.

His skin is clammy with sweat and his breath is coated with the familiar, yeasty smell of beer. "Where's Farleigh?" Felix doesn't even wait for your response before he's shouting for him. "Ay! Farleigh!" There's a cigarette pinched between two fingers of the same hand that's holding onto his cup, and he raises it to get his friend's attention.

His arm still around you, you dodge the spilling liquid heading for your feet. "Felix! Felix, careful!" you scold him, still laughing, so the smile doesn't disappear from his face.

In an attempt to solve the problem, he leans forward and starts to swallow back the remainder of the beer in his cup. He must underestimate just how much he had left to go because it starts to escape past the sides of his mouth, dripping past his jaw and down the front of his open shirt.

You shriek again. "Felix!"

Laughing, he pulls the cup away and brings it towards you. Before you can protest, he's tipping it back into your mouth. He leaves you no choice but to swallow it or wear it across the front of your shirt so you do your best to drink the remaining beer, more nursing from the cup than gulping as Felix was.

It leaves your lips and chin wet, and before you can wipe the excess beer away, Felix does it himself, somewhat roughly dragging his thumb under your lip. He then sucks the digit into his mouth, hardly thinking twice about it. It would have been erotic with anyone else. But this was everyday with Felix. It would have been weird if you hadn't chugged the backwash of his beer.

His attention is just as quickly drug from you to Farleigh. You hadn't noticed the other boy approaching. He gives you a wicked smile, a look in his eyes like he wants to say something but refrains. You tilt your head, prepared to ask him what his mischievous look is all about but Felix interrupts you.

"Farleigh, mate," Felix begins still hugging you close. "The girls are looking a bit bored. What do ya think?"

Across the room, India and Annabel are sitting on a couch together. The piece of furniture itself has certainly seen better days, torn and stained with bodily fluids of varying levels of disgusting. There's a guy with his arm slung around India, but for all she's paying attention to him, he might as well not exist. She's drinking from a bottle of champagne and couldn't look less interested in him.

Farleigh's eyes track from you to Felix, as though making some sort of connection, then he smiles cheshire-like. "Oh yeah, mate. You know, I do think India was actually looking for you earlier." His sinister brown eyes lock with yours, as if waiting for you to object. "Why don't you go put her out of her misery. (Y/n) and I will go busy ourselves at the bar."

Felix grins crookedly, nothing but honest fun shining in his blown pupils. "I will see you two later."

He straightens but not before twisting his neck, body still plastered to yours, and he plants a sloppy kiss to the side of your mouth. His lips taste like beer and nicotine. It's not really even a kiss, just a lack of coordination on Felix's part that he didn't catch your cheek. If Farleigh hadn't been trying to start something in the first place, you wouldn't have even thought twice about it.

It's not the first time Felix has kissed you. Hell, he's probably even kissed Farleigh at some point. Maybe not on the mouth because they were cousins, but that's besides the point. Friends kissed each other all the time. This wasn't anything new.

As Felix removes himself from you, his tall figure walking over to grab India's hand and lead her from the couch, the guy who had been flirting with her for the past hour glaring after them, you level your stare with Farleigh's. "What's that look about?"

Farleigh crosses his arms, looking as full of himself as ever, and rolls his eyes. He really was a bitch sometimes. "Fuck the friend code and fuck him already. You know you want to."

It's your turn to roll your eyes. "I don't want to fuck him, Farleigh."

You don't. Things just weren't like that between you and Felix. Sure, maybe there had been a few occasions where you'd sucked him off and he'd done the same for you in return but that was all purely situational. There were no feelings attached. Just two friends who were close enough to do that kind of thing without it being weird.

Farleigh just scoffs at your ignorance, pushing past you with his shoulder to head over to the bar. "Just like sweet little Ollie doesn't want to fuck him? Please, neither of you look at him all that different."

"Everyone looks at him like that," you argue. "He's Felix."

"No, everyone looks at him like they want his dick in their mouth. You look at him like you'd let him do absolutely anything he fucking wants to you. And honestly, (Y/n), it's kinda sad." He says the last part with faux pity, his voice demeaning.

You scowl at him as he turns back around and walks over to the bar.

Fuck Farleigh. You did not want to fuck Felix.

And fuck him for putting the thought in your head.

—

It's nearing two am by the time you remove yourself from the bar. You're no more intoxicated than you were earlier, having cut yourself off after chugging the last of Felix's drink, but you weren't particularly keen on walking in on Felix and India after tonight so you'd resigned yourself to sitting on a barstool for the remainder of the night.

You keep telling yourself that you weren't bothered by him having sex with her, but Farleigh had put the thought in your head and it wouldn't leave.

Of course you liked Felix. Who didn't like Felix? But did you want to sleep with him? No.

Maybe.

It wasn't like he wouldn't do it if you asked. But Felix would have sex with anything that walked. And you weren't India. You were his best friend. And no matter now many times you two had pushed the line of being just friends, having sex with him would completely ruin the line all together. And then what? There nowhere to go after you start dating your best friend. If it crashes and burns it's game over. And with Felix, that was a guarantee.

You pass India going opposite of you down the hall. One of the straps of her dress is hanging off her shoulder, bedazzled high heels in her hands as she struggles to slip them back on. There's a dark purple hickey at the junction of her throat and collarbone and another lighter one above her breast. You don't say anything to her, just push past her into Felix's dorm.

He's sprawled out across the top of the bed that he never makes, shirtless and only a pair of flimsy boxers to cover his bareness. His head rolls towards you, cigarette between his lips.

"Hey," he greets, smoke spilling from his mouth. "You have a good time with Farleigh?"

You pick your way through the disaster of his room, stepping around empty boxes of pizza and abandoned articles of clothing until you find something that looks wearable. You unzip your dress, only half turned away from him as you pull on one of his shirts. He's seen you naked before and so your ass and the side of your boobs is hardly scandalous to him.

"Farleigh is an ass," you retort, crawling onto his mattress to settle into the empty space at his side. It's without a doubt the same space that India had been just a few minutes before.

Felix frowns, the piercing his brow moving downwards with the expression. "What's he said to you?" His tone is concerned because he knows how his cousin can be.

You just sigh in response, shifting into a more comfortable position at his side. Felix takes another drag of his cigarette while he waits for your response. Farleighs words run through your head again.

"Why haven't we had sex?"

He actually laughs at that one, sitting up on one of his elbows so that he can see you better. The shag of his dark brunette hair hangs over his forehead as he looks down at you. "Do you want to have sex?"

While his tone is amused and humorous, you know he's genuinely asking. Felix would never make fun of you for that kind of thing.

You shrug, looking up into his bemused brown eyes. "I don't know. Maybe?"

This conversation shouldn't be as casual as you're making it out to be, and maybe it wouldn't have been with anyone else, but this is Felix. He's your best friend.

Slowly, he leans down and places a kiss on your lips. It's fairly brief, hardly even long enough for you to kiss him back before he's pulling away. "Then let's have sex," he says, and it's as simple as that.

Felix leans down again, connecting your mouths. Without breaking the kiss, he shifts from where he'd been laying beside you to bracket your hips with his knees. His long fingers find the buttons of his shirt that you just put on and begin to unbutton them, his hands sliding down your sides until you're squirming.

"Felix," you whine, already short of breath from his touch.

"Relax, baby. I've got you," he murmurs into your mouth, sliding one of his hands into your hair, the blunt of his nails scraping against your scalp. It gives him enough purchase to tip your head back and expose your neck to his unrelenting mouth. The hot heat of his mouth pants against the underside of your jaw, the wet muscle of his tongue laving along your throat.

His other hand slides down your hip, then your thigh before coming to your panties. You have to force yourself not to squirm away in anticipation. Thankfully, Felix isn't a tease and he uses two of his fingers to pull your panties to the side. You do, however, jump when he slides them into your slick hole without any hesitation.

The bastard snickers against your throat. "Sorry," he apologizes, kissing apologetically at your jaw. "I guess I should have warned you."

All you can do is huff, your fingers tugging at his tangle of brown hair. He grins at your inability to respond before kissing your mouth again. He swallows the noise that escapes you when he curls his fingers and your back arches off of the bed. He does it again, this time scissoring them to stretch your hole. The burn is more pleasurable than uncomfortable, but it leaves you gasping into his open mouth.

Just when you think that's all he has to offer with his fingers, they somehow slip even further, hitting some part deep inside of you that you didn't even know existed. He curls them and you actually cry out, your knees knocking at his hips to push him away.

"I know, I know," he soothes, using the broadness of his shoulders to keep your legs in place. Felix curls his fingers into your smooth walls a few more times, his thumb circling your clit until you swear you can't take anymore. It's torture, the length of his two fingers inside of you.

Finally, he pulls them away before you can actually start crying. Your arousal coats his long fingers and drips down his wrist, glistening in the darkness of his room. Felix's brown eyes hold yours as he sticks them into his mouth, refusing to look away even as his tongue dips between them. You can barley swallow the spit in your mouth.

Felix grins, leaning down to kiss you. Even if you hadn't wanted to taste yourself on his lips, he doesn't give you much of a choice, his tongue dipping into your mouth. He moans, and it's quite possibly the hottest thing you've ever heard.

Then he's disconnecting your mouths to slide down his boxers. His hard cock bobs free, brushing against the lean planes of his stomach. You've seen Felix's dick before. It's no surprise to you how large he is— incredibly long with a perfectly mushroomed tip— but you've never had to think about it actually going inside of you.

His hand catches your jaw, forcing you to look at his face. There must have been flash of fear in your eyes because he murmurs sweetly, "Look at my face, okay? I want to see you."

You nod as best you can in his hold.

You're not sure if it's on purpose or not but he misses the first try, his cock sliding through your slick and nudging at your clit. Your whole body jolts but his hand at your throat holds you in place.

The second time, his mushroomed head catches at your hole and he slips in, meeting little resistance. He slides in only another inch or so before stopping, his cock already snug inside of you. You whine when he tries to push in further.

Felix kind of laughs, his hand reaching down to circle his thumb at your clit. "M'sorry, baby. You're so tight. Just give me a second."

You swallow, willing back tears. It's not that it hurts, not really, just the fact that he feels so good and you want him inside of you.

Without warning, his hand splays across your stomach and he uses the leverage to push further inside of you. This time your muscles relax enough around him and he slides all the way in.

You moan at the feel of him entirely inside of you.

“There we go,” he groans, the muscles of his abdomen contracting as he holds himself up. Now fully inside of you, he begins rocking his hips, his dick hitting that spongey spot inside of you with every thrust. Felix is breathing heavily into your ear, the squelching of him sliding in and out of you the only other sound in the room.

Soon Felix hits a spot inside of you that makes your toes curl and almost immediately you’re coming, clenching around him as you do so.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Felix thrusts into you a few more times before pulling out just before he can come inside of you. He spills partially onto the bed and partially onto your stomach. When he’s finished, he holds himself up over you avoiding his own release leaking onto you stomach.

When his eyes find yours, he grins, that signature crooked smile appearing onto his face. You can’t help but laugh, your head falling back into the pillow. Felix laughs too. Not because he particularly knows what’s so funny but because you’re laughing.

You’re laughing and he loves you.

He leans over grabbing a tissue from the box beside his bed and wipes you off as best as he can before tossing it onto the floor and laying back down beside you, an arm behind his head You rest your head on his other arm, scooting in closer to his side.

“Are we going to talk about this?” he asks, looking down at you.

You smile to yourself, watching his toes nudge yours instead of looking back at him. “About what?”

“(Y/n), we’ve been friends since grade school and probably kissed a million times.”

Eventually you look up at him, doing your best to not look so sheepish. “Farleigh told me I was worse than Oliver. Can you believe that?”

Felix scoff, his fingers scratching through your hair. “I wouldn’t fuck Oliver.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes playfully at him. “Yeah you would.”

Felix barks out a laugh. “Yeah, I would,” he agrees.

#felix catton x reader #felix catton #saltburn #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #jacob elordi #jacob elordi imagine #felix catton smut

[forzalando]

Orange Theory

Charles Leclerc x best friend!reader (female reader)

summary: charles and his best friend do countless nice things for each other, but they're just behaving like any good friend would. right? wc: 2.5k author's note: ok guys so this is not the Charles fic i promised (she is still a WIP and i will finish her eventually. probably will have to be a multi-part fic with how long it's getting), but i hope you enjoy this one in the meantime! special thanks to @scuderiahoney for encouragement and inspiration. special thanks to @sof1shticated for reading and assuring me this doesn't suck. if you haven't read their fics, both Lee and Mel have some gems that i adore. HIGHLY recommend checking out their masterlists! warnings: none!

You loved summer break – Charles was home for at least a few weeks, days spent on a yacht, every afternoon and evening spent with friends either at dinner or out at some club until someone got too drunk to carry on.

Today was, in your humble opinion, the perfect day. All of your friends, courtesy of Charles, were sprawled out on the sun deck of a rented boat or splashing around in the water below. You could feel the heat radiating off of Lando as he laid next to you and whispered about how McLaren was making insane upgrades – according to him, they might just have a race-winning car in the second half of the season.

“Are you boring my best friend to tears, Norris?” The brutal sun disappeared behind Charles’ body as he stood above you – as if on instinct, he shifted slightly so that you could look up at him and not be blinded by its rays.

“She’s hanging on my every word, right, Y/N? In fact, she asked me how I’m feeling about Zandvoort and the rest of the season.”

“And?” Charles asked, a small smile on his face.

“Like I would tell you what’s going on with the car! I know Y/N can keep a secret, she would never betray me to a prancing horse. She bleeds papaya.”

You laughed along with Lando – the one point of contention that had always existed in your friendship with Charles. Of course, you became a Ferrari fan because of him, but you’d always been a McLaren and Mercedes loyalist. It was something that Lando, Oscar, and George relished in.

“Alright, alright, no need to rub it in, Norris,” you giggled. “What can I do for you, Charlie?”

“I just came to give you this.”

Within seconds, a perfectly peeled orange dropped in your lap. Lando’s eyes grew wide for a moment but a swift glare from Charles had his face back to normal in no time. You missed the interaction, jumping up from your seat in excitement.

“Aw, Charlie! You are the best friend a girl could ask for,” you chirped as you started separating the wedges of fruit.

“Ah, don’t mention it,” he sighed, waving his citrus-scented hand in the air. “There’s more in the cooler if you want! Freshly peeled!”

“Thank you, mon cher ami.” You quickly kissed his cheek, noticing as you pulled away just how red it was, along with his neck and the tips of his ears. “Charles! How many times do I have to tell you to put on sunscreen? Your face and neck are fried!”

“I don’t think it’s from the sun,” Lando mumbled, his eyes trained on the fruit in your hands. With Charles insisting he was fine, you could barely hear what he had said.

“What did you say, Lan?” You asked, turning your attention away from Charles for a moment.

Once again, Lando was met with a menacing glare and he laughed awkwardly before moving his gaze to the horizon.

“Nothing, nothing, Y/N. Just thinking out loud.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you turned back to Charles and handed him the orange he had just given to you. With your now free hands, you rifled through your beach bag until you found the SPF 50 face cream you had packed that morning with Charles in mind.

“Here, I packed this for you. Please put some on so I don’t have to worry about you getting sun poisoning,” you pleaded with your best puppy dog eyes.

Charles stared without answering for far too long – anything you wanted, all you had to do was ask him and he’d do it. Even without you gazing at him with your wide, siren eyes, he would give you the world if you so desired it.

He shook his head slightly, pulling himself out of the daze caused by your pleading eyes. “Oui, ma fleur, I will put on the sun cream. Je promets.”

You smiled in triumph, taking the orange back from Charles and bidding him a “see you later” before laying back down in your lounger. Popping an orange slice into your mouth, you let out a contented sigh. Somehow, whether Charles was magic or he had some serious connections in the produce world, the fruit he picked out and gave to you always tasted better than anything you bought yourself.

“He peels your oranges for you?”

You hummed and turned to Lando – “what, Lan?”

“Does Charles always peel your oranges for you?”

“Well, no, obviously not always. Why?”

Before Lando could answer, Lily plopped down next to you and stole an orange slice from your hand.

“I swear,” she huffed, “Alex and George are competitive to begin with, but when they get together, it’s unbearable. They’ve been having a “who can hold their breath the longest” contest for the past thirty minutes! Rematch after rematch after rematch, I called in my favor with Oscar to get out of judging their little competition.”

“As if either of them could beat me, they probably didn’t ask me to join because they’re scared,” Lando bragged. “I’ll leave you ladies to chat, go show them how it’s done.”

As Lando walked towards the edge of the boat, you and Lily turned towards one another.

“Men,” you scoffed in unison, following it up with belly laughs and lingering giggles.

As the laughter died down, Lily ate the orange slice she had stolen from you and practically moaned in delight. “Where did you get this orange? It might be the best I’ve ever had!”

“It’s from Charles! I was just thinking about this, I don’t know how he does it but he always has the best fruit. Every time he brings me any I am both ecstatic and pissed off – my fruit is never as good as his and we shop at the same grocery store!”

“Well, does he have any more oranges? I could eat 20 of these.”

“He said he left me more in his cooler, let me grab them.”

A few moments later, you walked back to Lily with a bag of peeled oranges in your right hand and two bottles of water in your left.

“Are you a professional orange peeler? You were only gone for two minutes.”

“Oh no,” you giggled, “Charles peeled them for me. He knows I don’t like peeling them so when he can, he always does it for me.”

“Y/N,” Lily looked at you suspiciously, “do you know what the orange peel theory is?”

You wracked your brain but came up empty. “No, what is it?”

Lily went into a brief explanation – something about how it became a viral tik tok challenge, people asking their partners if they would peel an orange for them and how it was an indicator of true love, soulmates, a healthy relationship, and everything in between. “Well, that’s just silly,” you mumbled through chews, orange juice dribbling down your chin. “I think it just means someone is a good person – Charlie and I aren’t anything more than friends and he peels my oranges, among other things, because he has a good heart.”

“Among other things?” Lily pressed you, her eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place.

“He slices my apples because I have never been able to master the apple corer contraption! And he takes all my grapes off the stems when he’s at my place because I never do – it’s too tedious.”

“What else?”

“Oh, when we go out to breakfast, he always brings me a tea when he picks me up. He’s an early riser and I take forever to get ready. He knows I never have time to make it myself when we have plans before 10am.”

Lily was smirking at you, no, smiling at you. It was a little unnerving, the way she was entirely amused at the information you were giving her. However, the moment was briefly interrupted by the arrival of Alex.

“What are we talking about, ladies?” He spoke cheerfully, a broad smile on his face which meant that he was most likely declared the best breath holder of the 2019 rookies.

“Y/N was just telling me about all the sweet things Charles does for her,” Lily gushed.

“Oh god, when is he not doing things for her? Did you see him buttering her bread for her at dinner last week?”

Lily burst out laughing while you playfully punched Alex’s arm. “I’m indecisive! He butters it for me while I read the menu since it takes me so long to figure out what I want to order. It saves time!”

“He does that on a regular basis?” Alex asked incredulously, looking at Lily with wide eyes. “My god, that man is head over heels.”

“Alex,” you protested, “Charles is not in love with me. We’ve been friends for six years, I think I would know by now.”

“You’re both impossible,” Alex groaned. “Come on, Lily, I just came over to get you so we could play water polo with George and Carmen.”

Lily sighed in defeat, though she had a smile on her face at the thought of spending time with Alex even if it meant another competition. “I’ll see you, later, yeah?” She called over her shoulder, waving goodbye as you teased her by dramatically eating another slice of orange and settling back in your chair. At the front of the boat, Charles was laughing with Pierre and almost as if he felt you looking, he turned around and met your gaze.

Even though you had just wholly denied anything more than friendship between you and him, you couldn’t help but think about your interactions with Lily and Alex.

Sure, Charles sometimes did things that were out of the ordinary for ‘just friends’, but he had the sweetest soul of anyone you’d ever met. He always sacrificed his umbrella or jacket for you, made sure you had fresh tulips in your apartment when he was home in between races, had your favorite meal delivered to you when you were having a rough day while he was away and you missed him.

You did things for him too – cleaned his apartment when you knew he was on his way back to Monaco, left him plenty of sticky notes with words of encouragement if he was coming back from a bad race, stocked his fridge full of his favorite things. Recently, you’d been gifting him annotated books because he mentioned he wanted to read more and always enjoyed listening to you talk about your favorite novels. Since you spent most of the year apart, you decided he could at least read your thoughts.

When you could come to races, unfortunately a rare occurrence due to your graduate classes and work schedule, he made sure Ferrari hospitality had your favorite flavor of sparkling water on hand. Anytime you saw a cute dog video, you would send it to him because they always made him smile.

You’d do anything to make him smile, just as he would for you, which is what a good friend would do. A best friend, it’s what a best friend would do.

But best friends didn’t linger in doorways and stare at each other’s lips when bidding each other goodnight. They didn’t cuddle close and fall asleep in each other’s arms on a couch while watching whatever movie you had chosen because he always let you choose.

They didn’t look at one another the way Charles was looking at you now – his sunglasses pushed up on top of his head and a dopey smile on his face. He waved to you and dramatically blew you a kiss, something he always did when he caught your eye across a room, no matter who was around.

You practically launched yourself to your feet, the last remaining orange slices in your lap falling to the lounger and staining the seat with juice. It was only seconds until you were standing in front of Charles but the walk over felt like an eternity with the way the world around you disappeared and your heart pounded in your chest.

“Est-ce que tu maimes, Charles?”

The question came out in one breath, your chest heaving in anticipation for his response.

“Of course, I love you, ma fleur,” he laughed. “What’s gotten into you?”

“No,” you panted. “Do you love me, Charlie? Est-ce que tu maimes?”

“Of course, I love you,” he answered again, his eyes shining and a small smile on his face that told you everything you needed to know. “Every time I think of you, I love you. Every time I breathe, I love you.”

“Every time you peel my oranges?” You whispered, holding up your orange juice-stained fingertips. He took your right hand in his and held it up to his face to kiss your palm, his eyelashes fluttering against you gently.

“Especially when I peel your oranges. Did you know that I hate doing it too? Like, really hate it. I don’t even peel them for myself.”

You gasped in shock, watching as he threw his head back and laughed jovially.

“I’d do anything for you, ma fleur. Mon soleil. Mon cœur.”

“Would you kiss me?”

“Maybe if Pierre would leave and stop gawking at us.”

This time you threw your head back to laugh, Charles soon joining you as Pierre protested the accusation.

“No, no,” he shouted, “you didn’t even give me a chance to leave. Just started declaring your love before I knew what was happening. Which, by the way, was so obvious it was starting to get annoying. We’ve all tried dropping hints to both of you so I don’t know who got through to you, Y/N, but – ”

“Pierre!” You shouted, eyes wide and arm gesturing him away from the two of you.

“Ah, désolé, I’m leaving,” he grumbled, almost tripping over his own feet to get away as quickly as possible.

You giggled again and Charles gripped your chin softly, pulling your eyes away from Pierre and back to face him.

He leaned in gently, as if he was afraid you would back away and regret taking the leap to go from friends to something so much more.

He tasted like salt water, smelled like sweet fruit and sunscreen – you smiled into the kiss knowing that he had listened to you and put it on, even though you knew he hated the way it felt on his skin.

His fingers gripped your waist and yours trailed up his chest – both of you slightly sticky from the citrus juices and sweat from the sun.

You pulled away and nudged his nose with yours, breathing him in and wishing that this moment would never end. Charles lowered you both to the sun deck, adjusting until you were sitting between his legs and his arms were wrapped firmly around you, the two of you facing the sunset and open sea.

After a few moments, you broke the shared silence. “You know, I would have happily peeled an orange for you if you had ever asked me,” you asserted.

Charles’ hold on you softened at your admission, the thinly veiled meaning not at all lost on him as he pressed his lips to your cheek.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x reader #forzalando #f1 fanfic #f1 fic

[nanaslutt]

Perv!Geto taking care of you while you're sick

note: if you keep up with my perv!geto series, this takes place after reader & geto are together, if you don't, just read this as an established relationship fic :)

—

contains: fem reader, whipped!geto, masturbation, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, teasing, nipple play, panty licking/sniffing, cum eating, fantasizing, slight somno

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Geto had been taking care of you for about a week now, but not in the hot, steamy, limbs-tangled-together-for-hours-on-end way. You had come down with a horrible cold right after Christmas, and being your roomie and boyfriend—Geto was attending to your every need.

It had been exactly seven days since you had first come down with the sickness. At first, it started off as a sore throat and nothing more, but the days following would turn into your own personal hell. Every single symptom of the flu managed to take over you, making you wish Geto would've killed you the night before you got sick when he was choking you out while fucking you dumb.

Geto had been so attentive throughout your whole sickness. He had brought you a cold wet rag every hour, slept with you at night, made sure you were eating no matter how much you didnt feel like it, held your hair when you got sick, and literally carried you all around the house when you wanted to go somewhere.

It even got to a point where he had to help you shower, sitting you down between his thighs on a small shower stool he instructed you to close your eyes while he massaged the shampoo into your hair, not wanting any to go into your eyes—you didnt need to be in any more pain than you already were.

Geto took your temperature every hour to make sure you never got too hot. If it did, he would've rushed you to the hospital in an instant. Luckily your fever broke after the third day, which meant for the last couple of days, you had been able to walk around the house yourself if you needed something. Granted if Geto saw you out of bed he scooped you up and immediately tucked you back into the sheets, demanding you tell him what you need so he could get it for you.

Geto loved taking care of you, he loved pampering you and doing mundane things for you, which is why he didnt mind helping you so much. The only downside to you being sick though.. no sex.

Since the two of you had started hooking up, even before you made things official, the both of you never went more than two days doing something sexual with one another. Of course, Geto felt so bad you were sick, and he wanted you to get better asap just for the sake of you not being sick anymore--but being able to have sex with you again was going to be a nice bonus.

Geto had to seriously restrain himself when you pressed yourself back into him, trying to steal his body heat while you were half asleep. He had to squeeze his eyes shut and think of Gojo in order to not pop a boner right now. Geto doesn't think he's ever thought about Gojo so much in one week.

When he had you naked in front of him in the shower, your body swaying while you tried to keep yourself away as the warm water hit your skin, he was so glad you were facing away from him. You had just spent the entire night being sick in the bathroom, you had a splitting headache and were barely staying conscious for christ sake and here he was, hard as a rock as he rubbed the washcloth over your soft skin, cleaning every inch of your body.

One night, he had woken up in the middle of the night and saw the comforter that was once covering the two of you, was discarded at the edge of the bed--your shaking frame exposed to his eyes. He made you wear only a tank top and panties to bed that night to try and lower your body temperature. You had protested of course, but you must've gotten hot at some point, as there was a thin layer of sweat on your skin.

Geto immediately knew he was hard, he didnt even have to look. Your ass was pressed right against his crotch, cradling his stiff cock perfectly. He knew his erection wasn't going to go away unless he did something about it. Every neuron in his brain was telling him to use your thighs, just slide his cock between your cold thighs and rub it back and forth, rubbing against your panty-clad cunt in the process.

Of course, he knew he wouldn't actually do it, but it wouldn't stop him from fantasizing about it. He slid back from your body slightly, giving himself just enough room to slide his hand into his boxers and pull out his stiff cock, the tip already leaking with pre.

He tried to focus on the curve of your ass in the darkness, wishing you were in a more vulnerable position so he could see your pussy better, but this would have to do. He started stroking his cock slowly, so as to not wake you from the shaking of his arm.

Geto bit his lip to keep himself quiet as he jerked off. Shaky breaths could be heard through the room if one focused enough. Geto reached out slowly to grab your hip, just to feel your skin, to give himself something.

He felt a shock of electricity shoot down to his dick the second he touched you, his lips pressing together to suppress a groan. His hand traveled down further the closer he got to his high. He softly groped your ass, massaging and rubbing the fat there to help him cum quicker.

Your scent was all around him, it was making him dizzy. You were so close, so fucking close, and he couldn't even do anything about it. When he felt himself approach the edge he squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his hand over his cock as he groped you harder, praying you wouldn't wake up right now.

He imagined his hand being your cunt, pulsing and squeezing around his cock as he fucked the both of you towards your orgasms. You would be so loud, crying out for him has he impaled you on his cock. Would you squirt? He bet you would.. he always made you squirt when he fucked you on your side like this.

All he had to do was lift your leg and pull your panties aside and he could slip his cock inside you, finishing himself off deep inside your warm cunt instead of wasting his load in his hand—the load he had wanted to save for you.

He was going to cum so much, and it was going to be so thick he felt bad wasting it like this, but he had no choice. Not when he wanted to cum this bad and he was so close. Absentmindedly, his thumb had slid down to your cunt, and softly pressed it against your clothed hole. When your body shifted forward and you softly grunted in your sleep, that's all he needed to send him over the edge, his orgasm crashing down over him in that moment.

The rush of almost getting caught made him cum ten times harder. His hand retracted from your cunt as he grabbed the tip of his dick, catching his seed in the palm of his hand, careful to not spill any on your bed. He rolled onto his back, still jerking himself off through his orgasm as his body hunched in on itself with the intensity of his orgasm.

He bit his lip hard, nothing but heavy breathing spilling from his nose as he did his best to keep quiet, stroking himself off through the aftershocks of his high. When he started to come down, he let his lip go from the confines of his teeth, sighing heavily into the quiet room.

He was right, his load was so thick and there was so much of it, it really was a shame he had to waste it--he thought as he washed it down the sink, scrubbing his hands clean with your sweet-smelling soap before he crawled back into bed with you.

—

Now it was seven days later, and you had dragged yourself out of bed to grab something to drink, not being able to take lying around in bed anymore. Geto heard the commotion in the kitchen and walked around the corner, watching you standing on your tippy toes, your ass peeking out under his large shirt you wore, the bottom half of your body clad in only a pair of panties.

He swallowed hard at the sight in front of him, reminding himself you were still very much sick as he felt his face heat up while he oggled the soft skin of your ass. "Hey, what are you doin' out of bed?" Geto's voice rang in your clogged ears, his large figure pressing against your back soon after he spoke. "It's okay Sugu, really.. I've been in bed for a week straight I need to move around or I'm going to- *cough* die.." You said, covering your mouth with your arm, your cough shaking Geto's body as he held on to you.

"Still no fever?" Geto asked, moving one of his hands up to press against your forehead, feeling the warm skin. You closed your eyes upon feeling his hand, humming at his touch. "..You're a little warm." He said after a beat, making you sigh. "Sugu I'm fine, really. I'm still pretty exhausted but I feel like I'm slowly getting better." He knew you were telling the truth.

After all, just a couple of days ago you couldn't even stand, and now you were walking around the house all on your own, so you must finally be getting better. "About time." He sighed, burying his face into the crook of your neck and kissing the skin there. You wrapped your arms around his that held your body, letting him rock you back and forth.

"Someone miss me?" You asked, you giggle getting cut off with a cough. It took Geto a second to realize you weren't talking about him. Your boyfriend groaned into your shoulder, keeping his arms around you but pulling his hips back so his erect cock wasn't poking into your ass. "He's always like that when I see you," Geto replied, mumbling into your neck.

His words made you giggle, "You're so cute. Sorry if I've been making it hard for you. I really should've been more careful, I didnt mean to get sick." You spoke in your hoarse voice. Geto raised his head from your neck, his large hand coming up to grab your face, turning you towards him. "No one means to get sick baby, I've been fine really, don't worry about me." He replied, caressing your cheek.

He pressed his lips to your forehead before he pulled away, grabbing the glass out of your hand to fill up your cup with water. Although his words said otherwise, you had a feeling Geto was having a harder time being abstinent than he led on.

You had been pretty out of it this past week and don't remember much, but you did recall the way Geto had averted his eyes every time they dared to linger on your body. He was constantly pulling your shorts and shirts down to cover your ass, and made a point to choose thicker fabric for the top so he couldn't see your hard nipples through the shirt. They were small details, but you had been living with Geto for a while, you had become observant.

When the dark-haired man turned back around, he was holding your glass of water. He held your waist in his hand and pressed the glass to your fingers, letting go when they wrapped around it. You closed your eyes when you felt his lips press to your forehead once more before his touch was gone altogether. "Get back to your room once you finish that, I'm gonna go.. call Satoru real quick, missed his call earlier." He lied through his teeth.

You nodded, and with that, he walked out of the room. That's when you knew that Geto was having a harder time with this than you thought, as he just lied to you. You weren't mad that he lied to you though, because you could piece together the real reason he escaped to his room—coincidentally right after you had pointed out his boner. He really was a terrible liar.

In any other situation, you would chase him down into his room and take his cock out of his hands, helping him out. But Geto was right, you needed to rest. You felt your fatigue creep up on you the longer you stood in the kitchen, taking small sips of your water.

After placing your glass down by the sink, you dragged your body towards your bedroom, stopping by Geto's on the way there, as you had to pass his room to get to yours at the end of the hall. As discreetly as you could, you pressed your ear against his bedroom, listening for any sounds of Geto getting himself off. You cursed your clogged ears, you couldn't hear anything at all.

Maybe he had already jerked off and gone to sleep? You were too tired to think about it any longer. You hadn't heard anything, so it made you feel a little better. If you had heard him pleasuring himself on the other side of the door, you would've felt a little guilty.

Geto held his palm over his lips, listening for the telltale sound of your door shutting before he let his gasps seep into the room. "Fuck.." He groaned, squeezing his cock at the tip, watching the white pearl of precum beat on the slit of his cock before it dripped down, meeting his fist as he stroked down the length of his cock.

He had heard your footsteps and seen your shadow standing outside the door, reacting quickly, he pressed his hand over his mouth and stopped his jerking in order to not get caught. He was still breathing pretty heavily, but he bet on your awful hearing right now that you wouldn't hear anything, and his gamble had paid off when you walked away soon after, slipping into your room to fall asleep once more.

"All I did was hug you and you got me this hard... fuck..." Geto mumbled under his breath, slipping his hand under his shirt to toy with his nipples while he squeezed his hand over his cock, trying to mimic the squeezing of your pussy. "Shiiiit-" He groaned, trying to keep his voice relatively quiet, keeping his ears open to hear if you moved around outside his room.

Geto flicked his fingers over his sensitive nipples, his abs clenching under his hand as he rubbed his thumb on his frenulum, massaging the sensitive spot to get him to his orgasm quicker. He wanted to go join you in your room and cuddle you to sleep, but he was in no shape to do so if he had a massive boner. He didnt need his neglected cock stabbing you in the back for hours on end, that couldn't possibly be comfortable.

seconds turned to minutes, and before he knew it, it had been half an hour and he still had not cum. You would for sure be asleep without him now. Fuck, why couldn't he cum? He was able to cum a couple days ago when you were next to him. Oh. Because you were next to him. Was he not able to cum without you in some way? Fuck, you had ruined him.

He let go of his throbbing cock and searched around his bed for his phone to scroll through pictures of you. The both of you had not yet taken any lewd pictures of each other, but he knew he would have no problem getting off to a picture of you even if you were in a snowsuit ten times bigger than you. He thought you looked like the most gorgeous person he'd ever seen when you were dying in bed all week, he was absolutely enamored with you.

"The fuck?" Geto mumbled, throwing his pillows off his bed in search of his phone. "Oh, you can't be serious." He sighed louder than intended. He had gone into your room roughly an hour before you walked into the kitchen to ask what you wanted for dinner, and he had set his phone down on your bedside table.

Geto rubbed his hands over his face, pulling the skin down dramatically in defeat. His imagination was just not cutting it, how was he supposed to get rid of this annoying boner if he couldn't even see your pretty face? Suddenly a lightbulb went off in his head. Your panties. Of course! Although the two of you were dating, he had made it clear to you that he still took immense joy in stealing your dirty panties and using them to get off. Although he masturbated less and less frequently since he started sleeping with you.

Quickly opening his drawer, he rummaged through the condoms, straw chords, and lighters in his bedside table, searching for your panties. "Come on, come on... fuck." Geto was quickly losing hope the more and more he dug. His drawer wasn't very big, and it wasn't very full, there were only so many corners he could check for the stolen panties.

He looked down to his exposed crotch when he realized your panties were absolutely not in his drawer. He was still hard, how was that even possible? Usually, when he got irritated or annoyed, his boner was killed in an instant, so why was this one sticking around? Geto silently cursed the universe for plaguing him with the opposite of erectile dysfunction, sighing as he grabbed his cock in his hand, slowly stroking his length while he looked at the ceiling, searching the crevasses in the walls for ideas.

After a good five minutes of sadly playing with his cock while trying to brainstorm ways to cum, he came to one conclusion. He had to get into your room to steal his phone back. With a sigh, he pulled his boxers on and slipped his grey sweats on over them, cringing at the obvious tent in his pants.

He pulled on his baggiest shirt and still, his cock could be seen through the fabric. Geto posed in front of the mirror, trying to gauge if it was all that obvious. Okay, say you are awake and he walks in with his hard cock poking out like a sore thumb. If he stood at this angle... under this lighting.. or maybe this angle? Yeah yeah.. this one.. you could barely see it.

Geto posed randomly in his full-length mirror, snapping back to reality when he realized he was hunched over with one leg sticking out in the most embarrassing and non-natural pose he could muster. "Fuck.. It's okay, it's just be in and out." He said out loud to himself in the mirror, standing up straight as he hyped himself up before he walked to his door and turned the knob, heading for your room.

—

It was not okay, nothing was okay. Nothing was more not okay than this. Geto stood in your doorway, watching with a saliva-filled mouth as you lay on your stomach, one knee bent, the leg curled up towards your head, your other straight pointed toward the end of the bed, giving Geto the most perfect view of your plump cunt pressing against your panties.

Geto closed his mouth, swallowing hard as his eyes zeroed in on your cunt. The light that shone through your room from the hallway illuminated your body perfectly, your skin almost glowing from the LEDs. Your panties were so thin they were allowing Geto to see everything. He could see your little slit and a small bump near the top of your pussy where your little clit was.

He palmed himself over his slacks, forgetting the reason why he came in here in the first place. He wrapped his hands over his cock through his slacks, jerking himself off, his damp boxers feeling strangely good on his sensitive length. He watched you shift slightly in your sleep, your leg raising itself higher, giving him an even better view of your cunt if possible.

He felt himself drip into his boxers, looking down he could make out a dark patch of cum seeping through on the front of his pants. Geto couldn't take it anymore, he was so hard, his cock and balls were aching for release, and you were right in front of him. Releasing his dick from his grip, he walked toward you and sat down on the side of your bed, rubbing your lower back and ass softly, trying to slowly wake you up.

He felt himself cringe when you moaned, your body stretching as you stared awake, your eyes cracking open. The headache you had been dealing with for days was still present, but a lot less intense, the water must've done its job while you slept.

As your eyes started to come into focus, the blurriness fading from them, you turned your body around, lying on your back. Geto's hand stayed on your body, his hand now rubbing your upper thigh, right next to your cunt. He tried to control himself at least long enough to explain what was going on, he didnt want to freak you out by pouncing on you while you weren't fully there.

"Sugu?" Your hoarse voice whispered, your hand landing on his bent knee as he faced you on the bed, a forced smile on his face. "Hi baby, I'm so sorry to wake you." He said genuinely. He felt his cock throb in his pants as your warm hand rubbed circles on his kneecap while you woke up fully. "'s okay Sugu.. 's everything okay?" You asked, your half-open eyes staring at him.

Geto decided he had waited long enough. You were forming coherent sentences--albeit slurred ones-- but you knew who he was and had registered his words, which was good enough for him. He slowly slotted himself between your thighs, sliding your legs over his large thighs and around his waist.

"Need you baby.." His deep voice whispered needily, his large hand coming down to grope himself over his pants while the other continued rubbing your soft thigh. A sudden warmth of arousal washed over you as your sleep-filled eyes dropped down to watch him palm his obviously hard cock. "I cant cum without you, been tryin' for so long, it hurts baby." He whispered, his eyes flitting between your cunt and your pretty flushed face.

"Sugu..." You whined softly, feeling yourself start to grow wetter the longer you watched him. "Don't need much baby, you can.. ngh- you can even go back to sleep if you want.." Geto said, reaching into his boxers he pulled out his cock, exposing his angry length to your eyes. "Just.. just need to see your little pussy, that's all." He finished.

Once he had his cock in his hand, he used the other to pull your panties down your thighs, exposing your twitching cunt to his hungry eyes. You blushed, watching silently with an open mouth as he pulled the cloth away from your body. "Oh fuck." He groaned. "Such a pretty fucking cunt."

Geto abandoned his hand on his cock for a second to slide help you bend your knees, sliding your panties completely off your body, keeping them in his hand. Your boyfriend shook his head as he stared at your cunt, which unbeknownst to him was getting wetter and wetter by the second.

"W-wait." You voiced when you watched Geto lift your panties up to his face. He paused his actions, smirking at you, his face full of lust. "I've teased you plenty, but you've never actually seen me use your panties, have you?" He asked, to which you shook your head, placing your hands over your face in embarrassment, peeking at him through your fingers.

"Sugu don't, they're d-dirty." You said, the heartbeat in your pussy increasing despite your words. "I know." He replied, pressing them against his nose. Your eyebrows furrowed, a dark blush spreading over your face as you watched Geto's eyes roll back in his head as he sniffed your panties, taking in the scent of your cunt. "Ohmygodd-" He groaned, jerking his cock faster as he felt a wave of arousal flood his pelvis.

"Baby you smell so good oh fuck- needed this- n-needed you." He groaned shamelessly. A drip of pre-cum dripped from the tip of his cock, landing between you on your sheets. You whimpered watching Suguru put on his little show for you, not daring to move your hands away from your face.

"You embarassed cutie?" Geto teased, bringing the panties away from his face to find the part that presses against your folds before he held it up to his mouth, his tongue darting out to taste the remnants of you while keeping his lidded eyes glued to yours. "You're so filthy.." You mumbled behind your hands.

Geto heard you loud and clear, his cock twitching in interest. "Hmm? What was that?" He asked, handing off the panties to his other hand as he wrapped the cloth around his cock, jerking off with it while his other came back to caress your upper thigh. "I- I said you're filthy." You said a little louder, watching him use the panties you had on seconds ago to masturbate with.

"And you love it don't you? Can see your pussy throbbing while you watch me use 'ur dirty panties to touch myself." He said, tipping his head to the side to allow the light in the hallway to seep past him and illuminate your wet cunt, allowing him a better view of his favorite sight.

"Fuck.. this is doing it for me baby, thank you, thank you so much." Geto babbled, watching your cunt throb under his intense gaze. "You really only need to look at um.. at it?" You said, dropping your hands from your face, and resting them on your chest. "Yeah.. fuck- can feel myself gettin' real close just from lookin' at your pretty pussy."

You moaned at his words, watching the tip of his dick drip more and more precut onto the sheets. "Can you.. maybe touch me a little?" You ask hesitantly, not wanting to push your body too far. "'s that okay?" He asked, his hand already making its way to your inner thigh, teasing the skin there. "Gently, I'm just feeling a little.." You let your words trail off, looking away from him.

Geto had to slow his hand down so he didnt cum too soon. Who knew you could be so cute when you were sick? He was used to you being demanding and assertive, clearly being sick took you down a notch. "You feelin' a little needy down there, hmm?" Geto finished for you, his thumb spreading your folds open, exposing the slick that resided inside your walls.

Geto smirked when you nodded, his cock twitching in response to seeing you so wet. "Want me to rub your clit? I'll be gentle." Geto asked sweetly, dipping his thumb into the entrance of your pussy, gathering some of the wetness on his thumb while he waited for your response. You nodded before speaking softly, "I'm not going to last long so don't make fun of me.." You admitted, feeling like you were already going to cum without him even touching you.

"Yeah?" Geto teased, his fingers splaying out on your pelvis as his thumb came down to rub small circles against your clit at the perfect pace and pressure. "Gonna cum real fast for me?" He continued, knowing how worked up you got from his words.

Now that he was actually touching you, he really had to be careful that he didnt blow his load too soon, his hand gripping himself at the base as he staved off his orgasm. You nodded, your hand coming down to weakly grab his wrist, your other arm covering your mouth as you coughed weakly into your arm. "You okay? 's it too much?" He asked, slowing his thumb on your swollen bud.

You felt yourself clench around nothing at the change of pace. You gripped his wrist a little harder, urging him to continue. "N-no *cough* Please don't stop." You begged, looking into his eyes. Geto picked up his pace on himself once more when he felt his orgasm fade a safe distance away, still being careful to be mindful of how close he was.

"You're so cute baby, so fucking cute." He praised, picking up the speed of his thumb on your clit, making your back arch, your eyes rolling back in your head as your chin tipped towards the ceiling, your head relaxing onto the soft pillow as Geto got you off. He dipped his thumb down to your entrance once more, collecting some more of your slick before he brought it back up to your clit, smiling at the little wet sounds it created.

Your soft whimpers started picking up in volume, your body squirming more against the sheets, which Geto noticed. "You getting close baby?" Geto asked, looking down at his own cock as he smeared his precut on your panties before wrapping the fabric back over his cock and jerking off with it, picking up his pace.

"Yeah.. feel it coming Sugu." You whispered, keeping your eyes shut as you relaxed into the bed, letting Geto do all of the work. "Good, good girl baby. Doing so well letting me get us off like this. 'S it feel good? You like it when I rub your clit?" Geto spoke softly, using his words to bring your to your orgasm.

"Y-yeah, feels s-so good Sugu.. always *cough* make me feel so good." You choked on your words a bit, trying to breathe through the pleasure so you didnt fall into a coughing fit.

Geto felt his orgasm rapidly approaching, but he needed you to cum first. He needed both of his hands to do what he wnated to do when he came. "That's right, just relax baby, let me take care of you, let me make you cum." He whispered, biting his lip when he felt your legs squeeze his waist, your hand gripping his wrist harder. "O-oh Sugu- I'm cumming I-I'm cumming-" You whimpered, your head thrashing against the pillow as your back arched with your pleasure, your eyebrows screwing together.

"'M right here, cum for me baby, yesyes- ohhhh fuck- yesss, that's right baby let it all out." Geto huffed out a laugh, speaking through his teeth as his thumb kept rubbing over your clit, helping you ride out your orgasm. He felt his balls tighten with his impending release when your arousal dripped from your hole, sliding down your ass. "Fuck, good job baby, good fucking girl." Geto praised, pulling his thumb back when he felt you push him away, being careful to not overstimulate you right now.

Your body twitched as you came down from your high, your eyes screwing open as your vision focused on the ceiling above you. Your view was slightly blurry from how sleeping cumming had made you, it took a lot more out of you than you had expected, even only playing with your clit.

Geto's voice brought you back to reality, your sleepy eyes slowly looking down at him, your chin tipping down in tandem as you looked at him. "Watch me, baby, need you to watch me while I cum in your panties."

His unexpected words made you feel hot all over, another gush of arousal leaking from your cunt. Geto tipped his head back, the light behind him illuminating his hair and his impressive frame, making him appear as if he was glowing.

You watched his jaw fall open as moans spilled from his lips, finding their way into your ears. Geto's hand over his cock looked blurry, save for the black fabric that was being yanked over his length as he worked himself up to his orgasm.

"Fuck- fuck-" Geto's back arched, his breath coming out in small gasps and pants as he was brought to the edge. His chin tipped down as he ripped your panties off of his cock with his free hand, his fingers quickly finding the part that cradles your cunt as he held it out right in front of his cock, stroking himself rapidly.

"Cumming- cum- fuck-" Geto grit through his teeth before the first rope of his cum shot out and landed on the crotch of your panties. You watched with tired eyes as he came all over the fabric, defiling it with his thick cum. "Nghhhh-" He groaned as he jerked himself off through his high, making sure every rope of his hot cum landed on your panties.

You fought the sleep from your brain as you watched him. He looked so pretty with his flushed face and slack jaw as he rode through the aftershocks of his orgasm, rubbing the tip of his cock on your panties to clean it off. Geto's eyes looked up to your own, his chest rising and falling as he breathed heavily, trying to recover from such an intense orgasm.

He smiled watching your sleepy eyes flutter, trying to stay open. Balling up the defiled panties, he threw them somewhere on your floor before he rubbed your thigh with his big hand soothingly, smiling at your face softly. "I'll clean you up, go to sleep baby, did so well for me, I love you. These were the last words you heard from your sweet boyfriend before you drifted off into dreamland.

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto fluff #geto smut #getou suguru x reader #geto x reader #jjk geto #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #geto x you #jujutsu geto #geto x y/n #geto suguru drabble #getou suguru smut #getou suguru x you #jjk suguru #jujutsu kaisen suguru #suguru geto smut #getou suguru x y/n #suguru fluff #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk fic

[selineram3421]

Alastor's Rut Headcanons🦌

Requested

Alastor X Reader

Warnings ⚠

⚠ its that time of the year and Alastor hates it, implied/suggestive, violence🔪, kisses ⚠

Alastor was in rut.

It was an uncomfortable part of his deer half that he had not accepted. He usually spent this time indoors or a radio broadcast slaughter to take his mind off it.

The problem is that this year it was different. Persistent.

He had a significant other.

They were the sweetest and deadliest thing. A demon that had started working in the hotel recently, with a good taste in music and food.

Rosie also favored them when he introduced the two.

He noticed himself become more possessive when other demons were too close to them. Or if some filthy scum would stare too long.

Then his antlers were itchy.

He had to rub his antlers against a tree to get rid of the feeling. (In the dead of night, somewhere far away from others. Satan forbid if anyone saw him.)

Having been a hunter, he knew what this meant..

There would be problems if anyone were to so much as touch his mate partner.

He'll let his love know about the rut. Mostly for their safety and know that its deer instinct.

During this time, he picked up a few habits. Like making sure his love was well fed, needs taken care of, and showered with gifts.

He already does that but its taken up a notch.

And he's more affectionate, physically that is. More kisses or hand holding PDA wise to steer off any rivals demons.

Almost killing Angel (When isn't he?) when the spider demon got too close to his partner.

Almost kills a few others too. And at some point he's basically sent home until he feels normal again.

You go with him because you're worried.

This leads to more intimate activities.

Of course he's doing his best to not go too far. Mostly kisses and gentle caresses.

Though there is one time that he needs relief of some kind..

I'll just let you imagine that bit.

Its around December that he starts to feel slightly better.

Let's his partner know that he's not comfortable during rut and thanks them for staying by his side. (Also apologizing if he made them uncomfortable.)

Its February when he finally feels normal again.

*scrolling through deer facts* Huh ok.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@willowaudreykeyes @scary-noodlesblog @ducky-died-inside @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @biromanticboba @kiraisastay @lbcreations-blog @pooplyface1423 @+?

ML for Alastor🎙

#alastor x reader #gn reader #x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #headcanons #implied/suggestive #i had to read a hunter's guide for this and it was so weird

[unwantedtomost]

so dirty — miguel o’hara

dbf!miguel o’hara x fem!reader

word count: 888

summary: miguel, who just so happens to be your dad’s best friend, fucks you in a bthroom

warnings: dirty talk, degradation, unprotected sex (i’m back to my old ways)

a/n: hehe two in like a day? look at me go. send me requests because i need more ideas.

“We shouldn’t do this,” came out of your voice in a tired tone. You tried to fight it but it got harder every time. How could you fight something that felt so right?

“I know, amor.”

Then he kissed you and you stopped fighting. 

Things got dirtier every time he touched you. The first time he kissed you he was so soft, so delicate. He touched you like he thought you could fall apart in his hands. Now he was bending you over the bathroom sink with the whole neighborhood in the backyard—not to mention your father, his best friend. He still loved you all the same, you never doubted it for a moment. Something about the switch felt right. This was a dirty little secret, not a Romeo and Juliet love affair. It was meant to be dirty.

He used to kiss every inch of your naked body, muttering how much he loved you every time his lips left your skin. It was a harsh comparison to how he shoved your panties to the side and rubbed his rough fingers up and down your slit.

“You’re soaking,” he stated with pride. “This all for me, honey?”

“‘Course it is, Miguel.” Sometimes you try to be soft in times like this. He’d give you a small smile then it would leave. His eyes were hungry, you almost felt like prey.

“‘Course it is,” he repeated before bending you forward.

He spit on his hand, pumping himself a few times. He rubbed the head of his dick against your clit, causing you to shutter. So dirty.

“Beg for it.” Your brows knitted together, giving him a confused look in the mirror. “You heard me. Beg for it.”

“Give it to me,” you demanded, standing your ground.

His large chest was flush against your back, his chin grabbing your chin and making you look into his eyes. His lips brushed against your ear and his other hand gripped your hip like a vice. “I said beg. Or we’re going back downstairs right now.”

It wasn’t the worst threat in the world but at some point these little hookups became something you needed. He knew that. He felt the same way too.

“Please, Miguel,” you whined. “I love you so much. Need to feel ya inside me so badly. I promise to be such a good girl. I promise. I’ll be such a good girl.”

The tiniest smile came to his lips as he saw the tears lightly brewing in your eyes. God, how he loved you. He planted a sweet kiss on your temple. “Such a good girl, only for me, yeah?”

“Only for you.”

Suddenly, the head of his member entered your entrance. You gasped, causing his hand to clasp over your mouth. “Got to be quiet, amor, yeah? We can’t have anyone find out what a dirty little whore you are for me.” He quickly pushed the rest of his length inside of you. You screamed into the palm of his hand, gripping down on the countertop.

“Fuck, princess. Best damn pussy I’ve ever had. Such a good fucking girl.”

His thrusts were brutal and you loved every second of it. Something about the strange circumstances made something dormant in Miguel come out. He said the dirtiest things. His mouth sputtering whatever came to mind as he pounded into you like both of your lives depended on it.

“Letting me fuck you while half the neighborhood is in the backyard. You wanted me that bad. You’d let me fuck you anywhere, wouldn’t you, honey? Want to be my little fuckdoll. Let me take you wherever I want. As long as we don’t get caught, right?”

You nodded vigorously as your eyes screwed shut, your head resting on Miguel’s shoulder. He let you stay like that for a while until his fingers started to rub your clit.

“Look at me,” he cooed. You had no choice but to pry your eyes open and look at the disheveled state of the man you were falling in love with. “Keep looking at me when I make you cum on my dick. Look so fucking beautiful.”

You had to use your last amount of strength to keep your eyes open, losing all control of the noises coming out of your mouth. Both of you were glad that his hand was clamped over your mouth. You tried to hold back your orgasm just a little bit, something you did often in these scenarios, you wanted to hold on just a little bit longer.

But it was always impossible. As soon as he figured out what you were doing, his fingers worked quicker.

“Please, cum for me baby,” he begged. And how could you refuse him? Quickly the coil snapped and you turned to absolute putty in his hands. “I love you, honey. I love you so much.” He whispered in your ear as he came inside of you. “Love you so fucking much.”

Slumped there, panting, you had that terrible wave of realization of the predicament you were in. Doomed to be in love with a man you could never really be with. Banished to a life of dirty secret hookups in bathrooms. But you didn’t need to worry about that now. Not when he was smiling at you.

“I love you too.” 

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #smut #oscar isaac smut #oscar issac

[yxngbxkkie]

baby fever (b.c)

this man needs to chill because i can only take so much 😭 ngl, this is probably the most i've written in a while, and i'm really glad to provide some cute fics for you guys 🩷 i hope you like it!

feedback is greatly appreciated 🥰

“Do you have everything?” Chan asks you while unloading the rental car.

You take a peek into the back seat of the car, making sure both of you had everything. “I don't see anything,” you reassure him.

Chan walks towards your mother's house, presents stacked in his hands. You gently rub his back as you walk up the steps. You knock a couple of times before opening the door, announcing your presence.

“My baby's home!” Your mother's voice reaches your ears, causing you to grin ear to ear.

You give her a quick hug before making sure Chan gets into the house okay. You shut the front door behind him and rest a hand on his forearm.

“Do you need help with anything?” You ask him, moving to grab a couple of the gifts.

“I got it, baby,” he reassures you with a head shake. He leans down to press a quick kiss on your lips before walking over towards the Christmas tree.

You giggle to yourself, gently biting your lip after he walks away. Your mother nudges your arm, snapping you from your thoughts. You lift your head to look at her, seeing a smirk on her lips.

“When's the wedding?” She jokes with you.

A groan leaves your lips as you start to feel embarrassed. “Not for a little while,” you tell her with a shy laugh. Your gaze finds Chan, silently watching him distribute the presents. “I don't even know if he wants to marry me.”

She lets out a scoff, crossing her arms over her chest. “Honey, that boy is infatuated with you. He'd be crazy not to marry you.”

“We'll see where life takes us,” you mention, the smile on your lips growing when you meet your boyfriend's eyes.

“I want to be the first one to know if he does propose,” your mother whispers into your ear as she walks by, joining everyone in the kitchen.

You playfully roll your eyes, keeping yourself from blushing. Chan gives the older woman a quick hug as she walks by before making his way back to you.

“What were you two chuckling about?” He asks, tapping his fingertip on the tip of your nose.

“Just girl stuff,” you vaguely lie, leaning on your toes to kiss his lips. Chan hums into the kiss, his hands grabbing a hold of yours.

He mumbles a quick, "I love you," against your lips, planting one more kiss before fully pulling away. “Why don't we go say hi to everyone,” Chan mentions, squeezing your hands in his.

You nod your head and lead him into your kitchen. You greet the rest of your family, giving them hugs and kisses. You make grabbing hands at the toddler in your big sister's arms.

“Hi, baby boy,” you squeal, holding the one and half year old baby. He smiles at you, bringing his tiny hand to your cheek. “You're getting so big!”

You rest the baby on your hip, lightly bouncing him in your arms. Ji-ho squeals and kicks his little legs into your side. You release a little cry and point at the little man.

“Watch your feet, mister! You're gonna hurt Auntie,” you chuckle, adjusting his legs so they're sitting comfortably.

“He loves to kick,” your sister mentions, walking over to her son. “I forgot to tell you.”

You playfully scoff as she pinches the boy's cheeks. “That would've been some crucial information, Joon,” you tell her with a smile.

Chan moves to stand behind you, and you can hear him coo at Ji-ho. You glance over your shoulder, watching him smile at your nephew. His dimples are present, and you can feel your heart fluttering in your chest.

“Do you want to hold him?” You ask him, turning to face him.

Your boyfriend's gaze moves from you to your older sister. “Would that be okay?” He asks her politely.

“Of course!”

Chan takes the baby from you, lifting him higher for a quick second before resting him on his hip. “Hi, buddy,” he whispers in his baby voice, tickling his stomach.

Ji-ho squeals again, more giggles coming from the baby's lips. He rests his head on Chan's shoulder, his tiny hands gripping his shirt. Your heart feels like it's swelling even larger as you witness your boyfriend interacting with him.

You pull your phone out and snap a couple of photos. He'd make such a great dad… You think to yourself as Chan starts walking around the kitchen with Ji-ho.

Your mother pats your back gently, snapping you from your thoughts. She gives you a knowing smile before nodding her head towards Chan.

“Baby,” you call out to him, capturing his attention. You motion your head towards the hallway. Your sister takes Ji-ho from him as you excuse the two of you.

Chan slips his arms around your waist as you walk down the hallway. You rest your hands on top of his, and you feel like your heart's going to fly out of your chest.

“Everything okay?” He whispers into your ear while stepping into your childhood bedroom.

You nod your head and gently shut the door. His eyes dance between you and the bedroom door. You take a couple of steps towards the taller man, resting your hands on his cheeks.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” You ask in a whisper, gently stroking his cheek.

“Of course,” he whispers back to you, placing his hands on your hips. “What's this ab-”

You cut him off by leaning on your toes, kissing his lips. A moan leaves his lips while his grip on you tightens. One of your arms wraps around his neck as you deepen the kiss.

Chan pulls away from you abruptly, and you attempt to chase his lips, not having enough. “Baby, baby,” he mumbles, moving his hands to your arms. “What's gotten into you?”

You feel embarrassed at how needy you are, but seeing him with a baby has made you a little feral. He gently rubs your arms as you find yourself looking at the carpet.

“I might have baby fever,” you whisper loud enough for him to hear.

He giggles and bends down a little to look in your eyes. “Oh yeah?” He smiles at you, bringing one of his hands to your cheek.

You can feel your cheeks begin to blush, and you push him playfully. “You know what? I hate you,” you laugh, moving past him to lay on your bed.

Chan laughs with you and lays down beside you. “I love you too, baby,” he grins ear to ear before kissing your forehead. He peppers more kisses all over your face. “So, you want a baby?”

A groan leaves your lips after hearing his question. “Not right now, obviously,” you tell him, finding his hand before lacing your fingers together. “But, in the future, I'd like to have a family with you.”

His lips find yours and he kisses you passionately. Your free hand grips the sweater he's wearing, feeling your heart pounding in your chest.

Chan pulls away and rests his forehead on yours. “I would love to have a family with you, baby.”

~

tagging: @strawboorybunny @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @moon0fthenight @foxinnie8 @like-a-diamondinthesky @prettymiye0n

#bang chan #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x you #bang chan x reader #bang chan fluff #bang chan imagine #bang chan imagines #bang chan fanfiction #bang chan fanfic #bang chan fic #bang chan drabbles #bang chan scenarios #stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fic #stray kids drabbles #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff

[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

[suskz]

JOCK!CHAN X NERD!FEM READER SMUT??🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

pairing: Jock!Chan x Nerd!Fem!Reader

t/w: smut ; breasts play ; clit play ; slight oral kink.

w/c: 1.5k

a/n: NO BC I actually love this idea sm 🙇🏻‍♀️ Hope you like it anon ♡

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

"Come over after practice?"

You adjust your glasses on your nose after sending the text and get up to change into your pajamas.

You don't expect an immediate response, but you're too bored because you have nothing to do and you can't wait for him to text back.

You receive a reply only two hours later.

"Of course, baby, I'll take a quick shower and I'll be with you."

Only half an hour passes before he's standing in front of the door of your dorm room, with dark curly hair still wet and dressed in his usual black pants and t-shirt.

Before you know it, his soft lips are on yours and without breaking apart, you usher him into the room and he closes the door.

"Your hair is still wet." you point out as if he didn't already know.

"I wanted to be with you as soon as possible." You blush slightly at his words.

"How was practice?" you ask him.

"Changbin missed all his shots today." he chuckles.

"He's too short for basketball, I've always said so." you laugh with him.

"What were you doing in the meantime?"

"I was reading a book Seungmin lent me."

That's why shortly after you're sitting on your bed with your boyfriend's head in your lap while you read aloud word after word.

His eyes are closed as he listens to your soothing voice, but at some point you stop and he opens his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asks you, and when you don't answer, he raises an eyebrow and gently lowers the book with one hand to see your slightly flushed face.

The story is getting a bit... hot, "Uh... I'm not sure if I should continue..." you admit, and he immediately understands what it's about. A smirk forms on his lips as he gets up.

"No, keep reading, I want to know how it continues." He has you sit in the middle of the bed and positions himself behind you, wrapping his arms around your body and keeping his eyes on the book, without reading, "Then?"

"Uh... he- he started kissing her neck," his soft lips immediately press against the skin of your nape, leaving slow, wet kisses, "As his hands roamed all over her body." And so does he, releasing the embrace and moving his hands over your body still covered by the light pajama shirt, running his fingers over your belly and higher, grazing the outline of your breasts.

"You're not wearing a bra?" He whispers against your neck, his breath lightly tickling you.

"I'm more comfy without."

He groans almost imperceptibly, feeling your hardening nipples through the fabric of the shirt.

"Keep reading." he orders, and you do as he says.

You read quickly in your mind, trying to get to the parts where it only describes his actions. "His- his fingers play with her nipples, squeezing them between his fingers and—" you pause as a yelp escapes your lips when you feel his fingers brush against your nipples and then squeeze them in between.

Before you realise it, his strong arms lift you from where you're sitting on the bed. One arm goes under your legs, while the other holds the upper part of your body, picking you up bridal style, and gently lays you with your head on the pillow.

Sometimes you still marvel at how truly strong he is.

He then positions himself between your legs. He lifts your shirt to uncover your breasts and plays with your nipples, pinching and licking them.

"Then?" His voice is low and sensual, causing a throbbing sensation in your lower parts, where his covered cock brushes against you through his pants.

"His- his hand travels down her body—" the movement of his hand sends shivers through your body. He swiftly removes your pajama shorts, and kisses various spots on your leg as he moves up to place his head at your level, locking eyes with you.

One of his hands takes the book from your hands while the other slips under your panties, feeling your wetness with his middle and ring fingers. A gasp escapes your lips before you can control it.

"You're so wet already.” he breathes on your lips, feeling all the slick that has come out of your hole. He gathers some of your juices and uses it to glide his fingers in slow circular motions on your clit, making you sigh. "This pretty pussy's begging for attention, mhh?”

He moans with you as his fingers slide into your hole. He moves them back and forth slowly, curling them upwards to brush against that sensitive spot inside you.

His breath is heavy as yours and his pants feel tight.

His thumb rests on your clit and moves as best he can to stimulate you more.

Your faces are so close. He looks into your eyes and can't resist the urge to kiss you. It's slow and sensual, your tongues meeting and your breaths mingling.

When you break apart, a trail of saliva connects your lips. Your boyfriend removes his fingers from inside you, making you whine at the sudden feeling of emptiness.

Your panties are soon on the floor next to your pants, and your shirt follows shortly after.

"You're so gorgeous." he compliments as he admires your exposed body beneath him.

It's not the first time he's looked at your naked body, but his gaze feels heavy on you.

He notices your embarrassment and leans in on you. "I can't wait to be inside you." he whispers in your ear.

"Then don't." you urge him.

And a few seconds later, his cock is inside your tight heat, making both of you moan in unison.

Soon he begins to move. You need more time to get used to the intrusion, but the desperation of both has taken over.

Despite it not being the first time, the stretch still hurts initially. But it only takes a few slow initial thrusts for you to get used to it.

His pace quickens and becomes more steady, and one of his hands has to cover your mouth to stifle your sounds.

Your moans come out muffled against his palm, and he closes his eyes, biting back a moan, "As much as I love hearing you, we don't want to get caught, now do we?" he whispers. You nod, and he removes his hand from your mouth.

You grit your teeth and throw your head back into the pillows —as much as you can without hurting yourself because of the ponytail— trying to be as quiet as possible, but it's difficult.

Your glasses are askew on your face, and just one wrong move would be enough to cause problems for them. That's why Chan carefully takes them off and places them on the nightstand next to the bed.

It's when his cock hits a certain sensitive spot inside you hard that a cry escapes your lips, and you're too taken by surprise to hold it back.

Two fingers are shoved into your mouth to try to stifle the sounds trying to come out, "You did that on purpose so I would put my fingers in your mouth, huh? You like being fucked like this, don't you?" he whispers in your ear, licking and sucking on the lobe.

Your tongue moves upward, wanting to speak, pressing against his fingers. At your movement, he throws his head back, letting out a pitiful moan; his hips falter for a second, and his cock twitches inside you.

You close your lips around his fingers and nod instead, unable to speak.

"You feel so damn good." His head rests in the crook of your neck. "Fuck." He breathes.

The sound of skins slapping together grows louder in the room. A drop of sweat falls from his forehead, and his hands grip the sheets tightly at the sides of your head.

"Baby, I'm close." He whines, warning you.

Your legs tremble, your limbs feel like jelly.

"Me too." You reply, "Chris, please."

He brings two of his fingers to your clit, moving them quickly, but the movements are not steady, distracted by his impending climax.

"Y/n, I'm going to cum—" he urgently moans, "You have to come now." It's an order, despite the slight desperation in his voice, like you could control your orgasm.

You place your fingers over his that are still on your clit and move them together.

Your breaths are heavy and loud. Anyone passing by your room would understand what you're doing, but in the heat of the moment you don't give it much weight. The only thing on your minds is reaching your highs.

And you do; you come first and he follows right after. His well-defined muscles, built from the gym he attends with his friends, twitch gorgeously as he cums into the condom.

It takes a few minutes for both of you to catch your breath. He pulls out of you and tosses the condom into the trash bin at the end of your bed.

He joins you again in bed and looks at you, perhaps a little embarrassed, "It won’t go down..." he admits, referring to his still somehow hard dick.

You prop your body up on your elbows. Your eyes shift to look at his half-erection and then back to his eyes, with a smirk.

"Round two?"

#bang chan #stray kids #bang chan x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #bang chan fanfic #bang chan x reader smut #stray kids x reader smut #stray kids fanfic #anon ask ♡

[unequivocallyreid]

Do You Get It Yet?

hi guys!! this is one day late, but i literally fell asleep trying to proof read last night, so… you win some you lose some.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: Spencer Reid is your professor and you really, really need help. If only he wasn’t so distracting.

warnings: smut, little bit of fluff, professor/student relationship, unprotected sex w/ talk of contraceptives, age gap (both parties of age), breeding kink, choking, and some light degradation

this is a fun one guys! let me know what you think!

You swear you aren’t stupid. Really, honestly you aren’t. You’ve done well in school your whole life, not always outstanding, but you’ve always done well.

Right now however, you feel completely dumb. You’re in you third year of university, and up to this point, you’ve done good. Your classes are challenging but rewarding, and you have a wonderful group of people in your life. You have a cat and an apartment to yourself. You have wonderful friends, Lena and Eden, who’ve been with you since your freshman year and who you loved like sisters. Everything in your life was going right, except for your stupid, stupid criminal psychology class.

You should love it. You’ve taken classes like it before and they really weren’t a problem for you, but for whatever reason, you can’t wrap your head around the subject matter at all. Everything you learn seems to morph together and you can’t get it to sort itself out. Your teacher, Dr. Reid, is incredible. He is a genuine genius, member of the BAU (your dream job), and to top it off, he is incredibly attractive. Not just to you either! Half the class is auditing, which probably contributes to your troubles. It’s hard to focus when everyone around you is constantly whispering about how fucking hot the teacher is.

You try to avoid it. You sit at the front of the room, not the first row, but still front and center. Even so, right behind you are two or three girls who will not stop talking about him. Sure, they’re saying what you’re thinking, but good god does it get annoying. You’ve tried pointed looks, a few aggressive hair flips and humphs, and even a few well timed shushings, but they will not let up. You’d move seats but the class is full and everyone has seemed to have already found a place.

So, really, your lack of understanding was not only on you. Dr. Reid us distractingly hot, the girls behind you will not shut up, and the subject matter is just plain tricky. All of this leads you to spend a big chunk of your free time in your professors office hours, which always seem to be full.

You get it. Girls, and some boys, show up looking their best and asking all sorts of questions, and honestly if you were in a different position you’d probably do the same thing. But, you aren’t, and you really need help. You go to his room completely disheveled with a notebook full of questions that for the most part stayed unanswered. You’re lucky to get five minutes of his undivided attention. Again, you get it, those minutes are the highlights of you week, but, your grade is starting to slip.

Finally, it gets to be too much, and you find yourself spending nearly the whole class building up the courage to ask to speak with him privately. Right when he concludes his lecture you spring up out of your seat and go straight to him, surely annoying some of your other classmates.

“Dr. Reid?”

He looks up from his desk, “Hi! Ms.?”

“Y/n. Or Y/l/n, I guess. I was hoping to talk to you privately if you had time?”

“Oh! Um, sure, of course. Let me just wrap up here. You can wait in the seats.”

This has already gone better than you thought it would. Half of you expected the only thing that would come out of your mouth would be gibberish.

“Thank you so much.”

You hurry off to take a seat and wait, and wait, and wait. Around five other people stay around to try and speak with him, and while you catch him anxiously glancing over at you, each conversation still seems to stretch on and on. Finally, after close to 15 minutes, the final student leaves and it’s just you and Dr. Reid left in the room.

He looks over at you and motions for you to join him at his desk, “I’m so sorry that took so long. People tend to have a lot of questions after my lectures.”

You take a seat in front of him, “It’s no worries. That was actually part of what I wanted to speak to you about.”

You pause, wondering how you should word what you want to say. He looks at you, waiting for you to go on, but he doesn’t seem impatient.

“I’ve come to all your office hours, and it helps, I’m just still struggling and I, uh, I just feel like it’s not enough time to get my questions answered, I guess?”

You’re looking at anything but him at this point, “I’m sorry I’m just kinda out of my element. I love this subject and normally it clicks for me, but it’s just won’t. I have a notebook full of questions and I’m worried I won’t be able to figure anything out. Sorry, I think I’m just rambling at this point.”

“No, don’t apologize, I understand. This class is challenging, and a lot of the subject matter is hard to research.”

He stops to laugh, “My office hours do tend to be pretty full. I’m, well to be honest I’m not sure why. A lot of the questions people have tend to be things I explained in my lectures.”

Without thinking, you cut him off, “I think people just want to be around you.”

He looks surprised at your words, and you are as well. You didn’t mean to say that at all.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry. It’s just with a teacher that looks like you, god, no. I mean with a teacher like you-“

Your cheeks grow hotter by the second, “You know what, I think I can figure this out on my own! I’m sorry for-“

He stops you before you can finish, “Y/n, I’ve taught this class before. Half the people are auditing. I’ve gathered what that means.”

He cracks a smile at that and you feel your heart flutter.

“I meant I’m not sure why people would waste their time trying to, uh, impress me at office hours. They’re meant for students like you.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

“Unfortunately, there isn’t much I can do on that front. My hours are open to anyone.”

Your shoulders deflate a bit at that, worrying you’ve wasted your time and his for nothing. He doesn’t let you stay like that for long though.

“I want to help you though. Truly. I know reaching out for help is hard and I’m glad you did.”

You look up at him then, “I can set aside some time for you once a week if you’re comfortable? We can review everything you’re not sure on until you’re up to speed.”

You were not expecting that. You thought he’d look over your questions and give you some articles and journals to review at best.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“You aren’t. I’m offering, Y/n.”

“Then I think yes, I’d like that a lot.”

“Great! Email me some times that work for you and we’ll get started.”

~

This is all, admittedly, a bit above your pay grade.

Despite your best efforts, you are not a chill girl. You’re not very cool. There’s nothing wrong with that usually! You’re shy, but still manage to talk people’s ear off. It’s normally a non-issue: that’s just how you are. Today however, you are meeting with Dr. Reid and you are so not chill about it.

You had his class yesterday, and while you feel better knowing you’ll finally have help, you couldn’t focus on anything but today, so you retained nothing. All you can think about is saying something stupid or off putting and having him start to despise you.

You know you shouldn’t worry this much. He’s a professional, you’re trying to be, it should all go smoothly. They’re just the issue of the colony of butterflies who have taken up residence in your stomach. You’re nervous, so nervous, and you are not the type to get this crazy over some guy. Yes, Dr. Reid is probably the hottest person you’ve ever met, but he’s still human! You think… the fact that he’s some sort of super genius with multiple (multiple!) phds does not help to calm you.

Your entire walk to Dr. Reid’s office is spent worrying over all of this. In fact, you’re so caught in your head you find yourself barreling into someone’s back as you walk through the door of the psychology department.

You rush to squeak out an apology while picking up your notebook, but are stopped short when you look up. It’s Dr. Reid. Of course it’s Dr. Reid. You seem unable to be in the same vicinity of him without making a fool of yourself, so why would today be any different. You’d hoped to be able to manage yourself for the better part of an hour, but your professors unbelievably solid back has literally knocked you on your ass.

You do notice a ghost of a smile on his face when you look up, and you’d like to think he’s admiring you clumsiness, but it’s not likely.

“Hi,” you manage to say after a near excruciatingly long silence.

“I’m really sorry, I clearly wasn’t looking at where I was walking.”

He laughs a bit, “It’s no problem honestly. You were the one knocked off your feet, so I really can’t be upset aside from the fact you may have hurt yourself.”

This makes you breath hitch a bit. Maybe you are incredibly starved for attention from the male gender, but the slight affection of his words made you blush.

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

If you were any more articulate you’d be a public speaker, but at least you always seem to make the man in front of you laugh.

“I was on my way to my office to meet with you, but since I already have, you can walk with me.”

You nod, pushing yourself off the ground, then blush again when you realize you had this entire conversation on the ground.

The walk is silent, and you’re sure it’s more uncomfortable for you than it is for him. Any question you had has completely exited your mind, and all you can think about is how good he looks in a suit, and how much staring you can reasonably get away with.

Your first session is sweet. You manage to hold it together in Dr. Reid’s presence. He is incredibly helpful one on one, and you feel more confident about the class than you have in weeks. Before you finish, he asks if you’d like to meet again.

“Yeah, if that’s alright. This helped so much, but I think I still probably need to do some more catch up work.”

“That’s perfectly fine, Y/n, I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

He pauses for a moment, like he’s considering something, before going on.

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to give you my cell. I want you to be able to reach me if you need to reschedule, especially if we continue meeting, and it’s a bit easier than email.”

You’re a bit stunned but manage to reply, “Of course! But, um, is that allowed? I don’t want to over step.”

He looks away from you for a moment before replying, “I’m honestly not sure. Maybe we just don’t tell anyone?”

You have to bite back a grin, but you nod nonetheless and exchange numbers.

Although you know you shouldn’t be, you’re giddy the entire walk home.

~

So far, you’ve met with Dr. Reid three times and haven’t had to use his number once. Not that you’d been looking for an opportunity to though! It just hasn’t come up at all until today.

It’s been raining all morning, which normally you wouldn’t mind, but you’re slightly under the weather and the thought of walking to campus and risking getting more sick doesn’t sound appealing in the slightest. Though it’s not normally an issue, moments like this make you really wish you had a car.

You’ve asked everyone you knew for a ride, but they were all busy.

Currently, you were on the phone with Lena, listening as she tries to calm you down.

“He gave you his number, Y/n. Just text him and say you’re sick and can’t make it.”

“It’s the day of though! I don’t want to come off as unprofessional.”

“Babe, again, you have his number. Your relationship isn’t exactly the most profesh in the first place.”

“It’s not like that, Lena.”

“Just text him. Over explain everything like you know you want to. He’ll probably think it’s cute, maybe he’ll even offer to come take care of you.”

You can hear the teasing lilt in her voice, but, still, you rush to defend him.

“You know it’s not like that.”

“Whatever you say, babe. I gotta go, but text him. It’ll be fine.”

You say your goodbyes, and deep down you know she’s right. About texting him, not the shy sort of seduction act she thinks you have.

After contemplating for a few more minutes, you type out your message and hit send.

You: Hi, Dr. Reid. This is Y/n from your criminal psych class. I know we’re supposed to meet today, but I’m feeling like I have a bit of a cold coming on and don’t want to risk walking in the rain.

You: I’m sorry it’s late notice, if I could get there I would, scout’s honor.

You were never in girl scouts. You don’t actually know why you said that at all, but it’s too late to take it back now.

As much as you try not to, you watch your phone screen, waiting for a response.

Luckily, you don’t have to wait long. You see a typing bubble pop up, then disappear, then pop up again, before finally two messages come through.

Dr. Reid: I completely understand. Don’t worry.

Dr. Reid: I could come to you? If you’re comfortable.

When you read that, you feel your stomach drop to your ass. You decidedly not expect him to offer anything like that. A few things fly through your mind, but mainly that Lena may have been right, and having your professor come to your apartment is, at least, frowned up by admin. Still, the image of him in front of you, in your home, with your cat, is too much to resist.

With shaking fingers, you text him back.

You: That would be wonderful if you’re sure you’re okay with it.

You: Friendly warning, I have a very affectionate cat.

Dr. Reid: Good to know. Is 4 still alright?

You shoot him back a quick yes and your address, and then get to cleaning every square inch of your apartment.

~

Dr. Reid is an angel on Earth.

When you hear a knock at your door, you have to stop before answering to regulate your breathing. When you finally do, you see your professor in front of you in a cardigan (a fucking cardigan) and togo cup of tea that he immediately hands to you.

It’s all like a hopeless romantics wet dream. Hot professor, in the rain, at your house, who clearly cares about you in some way? It’s like he’s trying to kill you.

You step aside to let him in and move to your couch, “You really didn’t have to do this.”

He stands for a moment before sitting at the opposite end and saying through a laugh,“The tea or coming over?”

“Both, I guess? I just feel bad that Ive take up so much of your time. I feel like a bit of an inconvenience.”

“Y/n, please stop worrying so much over this. I want to help you learn, it’s not an inconvenience or a both or unnecessary.”

You really look at him then, trying to read whether or not he’s being genuinely. He just seems too good to be true, like he’s a fiction character made just for you. Well, not just for you, but in your fantasies that’s how you’ll think about it.

The next couple hours are spent reviewing material you are sure he taught weeks ago and stealing glancing at his mouth when you are sure he is not looking. Your kitty makes a few appearances too, and seems to have formed an instant attachment to the doctor. You are not as sly with your staring as you’d like to think, and get caught a few too many times. Honestly, you are trying desperately not to think about anything but academia, but he makes it so unbelievably hard. Not to put the blame on him for your insatiability, but jesus fuck. Intelligence has always been incredibly sexy to you, and it oozes from him

Despite the distraction, you’ve been doing good in terms of building your understanding. Now however, you are on the verge of tears, chocking down a knot in your throat as you try to make sense of anything coming out of Dr. Reid’s mouth. This has to be the third time he’d tried to explain it to you, and while this is the entire point of these meetings, you feel like a failure.

The doctor is lost in his own world, trying desperately to explain the concept in a digestible way, so he doesn’t notice your state. That is, until you sniffle, just slightly, and immediately avert your gaze.

He cuts himself off, “Y/n? Are, are you okay? What’s wrong.”

It’s too much, so too much. What kind of dick asks something like that, with that much care in his voice. You can’t help the tears starting to fall.

“I’m so sorry. I just, I can’t understand it.”

He looks at you with his beautiful eyes and says, “Y/n, it’s okay-“

“No. God, you must think I’m a fucking idiot. No, not fucking, I didn’t mean to say fuck in front of you. God this is terrible.”

You’re fully crying at this point, and you can’t bear to look at Dr. Reid.

He stays silent for a moment, before you feel movement on the couch and look up to see he is much closer to you.

“You’re incredibly intelligent, Y/n. I, I would never judge you for needing help.”

You bury your face in your palms, and, very eloquently, try to speak through them.

“Sir, you really don’t need to say that. I know I should have been able to grasp this weeks ago, all of this.”

“Spencer.”

You look up, “What?”

“My name is Spencer. You don’t have to call me sir or Dr. Reid. I’d like for you to call me Spencer.”

“Well, Spencer then. I’m sorry for wasting your time. I really don’t know why I thought any of this would help, clearly there’s something seriously wrong with-“

You’re cut off by a hand on your jaw, guiding you to look up. Dr. Reid’s hand. Spencer’s hand, and it’s gentle and he’s staring at you, and you feel like your skin is on fire underneath his palm.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Y/n. You’re one of the most capable, intelligent people I’ve ever met. I’m breaking nearly 20 different codes of contact by being here, but I can’t help it.”

You feel all your words caught in your throat, and all you can fucking think about is his hand and his eyes and his lips. You don’t know what else to do, so, in an act of unusual bravery, you push forward and press your lips to his.

The response is immediate. All thoughts in your head are gone and replaced by a mantra of Spencer’s name. You feel his hands move to the nape of your neck, holding you to him, and his lips pressing yours open so he can glide his tongue over yours. You’re breathless and ruined, and when he pulls back you’re too struck by him to speak.

“You have no idea what you do to me, Y/n. I’ve never wanted anyone like this before”

Your forehead is pressed to his and you breath out, “Show me.”

The hand on you tightens its grip, but the man before you pulls back a bit, and it becomes your only point of contact.

“I, I can’t. I’m your teacher, I’m nearly 20 years older than you. I shouldn’t have even kissed you.”

“I kissed you. I want you, this. I want whatever you’ll give me.”

“It’s wrong, Y/n.”

“I don’t care. I want you, Spencer.”

Hearing you say his name must break his resolve, because in a moment his lips find yours again, and he’s pulling you into his lap.

To recap, you’re in your home, on your couch, straddling the hottest man you’ve ever seen, and his lips are trailing down your neck and over your clavicle. You put your arms around his neck, threading your hands through his hair and experimentally rolling your hips against his.

His hands grab your hips, stilling your movement, and breaks from his assault on your neck to say, “I won’t be able to control myself if you do that, Y/n. I need to know what you want.”

“I want all of it, doctor.”

The honorific must do something for him, because he growls low in his throat before once again connecting with your lips. The same hands that just stilled your movement now guide your hips to press into him harder. You feel his length beneath you and moan into his mouth.

You’d fantasized about this for months, but now it’s actually happening and it’s so much better than you could have ever imagined. You feel him every where, and he knows exactly what to do and whisper in your ear to drive you fucking crazy.

You move your hands from his hair and break from his lips to pull your shirt off. You make eye contact with him and then reach behind your back to unclasp your bra, leaving that part of yourself entirely exposed to him.

“Fuck, Y/n.”

The expletive takes you by surprise for a moment, but you snap out of it quickly, taking one of his hands and bringing it to your chest. He moves quickly from that point, cupping your breast in his hand and toying with your nipple. Your lips find his again, and you feel him move to flip you, but you stop him before he can.

“Bedroom, Spencer. Please.”

He nods and you climb from his lap. On your way to the room, he discards his shirt. You can’t help but ogle his frame. He’s slender and sinewy, but you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. The angles and curves of his frame fit

together to create the perfect portrait of a man. He has scars littered over his arms and torso, but they don’t phase you.

You’re under him on the bed now, your core raising to meet his desperately.

“You’re so beautiful. So beautiful, I’m so lucky.”

His words cause a blush to form on your cheeks, which you can barely focus on as his hands are in the process of pulling your shorts and panties down your legs.

“Fuck, baby, you’re soaked, huh?”

You whine as his fingers make contact with where you need him most.

“Is this all for me, Y/n? Who’s making you this wet?”

“You, sir, only you.”

“Jesus, baby.”

If someone had asked hours ago you what you thought your professor would be like in bed, this was the last thing you would’ve said. Not that anyone would ask… but still. He’s nerdy and adorable, and while his looks are literally to die for, he doesn’t scream ‘I’m gonna fuck your brains out’.

His fingers pick up their pace on your clit as you find yourself trying to undo his belt. You’re desperate to see him as bare as you are. He stops to help you get his pants down, and when you see him in his full glory you feel a little faint.

“You’re so big.”

He lets a little whine slip through, “Yeah? Biggest you’ve had?”

You blush a little at his tone. As much as you’re trying to fake it, you don’t have as much experience in this field as one might expect for a girl your age.

“I’ve only been with one other person, so yeah.”

Your candor is decidedly not sexy, and you really have no clue why you would say that right now. The man above you does not seem deterred though, if anything it spurs him on.

“Fuck, Y/n. Didn’t know you were so innocent.”

You blush again, but reach to grab him, trying to prove how good you can be. He’s heavy in your hand, and part of you worries how he’ll fit. You know you’re programmed to accommodate, but the thought is daunting.

He must sense your concern when he says, “Don’t worry, love. Gonna stretch out this pussy for me.”

With that, his fingers resume their previous task, and he slowly moves down to trace your entrance with his middle finger. The sensation has you spinning, and let breathless moans leave your body he slowly starts to open you up. His fingers are long and precise in their movements. Every time he thrusts into you, they graze a spot that sends sparks of pleasure straight to your core.

“You’re doing so good for me, puppy. Letting your professor fuck you with his fingers.”

You can barely breathe, and your climax comes closer with every passing second. When his thumb moves to press over your clit and his other hand presses firmly on your lower stomach, you’re done for.

“Good girl, Y/n. Coming so pretty on my hand.”

Your orgasm is stupefying, and all you can think or say is Spencer’s name. You grab at him, desperate to find something to ground you, and you hear him moan as your nails dig into his back. He doesn’t stop for a moment, continuing to press into you and riding you through your high.

Once you come down, though you can still feel your legs shaking, you want more. You want all of him. You take him in your hand again, pumping up and down his shaft at a lazy pace.

“Spencer, I need you to fuck me.”

He laughs, his hand still on your core, “Ask nicely, Y/n. You come on my fingers and all of a sudden your manners disappear? You really are desperate for me, huh?

You didn’t want to admit it, but he’s right.

“Please, Spencer. Please fuck me, I need it.”

“Good girl,” he takes your wrist and leads your hand to your mouth. “Spit.”

You aren’t exactly sure what he’s doing. You think he might be teasing you more, letting you work him over until you beg, but he answers all your questions quickly.

He guide your hand back to grab him, helping you jerk him off before he grabs himself and lines up with your entrance.

In his first Dr. Reid like moment in the last hour he stops and asks, “Fuck do you have a condom? I obviously didn’t think we’d do this, so I don’t have anything on me.”

You’re panting with anticipation at this point, but still manage to get out, “I’m on the pill and I’m clean. I trust you.”

His eyes go soft for a moment, before he continues his previous mission. He lines up again with you, before teasing your slit with the head of his cock. If you didn’t want him so bad, you could’ve come like this, but you are desperate. You push your hips up, hoping he gets the point, and he does.

“I could play with that pussy all day if you’d let me, Y/n.”

You want to protest, and tell him to get on with it, but you don’t have to. You feel his tip

slowly pushing into you as he lets out a groan.

“You’re so fucking tight.”

He’s slow and careful, and you can’t remember sex ever feeling this good. You know he isn’t all the way in, but you already feel so full. When he does reach the hilt, you let out a low moan at the feeling. He’s completely inside of you, filling you in a way that is unbelievably good. He stays still for a moment before slowly pulling back and thrusting into you.

You can tell he’s being gentle, but hard enough and fast enough to have your legs start shaking more heavily again. You already feel a pit in your stomach, and you know you’re going to come, for a second time, embarrassingly fast.

“Fuck yes. So good for me, Y/n.”

The way your name sounds in his mouth drives you crazy. The only thing you can think about is how badly you want this moment to go on forever. Everything about him is perfect. Even now, while fucking your brains out (literally, you could make yourself say a word even if you wanted to), he’s cupping your head in his hand and telling you how beautiful you are.

Now that you’re more accustomed to the size of him, he takes your thigh, pushing it up to your chest, and starts too fuck into you faster and harder. His pelvis rubs over your clit with every thrust, driving you crazy. Your hands are in his hair and down his back, grabbing and clawing at him.

“You love taking this cock, huh baby? Love how deep it is in you. Can’t even talk you’re so fucked out.”

His words go straight to your core, but you know what you need to come again. You guide his hand up near your sternum and manage to cry out a few words.

“Please, need it. Need you.”

He takes your request to heart and moves his hand to your neck, squeezing the sides. You feel yourself get light headed in the most incredible way. Tears are forming in your eyes. The feeling is so intense.

“So perfect for me. Gonna fuck you dumb, puppy.”

You whine at the nickname, you didn’t even know you were into that.

“You’re just sucking me in, Y/n. Hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen.”

You’re close, and you can feel the pit in your stomach start to spread and take over. Spencer’s hand on your throat tightens slightly, and it only take a few more thrusts before you’re coming on him.

“Coming. Fuck, Spence you’re making me come.”

“That’s right. Come all over this cock. Show me how good I make you feel.”

Your vision is going white at the edges and you feel like your whole body is shaking.

“Fuck, gonna come just watching you. Gotta pull out, baby.”

You grab him before he can, “No! Want it inside me.”

He groans above you and you feel his hips stutter.

“Fucking Jesus. Want me to fill you? Make this pussy mine.”

You nod, the tears now falling down the sides of your face.

“Gonna come, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna come in your perfect fucking pussy.”

You can feel when he does. His dick is pulsing in you, filling you completely, just like he said he would.

When he comes down, he pushes his lips to yours, kissing you with an intensity you’ve never felt before. For a while, he just lays there, kissing you.

“Gonna pull out now. Gotta clean you up.”

You whine, but nod regardless. You feel empty at the loss of him, but you don’t have much time to think about it before you feel a warm towel wipe around your centre.

“You gotta go pee, Y/n. Don’t want to develop a UTI.”

Five minutes ago this man was coming inside of you, and now he’s back to being the man who came to your house in the rain with tea. You do know he’s right though, so you pull yourself out of your bed on shaking legs and make your way to your bathroom.

When you come back in, you find Spencer with his pants back on. Your heart breaks a little.

In a small voice you ask, “Are you leaving?”

He looks up at you then, “Do you want me to stay?”

You don’t know why you wouldn’t.

“If you don’t want to you don’t have to.”

You can feel tears welling up again, but these are different from before; he notices immediately.

“Baby, baby don’t worry. I don’t want to go, I just didn’t want to over step.”

You laugh a little at that, wiping your eyes, “I think we’ve gotten over all the steps, Spencer. I, I want - Just please stay.”

He nods and moves to take off his pants before sliding into place next to you. His arm wraps around your waist and you feel a tingle in the spots where he touches you.

“I don’t want to have this be a one time thing,” you blurt out.

You feel him hold you a little tighter then.

“I was never planning that, Y/n. Now, sleep. We can talk about how much I’ve come to adore you tomorrow.”

END!! i hope you all love it!

tag list! (leave me comment if you want to join and i’ll add you): @sabage101

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #fic rec #professor!reid