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WINTER WEATHER ADVISORY

male reader x jeon heejin

part 1 of journalistic integrity

16k words

It’s not even twelve hours apart - the first time you exchange pleasantries, all careless and untroubled, to the moment you’ve got Heejin in the back of a taxi and your hand so far up her skirt that it has you emptying your wallet at the end of the ride and slapping the biggest tip you’ve ever left into the cabbie’s open palm, silence full of disapproval.

It isn’t planned or anything.

Heejin doesn’t simply wake up one morning with a craving for your cock. It just sorta happens.

And then It happens again a week later. The third time just a few days after that.

The fourth time, the two of you barely spend a night apart before Heejin’s back in your apartment, thighs shaking violently as you fuck her into the springs of your mattress.

“I’m trying to figure it out,” you puzzle, holding a coffee mug to your cheek while taking note of how Heejin slips her arms back beneath the black straps of her bra at the foot of your bed. “Why a rabbit?”

She laughs first. Looking back over her shoulder when she responds, “why not? It’s cute.”

“Yeah. Sure. And incredibly provocative.”

“You’re really hung up on it, aren’t you?”

“Um. I just think it’s interesting.”

“Does that mean it’s going to end up in one of your articles?” She asks, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. “Something about it on the front page?”

“Why would you think I’m going to write about rabbits?”

Heejin smiles, bright and cheery and increasingly full of mischief. “About this breeding kink of ours.”

“Ah.”

Her hands reach to her hips like she’s ruminating through all these possibilities, the things she could do to you, the things she has done to you. And as she crawls back onto the bed, your eyes follow hers - all brilliant and huge, self-aware of just how pretty they are.

She lets out this pinchy little laugh, and leans in to kiss your jawline. Bites it for good measure. “Ah, he says, pensively.”

“We went over this,” you start, leaning back into the headboard. “It’s just not a kink. Wanting to cum inside a pretty girl is, literally, basic biology. Like, it’s so foundational, it’s in my DNA.”

“And I get sooo turned on thinking about your DNA,” Heejin snaps back, and she’s got that edge in her voice again: playful, mildly threatening. “Besides, there’s more to it than that.”

“Isn’t there always.”

“It’s the ownership,” she breathes into your neck, “the intimacy, the risk–”

“Risk?” you say, laughing as you jump into the middle of Heejin’s explanation. “What risk? There’s literally no risk when you’re on the pill.”

“Ugh. You’re the worst, you know that? Who’d thought I’d have to explain what fantasy means to a writer.”

Before you can do anything about it, she kisses you three times. Twice on the cheek, once on the lips. And it’s as close as you’ll get to anything like retaliation - you flip her underneath you, drag her panties down her thighs, and fuck her again.

That’s how it goes. Like it's some sort of cosmic law. It’s been this whole thing.

So again, you write - when it all starts, you’re writing.

There’s this story.

Your editor’s the one demanding it from you. Find it, embellish it, fucking outright fabricate it - whatever it takes so long as the article arrives on her desk before she finishes her coffee on Monday morning.

Between you, there’s always this dynamic: work comes in, you’ll point your finger to the ceiling, saying, "trust in the creative process," and then she threatens to kill you. Hence it’s her drumbeat; you’re marching to it.

"You know, I think I might know a guy," you shout over the top of your glass and down the bar, when the topic of LOONA comes up over drinks. You end up phoning a friend of a friend, pulling a string, making a promise you never intend to make good on, and it has you sitting in an unremarkable conference room on the fourth floor of your office a little after lunch the following day.

So, as it starts, there’s this girl sitting across the table from you - Heejin, she says, and it rolls so nicely off her tongue as she does, like the name was simply hers. You notice it immediately, and if you were any younger, the kind of age where you could fall in love with a girl just off the end of a smile, your heart would be rocketing out of your chest.

Now, honest to god–

(Not that you’re god-fearing or honest or virtuous, it’s just a turn of phrase, and that’s how you earn your keep.)

–it kicks off innocently enough between you, as most things do.

Just to put it in perspective, there’s never before been a celebrity profile you’ve written that hasn’t fallen neatly into one of three categories: (1) astonishingly talented, (2) breathtakingly gorgeous, or (3) certifiably insane. So, as you puzzle about that track record now, there should be absolutely no reason at all for you, a professional, to let this girl, another twenty-something-year-old idol who’s too pretty for her own good - with a voice that runs just a little deeper, raspier, perhaps more sultry than you’re used to hearing - ever get the better of you.

"I don’t know, I guess I was expecting someone… different," Heejin says, somewhere in the middle of things, folding her fingers neatly beneath her chin.

Your eyes flick up from the notepad in your hands and find this look in the deep browns of her eyes, like she’s studying you from across the conference room table, gazing into the contents of a test tube. You lift an eyebrow, and she does the same; there’s a bit more suggestion to it than there probably should be, but you’ve been stoking it, fanning it, from the moment you’d both sat down.

"Expecting?" you ask, if only to point out what had thrown you off-kilter, and you can feel your weight shift in your seat.

After all, it had been just that morning when you met Heejin for the first time. She was standing perhaps a little out of place beside the door to her dressing room, kicking snow off the bottoms of her boots. You told her you liked the color of her dress, a welcome departure from the grays and browns that usually filled your office. Her hair was curtaining her face and after pulling it back, tucking it neatly behind her ears, she smiled brightly back at you - thanks, it’s vermillion.

You weren't aware of it then, and it won’t become clear to you until much later, but you do fall for her there, if at least just a little.

"Well, see, it’s my publicist," Heejin starts to explain. From that alone you’re certain you’ve got the rest puzzled out. She steeples her fingertips together, continuing, "the way she talked you up, she made you out to be, like, totally despicable. Said you were no better than those creeps that sit in the bushes outside my apartment."

Okay, so unfortunately, part of that’s not entirely unwarranted. To a girl like her - to the scrupulous companies that stand to gain, to lose - all that concerning secrets to hide and hell to pay, you could be absolutely despicable. Afterall, if there’s a labor that goes into making someone like Heejin come across as the kind of perfect that everyone believes her to be, you’d be the first person looking to undo it.

It’s nothing personal, you reason, and you’re smiling back across the table. "Hey. Low blow. I haven’t sat in a bush in years."

A quiet smile shadows in the corner of her lip and she fires back at you, "so you’re saying you’re just a little despicable."

"Oh, ya know," you reassure her, gesturing your hands to the side, one palm up and the pages on your notepad splaying out in the other. "More or less comes with the mileage."

"All joking aside, I’ve seen guys…"

Heejin dips her eyes a moment to laugh out loud. And you’re becoming familiar with the sound, sweet and throaty and genuine. Harmonic.

"You know, I’ve seen guys climb trees. Really, I’m serious. This was just last summer, around the time Haseul broke up with her boyfriend and moved into our apartment. Don’t write that down. I’m standing at the sink, washing dishes, and I see this guy. He’s just balancing there with his feet hooked around some of the branches, a camera against his face with this massive lens. I bet you he could probably see the bacteria on the window."

“You wash dishes?” A handbag that costs more than a month’s salary, these dainty fingers that look like they’ve never seen so much as a scratch, and you’re picturing her, or struggling anyway - washing dishes.

“Ugh, it’s been this whole thing,” Heejin says, floating her fingertips to her collarbone. “There was a rumor that the housekeeper had been talking to the press. So our management fired them - and then the dishwasher broke. Company was supposed to buy us a new one, but they haven’t yet - because they’re cheap as shit. Don’t write that down either.”

“Never rains but then it pours, huh?”

“Right. You get it,” she says before letting this simple tight-lipped smile fill out on her face. "To be honest though, I’m curious about something."

Heejin’s raking her fingers through her hair, and you watch the silver band of her watch fall just a few inches from the sharp edge of her wrist as she holds a messy handful of blonde locks just above her face - the way they bounce against her cheek and spill back onto her shoulder when she lets go.

"How did you - and I’m not saying you’re the same as one of those people - but how does someone even get into entertainment journalism in the first place?"

"Slowly at first," you answer, eyes returning to your lap to pen out the rest of some scribbled note, "and then all at once."

When you look back up, Heejin is frowning, brows furrowed, as though she were trying to remember something.

"Slowly at first," she repeats, "and then all at once." She blinks a few times as your attempt to avoid the question registers. Thoroughly unimpressed when it does. "No, I’m serious, there had to be something that drew you to all this."

You finish out the end of a note, lined into the pad, while you land on a chuckle, dry and humorless. "What is all this now?"

"It’s a question."

Nevermind that it’s in the wrong direction, is your first thought. Careful now, your second. Because maybe you knew that beneath the surface were those stray thoughts that kept you up at night, lurking:

What kind of journalism career is this?

You graduated from a good program. With classmates who were now reporting on national legislature, getting shot at to cover a war in Ukraine for The Associated Press - and then here you are, sifting through the transient thoughts of yet another pop star, grasping at straws, struggling to spin them into gold.

"Is this one of those things?" you ask, heeding first to the click of your pen, once in, once out. "What was the word for it… postmodern? Where you turn the tables and you’re the one interviewing me?"

"I don’t think I’d go that far," she says, lips slanted slightly, "you’re still the one holding the notepad after all."

“What, the appeal of meeting fascinating people isn’t enough of a sell for you?” Oh, you’ve had your fair share of boring, mundane, or even offensive too, but you’ve not gotten to where you are without learning a little flattery goes a long way.

Heejin scoffs. “Oh, don’t lie. I’ve read your magazine. The profiles? I’ve met those guys and gals—fascinating is being rather generous, wouldn't you think?”

“Careful,” you say, punctuated by the end of your pen again. Click.

See, it’s the way her eyebrows twist over that coquettish smile. That's how she gets you - one out of twelve, you’re realizing why the cameras are stuck on her. And everything that comes out of her mouth just brushes effortlessly on the innocent side of frustration, of challenge. It’s hard not to indulge, even if just a little–

“I mean if I’m wrong, go ahead, feel free to correct me.”

“I was real sick of freelance work,” you answer, feeling the conversation start to de-rail. “Was tired of worrying about making rent. And it was just less of a total pain in the ass.”

There was a method. It was delicate, and usually you were quite good at it: you were supposed to be just funny enough to make her laugh, captivating enough to coax out something more than a monosyllable answer where you needed it, get her to like you, and then have her forget about you the moment she walked out the door. Hell might freeze before you could get her publicist to schedule a follow up, all because Heejin had chewed up the clock - had gotten herself interested.

It’s probably wishful thinking to hope the sigh rolling through your chest doesn’t give too much of all that up. “And just why might you ask?”

Heejin reaches across the table and turns off your tape recorder. It’s here probably: where you should’ve been clued into the pieces, the board, the game in front of you. “Because you don’t seem like most of the others.”

“The others?” you answer, making careful sure not to sneer. “Are you suggesting that I’m–”

“Charming?” Heejin rises from her seat, and her hair swings behind her shoulders as she meanders about the room. “Oh, I’m declaring it. It’s not a subject for debate.”

When she finds a spot to lean against the table beside you, her skirt hikes itself just a few noticeable inches. You’re not trying to stare, but she is right there.

Okay, so you’re fucking staring. When it’s clear that you are, you drop your eyes immediately, starting over at the floor - you’re unsure what to make of it. Her boots jump out immediately, these black knee-high things with just enough of a heel to let her stand a little taller than your shoulders. Beyond them is the dress that’s tinier than she is: vermillion - not red - and hung tight around her frame, gaping perfectly to present her thighs and chest like they ever needed introduction. Follow her collarbones, the delicate skin on her neck, the bold red lipstick she decided would compliment the bow in hair like she’s some present waiting to be unwrapped, and yeah, okay, she’s cute.

You’d have perhaps made a mental note of how unconventional it was for her now to be looking down at you, arms crossed and smile slanting, but, she also just manages to plainly ask if you’re seeing anyone, so there’s little time to dwell on that transgression - and all with the casualness someone might ask how much snow that approaching storm was supposed to bring tonight. In nearly the same breath, she asks if you were holding onto any of those numbers girls handed you when you went out drinking. It’s confounding and it’s your head space and it’s rapidly becoming preoccupied and littered and busy.

"That surprises me," Heejin tells you upon hearing that it’s complicated. "I figured it’d be rather straightforward. What all with a smile like yours. And an ass like that—"

"You’re flirting with me."

Doesn’t matter that it’s so obvious you could’ve seen it from space - everything comes to a screeching halt after the words fall out of your mouth.

You tilt your head, quizzical.

Heejin’s chin cocks, ready to fire. "And what? Is that some sort of crime?"

It’s honestly hard to believe. She tosses you the question, recklessly unaware that doing that thing she does where she simply exists is almost criminal. Thoroughly disinterested in the fact you were having plenty enough trouble keeping your focus from sinking into the neckline of her dress. You watch her blink slowly while you struggle to get out ahead of this, and it has her discovering that smile again. “Oh. And I wouldn’t write any of this down either. You know, if I were you.”

Your hand must know how deceitful it sounds because it’s covering your mouth, trying to mask the words curling off your tongue:

“Look, I - Here’s the thing… you know it’s completely unprofessional.”

Heejin smirks, pointedly, like she’s recognizing something on your face that confirms each and every one of her suspicions.

Okay, you were trying to act nonchalant, but all the mistakes keep adding up - have added up - gazing at her gentle, focused features long enough that you might inscribe them in your mind as something to hold onto when you walk out of this meeting.

“Hand me your notepad.” Heejin pushes her hand in front of you, expectantly. “The pen.”

You watch her lashes nearly fall onto her cheeks as her eyes dip into the lined paper, and then it’s just the sound of the pen. Scribbling.

If you're going to consider that the bare minimum requirements of your job probably forbids undressing in a random meeting room in the middle of a workday, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the rest of the interview unfolds without incident.

(Albeit woefully precarious.)

Here’s what you learn:

Heejin’s life isn’t terribly interesting, at least the parts you can write about without fear of starting fires in the streets. The backstory has all these parallels you’ve come to expect. She’s the youngest of three girls, and you figure that’s where all the confidence comes from, if it isn’t the fact that she’s the kind of beautiful that inspires all this admiration and reverence and adoration to the point where it has people tripping over her.

Her flatmates are apparently storied in their own sort of fucked up ways, and as she described them, you quickly realized that none of it would be able to fit into a publication like yours. Not that you’d stop the train of thought: Yeojin - a hopeless romantic - and Haseul - a total fucking golddigger - who were well on their way to fuck half the city at their current pace (you’re paraphrasing here).

So with that, you’re writing. The doc is completely blank, and you’ve deleted the first sentence god knows how many times, but you’re writing.

Heejin had mentioned she was taking piano lessons and music theory classes, but had piqued more of your interest when she opened up about a novel she was working on: “It’s fiction, and it’s about two lovers slowly growing apart.” She shrugged her shoulders when you asked if it had a happy ending and refused to go any further into it when you brought it up again (twice), but that’s more or less how these things usually go.

You double back to your notes where Heejin’s phone number is written neatly at the top with little hearts trailing off the last digit. Only it does little if any to help inspire the kind of creativity you need to do your job - inspire any thoughts beyond the way her dress tapered in at her tiny waist, how you’re pretty sure you could reach both hands around it and how light she’d be in your arms.

You should call her, springs immediately to the front of your thoughts.

And that’s how you know it’s bad. Something worth some sort of concern.

Oh sure, you’ve had a crush before - when you were the age where hormones were reeling through your body and had you, like a good portion of the world, needing someone to hump like a dog in heat. Fast forward to when you lost your V-card to the girl you’d been pining over for years and it failed to give you superpowers, you figured it was best to put your time and effort into anything else. You can relax, take it slow, get your work done, stop thinking about it.

Monday, you decide.

She probably has plans this weekend anyway, and that is the rule isn’t it? Three days ought to give you enough suspense and pretense to illustrate that you’re not hopelessly fixed on the idea of pulling Heejin’s dress up around that fucking waist and hoisting her onto your kitchen counter where you could really just give it to her.

You tap your pen against your desk.

Monday.

5:00 p.m. rolls around.

You call.

The phone rings one too many times, and you’re within inches from just simply hanging up before you hear her speak. You actually jump a little in your seat and your knees smack into the bottom of your desk when you do.

“I thought it was completely unprofessional. You said that.”

“Yeah, well the clock hits 5:00 and maybe I’m having second thoughts.”

There's some idle chit-chat, nothing special while you both circle around the obvious.

“Know any good Thai places? I’ve been pretty in the mood lately,” Heejin’s voice comes through as the pieces begin falling way too easily into place.

“I mean there’s plenty to choose from downtown,” you say as you pinch the neck of the lamp on your desk, still bobbing in place after you’d knocked it out of balance, “or one of those pretentious places that keep popping up in the old public market.”

“No, I mean, the editorial shoot ran a little late so I’m still here.”

“At the office?”

“Yeah. Hey - you know the photographer that goes around calling everyone boss? He’s, like, a total flirt by the way.”

“Trust me.” You laugh out loud. “That’s not the first I've heard of that. Pretty sure he’s even tried to hit on me a couple times.”

“Ugh,” she says, feigning all this disappointment, and it has you picturing how you’d seen her earlier pull in her shoulders so tightly as if to shrug with maximum effort, “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Your phone is cradled between your neck and shoulder as you scour the internet for something in walking distance - someplace that you don’t expect to see half your coworkers drinking away their Friday evenings - when you ask, “You give him your number too?”

There’s a brief silence on Heejin’s end of the line, only slightly unceasing. “I thought about it.”

“Sounds like you’re done thinking about it.”

“Guess I figured you might benefit from the head start.”

“Generous.” It earns something like a chuckle out of both of you, and you're shaking your head, answering, “I’ll be sure to pay it forward.”

Oh, it’s a terrible date.

Neither of you are anywhere so brash to explicitly say that, but look, it just so happens to be your job - splitting out truth from reality. You’ll call it how you see it.

Honestly, it’s a comedy of errors, but the real kicker is that the kitchen forgot to put in your order.

So, you’re trying, failing, to flag down your waiter, and you begin to notice the wine doubling its punches on an empty stomach when Heejin leans in across the table - one finger beside her temple and her other hand drawing circles around the rim of her empty glass.

“You know we could just… get out of here.”

It’s suggestive, but it’s hardly anything like a suggestion, because you’re right there with her.

Outside on the sidewalk you find the kind of snow that lands wet and heavy and threatens to soak through your clothes. And aside from a recent tire track or two, there’s a fresh blanket of it now on the asphalt. Every now and then, Heejin will flash her eyes over her shoulder as if to check and see if you’re still there, a footstep behind her. Like the sound of snow squeaking under your boots isn’t proof enough.

“Okay,” says Heejin, in her unfailingly charming way, and trounces around in the snow in front of you, “so that was, like, the worst thing ever, right?”

“Nonsense. I’ve seen plenty worse. Trust me.”

She spins on her heel and you come close to knocking her over. “Sounds like you’ve got war stories.” “A few,” you start, laughing to yourself, “Here's one. This girl goes on and on telling me about the guy she just got out of a relationship with - and i’m sitting there thinking wow, this guy sounds a lot like a good buddy of mine.”

“And it was?”

You gesture slowly with your arms, something defeated and existential.

“Oof. That’s gold.” Heejin’s eyes flick to your lips, lingering however long it takes you to notice. She smiles, beaming. “But you know, with a little luck, I think someday you might just get it right.”

Heejin finds you somewhere in the harsh light of a streetlamp, fisting a hand into your collar.

You’re watching snowflakes melt, like they were tears streaming down her cheeks, colliding against the warmth in her pale face - the vibrantly rosy hue now glowing across it.

Her lips aren’t dry or cracked or wind-bitten like you might expect in the middle of December. Your eyes trace them closely, these soft, featherlight things, and you don’t even realize how long you’ve been staring until she passes her tongue through them with an experimental lick.

“Oh,” she says, shockingly casual, “you’re into me.”

You’re laughing as your eyes return to hers. “You sound pretty confident about that.”

“Yeah. Guess I am.”

Heejin’s breath lands warm against your face. You’re simply suspended there for however many moments, the wool of your coats pressed together, watching lights glimmer and fade in her eyes. From this close you can count the odd freckle on her nose, her cheek. It’s probably the most intimate thing you’ve done in months, just standing there, breathing the same air.

Maybe ever.

Heejin doesn’t even say anything else, just looks, her eyes searching for something they might only find in yours.

“Hey,” finally says Heejin, in this choked, rasping voice, “you should kiss me.”

And you do.

Where are you two headed? The driver’s voice strains as if he’s been smoking religiously for twenty years. And from the way the cab smells - the stains in the upholstery on the ceiling - it’s as good a guess as any.

Once the door closes behind you and it shuts out all that wintery air, you lean in to where Heejiin is delicately removing the scarf around her shoulders. It’s yours and she’d wrapped it around herself twice, three times, and it made her look tiny. “Where do you want to go? Back to Hapjeong?” Her flat is in Hapjeong.

Heejin shakes her head. “How about we go find somewhere to grab a drink?” you ask.

She looks down, tracing her finger along her lower lip, and then lets her cheek collapse into her shoulder, eyes drifting back to you where you can see that myriad palette of golds and browns in her irises. “We can just keep drinking at your place, no?”

While you square away the details with the driver, Heejin folds her arms and closes her eyes, sinking into the back corner of the seat. Her silver earrings catch the light as the cabbie hits the meter and the taxi pulls away from the curb. Then it’s her dress, all that barely-there vermillion fabric, as if it had been tailor made to match the warmth in the back of the cab. Watching her, you come to a realization: there’s the story you’re writing, then there’s this story you’re living - all in want of a little inspiration.

And you think maybe you’ve found it.

The taxi sways. Heejin talks. She talks about her life growing up. She talks about one of her sisters who is now in medical school and vomits at the sight of blood, how she was jealous that her siblings had turned out to be such brainy academic types - the kind of thing she imagined her parents were really secretly far prouder of - how she’d grown up fighting her dad tooth and nail to get where she is now - all these intimate details you doubt she’d shared often with anyone. Let alone someone she just met.

You listen - an occasional question every now and again woven into the soothe of Heejin’s lowered voice. And for the first time, you’re not scribbling out notes, building sentences as you do. Simply listen.

“You know,” Heejin starts, lidding her eyes and smirking in your direction. She could send a tremor through your heart, but she’s far less forceful than that. “I think it would be really rude.”

“What would?” you ask, confused. “If you spent the whole ride,” she pauses, and the elegant lines of her face scrunch ever so slightly while she fiddles with one of the featureless rings that rests on her middle finger. “–sitting over there.”

There’s a list of excuses, something to make it logical, but it’s never been quite this simple either.

You drift across the backseat, until you feel yourself press up against Heejin’s lithe frame, and the rest of the world might as well melt away to nothing beyond than the blur of passing street lights, the hum of ‘Winter Wonderland’ coming out of the radio in crackling bits and pieces, the pink blush still staining Heejin’s cheeks.

Holding her, you kiss her again.

Near effortless as before. Your lips stuck on hers when you pull yourself away.

"So, remind me to set the record straight with my publicist," Heejin murmurs in the same hushed voice she'd been speaking for the entire ride, thumb rubbing the back of your knuckles in a manner that could lead you to believe she wasn’t aware she was doing it. Her lips curl at the corners of your mouth where these short, hot breaths fill your proximity. "Just a little despicable."

With a hand finding purchase in her hair - bundling between your fingers as smooth and satiny as it looked - you pull Heejin into you, seize her lips. Hard. If there had been any restraint, to this point, about the shy touches on your arm when you made her laugh, to the light hand you’d place on the small of her back guiding her through a door - since the moment she sat down across you in that interview - this kiss now threatens to become near tidal in intensity.

Together, those soft lips sliding against yours, it’s irreverent, it’s reckless, it’s cashing in on that chasteness a thousand times over.

Still, you notice this departure from everything about Heejin. Because there’s nothing elegant about the way you have her, your bodies rucking desperately in the backseat - unable to give two fucks about smashed knees or hunched backs. It builds up. It falls apart. A mass of wool struggles to fall to the side, hung and stuck around your shoulders, and effortlessly sliding down hers. As your tongues slip and rub, this tantalizing push-pull that makes even the heat-dry air of the cab feel heavy like you’re wading through the humidity of summer, you doubt the efficacy of it all. But it’s the hand that arrives at the nape of your neck, kneading as though to say good enough so that you might start pressing more of your weight into her; simply sink into her embrace.

Heejin’s voice sneaks out between long, shivery, bone-deep kisses - the sound of your name lilting off her tongue, she whispers, “Hey. I want you to–”

“Yeah,” you pant, knowing exactly what she means. Your fingers twitch at your sides, all this anticipation currenting through your body that makes you feel like an exposed live wire, the electricity forcing your heart beat into something erratic. “Yes. Fuck. Of course.”

It has Heejin guiding you by the wrist. Down her side. The absolute concave flatness of her stomach. To the hem of her dress. And when she finally relinquishes your hand - your fingers - she kisses you harder, claiming the swell of your lip firmly in her possession.

It takes hardly any effort to find her - up that skirt and between her legs, growing hot and wet and needy. When your fingers collide with fabric, fingerprints teasing across her entrance, she lets everything start to slip - a hiccup into your mouth, and shifting her weight gently in your hands.

This intense shudder travels through her entire body when your fingers dip down beneath the elastic hugging her waist. The kiss breaks. From those needy, watery eyes, there is little to lament - the way Heejin strains for air, holding her lip between her teeth as she lets a wet breath billow from her chest. Her lashes flutter, close tight, open again, and she looks at you, concealing the mirth in her smile. “Do you have any idea what I want to do with you?”

“I haven't the slightest clue,” you answer, flat and unamused, and you’re swirling your fingers against the wet heat between her legs as you continue to play a fool. “Tell me.”

“First I–” Heejin takes a deep breath and steadies herself when you fit the first knuckle of a finger inside her. “I want - fuck - I want you to sweep me off my feet. Literally, pick me up and carry me.”

“Okay, sure,” you say, like you haven’t been entertaining the thought all afternoon - like grabbing her and bending her over the first piece of furniture closest to your front door isn’t now the foremost thought racing through your head, “I’m sure we can make that happen.”

“Then you can take me and put me so tenderly into this big, cozy bed, all comfy and a little tipsy and there’s none of this - fuck. That, that feels really good–”

“Mhmm.” You’re half listening to the curses out of her mouth, how her voice hitches and sputters the moment you tent her underwear with your knuckles - the air she sucks in when you tease the sensitive nub between her lips. Between kisses that drag your lips all along her delicate jaw, the bruisable skin on her neck, you whisper, “I’m listening.”

The look of need and want in Heejin’s irises is a mirror of your own. And, just once, it’s a gentle touch that makes her keen. It’s debauched, it’s something glorious, the sound sneaking past her lips. You hear it. The driver definitely hears it; he’s turning up the radio.

“Fucking–” She laughs into the dark, voice strained and breaking at the pressure against her clit. Her mouth slants at the rhythm now in your fingers - motions that make her optimistic, and her lips part again, continuing:

“I’m not knee deep in snow and it’s warm and you’re there, just cuddled next me–”

Heejin squirms again, interrupted; you’ve got her pussy creaming and tensing all over your finger.

Windows fogged, bodies digging deeper into the dark corner of the taxi, you study Heejin closely. Think about getting her off right there, about getting your fingers deep inside her and thumbing her clit until she’s shaking against you, about her cumming like that, back arching off the seat and ankles hooking around you.

It’s nearly tangible, the thought; her eyes flare and her chest heaves the more you fuck her slicked cunt with your fingers.

Heejin swallows. “And then - you start to undress me.”

It's been something akin to a virtue, and oft to your benefit, you’ve always been a good listener, so your fingers make course to slow, consider remorse, and continue on with only those gentle motions that keep Heejin’s eyes half-lidded and breath short. Nothing more.

“I do?”

“Yeah.” Heejin nods - even your vanishing touches driving her crazy, putting all this stress into the simple and composed features on her face. “Little by little. So delicate, like you - fuck.” You drag your finger back, grown wet and sticky. Let her finish the thought. “Like you’re unwrapping a present.”

Chin shooting up, you quip, “What if I’m the kind of person that tears wrapping paper to shreds?”

“Yeah,” Heejin chokes out, “that’ll work too. But either way, then I’m laying there, kinda spacing out, practically naked and feeling really hot and soft and then I realize what you’re doing, dragging my panties down my thighs. I yell out ‘Wait don’t! I just met you and I’m very sincere about these things, so please stop!’”

“Oh.”

“But here’s the thing: you don’t stop.”

“I would stop though.”

“I mean sure. Never mind that. It’s just how I’m imagining it.”

“I see.”

“So then you don’t even hesitate. Just slide your pants down, pull out your cock” - the cabbie clears his throat from the front seat like he’s trying to start a lawnmower, but Heejin powers right through the thought - “and it’s just hanging there, bouncing. And it’s huge. So then I start telling you ‘No, you can’t, I’ve never done anything like this before.’”

“But you have.”

“Look, I just… this is just my fantasy. So then you end up–”

Okay, so it’s not virtue that got you here; your fingers are toying in her cunt. You can’t help it.

“Mnph, yeah - Jesus, okay, that feels good,” she whines, sneaking her hips toward you when you start to slide your slicked thumb all over her clit.

There’s a moment where her lips part, where she doesn’t speak anything at all, before she can steel herself and labor on with her point.

“Y-you end up wearing this really put out face, and I start to feel sorry for you and I’m - stroking your hair - while your head… while your head is in my lap, saying, ‘it’s okay, it’s okay.’”

“And that’s what you want to do with me.”

Heejin shudders as your fingers seek refuge deeper in her cunt. “Right.”

“This is what you want to do right now?”

“Yeah. Well, sorta.” She twists her lip before letting this wide, giggling grin fill out her pretty face. “Right now, what I really want” - you watch her gulp down another heavy swallow - “I really just want to cum on your fingers.”

It’s simple. You’re not far from your apartment, though the car gets stopped at every light, and even when it isn’t, it’s slow going on the fresh layer of sleet now troubling the roads - but it’s not like it at all has you taking your time. Heejin mewls slightly, and then she simply comes undone, gasping. Your whole hand is buried in her underwear, your fingers fucking fast and slick into her cunt, thumb mercilessly brushing around her clit.

“Oh my god,” Heejin whines into the palm of your hand, shutting her eyes tight as she sinks against you, sinks into the corner of the seat.

You’re hitting her basest desires with fingers that are all but destined to make her fall apart; straightforward, effortless, a perfect balance of touches light and heavy and destructive, you bottle lightning.

“Mmmph,” Heejin whimpers.

Her back arches when she cums. With all these ragged whimpers leaking out from the spaces between your fingers. They’re inaudible, sort of. The radio is blasting. The same damn song even. Stars align, and while Heejin gazes into them - into the blackness that can only be found behind clenched eyelids - it’s simple: you kiss her hard again.

The two of you don’t fall into bed immediately. Not in the literal sense.

Heejin first gets her hands on you when you’re both standing in the elevator, quietly and mostly still, boots leaving gray puddling footprints on the floor. She looks like she’d been through a windstorm, and to some extent she had, but it’s mostly a direct result of your hands in her hair, your tongue in her mouth, the fact that you had her panting and sweating in the back of that taxi.

You’d had the quiet pleasure of watching Heejin’s legs wobble from the moment you spilled out onto the curb. Where she rested her face on your shoulder, pulled tight at the lapels of her coat like it might ever keep these gusts of snow-laden wind from freezing the skin around her eyes, and without saying anything at all, managed to demand your arm around her waist.

So, once the elevator doors close, and you’re feeling that temporary frost in your bones begin to thaw the further Heejin melts her weight into your side, it’s only natural: pull her into you, bury her nose into your collar.

You kiss her forehead.

In something close to reciprocity, she reaches a hand over your pants and grabs your cock.

“You’re, like, super hard,” her voice hushes into your chest, really leaning on that low, smoky tone. “You know that?”

“And what? I suppose that’s such a crime?”

“Maybe.” Heejin turns up to meet you, eyes glinting atop this expression - innocence feigned doesn’t even begin to do it justice - and balling up the collar of your shirt in her fingers. Bright eyed, knowing, she nudges into your side. “Just tell me what it is you’re thinking about.”

“Take a guess,” you say, running your hand through your hair. Like the nonchalance might make it less obvious you have this mental image, photographically vivid, of fucking Heejin’s tight body right into the wall of your foyer.

“Oooh.” Her eyebrows arched high, she looks you up and down, nodding while mischief skitters across her angelic features. “How many guesses do I get?”

“Three,” you answer. Then start grinning. “No. Two.”

“Two?” Heejin slides closer, her eyes hot. “That’s hardly anything charitable.”

“I have faith in you,” you say, and you’re reaching into her coat, finding the divot that runs down her back, where you can trace a finger up this zipper that you’re not entirely sure you can refrain from unfastening the moment you feel it’s metal shape between your fingertips.

Against your face, Heejin gives this small puff of amused laughter. “Okay, you’re thinking about…”

While her voice lilts and trails, she taps a finger to her chin like she’s trying to solve some intricate physics problem or ponder the secrets of the universe. Though by this time, the elevator’s doors have stuttered open in the haphazard way they always manage and you’re both surging towards the deserted hallway, laughing quietly and brushing elbows.

“I don’t mean to pressure you or anything, but you’re going to run out of time to guess,” you say, a hand dug into the inside of your coat pocket and searching for your keys. Heejin’s leaning her shoulder into the doorframe when you catch her looking, staring - you only manage to slip out from under that gaze when you come up with your key at last. “Found it.”

Heejin tilts her head, hair falling halfway over her face, and then pulls it back again. “You’re thinking about kissing me.”

“Surprisingly tame,” you say, scoffing as you turn the key in the lock and shoulder into your front door. “But no. Not quite. Oh, and leave your boots in the hall.”

It’s that second guess, neither incorrect nor entirely the truth. When it does arrive off her tongue, you have Heejin pressed against the inside of your door, now shut and finally private, and her tiny body in your hands where it feels soft and slender and unfathomably hot - oh, do you have ideas. Her breath mixes with yours, concocting something that tastes entirely sinful before she leans forward and traces kisses up your throat.

“Still. You are thinking about my lips,” she whispers into your ear, and it’s dripping with confidence, with suggestion, with another humid breath that hits you square on your cheek, “how good they’re going to feel wrapped around your cock.”

She studies the knot that forms in your throat as you swallow, eyes flicking back up to yours, and burning hot when you tell her she’s right. Lying, all on account of you not having the heart to let her know that you’d been harboring this errant thought, that for a greater part of the day, you’d been thinking of how she might fold over the kitchen sink, the living room couch - wherever - and fucking her six ways to sunday. She runs her tongue across her lips, like it might keep back these small bits of breathless laughter. And it has her unzipping your pants, coaxing them clear off your waist.

Right, proper intentions, and she’s smiling like she knows it: you’re both paving a road straight to hell.

“Jesus. You’re so hard,” she says finally, and it’s so blatantly sexual that a foundational shiver in your bones takes hold of you. What are you to do? Her fingers are deep in your underwear, fighting elastic, pulling at the skin of your cock when she gives you a final kiss that sticks to your lips, smacking. And then without any words to accompany her, she pulls the fabric around your thighs and sinks to her knees.

If this were a different kind of story, maybe you would sweep her into your arms, and ride off into the sunset and find a cottage in the hills that overlooks the ocean and live happily ever after and raise a half dozen kids. Because surely, a girl like her - perfect and flawless and near regal in the way she carries herself, like something out of the pages of a fairytale - belongs anywhere but planted into the floor of your foyer, dragging your underwear down to your ankles.

If Heejin was anywhere but her knees, perhaps you two would fall into bed, where you’d leave her with all these sweet kisses that make her skin swelter and her voice choke at the way you’d press your lips to the hollow of her neck, her shoulders, her collarbones, and you wouldn’t even think of leaving marks or bruises. No, instead she’d whimper softly for you and the two of you could roll over to meet that simple conclusion.

Sure, you can always pretend like you don’t know what’s happening.

But that would make it a different kind of story, one painfully absent of Heejin’s tongue, placing a slow, measured lick right up the slit of your cock. Or fingers claiming your shaft, your balls, and pumping delicately toward your waist. Rising action unlike this pair of soft lips that purse and leave kisses down your length. A climax beyond releasing a load right into the back of that throat - which is only speculative in your thoughts for a second, because Heejin’s tightening her fingers around the base of your cock and dragging a smirk across her pretty face, “you should, like, totally cum in my mouth.”

“Right,” you answer, mouth drying; it’s a labor to even swallow.

Heejin runs a semicircle over her lower lip with her tongue, flattens it, presses it up against the belly of your cock, and looks up at you - eyes round like the angel she is, pupils dark as three am and every bit as impious. Oh, you’ll struggle enough with this story as it is.

“Fuck,” she says, one time, nearly breathless, and it almost sounds reverent, “I want it.”

Before you can get even a half decent reply forming on your lips, you watch Heejin’s jaw go slack, and sucking in a chestful of air, she seizes you deep in the warmth of her mouth.

There’s then a moment - excruciatingly drawn out - where Heejin sits near motionless, sinking further into the floorboards. Her lips are pressed tight into this seal around you as she takes it slow, a silent effort to become familiar with your taste, your shape.

A flutter of muscle between her cheeks, and the moment passes. Her lips relax, tighten, relax again before you feel her tongue. Sliding. Curling.

“I–” You sink forward against the door, abandoning whatever thought and allowing it to curdle into laughter, into this seedy moan that Heejin rips right out of your chest. Somewhere along the way, you’d figured that since you were more senior, more seasoned, more veteran in an industry full of girls whose looks might leave you for dead - girls who, with a little praise, and just the right amount of attention, would look up at you like you’d hung the stars, the moon and the sky - you figured Heejin would be in your hands, melting.

And then there it is, eager to point out your mistake: Heejin’s tongue, again. It slides delicately over your head, and when she sinks her lips further down your shaft, you can feel it narrow and tease at the base of your cock. Her eyes are closed, but you can see how they crescent, smiling undoubtedly in something like victory as she hums against you, delighted.

“Heejin,” you start, wanton, and you’ve got a fist in her hair, gentle in how you bundle it all between your fingers, experimental the way you push her mouth further into your hips. There are two delicate hands coiled around your slobber-covered cock in response - and then she starts to twist. You nearly fold and collapse and crumple under your own weight, gasping, “you’re killing me.”

Heejin raises her head from where she’s been hollowing her cheeks and covering you in her spit, vicious stick of precum staining her lips. Grins, because she knows.

“I am?”

You’re tipping your head back, sucking in your next breath. Bucking your hips into her fingers - all ten of them lathering spit and gingerly pumping your cock. Impossible to ignore, they brush and tease all the spots that send you reeling as though they were returning to something familiar, had done it a thousand times. You swallow, and Heejin’s eyes trace that quiver through your throat.

When it becomes clear that you’re not really in a state conducive to banter or ribbing any longer - the clever words out of your mouth now amounting to nothing more than a few four letter ones - Heejin just smiles, sloppy sounds of her fingers twisting around your cock, and she falls back into that deep tone, “you look so hot like that, by the way.”

You sigh, defeated, bunch more of her hair into your fist. And after Heejin pushes a fingertip to your slit, pulling the skin of your cock tight around it, your breath hitches, shuddering at the sight of Heejin playing with your precum between her fingers.

“Can you imagine?” she asks, pressing you to her cheek, “how good this is going to feel inside me?”

“Heejin,” you groan, worrying a lip between your teeth at how her light hands pump up and down your length, the precum weeping from your tip providing her fingers with that much more hazard in their touch. Your voice is stuck to your throat for a moment, grasping, “I want your mouth - on me.”

“Mmm.” She again has her tongue on the underside of your cock, velvety and slippery around your head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You can feel it. Just the hot breath tumbled from her lips onto you alone reduces you to a bundle of nerves and coiled muscle. “I want more.”

“More what?” she asks, mulish, and a smile sneaks into the shadowy corner of her mouth.

“More - you.” It’s hardly even half a whisper.

Heejin has this quirk in her lips that stretches slowly against the tip of your cock, and her hands trace up your thighs, grabbing tight to the back of your ass. She nuzzles against you, and looks up, “then go ahead. Take me.”

Oh, you’ve had a crush before. The kind of thing that had your heart and mind racing; the kind of thing that would swallow up your time for weeks if you let it. So when you’re looking, gazing, watching this masterclass in showmanship: Heejin’s lips parting around you, her eyes smoldering into yours - that’s when the realization hits.

This is so much worse. You’re truly fucked.

Fingers thread tight into her hair, and you’re guiding Heejin’s mouth - hot and wet and perfect - onto your cock. Slow, measured, her lips slurp and seal. Near five-foot-nothing of pure sinful delight, and tossed locks of hair resting across her face where they shimmer in the darkness of your foyer, you slip your cock inside her. Press between those soft lips. It’s a voyage, enroute to heaven; then with your hips selfish and stealing more of that tight heat, it’ll be straight to hell. Inches, sliding and sinking, Heejin shuts her eyes and relaxes her muscles, jaw gone slack - grabs onto your thighs like you had any intention of being anywhere but the bottom of her throat.

“Fuck,” you hiss, and the next sound that comes out of you is practically a living thing, wild and animal and nothing close to voluntary.

Heejin’s mouth hangs wide and laxed for you to use, lips paradoxically tight, as you fuck your length over her tongue and deep into her mouth.The very prospect of asking for more is gluttonous, wicked and immoral, but here you are: thrusting your hips into her pretty face, pulling firm on her hair to keep the heat of her throat wrapped up around you.

“Mngh,” Heejin’s throat chokes the further you feed your cock into her - drag it back and bury into her again - strangled and straining, you can see the flush that floods her cheeks, the teardrops on the end of her long dark lashes, the unbelievable smile still in her lips.

All bets are off.

The pretense, the coy teasing, all that skirting about this clear predisposition toward fucking eachother senseless is further pummeled and ground to dust every time the tip of your cockhead punches the back of Heejin’s throat. And even beyond all that, Heejin holds firm to this composure, almost this plussed look of gratitude as you bruise soft muscle and steal the air from her lungs.

“Oh my god, Heejin,” you say, back arching into the space over the top of Heejin’s face, holding her head tight and fucking yourself on her lips. “Your fucking mouth.”

Triumphant, gloating, smugly humming into the spit-drenched skin of your cock, Heejin must realize she has you exactly where she wants you, trapped, fated: that under no circumstance are you going to unsheathe yourself from her throat until you’ve exploded and glazed it proper. She traces her fingertips down your thighs and hovers them about the hem of her dress, this bunched and furled mess of fabric at her thighs, pulls her panties to the side, and you can hear it - her fingers finding purchase in the mess between her legs.

You slide deep into her throat; she pushes two digits deep into her cunt; you’re both reduced to the basics, chests heaving out these small noises of frustration. It’s a behemoth struggle to even think, let alone coordinate said thoughts into anything resembling coherence - but the first thing that falls out of your mouth is born of sincerity.

“Fuck, Heejin, I… I’m going to cum.”

She nods, as best as she can, the length of your cock slotted deep into her throat. Any kind of concerns you may have harbored - all from fucking her face, and drawing small tears at the corners of her eyes - they evaporate the instant Heejin’s tongue reaches forward past her lips.

Just one lick, between your balls while she has your cock entirely inhaled, and it sends you careening off course, destination hardly unknown.

“I–” your voice fades. Because the tip of her nose is against your waist, her tongue is doing fucking everything - she’s killing you. It’s all coming down, you’re falling apart, breathing in fits and starts, fucking Heejin’s mouth hard enough that if you weren’t holding tight to her hair, you’d have thrown her off you.

“Heejin,” you growl, voice sliced to ribbons.

When you finish between her lips, every burst of cum that spills from your cock sends a tremor, twitching and quivering through Heejin’s lithe body, and then you can feel it in her throat, tightening around you.

“Mmph.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, uncontrollable.

“Mmmmph.”

Heejin makes this impressive, maybe futile effort to swallow it all down. Laudable, admirable, you’ve got it correct about her: anything less than perfection is tantamount to abject failure. With that, she struggles, her eyelashes flutter, and a strangled sound escapes her throat - choking and sputtering as you keep cumming, more than she can ever hope to take. It floods her mouth and spills from her lips to unveil this shiny streak that rolls down onto her chin.

Even though you’re still gasping and shaking and reeling from your orgasm, you recognize those taps against your hips immediately, how they beg for breath.

“Heejin, oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” you say, horrified as it all starts to return to you, and when it does, you jump backward, unsheathing your cock from Heejin’s mouth. Gaze drawn to that profane mixture of spit and cum that follows lazily in its wake.

She waves her hand at you wildly, realizes the gesture is probably not the most reassuring thing she could’ve done, and instead holds up a finger as if to say give me a second as she catches her breath.

Coughing a handful times and wiping her mouth with the edge of her wrist, she slumps backward. Hits the door, face flush and eyes sharpened like daggers, pointed, ready to kill. And the moment she’s certain you’re lucid, present in the image in front of you - that you belong to her again - it becomes performative: the way she presents you her tongue, the space beneath it filled and drowned with your cum - how she swallows it, that dry knot traveling dramatically down her throat.

“Jesus, fuck,” she stammers out, the loss of composure only transient and fleeting, “not bad for two guesses.”

The first time you fuck your cum into Heejin’s cunt, you don’t anticipate it. If you’d been perhaps a kernel less distracted, a trifle less overwhelmed by the scorching slick between Heeijin’s legs, you might have had the pleasure of calling the shots.

But this is where you’re at, melting beneath it: all her porcelain skin spilling onto you and her hands firmly on your chest, nails like claws, claiming you as her own.

She’d dragged you toward the sofa in your living room, made a one-off comment about how bad she needed you inside her and then kissed you hard. Of course, when you tumbled down into the cushions - still muddled in a half daze and caught off guard by the sheer pluckiness of it - Heejin had controlled the fall, making sure she was the one who landed on top.

“Look at you,” her voice is low, rasping, pitching when she crashes herself down onto you. Feels her pussy all full and creamed as she fucks herself with your cock. “Just relax, let me fuck you. You don’t have to do a thing.”

She has her ankles locked over your thighs, knees sinking into the cushions, and ardently rolls her hips, fucking your shaft - exceptionally sheened from her slick and every bit as hard - deep into her pussy. Hot, wet, unbelievably tight, it’s near immaculate. And it only grows unrighteous at the end of every frantic bounce from Heejin’s thighs. Because she’s tiny, legs muscled, abs chiseled to perfection - vivacious to the point of peril - and she’s riding you hard and fast and bringing you so near the proverbial edge that your fingerprints threaten to sear into her waist if not for the fabric of her dress twisted and stressing, surrogate in its place.

“Oh my fucking–slow down,” you breathe, fully enveloped by her heat. It has your nerves on fire, something wicked ablaze, begging for release, and with your teeth gnawing your lip, you throw your head back.

“Are you sure?” she says, and runs her hands through her hair. Hoists it off her shoulders, bundling it over head - the visual not particularly favorable to your condition. Her eyes dip across her cheeks and into yours when she decides to salt the wound. “This is slow.”

“Heejin, I’m serious. You're going to make me..." you start, a final warning, and at the sight of you disappearing between her legs, you’re struggling, pleading, “I swear… fucking cum inside you.”

Ruinous, pushing a callous boundary, she lifts herself up and seals your fate.

“Fuck.”

This is how she gets you. Seats herself on you again, pussy slicked all over your cock and the tip of her tongue flirting in the shell of your ear, “I know.”

To what extent god will believe your account of these events - how much you believe, in relating the story, hot with lust and adrenaline and the hapless self-doubting confusion of a psychotic who knows what they saw and is still able to dismiss it - is not clear.

Because look, it’s not as though you were unaware that the power had gone out.

There was a noticeably loud crack of electrical disaster, and in an instant, the lights of your apartment, the delicate details of Heejin’s naked body in front of you, and even the incessant buzzing of the refrigerator motor - the very thing on which you could always rely to ruin the sanctity of silence - it all vanished.

It’d be pretty difficult to miss.

Only, as it happened - mid stroke, thrusting deep into Heejin’s cunt and her tight body fucked flat into the cushions of the couch - finding the effort to care was simply a bridge too far.

It’s selfish, metastasizing into something wayward, playing the cards you’re dealt. Hands pushing Heejin’s tiny waist deeper into your furniture, and railing her reckless and abandoning all that teasing, the dirty talk - having finally managed to steal back control. It would take more than a force of nature to wrestle it away from you.

“Harder, please, harder,” Heejin rasps, seconds before you fuck her through her first orgasm. Her face sinks, voice flooded by the reality of your cock owning her tight cunt and vibrating through the cushion. “Yours, tell me - I’m yours.”

Without even thinking you do. Twice, punctuated each time by a sharp thrust of your hips into the perfect round of her ass.

Mine, you say. And it has her absolutely keening.

Pressing yourself into her, your voice in her ear makes her quiver and whimper, like it was the one thing she needed most to help her cum. Heejin just nods, mouth stuck agape, when you call her a total cumslut - near imperceptible when she does, bathed only in the pale moonlight reflecting off all the snow and into your apartment. It’s not necessarily the limits of what you’ve done, what you’ve seen, what you’ve said, but you can see it from here.

“Is this what you want?” you ask, and you can taste all this pleasure coating each word off your tongue as you rail Heejin harder into the sofa, your cock sweltering in the fucked wet mess between her legs. Each time you bore into her, push her higher and higher, it fills her with ecstasy fit to burst. She moans, this foreign sound of depravity, and raises her hips slightly, shifts the angle - has you stabbing deeper, teasing, “do you want me to fuck you like the little cumslut you are?”

She nods again.

“Do you want me to fucking fill you up over and over again? Do you want to feel my cum in your tummy? You’re crying, practically sobbing, darling. All because you’re finally getting fucked and it’s all for me. Can you cum like this? Is my cock pounding your cunt enough for you? Or do you need me to use my fingers too?”

Heejin whines. Knocked down a peg, the realization hits, and it’s clear as day, leaking out of her mouth all filthy and depraved:

“Daddy, please.”

It’s almost unbelievable that this is how it will come together; you deep in her cunt and the soft, milky skin of her ass stained red from the sheer delight Heejin finds only at the end of an open palm.

Biting ruthlessly into your cheek, you grip tighter to her waist, your other hand thread through her hair keeping her partially upright and ripping your name, curses, incoherence all from her mouth.

“Then just be good for me, princess.” Your words are pointed, serrated, seeking to maim, to kill - near as dangerous as the fingers you reach around her hips on onto her soaked cunt. “I’m going to fuck this cunt, you can cum whenever you like - I don’t care - I’m going to keep using it until I’m finished. Until you beg me to fill it again.”

(Okay, so maybe you’re not abandoning the dirty talk. But here’s how you see it: tables always have a way of turning. You’re not seeking revenge or anything like that, it’s just that when it comes to karma, she always arrives right on time and ever more the unexpected.)

It takes a substantial amount of shuffling around in the dark to clean yourselves up. Heejin’s dress is irreparably stained, totally fucked; sweat, saliva, your cum, hers - the kind of shit you’d be afraid to ever see under a blacklight - and you’re standing there, exerting just as considerable restraint to refrain from simply pinning Heejin against your closet door and having another go at her as she’s changing out of it.

So together, you’re settling into the darkness, finding a reprieve from fucking each other within an inch of your lives.

From a pitcher in the refrigerator, you filled two glasses with water, handed one to Heejin.

She gulps it down almost immediately, and when you trade yours for hers, she sips it slowly, watching the boisterous storm outside the window. The silence that follows is warm, comfortable, welcome, sits over you like a heavy blanket.

Every ten minutes or so, an emergency vehicle making slow progress through accumulated layers of ice and snow will illuminate the inside of your apartment with its bright hazard lights. And it’s only in that brief spill of yellow and orange through the window pane where you can see Heejin clearly.

Around her shoulders is a flannel shirt pulled off one of your hangers, buttons uneven and misaligned. When she had gotten her fingers to the final button and realized she was two short, she just shrugged and let the clothing drape skewed and diagonal over her tiny frame, sleeves hanging far off the end of her wrists. She managed to tie back this loose ponytail with a binder clip she found in your kitchen and it lets you study all the details of her face - without having to run your hand through her hair and hold it back: features elegant and simple, regal and composed, eyes brilliant and gorgeous. The kind of beauty that righteously demands a team of photographers poised for a perfect shot; she tilts her chin, puts a hint of suggestion in her lips, and they scramble to find the next one, all with the desperate intensity of a starving man gnawing at a bone.

“God. You’re really pretty,” you say, and only when it hits your ears do you realize it came out of your mouth.

Heejin just smiles, all genuine and natural. Points at the flashlight in your hand. “I think you’d get more light from a cigarette lighter.”

“Fuck, I know, I don’t have any more batteries.” You slap your flashlight against your palm, optimistic.

Not much more than a dull, pathetic glow escapes its lens.

“Maybe you can steal them from something else?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” you answer, “but everything just plugs into the wall these days, what all even still uses batteries?”

“If we were at my apartment, I’d just go take them out of Yeojin’s–”

She pauses, raises an eyebrow and twists her mouth cautiously, sinking into the sofa next to you. Finds your arm around her and folds her legs beneath her into something considerably more compact.

“Flashlight?” you ask, trying not to grin and sneer, “one of those flashlights with three speed settings?”

A single strand of hair falls in front of Heejin’s face. She blows it away and it stubbornly falls back into the exact same spot on her cheek.

“Promise me you won't write about this. It’s just… I have to tell someone.”

“My lips are sealed,” you tell her, with the unwavering confidence of someone she could trust - which pragmatically you aren’t, but you’re both looking past all that.

“So this box arrives in the mail one day, right,” Heejin starts, pulling a blanket over herself, “And Yeojin sprints from her room, to the door, back to her room again, so fast that Haseul’s barely finished flipping the page of her book when it all happens. She’s already so small that you blink and you miss her, and in a lot of ways that’s what happened.”

“So she’s back in her room, with the vibrator.”

“Hold on,” Heejin says, tucking her feet into the blanket. “So we’re sitting there in the living room; I’m texting someone, Haseul’s reading something - I can’t remember what, but probably some cheap parlor romance - and that’s when we start to hear it.”

“The vibrator.”

“No,” Heejin says, flicking her eyes back to yours again, “the moaning.”

“Of course.”

“Now, I’m not saying… Look, there’s nothing wrong with masturbation. What’s greater than having sex with the person you love most, right? That’s what I always say.”

“You always say that?”

“It’s a figure of speech, you smartass. Anyway, we’re both sitting there, trying our best to ignore it, but it’s hard because this city’s built on a fault line, and they build these places so cheap so that they can tear them down and start over again without thinking about it, so the walls are, like, paper thin, and then after a while, Yeojin just starts wailing. I’m not kidding, it sounded like someone was trying to kill her.”

“I mean, in a way.”

“Right.” Heejin nods, brows furrowed and letting the memory come back to her, “I look up at Haseul, and she just goes about her business reading on about the adventures of some lovable-probably-clumsy-pretty-but-not-too-pretty-girl meeting the billionaire of her dreams and having all this weird, freaky, earth-shattering sex or something - she doesn’t even say a word.”

“And what exactly is she supposed to say?” you ask, “hey, what’s that noise?”

“That would’ve been better than just sitting in there in silence! Ugh, honestly, the woman’s always got a chip on her shoulder about this kind of stuff. Like, she’ll show up on a Sunday morning, and her knees are bowed and still fucking wobbling (so you know she’s been getting it good. All that irreverent, mind-blowing sex), and she’ll still have the audacity to look at us all judgmental for not going to church or maybe because we’re coming home still wearing last night’s dresses and heels.”

By this point, you notice Heejin has committed fully - with neither shame nor remorse - to stealing your blanket.

“So, I swear to god, I’m going crazy. Haseul’s just sitting there, and I can’t stop listening to Yeojin sobbing and gasping like she’s getting the best fuck of her life, and it’s this thought that grows and grows and grows in my head. I’m getting dizzy just thinking about it. And then, every bit as sudden as it started, it just stops.”

“Good for Yeojin, I suppose.”

“Right,” Heejin says, gesturing with her hand, defeated. “When she finally comes out of her room, her face is so so so red. Like, it looks like the end of a girl’s night out - after we’ve cut her off for the night, and after she’s cried and cried about some cute boy at the bar missing all her patented mixed signals.” Heejin takes a brief look at you, then back out the window, and puffs a small breath out of her chest. “The only thing I can even think at that point is, Jesus, I need to get my hands on that thing.”

“Do you?”

Heejin holds her finger up like she’s scolding your impatience. “So fast forward a few days, I’m digging through Yeojin’s closet when nobody’s home - and let me tell you, it’s like deep space in there, things go in and disappear forever; the other day I heard Sandra Bullock hollering from inside - but eventually, by the grace of god, I find it.”

“The vibrator.”

“The vibrator,” Heejin finally repeats, “This toy is silver, and looks about what you’d expect: like Steve Jobs was tasked with designing a banana. Beyond that, it was so complicated I almost didn’t even use it. Oh, and it wasn’t anything discreet either; there was this light that flashed when you turned it on and it practically lit up the whole room, these O-shaped strobing signals you could use to direct incoming flights at an airport.”

“Maybe we wouldn’t need to steal the batteries,” you suggest, and it makes a smile grow into the corners of Heejin’s mouth. “How’d it go?”

“With the vibrator?” Heejin puts her finger to lip, tracing it in thought. “I mean incredible, game-changing.”

“Better than just now?”

“Different.”

“It’s okay, it’s the twenty-first century, I’m not going to try and compete with a machine here–”

“Different,” Heejin repeats sternly, and you’re willing to drop it. “Come on by sometime when no one’s home and I’ll show you.”

“It’s really coming down,” you say once as you gaze into the storm, somewhere in the hours of the night that belong to no one.

Heejin slips further into your shoulder, eyes off the darkness out the window, the snow whipping across its face, looking up at you like you were the most interesting thing in the world. “Wonder how long it’ll take for them to remove all this mess from the rails.”

“I’m no expert,” you answer, “could be days though.”

“Bummer,” Heejin says, lips forming a kiss onto your collarbone.

“Are you sure you’ve used this thing before?” Heejin asks, resting on her elbows at the kitchen counter and blinking pensively at the French press in your hands. She looked on skeptically while you’d dug it out from a cupboard beneath the sink.

“Yeah, of course I have,” you tell her, exuding your finest false confidence as you run it back; the thing has been sitting in that cabinet collecting dust since you took it home as a white elephant gift almost a year ago. Shameful too, when you start to consider how much money you’ve spent at the coffee shops near your office and your apartment.

Heejin stares into her mug, her face lit by broken sunlight and still wearing that same perfected look. Only now it’s slightly different: hair tousled - rogue locks falling across her face and into the corner of her mouth where she could chew on it if she wanted - skin pale, the beauty mark on her cheekbone dotting her expressions like punctuation, a lack of sleep just beginning to shyly reveal itself beneath her eyes.

“I can see the coffee grounds in this.”

“You asked if I’ve used it, not that I knew what I was doing.”

Her lips curl back, smile huge, holding down either a laugh or a smirk - there’s no way to know - and finally rest atop the rim of the mug. “It’ll have to do.”

Only it doesn’t. Neither of you manage to make it through an entire cup, burnt, acrid, running on undrinkable.

That taste of bitterness lingers long after you’ve swallowed, and fills your mouth again when you press your lips to Heejin’s. She should be taking a cab to the station, should be boarding a train, should be trying to hide how fucked the bottom of her dress had become, should be looking at her roommates smug and gloating when she walks through the door.

And you should be writing an article - about the girl you’ve seen wail and moan and sob on the end of your cock - who could just as easily turn it around, fuck you senseless like she has a knife at your throat. But this is borrowed time, an oddity, something like a glitch you figure, and you’re reaching under her thighs, pulling her into you like you’d simply hit an off switch on the responsibilities shadowed in your mind.

(You’re abandoning logic here because it’s the most natural thing in the world.)

There’s this reflexive quality to it, the way Heejin wraps her arms over your shoulders and legs around your waist as you lift her onto the counter. Sneaking into the space between long, soft kisses, she asks, grinning because she knows the answer, “If I'm stuck here, what are we going to do to pass the time?”

“I’m going to kiss you, probably.” Your answer comes before you find the shape of her impossibly narrow waist beneath an ocean of baggy fabric.

“Perfect,” Heejin says, voice carefree and charming and perfectly lilting, “and then what?”

“Then I’m going to get you all hot and wet and needy and you’re going to be begging for my cock.”

“You sound pretty confident about that.”

“Yeah. Guess I am,” you breathe into her neck, and it lands squarely on all this soft skin desperately in need of your lips.

She’s got a hand in your hair firm and grasping at you like she owns you - far less shy than the other at your waist, teasing the elastic of your shorts. “And then what?”

The wrong answer is anything that fails to mention ramming your cock in Heejin’s cunt or your face buried between her thighs and making her cum over and over. You laugh first, and then fail knowingly at the cross examination, “then I gotta get to work on that article, you know.”

Heejin lets out a sigh that could only ever be construed as disapproval. Palms the shape of your cock over your underwear. “Or.”

“Or,” you repeat. It’s her challenge. She can fill the space, continue the thought; you can’t get enough of hearing filth fall from her pretty lips while she looks at you all wide-eyed and perfect and like the princess you want to believe she is.

“You can take this cock of yours; the one I'm begging for right?” she says, fingers running down your underwear, rousing your length and finally cupping your balls. “You’re going to fuck me with it and fill me up with cum.”

“Cumslut.” It’s perplexingly endearing, and you brush your nose against hers, trace your thumb along her jaw, catch the swell of her lower lip on the tip of your finger.

Heejin smiles.

“Daddy,” she says almost cautiously, but immediately starts slipping these quiet little bits of laughter in the silence it creates. She’s yours, your hers, it’s all doomed and fated at this point, especially at this point - scribbled into cosmic law and her eyes holding you like they were made for the very purpose - you’re sure of it. “I’m not letting go of you until you fuck me.”

The heater has been off for hours, so the air in your apartment is frigid; simply getting out of bed was the kind of thing tibetan monks might do - walking across coals, self immolation, venturing out from beneath the warm covers in the morning, that kind of thing. And It has you perfectly content to take that bait in front of you, burying yourself deep in the scorching heat between her legs; turning her around, and doing it again. Making her cum like that and then letting your own orgasm drip out between her thighs.

“I’m not playing around,” Heejin says, having watched you laugh quietly to yourself about the absolute vice she has you in - and beyond the legs pulling you closer.

“One time,” you concede.

“Yeah.” Her hands pump your cock gingerly against your underwear, and Heejin agrees, “One time.”

It doesn't take long. You turn Heejin into this whimpering mess - her legs and hips suspended above the counter and ankles thrown over your shoulder. She falls apart, moaning still like it isn't slicing her voice to bits, all rasped and ruined, and you fuck her through her first orgasm. Her thighs shake and quiver while you fuck her through the second, railing into her cunt like it had insulted you.

“Fuck, that’s amazing,” Heejin pants, head rolling onto her shoulder, and her cheeks are so red you have to believe her. “Oh my god.”

She’d gotten only through half the buttons on her shirt before she became too cock-addled to figure out the rest, and it hangs ever so slightly off each of her dainty shoulders - agape enough for you to watch her small breasts jump every time you thrust into her.

Each long thrust into her heat has both your voices flooding, desperate. The way your thighs slap together all wet and raw only adds to the scene - this fucking filthy score of moans, curses, sex. It’s probably always been your instinct to pound like this: reckless, careless, selfish - and here Heejin is, begging for it.

“Go ahead,” she says, eyes lidded, still catching her breath, and it’s the most seductive thing you’ve ever heard, “I need you - fucking use me, fucking take me - need you to breed me.”

(It’s hot, you think. Maybe you’ll ask about it later. Maybe you won’t.)

So yeah, you cum.

It’s one of those eye-clenching, blood-boiling, ear-ringing, teeth-gnashing orgasms that has you making a groan so inhuman, so broken and unbecoming, that it has Heejin laughing in response. She’s patting your sides, lips planted on your neck, cooing while your cock continues to ache and pump cum into her wet, fucked hole.

“What was that?” you ask, breath hitching and your body sinking into those light arms wrapped around you.

“What was what?” She’s got it so casual, so carefree, still so utterly charming - it makes you feel as though you were the one who’d said something out of place.

“Um. Don’t worry about it.”

Oh, it’s probably written in the stars, this mess between you, orbiting, circling, bound and tied: not even a half hour later, she leans over the sofa where you’ve set up with your laptop, kisses you once, and you’re reduced to nearly nothing but the kind of desire that will curdle into lust and threaten to eat you from the inside out should you refuse to yield to it.

“Really. I can’t. Not now.” It’s bravery or something. You’re lionhearted and incredible and you deserve a pat on the back.

Eyebrows knitted, she pouts at you when you explain once again that you have work to do, those pretty pink lips downturned into obvious disappointment, and you almost, very nearly give in.

Heejin pulls a book from your bookshelf four times, flips through it and rejects it, before finally settling on an architectural survey of Frank Lloyd Wright’s greatest hits (you’d also received that in a white elephant exchange).

There’s a photograph of Fallingwater on the front, and Heejin licks her fingers each time she turns the page.

She lands on the sofa next to you, lying long ways with her head resting on the padding of its arm, the same one you’d buried her face into less than twelve hours ago, and the two of you do technically manage to fit, only her feet cram into you and stab sharply into your thigh.

“You, uh, a big architecture person?” you ask, sparing a glance from your laptop to the girl nesting into the cushions beside you.

“Not in the slightest,” she answers, “I’m just bored to tears because someone would rather play with their computer than play with me.”

You give her a more pointed look, probably more akin to the attention those beautiful eyes of hers deserve. “I’m telling you: my editor will hang me from the rooftop if I don’t get this thing in her hands by Monday.” “That seems extreme.”

“Hey, that’s why she gets her salary and I get mine. I’m not paid willing to commit a murder money.”

She holds back a laugh, and leans forward, pulling her knees to her chest. “So what you’re saying is you’re a procrastinator, and I’m the one who gets to suffer for it.”

“Yeah, and you’re blameless after all.” You rake your fingers through your hair, running the past twenty-four hours through your head. “It doesn’t help that we’ve been at it like rabbits.”

“Like what?”

“Like rabbits.”

“Like what?” she asks again, this huge toothy grin stretching across her soft lips.

“Keep it up, go ahead,” you answer, shaking your head, “and who knows, you might just get what you’re asking for.”

When the power flicks back to life in your apartment, Heejin stands in the doorway to your living room and flips the wall switch off and on a few times. She has her hand on her chin, as though she’s musing and considering what all the value of electricity might bring - near a hundred of years of civilization now at her fingertips - and you have no idea that she’s about to rip you away from your work with four simple words:

“Wanna take a shower?”

You tilt your chin over the screen of your laptop, and logically, you reek of sex and sweat. Every now and again, you’ll scratch your nose or hold your hand over your mouth and you can still smell Heejin’s slick on you, stuck to you, its indomitable linger.

Heejin simply stares at you like she knows you're hers.

And if you’re thinking logically, you’re making progress faster than you expected on this article, words hitting the page and flowing freely. Logically, it would be near criminal for Heejin to be in your shower, her petite body all soapy, slippery and glistening, and you not there to see it, touch it, fuck it until she’s cumming and moaning your name and the sound of it echoing off all that tile–

“Yeah,” you say, clam-shelling your laptop and tossing it aside, “sure.”

There’s a certain quality about the renewed coyness, this sense of competitive playfulness, perhaps something diffident brewing between you, Heejin, and the four walls of your shower.

Leisurely, you both wash as though you’re not dying to jump one another's bones, like you’re both not reliving each and every orgasm on some sort of highlight reel played back through your thoughts.

Water falls to the ground in heavy spurts, loudly splashing after it pools and rolls off your bodies. And inside that cloud of steam, wrapped around you both like a blanket, Heejin catches you staring at her perfect figure just one too many times.

“I’m just cleaning,” Heejin says, voice grasping at its highest register, and she wraps her fingers around your cock. “So, you know, don’t get too excited.”

You’ll spin it around, turn on it’s head, get your fingers gliding along her slippery pussy all the same, and you’re right there with her, saying, “Right, just cleaning.”

“Imagine that.” Heejin’s pumping your shaft, perfecting it with this twist at the end that has you roused and ready and aching for more. “You spend all day, playing hard to get, and I just had to touch you?”

“Who says I’m going to fuck you?” you ask, a little too breathless, a little too obvious of a lie. Heejin presses forward and presses her lips to your chest, little kisses trailing across it.

“Fuck it, me, I’ll say it.” She wraps tight around the head of your cock, squeezing tight and making the water between her fingers squelch. “You’re going to fuck me. You’re going to press me up against this glass, and you’re going to fuck me.”

Heejin’s eyes light up when you smile, laugh because it’s true, and pull her up into your lips.

It’s not particularly a great kiss. It’s maybe a little too wet, far too much tongue, a little mean, but it sets the stage: when you’re cock is finally lined up between Heejin’s lips, teasing - relentless you might add - and her tiny body is pressed so hard into the glass that your only lament is that you can’t see how it looks from the other side.

You slowly enter her cunt, so slow it makes Heejin whine and groan, and you flirt your lips against her ear, “ask for it.”

“Fuck. Give it to me,” she spits, and you can feel her open wider for you when she does. “I need you to fuck me, please, please, fuck me. Or I swear–”

You never hear what’s on the end of that threat, because she doesn’t get the chance to tell you that you fucking better, that she’ll kill you if you don’t fill her up and make her cum, that it’s the literal end of the world if your hard cock isn’t buried so deep in her cunt that she sees stars.

She doesn't get the chance because you’re pushing into her, fast and hard and all at once.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” her voice shakes, curses starting to flow like you’d ruptured a vein. She turns her head, cheek flush with the shower door so that you can see how her eyelashes flutter every time a stroke hits hard against her ass.

It’s intense. It’s calculated. Passionate and uncontrollable. You’ve become so full of contradictions that it has you ready to burst, explosion imminent. You don’t even need to hold onto her hips, because she’s fucking you, jerking her hips back and forth and fucking herself full of your cock - liberating your hands to reach up her sides, gather soap and water and sweat beneath your fingerprints, hold tight to her firm breasts while you bury your face in the soft skin of her neck.

When she collapses to her knees, legs wobbling and pussy quivering off your cock, she doesn’t even say anything. Simply turns and takes you into her mouth, stroking and sucking you until you can’t take it, that fucking tongue reaching all over and spelling out your end–

“Yeah,” you croak, the word some sort of lifeline, a warning, “Heejin, I–”

She pulls you out, lips smacking, and with three words does more damage than you thought she was ever capable:

“On my face.”

It only takes a few pumps from her hand, her tongue still harassing the belly of your cock, and when she flattens it, opens her mouth wide and ready for a mouthful of cum, she has you simply acting on instinct.

It’s certainly novel, what you’ve just done. It’s in her eyes, it’s on her cheeks, you fucking cum so hard there’s strands of it stuck in her hair and stained to the glass behind her.

“Jesus,” you say, rolling back into the stream of hot water, cleansing your soul of sweat, of cum, of sin, “I just came on your face.”

Heejin smiles, eyes shut like her life depends on it, and puts a hand out expectantly, “yeah, so give me a fucking washcloth.”

“I don’t know, I guess I don’t really have any,” you tell Heejin in the breath after she’d asked you what your kinks are.

She leans forward, wipes at the steam covered mirror until you can see her reflection raising an eyebrow at you. “Really,” skeptical.

“I mean, seriously, is that really so hard to believe? I get off to pretty girls. You got me. What a villain I am.”

“Anal,” she says, turning to you and leaning against the vanity counter. Her face is still flushed and you can see the faint outlines of your palms and fingers on her chest, but she seems sincere about it - whatever it is.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think about it?”

“About anal?” You set down your razor, towel off your face. “Sure, why not, but I’m not going to sit here and say it’s my kink.”

Heejin threads her fingers under your chin, along your jaw - admires the fleetingly smooth skin that she might only ever find at the end of a shave, and cocks her head. “Threesomes?”

You laugh at the question, the sheer absurdity of it. “Are you asking or inviting?”

She toys with her fingernail between her teeth before she answers, “asking.”

“Well it depends. Who’s in it?”

“Me,” Heejins says, and she’s got her brows quirked; settles this huge predatory grin into her expression.

She holds her lips next to yours - never quite kisses them - wraps her arms around your neck, shuffles a little and moves so that she’s straddled between the counter and your waist. She shimmies her hips and you almost groan, because now you recognize it: that’s Heejin’s shimmy. The silly little thing she does whenever she’s asking for sex without having to ever actually say the words.

“It’s a promising start. Who else?”

“You,” she says, flatly a matter of fact.

“Mhmm, okay, maybe I'm in.”

“Honestly, more than anything...” Heejin’s voice trails, and her lips pucker. “I just want to see you buried in Haseul’s ass.”

“Okay then, maybe I’m back out.”

“Sleep on it maybe. Do you wanna know mine?

You recognize the caution filling your throat, and then promptly being neglected when you ask, “Is it breeding?”

Heejin just smiles, laughs like it isn’t incriminating. Her lips come close to your earlobe, you think she’s going to lick it or bite it or god knows what, but somehow it’s worse:

“I just fucking love your cum.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be–”

You’re not annoyed with her; it’s just that yesterday night was when the trains started moving again, and now it’s almost five o’clock on a Sunday and you’re wondering when this particular journey comes to an end, if it comes to an end. There should be a credit scroll, a fade to black, some sort of keystone to socket in place, you figure, and you’re asking what should be an obvious question.

“–or at least some place you can get yourself a proper pair of pants.”

Leaning over the back of the sofa, eyes scanning your laptop, Heejin ignores the question entirely.

Year of the Rabbit: Heejin, the girl next door, only farther away than next door.

Sometimes she’s blonde but dark at the roots, sometimes she’s tall but only with the help of certain shoes. She’s everything, anything she ever wants to be.

When she first sat down, she wandered into the interview like a second semester-senior, not only at ease with the system, but a little beyond it.

“Hold up, what the hell is this title?” she asks, pointing to the top of your document. “You’re so far up your own ass there’s even a colon right in the middle of it.”

“It’s a work in progress,” you say as you slouch into the sofa, “and besides, the beauty comes out in the edits.”

“I certainly hope so,” she says, worrying the corner of her lip between her teeth, and fixing her eyes back on you. “I was planning on staying for dinner.”

“Of course you were.”

You decide, possibly against your better judgment, to walk Heejin back to the train station.

Although the city had resurrected itself, like Lazarus after a party where the guests had run out of wine (you’re not totally sure about this one), and started to put all its miserable pieces back together, the sidewalks are still a total fucking mess. You’re both there trodding along, navigating through the absolute, dreadful shitslop of snow and dirt when Heejin asks, “You’ll call, yeah?”

“Sure,” you answer, like it was in your power to resist the very idea of it.

“Hey. After all, if you don’t, I know where you live.”

You point in the direction of the turnstiles. “Mildly threatening.”

“I could always wait in the bushes.”

You agree, tugging gently on a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. “You absolutely could.”

#heejin smut #loona smut #male reader #loona heejin smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

2K notes · View notes

megamindsecretlair · 8 days

Note

Could you do a quick one shot where someone tries to flirt with the reader from vampire Tyrone. How does he react?

Chapter 5 Chapter 7

Pairing: Vampire!Tyrone x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. Public sex, PIV, cursing, AU Tyrone, Toxic Tyrone. Dark fic. Dirty talk. Mentions of blood, overstimulation. Slighty bratty reader. The concept of "rolling" is brought up when Tyrone is able to hypnotize reader, but it is consensual. Exhibition kink. This one is a littler darker, reader gets aroused by violence and violent thoughts. Non-inclusive language used.

Summary: A chance meeting at a club introduced you to the enigmatic Tyrone. He was interesting in ways that you weren't expecting. Back in Tyrone's world, full of heavy clouds of lust in the air, Tyrone catches you flirting with another man and he loses his mind.

Word Count: 4,101k

Midnight Sin Masterlist

A/N: Woooo, had to get this one off my chest! Are you sneaking a look at my outline, anon?? I swear I love jealousy in fiction! I don't tag ageless blogs. Toss a comment or reblog to save a writer!

Taglist: @planetblaque @westside-rot @umber-cinders @kindofaintrovert @notapradagurl7 @twocentuar @blackerthings @sevikasblackgf @beenathembo @theyscreamsannii @lovedlover @henneseyhoe @dayjlovesromance @melaninpov @blowmymbackout @miyuhpapayuh @soft-persephone @eggnox @browngirldominion @longpause-awkwardsmile @slippinninque @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @nworbaij

You felt desired. You bravely walked through the room in nothing but your panties and black high heels, parading around. Back at Tyrone’s sex house, he had been teasing you all night. He combined rolling with wine, and fingering with powerful kisses so now you were in a sex-crazed brain fog and loving every second.

You asked him to roll you and make you do something. It was a sign of extreme trust and you didn’t know where it came from. You only wanted to see what it was like once. If he could truly make you do anything and if you would remember or if it would feel like a dream.

You also told him that if he did anything that crossed one of your hard lines, he’d never see you again. Vampire or not. He promised to behave himself. You’d had many, many talks about your boundaries and his. He never wanted to make you uncomfortable.

That was why you were comfortable letting him roll you all night. God. If they could bottle this feeling and sell it, it’d be the fastest selling drug to ever exist.

The other vampires and donors, who were members of Tyrone’s club, looked at you as if you were the sexiest thing in this room. Tyrone rolled you to make you strip slow for him and walk around with your breasts out.

Getting pounded in front of a mirror was one thing. It felt like you and Tyrone were the only two people in the room, though he constantly reminded you that there was an audience. And they loved seeing you.

You still had your wits about you, but you had to do what Tyrone asked you to. You wanted to. Your clothes were too hot and itchy and you clawed them off, relishing the cool air that rushed over your skin.

The way Tyrone stared at you…like he wanted to eat you made you desperately horny. And now others stared at you too while you walked around. You modeled for them. Modeled your body. Modeled everything your mama and God gave you. And the men nodded appreciatively. The woman gave you knowing smirks.

You’d never felt more alive. More in control. Turn around for me. Tyrone’s voice whispered through your mind. You turned around, eyes searching for Tyrone. He stood at the other end of the playroom, one of many in his giant ass mansion. This one had dark walls and low lights strung across it.

In the middle of the room, there was a platform where a scene played out of a male vampire getting dominated by his female donor. She cracked the whip against the man’s flesh and tortured ecstasy sprang from his lips. Some in the room watched. There were chairs, tables, and couches set up around the room and some took advantage. There was also a room or three in the back for people who wanted a little privacy.

You, however, only had eyes for Tyrone. He only wore his briefs, so his chest was out and shining against the lighting. He would be an angel if he wasn’t a confirmed devil. You grinned in his direction. He was so gorgeous. So sexy. So otherworldly you wanted to pinch yourself. Come here.

Your foot moved without a second thought from you. You were aware that he was still in your mind, still commanding you. But you couldn’t stop moving towards him if you tried. It was freaky and exciting.

Kneel and crawl.

You stopped and then lowered yourself to your knees. Your wet pussy squelched and you bit back a moan. You were achingly wet, so hungry for Tyrone’s dick that you were ready to sing for it. You crawled to Tyrone, eyes eagerly on his.

He smirked and let you stop, not wanting you to hurt your knees on the rough floor. A loud crack split the air as the whip hit the vampire again. His moan was longer this time. He was getting his. Why the hell couldn’t you get yours?

Tyrone closed the distance and stared into your eyes. “Come back,” he said. His voice echoed in your mind. You felt like you were getting yanked through a pit of darkness.

“Come back,” he repeated. That pit of darkness was endless. You weren’t afraid just…reverent. Like there was something in the darkness with you that recognized a kindred spirit and winked.

Like death.

“Come back.” His voice stopped echoing and you stopped feeling the flighty, floaty feeling of rolling. It was a trip being pulled back into reality, but Tyrone wanted to give your mind a rest.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

You nodded. You wanted to tell him about the odd visions and feelings in your mind whenever he rolled you. You weren’t sure if it would give him concern or if he would stop. You had lunch with Nikki tomorrow. You needed more answers.

Tyrone answered as much as he could, but it seemed like he acknowledged that you were unprepared but was unwilling to teach you more. If there was something bad waiting for you at the end of this, you were going to be pissed.

Tyrone kissed your cheek and held your hands. “I’m going to make sure everyone is behaving and bring you some water,” he said. “That means you behave too.”

You smiled at him. He was so damn cute. “I always behave myself,” you said.

Tyrone shook his head and moved away lightning fast. You moved about the room. No one approached you. No one talked to you. You could only guess that it was Tyrone’s doing. Everyone too busy being afraid of him than to extend a hand to you.

They still looked at your body, at your breasts. They could probably smell how needy you were. How wet you were, clenching around nothing. Wishing Tyrone would go on and fuck you.

You were surrounded by debauched people, each giving in to carnal desires right before your eyes. You scooted around a couch where a couple was practically in each other’s laps. They got each other off, staring deeply into each other’s eyes.

There was still the vampire on stage. You stopped and stared at him, at his prone form in supplication to his donor. She was a gorgeous, thick Black woman with tightly curled hair in puff balls on her head. She wore nothing but high heels, digging that heel into his side.

“Are you okay, baby?” The donor asked.

“Yes, yes, yes,” the man said, chanting like he wasn’t really here anymore. Even though the donor was in charge, there was genuine love and affection between them. They constantly checked in on each other, knowing exactly when to push and when to pull back.

Would that be you and Tyrone one day? Would you let everyone look at you while Tyrone dominated you so publicly? Your thoughts turned sour as you imagined a future with Tyrone. One in which you start to get older, wrinkly. If you managed to live that long.

“I thought these things were supposed to be arousing. Why you frownin’?” Tyrone asked from behind and off to the side of you. You started to turn around.

“Mhm, eyes forward,” he said. He sounded…different. Like his voice got deeper or he scratched his vocal cords on something. Tyrone’s voice was always deep, but this one seemed different.

You faced forward, interested in this new game of Tyrone’s. You watched the couple on stage.

“I am aroused,” you said. If he would fuckin’ touch you, he’d know that. Maybe you just weren’t used to denying yourself an orgasm. Your previous lovers were ehh. Certainly nothing to write home about. Certainly nothing like Tyrone who could say two words and have your panties dropping to the floor.

Your pussy throbbed and you rubbed your thighs together. Your panties were ruined at this point. You wanted to be ruined.

“Why do you smell so good?” He asked. He took a deep sniff and you shivered.

You huffed, the breathy sound burning your lungs. You were out of your mind with desire. You didn’t have another rolling in you if he didn’t touch you. Your body felt acutely aware of everything he did. He stepped closer, running a finger down your side.

You moaned, that much contact from him was too much to bear. Your skin tingled where his finger had been. Your breathing increased, feeling like a rabbit caught in a wolf’s path.

Tyrone stepped even closer, dropping a simple kiss to your neck. He smelled different. You tilted your head, confused about his presence. Something was telling you that something was off. Something was wrong with Tyrone.

You turned your head but Tyrone roughly grabbed your chin and pushed it away from him. “You are too damn beautiful to be standing here by yo’self,” he said.

“Ty-” You went to say but he was suddenly away from you. Snarls filled the room. You turned to your left and then did a double take.

Tyrone stood next to…Tyrone. There were two of them? There were two of them. Only, the other wasn’t half dressed like everyone in the room. He still wore dark jeans and a hoodie. His hair was wilder, kinkier, sticking up and away from his head. He had a bigger beard than your Tyrone and grills in his mouth.

He smiled, running his tongue along his golden, elongated canine tooth. He gave your Tyrone a wink. “Little brother,” he said. He held out his hands as if inviting your Tyrone in for a hug.

You were so confused, your head bobbing back and forth like you were watching a tennis match. The intensity of the room seeped away to curiosity and nosiness. The moans and groans and curses stopped. There was only your Tyrone and the…other Tyrone. You were still trying to wrap your mind around that.

“She’s mine, Fontaine,” Tyrone said. There was your man. Deep voice, but with a thick LA accent.

Fontaine, the other Tyrone, tilted his head at you. His eyes raked over your body but you didn’t feel the need to cover up. Everyone saw your body tonight, he’d already gotten an eyeful. “Must be special, little brother,” Fontaine said.

He looked at you and his red eyes seemed to swirl in the low lighting. His face clouded over like he’d just inhaled something delicious. “Smells really good in here,” he said. He stepped in your direction and Tyrone punched him.

“She’s mine,” Tyrone said once more.

Fontaine smiled, blood pooling in his mouth before he licked his lips. “Heard you the first time,” he said.

“Tyrone, what the hell is this?” You asked.

Tyrone rolled his neck and then looked at you. He held out his hand but you were too nervous to take it. He looked feral. Animalistic. But you still got the sense that he was holding back. That he refused to show you the monster beneath.

You stepped closer but only eyed his hand. If you touched him, you’d get distracted. Tyrone was a sin in and of himself. One touch and then you’d be on hands and knees sucking him off.

He withdrew, staring at his lonely hand before turning to Fontaine. “This is my brother, Fontaine,” Tyrone said. He introduced you by your name and Fontaine said it a few times, getting the hang of it.

“Nice to meet you,” Fontaine said.

“Tyrone? Explain?” You asked.

“My brother is usually on the East Coast or overseas. It’s rare for him to make it back West. It’s been some time since he’s been here last,” Tyrone said.

“I didn’t even know you had a brother,” you said. You looked at Fontaine. They were eerily similar. And yet wildly different. Fontaine seemed rougher around the edges. Like he liked to pull on girl’s hair while he disrespected your soul.

“Tyrone don’t never talk about me. He knows I’m usually the one picking up the pretty girls,” he said with a wink. You rolled your eyes, but smiled a little. The next punch to Fontaine’s face made you gasp.

You didn’t see Tyrone move. You didn’t see him cross the short distance and knock Fontaine’s head to the side. Red fire lit up Tyrone’s eyes as he looked at his brother. Fontaine wiped his mouth, another bloody smile for Tyrone.

“I’m going to find some hole to stick this long dick into. You get tired of him, find me,” Fontaine said. He winked at you and then looked at Tyrone. “I’ll see you later.”

The threat was evident in Fontaine’s tone. He slunk off through the room, leaving entirely. Tyrone had other playrooms, you’d yet to see them all. You wondered what else Fontaine was into.

“Did he touch you?” Tyrone asked.

“I thought it was you,” you said, biting your lip. Fuck. Did you screw all of this up? Were your days of being a donor over now because he never told you to be on the lookout for someone who looked and talked like him?

“Where?” Tyrone asked. He stepped closer to you, hands gripping your arms. It wasn’t hurtful. It was more like desperation. Like you were the only thing keeping him sane at the moment. If he let go, there was no telling where his mind would go.

You floundered for what to say. Fontaine hadn’t really done anything bad to you. Nothing worse than what you dealt with on a daily basis growing up a woman. Tyrone looked so pissed…until his dick slapped against your thigh. You looked down at the growing tent in his pants. He was…turned on?

“He only touched my side. And kissed my neck,” you said.

Tyrone’s nostrils flared. Without a word, he moved from the room. There were too many people looking at you. Vampires with fangs bared like they wanted some of what you were having. You were confused and horny and you weren’t sure if you wanted answers at the exclusion of a dicking down, or to hope you getting dicked down didn’t mess with your desire to have answers.

Tyrone dragged you up the stairs and to his side of the house. In his bedroom, no sooner had he closed the door than did he slam your back against it. His kiss was punishing, hard, and rough.

His breathing fanned over your face. He panted so hard like he’d just run a marathon. He ran his thumb over your lip, cupping your jaw and tilting your head. “You’re mine,” he said.

His dark, red eyes still had that feral glint. He wasn’t all there, not truly. You weren’t sure where his mind went. But you hoped he stayed there a little longer. You liked that he was taking off the kid gloves. You wanted to see him unleash that tight hold on his control.

“Is that so?” You asked. You didn’t know where this wild, reckless part of you was coming from. This fascination with toying with a deadly creature. It was like you were flirting with your own mortality. You’d spent so long worried about the curse, that you started to admire it. Study it. Tease it.

Tyrone’s grip tightened around your neck. You groaned, tilting your head up and rolling your eyes. Tyrone stepped closer, pushing his erection against your belly.

“I’m not fuckin’ around right now. I’ll allow a lot of things, little doll, but this ain’t one of them. I’ll kill anybody that look in your direction,” he said.

Shivers wracked your body. You stared into his red eyes. He had to know, right? He had to sense how turned on you were. You rubbed against his erection, palming him. He hissed and moved away. He used his free hand to grab your wandering one and pin it against the door.

You still had your left hand free and you moved it closer to his body. You slipped your fingers beneath his black briefs. He was still shirtless from your little game earlier. When you found his dick once more, you rubbed him.

“I can’t be held responsible for shit you didn’t tell me,” you said.

Tyrone’s eyes widened before he smirked. “You trynna be cute right now?” He asked.

“Telling the truth,” you said.

Tyrone chuckled. Too fast for your brain to comprehend, your cheek was pressed against the cool, smooth wood. One of Tyrone’s hands pinned both of your wrists behind your back. You hadn’t felt like you moved. One minute you faced him, one minute you didn’t.

Tyrone leaned down and bit your ear. Hard. You cried out, a big wave of arousal flooding your panties again. “Ty-Ty–” You shivered.

“I’on usually deal with brats, so we gon’ fix you,” he said.

He moved behind you and then he was pulling your panties to the side, grabbing his dick and swirling it through your dripping entrance. You cried a wretched sound. You were incredibly sensitive. Too sensitive.

He hadn’t done anything yet and you were ready to explode. He got the tip wet with your juices and then slipped inside you. You gasped, bucking away from the door. Tyrone shushed you, kissing along your ear and neck. He found a spot just below your ear that made you giggle. It felt good, but was too sensitive to hold for long.

“Nothin’ more to say? It only took one hit?” He teased, nibbling on your ear. He could bite into you at any moment. You didn’t tell him, but you loved when he drank from you. When he gained energy just by biting into your soft flesh.

“If that’s all you got, then you can’t really claim me,” you said, taunting him back.

Tyrone chuckled. He looped his arm around your torso, grabbing hold of your titty like he was holding a liferaft. His fingers toyed with your nipples while he started to stroke roughly, making you take his big dick. Incoherent moans left you, crying with every deep stroke.

“This pussy know who own it,” he growled in your ear. “Feel how wet she is. Takin’ this dick too fuckin’ well.” He moaned in your ear and you nearly came undone right then and there.

He stroked deeper, groaning as he found a new angle. “My fuckin’ pussy,” he moaned.

He stroked harder and it sounded like you were stirring thick cake batter. It was wet. It was lewd. Tyrone had you against the door like he couldn’t wait for the bed. Like he needed you at the first opportunity you weren’t around other people.

Like he couldn’t wait. Like he needed you.

Tyrone had your arm pinned so you couldn’t leverage yourself against him. Your heels dug into the carpet of his room and you were amazed that you hadn’t toppled over yet. “Oh fuck!” You shrieked. “Dick feelin’ so good.”

“I know it do. This all mine,” he said. To prove his point, he angled his hips against until he was thrusting up and hitting that perfect spot that made your eyes cross. You climaxed, screaming to the rooftop with the force of your orgasm.

It was unbelievable. Primal. Beast and prey. Prey and beast. There was nothing but the underlying drive to fuck. To copulate. To poke and be poked.

You shook on Tyrone’s dick while he continued to stroke. “Mhf, gonna fuck this shit outta this pussy till you beg me to stop,” he moaned.

“Don’t stop,” you moaned, twitching on his dick while he continued to take his pleasure from your body.

“Can’t stop,” he groaned. The sound of him deep in it made you moan even louder, rivaling him at this point. You loved a vocal man. The way he didn’t care about what he looked or sounded like. Your pussy was just that damn good where he couldn’t stay quiet. He had to let you know.

Whether it was by the way he squeezed your nipples past the point of pain, or your wrists bound by his hand, or the wet and aggressive smack of his balls on your clit.

“Fuuuuck,” Tyrone moaned, unleashing a hot sticky load into you. You moaned, dropping your head against the door.

Still, Tyrone kept fucking you. The force of his dick inside was keeping you upright. You slid up and down his dick like he was your personal toy and you squealed and moaned. “Don’t fuckin’ stop, don’t fuckin’ stop,” you moaned. You were on the heels of another orgasm.

Tyrone kept his same pace, but angled his hips again. He pushed into your hips until you were practically flush with the door. He dropped your nipple and it grazed the door. You hissed from the cold and it bloomed into unnameable pleasure.

Tyrone slapped your ass, moaning as your ass jiggled from it. “So fuckin’ gorgeous. I’ll never let anyone else have you,” he moaned.

And fuck if that thought didn’t send you over the edge. Your nails clawed at the door as you whined, panting, huffing, lungs burning, and knees wobbling. You felt like you were being burned from the inside out and you liked it.

As if sensing your thoughts, Tyrone cursed through an orgasm of his own, your name on his tongue. His hips jerked and twitched, but he still sloppily slammed into you. His cum began to seep out of you, leaking down your legs. You moaned from the weird sensation. You were full and not full enough.

Each encounter with Tyrone felt like he was splitting you in half. You lived in a sea of dichotomy. Living in excess and moderation. Bliss and pain. Where ‘stop’ hovered on your lips but your brain knew not to make you say.

Your mind drifted into some other realm. A space in your mind where you were at home in your body. Completely in yourself and not only feeling the pleasure, but your overly analytical brain finally shut off.

A silent hum of pleasure vibrated along your skin. His hand massaged your ass. His other had your wrists against your lower back. Sweat dropped from him and onto your back and ass. Sweat gathered in all of your crevices.

Huffing pants of ecstasy filled the air. Tangled with moans and soft fucks. “I-ca-can–” You stuttered.

“Sure you can. You was big and bad earlier, where that go?” He asked.

It was on the tip of your tongue to apologize. To take it back. But Tyrone wasn’t done. He slowed down, letting more of his cum slip out of you before pushing back in. You heard the wet noises and it made you clench harder around his dick.

For what seemed like hours, there was a call and response to your orgasms. Tyrone came over and over inside you, an endless supply of cum. He said he had decades worth of cum to give you. Every time he came, you were hot on his heels. Coming with loud, raucous moans. Your throat was dry and ragged.

No more than bursts of air escaped you. Your face was covered with tears and snot. You lost track of how many times you came. You were going to be sore as fuck in the morning. You were sore now. Tyrone absolutely bullied your pussy and the sick part of you wanted to hurry and recover so you could do it all over again.

“No more,” you whispered. Tyrone panted beside you. Rivulets of sweat ran down his body. He smirked.

“No more, little doll,” he said. He planted a kiss on your forehead. He massaged feeling back into your arms, having been kept in the same position too long. He apologized but that was the least of your worries.

The floor beneath you was wet with your combined, nasty juices. Your legs wobbled with aftershocks from a deep fucking and you sighed dreamily, ready to fall asleep. You thought getting fucked to sleep had been a myth when you were younger. Tyrone changed all notions about that.

You didn’t notice that Tyrone had lifted you and placed you on the bed. You didn’t notice that he was placing you down into a warm hot bath. He slid in behind you and kissed your neck and back, cleaning you off from what you shared. You tried to kiss him back, but he told you to relax.

“Don’t you fuckin’ say sorry neither,” you mumbled before you passed out, tucked softly into his bed. This wasn’t his resting place, but it damn sure smelled like him. Like home. You curled up and went right to sleep.

Masterlist | Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Tyrone Files #Tyrone x Black!reader #Tyrone x Black reader #Tyrone x Fem!reader #x Black reader #x Fem reader #Tyrone x Fem reader #Tyrone x plus size reader #Vampire!Tyrone #They Cloned tyrone smut #They Cloned Tyrone fanfic #They Cloned Tyrone fan fic #They Cloned Tyrone fan fiction #They Cloned Tyrone fanfiction #John Boyega fanfic

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victimsofyaoipoll · 10 months

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Round 1

Propaganda Under Cut

Allura

Lots of people (myself included tbh) ship klance (Keith and Lance). In s8 the creators made Allura/Lance canon (but then they killed her off and left the ending ambiguous it was weird). Anyway the fandom treats her like she's the most terrible bitchy woman ever but all she wants to do is end the war and avenge her destroyed home planet. Yeah she wasn't always the nicest or always the best, but you could argue some other characters in the show aren't either and they aren't treated near as bad as allura. people really just hate her bc Lance liked her. I don't think allura/lance are good together, but I still liked her as a character and thought she was interesting and had a lot of growth during the show. she DEF is not evil like some people portray her as in fic or talk about her in captions on posts. I've seen people say that they HATE her and that she's the worst and I'm like ??? let her live (well sort of ig she is dead now). lots of fic writers use her as the villain which is so interesting to me bc the show literally has villains like use them. anyway allura so perfectly fits the bracket description she deserves better.

I hate to acknowledge my time in this fandom but I hate the way the fandom treated her more. Allura was treated like shit no matter what side of the Great Ship War you were on because she was always a threat to the biggest ships (klance and sheith). At best she got put into Background Lesbian or Consolation Prize Shallura (Space Mom-zoned) (She was not a motherly figure btw. She was just Black). At worst she was violently demonized for being ~racist~ (kinda not cool with the alien race that blew up her planet for a few episodes), complete with misogynistic language hurled at her (she got called a bitch sooo much). Allura was a good and cool character and the show did her dirty but the fandom was somehow worse.

i apologise for speaking the dark magicks, but amidst the voltron fandoms many, many transgressions, there were a particular subset of people who just hated this girl. the infamous klance wars of the 2010s kept this perfectly fine childrens cartoon character in the sights of shippers everywhere, and she (and her voice actress im sure) were subjected to years of petty squabble blown up to global perportions. ive seen hate, ive seen rants, ive seen fanfics that made her homophobic. girls been through the ringer, and even though voltron was never the show its fandom wanted it to be, i believe allura deserved better

Kayano Kaede

shes genuinely a really tragic character who had potential for a really compelling, effective arc concerning grief, identity, healing, and finding trust again all while going through the inherent ordeal of being 15 years old….if she werent a female character in a shonen anime 😭😭 instead she gets sidelined during the show up until her big plot twist reveal after which shes immediately sidelined again. whatever i still love her and know her to be a character of all time who has suffered more than jesus. in my experience shes perhaps the female character who like. ive seen most *obsessively* hated due to her “getting in the way” of the ship b/w the male protagonist + deuteragonist (bc of her proximity to the both of them) u woild think shes the devil incarnate and not just. 15 and traumatised

She had a crush on Nagisa and they kissed and a lot of fans ship him with Karma so theyre mad that Kaede is there. She is super silly and nice but the fandom hates her for standing in the way of karmagisa.

she's a sweet person that was an actor and loves her sister. she is the main love interest of the main character but doesn't interact with him more than most of the other characters for a majority of the story. Often I have seen them removed from the story only to become some homophobic jerk that's desperate for the main characters love instead of letting her keep the good friendship that her and the main character had before the romance.

#poll #round 1 #allura #princess allura #voltron #voltron legendary defender #kaede kayano #kayano kaede #assassination classroom

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staticradiodotcom · 7 days

Text

Hazbin Hotel Hogwarts!AU

Tags: Hazbin hotel, Harry potter, The marauders, possible angst, Human AU maybe?? TW opinions. Not proof read.

(may contain unpopular ships)

CONTAINS SPOILERS

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AN: The marauders and Hazbin Hotel are two of my biggest hyper fixations rn. Writing this really knocked me out of my writers block.

feel free to debate about it!

Reminder: I sorted the characters based on the values of each house (it is completely okay to disagree!)

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Hogwarts House Values

Gryffindor - Courage, Daring, Nerve, Chivalry.

Hufflepuff - Hardwork, Patience, Loyalty, Honesty.

Ravenclaw - Intelligence, knowledge, wit, observation.

Slytherin - Ambition, Cunning, Cleverness, Resourceful.

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Hotel inhabitants:

Charlie

Slytherin

Reasoning: Charlie has proven time and time again throughout the series that she is ambitious when achieving her goals. She is always resourceful especially when figuring out how to help others (EX: recruiting the cannibals from cannibal town).

Sixth year. (17)

Has been dating Vaggie since Second year.

Constantly lending out her notes and homework for those who need it.

Everyone in Hogwarts knows her by name because of how well respected and adored she is.

Consistently defends the younger years (first and second years) from the older students.

Attends every single one of vaggie’s Quidditch games.

Vaggie

Hufflepuff

Reasoning: Vaggie is viciously loyal to her girlfriend (Charlie) and always puts her needs in front of her own. Vaggie is also Hardworking when trying aiding Charlie in her crusade.

Sixth Year (16)

Has been dating Charlie since Second year.

Never seen without Charlie.

Has a rough history with Lute, especially because of Second year.

Quidditch Beater

Hufflepuff Quidditch captain.

Alastor

Professor (Previously Slytherin)

Reasoning: I struggled to place alastor between Ravenclaw and Slytherin. However i leaned more towards Slytherin as he is cunning and resourceful enough to manipulate the main cast into making deals with him.

He gives Professor snape vibes idc.

Loves to learn the student gossip so he can later tell Professor Rosie.

Definitely Teaches Defense aginst the Dark Arts

A complete potions master, knows almost every single potion by memory.

Teaches the male students how to be true gentlemen.

Angel dust

Slytherin

Reasoning: Resourceful. He survived Valentino. come on.

Fifth year. (16)

Never seen anywhere without husk.

In this AU him and valentino are Ex’s.

Best friends with Cherri Bomb. He tries to keep a respectful reputation to get her out of trouble when he can.

Has started to Crush on Husk but after what happened with valentino he needs to learn to trust agian.

Husk

Ravenclaw

Reasoning: Has incredible observation skills. He also knows when to keep his mouth shut.

Fifth Year. (16)

After Angel told him about Val he never left Angels side.

Enjoys Cherri but can sometimes find her annoying

Would die to protect Nifty.

Sir Pentious

Hufflepuff

Reasoning: Loyalty. He literally died for the main cast.

Sixth Year (17)

Has a huge crush on cherri bomb but is convinced she doesn’t think he exists.

Enjoys talking to Vox about muggle technology.

Constantly experimenting with magic.

He views Nifty as a younger sister. However he knows damn well Nifty can handle herself.

Nifty

Hufflepuff

Reasoning: Hard worker at the hotel, she keeps on top of making everything clean. She’s also exceptionally patient.

Third year (14)

Complete clean freak. especially within the Hufflepuff dorms.

Constantly getting caught sneaking around after hours.

Chaser (yes. it is terrifying.)

Lucifer

Headmaster (Previously Gryffindor)

Reasoning: He fought for change in heaven, even after falling he showed bravery when taking on his position as the king of hell.

Honestly just wants what’s best for his students.

Constantly talking through problems with his students to aid in anywhere he can.

Close with Rosie so he can get all the gossip.

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Hell inhabitants

Vox

Ravenclaw

Reasoning: It’s vox.

Sixth year (17)

Vox has a fascination with muggle technology.

Alastor used to be his favourite teacher now he’s constantly skipping or ignoring his lessons.

Dating Valentino but is constantly worried Valentino is still in love with Angel.

Finds Angel annoying and whiny.

Valentino

Slytherin

Reasoning: Cunning, Ambitious. This man knows how to get what he wants.

Sixth year (17)

Dating Vox, However he’s only doing it to get back at Angel.

Huge ego.

Excels in potions class (love potions duh.)

Velvet

Hufflepuff

Reasoning: Loyal to Vox and Valentino. She’s hardworking on project she’s passionate about.

Fifth year (16)

Views Vox and valentino as her older brothers.

Vox and Valentino adopted her into their friendship during her first year.

Used to be incredibly close with Angel dust, they would both bitch and gossip. It hurt her a lot when Val and Angel broke up.

Envy’s the friendship between Cherri and Angel.

is actually friends with vaggie.

Carmilla

Professor (Previously Ravenclaw)

Reasoning: In the series she runs her own weapons company. i think that is self explanatory.

The youngest of all the other professors.

Teaches N.E.W.T and O.W.L preparation.

Deeply cares for all her students like a mother however she would never admit it.

Could never have children of her own so she turned to teaching.

Has a soft spot for velvet (i’m a firm believer that velvet is her daughter in the actual series)

Cherri

Hufflepuff

Reasoning: She is insanely loyal to Angel. She’s also always brutally honest with anyone and everyone.

Fifth year (16)

Best friends with Angel, consequently she became really close with husk as well.

Constantly pulling pranks.

Really wants Sir Pentious Help with her pranks but thinks he dislikes her.

Paints her nails in class.

Always gets detention from Zestial. She hates him.

Zestial

Professor (Previously Slytherin)

Reasoning: Zestial was hard to place between Ravenclaw and slytherin but in the few scenes we’ve seen with him i think he embodies cleverness and ambition. (he must be good if Alastor respects him)

Teaches English language (i do NOT care he convinced Lucifer that these young witches and wizards needed a basic education)

Strict yet somehow is one of the favourite teachers (just below rosie)

Incredibly skilled wizard yet the students have never seen him use his wand.

Rosie

Professor (Previously Ravenclaw)

Reasoning: Rosie has proved throughout the series that she is intelligent and has a keen sense of observation. i felt like Ravenclaw really fit her.

Matchmakes students constantly. every seating plan is meticulously arranged.

Will listen to any students problems and aid in the best way she can.

Teaches Herbology and the study of mythical creatures.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Heaven Inhabitants

Adam

Gryffindor

Reasoning: His ego is way too big to be placed in any other house. (also he ‘sticks it to the man’)

Views Emily as a younger sister.

Best friends with Lute.

Will always defend Lutes actions no matter how drastic.

Gryffindor Quidditch Captain.

Lute

Slytherin

Reasoning: I struggled between Slytherin and Hufflepuff for Lute because of her loyalty. However i feel slytherin fits her perfectly. she’s ambitious, clever and resourceful.

Best friends with Adam.

Used to be best friends with Vaggie up until second year, now she hates her.

Quidditch Beater

Sera

Ravenclaw

Reasoning: Does this one need explaining??

Seventh Year (18)

Top of her classes.

Has a promising career within the future of the ministry.

Sera is very protective of Emily and does not approve of her friendship with Vaggie and Charlie.

Prefect.

Mature for her age, she grew up raising Emily.

Emily

Hufflepuff

Reasoning: Emily is patient and hardworking. She’s especially loyal with her friends and to sera.

In this AU i imagine Emily as a younger sister to Sera.

Emily is only in Second year and is already held to an incredibly high standard because of her sister.

Social butterfly, everyone knows her because of her sister.

Close friends with Charlie and Vaggie, However she also hangs out with lute a lot.

Views Adam as an older brother.

Childish, immature for her age. she didn’t have to grow up.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

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pessimisticpigeonsworld · 4 months

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Look at this....☠️ https://www.tumblr.com/bohemian-nights/737003196544958464/fuck-rhaenyra-fuck-the-writers-with-this-sapphic?source=share

Fucking hell.

First off: I find it interesting the anon doesn't acknowledge that Laena x Daemon is also incest. Sure, she's not his niece, but she is still related to him. They love projecting their insecurities about their ship onto daemyra.

Second: yeah, HoTD choosing to make the Velaryons black then sidelining them massively is shitty and, sure, could be interpreted as racist. However, how is that Rhaenyra's fault? She didn't make Daemon marry Laena when he couldn't have her neither did she kill Laena. Condal and Hess chose to write out Laena's relevance (which already wasn't much outside of being Daemon's wife and Baela and Rhaena's mother) in order to give Alicent more screen time. But again, that's neith Rhaenyra's nor Emma D'Arcy's fault, stop blaming them (also Emma is good at playing Rhaenyra as she is written, the only issues are the writing, which aren't their fault). Op also chose to ignore the fact that Daemon actually is confirmed by GRRM himself to have loved Rhaenyra the most.

Moving on, once again the Rhaenyra antis are bringing up how Rhaenyra isn't "feminist". Literally no one in F&B is feminist by our modern definition. Visenya and Rhaenys are probably the closest, and even then, they aren't writing feminist manifestos (which apparently Rhaenyra is expected to for some reason). Alysanne, the most proactive queen regent, still enforced arranged marriages on her daughters and granddaughters. Rhaenys didn't advocate for Laena's right of succession in the book and in the show refused to support Rhaenyra long before Laenor's "death". Her antis hold Rhaenyra to unfair and unrealistic standards while making excuses for or ignoring other characters who don't meet them.

In that same vein, I still can't get over how Rhaenyra antis will say that TG aren't the conservative group. They say Rhaenyra isn't a feminist and that TG, the ones who are obsessed with male primogeniture and believe being gay, a sexually liberated woman, a child born out of wedlock, or not adhering to the equivalent of the Catholic Church make someone subhuman are the "progressive" group. It's delusion at its finest. Alicent and the greens are misogynistic and, because of them, women's rights in Westeros ended up more repressed than ever.

The fact that the op says that Visenya and Queen Rhaena are acceptable shows they have no understanding for TG or F&B. First off, TG would never support either woman. Visenya was hated by the Faith and most of the Lord's of Westeros, she was a warrior accused of witchcraft and dared to interfere with the misogynistic customs alongside Rhaenys. Rhaena was gay, something she wasn't allowed to live fully because the Targaryens chose to conform to Westerosi ideals. She was also robbed of her inheritance, even Jaehaerys acknowledged that Rhaena was the rightful heir, just as Aegon acknowledged Rhaenyra was.

As for the racist allegations, those come exclusively from Mushroom, someone who is far from a reliable source. Mushroom invented an entire woman to try to add "spice" to Jacaerys' story: Sara Snow. A woman of whom there is no record of, even though she was raised in Winterfell and supposedly married Jace. If Mushroom is willing to make up a whole ass woman to make the story more dramatic, why should we trust anything he says?

Yes, Rhaenyra ordered Nettles' execution, but that was because of her rumored relationship with Daemon and Rhaenyra's paranoia which had grown massively since Hugh Hammer and Ulf White's betrayal. Was it just? No. Was it racially motivated? According to Mushroom, maybe, but looking at Rhaenyra's character, it doesn't make sense.

Moving on, what exactly does op mean by "she's done too many things to claim she's been wrongly framed by the narrative"? By the time Nettles comes along, Rhaenyra hasn't done much that could be considered reprehensible. Op seems to have an issue with Vaemond's death, which Rhaenyra did order in the book. They seem to think that Vaemond "rightfully called her out" and was wrongfully killed.

She ordered Vaemond's execution after he declared her sons bastards in order to challenge Corlys' decision regarding succession. Keep in mind, Vaemond in the book is Corlys' nephew, not his brother, which moves him even farther down the line of succession. Vaemond not only was putting Rhaenyra and her sons in danger but was also trying to usurp all of Corlys' line, including Baela and Rhaena, who op seems to like a lot.

Yeah Rhaenyra is much harsher in F&B, but that hardly makes her evil and irredeemable. Queens Visenya and Rhaena were both harsh and even cruel sometimes, yet op doesn't think they're irredeemable monsters.

I do agree with op's anger over the sidelining of the Velaryons, as I said earlier, but taking it out on Rhaenyra is completely uncalled for. Rhaenyra wasn't a monster, anyone who believes that has frighteningly little reading comprehension. Rhaenyra's reign would have greatly helped women's standings in Westeros and pushed along gender equality. Ignoring that fact and blatantly saying the greens aren't supporting the repressive patriarchy is delusional and idiotic. The greens' actions were damaging in every way. Vaemond was far from an innocent victim, he was power hungry and misogynistic in both the show and the book. Keep your angry focused on the right people, don't take it out on a woman who had her whole life destroyed by the patriarchy.

#rhaenyra targaryen #team black #anti team green #house of the dragon #asoiaf #anti rhaenyra antis #anti ryan condal #laena velaryon #daemon targaryen #nettles #hotd critical #anti laena stans

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raisedbythetv89 · 8 months

Text

I feel like Logan’s death really commandeers the conversation about how terrible season 4 of Veronica Mars is (understandably so it is horrific) but there’s literally SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT 😭

Veronica isn’t Veronica and Logan isn’t Logan (really NO ONE is truly in character anymore). Rob Thomas clearly has NO IDEA what healing actually looks like so Logan becomes this pop psychology stereotype with no depth or emotion and like Veronica literally says A POD PERSON. And he describes his therapy as controlling his anger so it doesn’t consume him. That might have been the move as a temporary band-aide immediately to stabilize his life after season 3 but what like 12 years later???? When season 4 starts? ABSOLUTELY NOT. Fire that therapist immediately 😭 He should be WELL into the source of his anger. Healing isn’t about control it’s about surrender and acceptance of your feelings and developing healthy coping strategies to process your newly uncovered feelings so you can live WITH them not in spite of them. There’s a reason so many “good guy” characters are so one dimensional and boring it’s because the male writers writing them literally have NO CLUE what a healthy well adjusted men act like 😭 - (Ted Lasso was so rare because we had good men writing good men)

And yes we know Logan punching people does it for Veronica but that’s because it is ALWAYS in defense of her but his safety and well being is always her number 1 priority (he pulls a gun to save her in the Fitzpatricks bar and she screams at him because she doesn’t want him to get hurt or killed in his attempt to defend her and she’s terrified). Him just punching a kitchen cabinet in rage and frustration is NOT the same thing at all and she would show concern in that situation not immediately instigate sex ROBERT.

The idea that Veronica did ZERO growing/healing/processing in those 12 years is so insulting and just not realistic - once she got space and distance she would have come out of fight or flight and been assaulted with all the repressed emotions from seasons 1-3 before law school yet somehow she’s WORSE than she was when she was younger with less stability and support and capacity to handle everything she was dealing with.

Especially after everything established in the movie!

“Are you gonna ask me if I did it?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought you did”

THE AMOUNT OF GROWTH THAT SHOWS IN VERONICA IS ACTUALLY INSANE. Miss never trusts anybody, suspect EVERYONE until your can verify the truth - believes Logan and Weevil AT THEIR WORD. Trusts THEIR CHANGE implicitly and picks helping Logan and Weevil BECAUSE SHE CARES not because it’s a fucking addiction as Rob tried to frame it in the movie 💀💀💀 Veronica always helped because she’s SOFT because she has a good heart and can’t help but help when she knows she can which is classic of parentified children - you believe everything is your responsibility to fix if it’s in your capability to fix. Does she get neurotic trying to solve cases? Absolutely! But that is trying to control and fix external problems as a distraction from her own. It was a coping mechanism and taking that coping mechanism away in the 9 years between season 3 and the movie would have caused serious problems for her that would have forced her to confront her issues.

Season 4 could have been Veronica having a complete break down from her always too full plate coming crumbling down trying to help and fix too much combined with logan being gone and always at risk when he is gone, Wallace bringing new life into an increasingly corrupt neptune she can’t seem to save, Mac working for Jake Kane?!!?! I would have loved If instead she was helping Mac deal with the swapped at birth thing they NEVER touched again. Combined with her dad’s health problems and Weevil falling back into his old habits. She is someone who feels responsible for everything and everyone around her because everyone blamed her for EVERYTHING when she was younger and eventually that catches up with you and THAT is what I wanted to see her strength crumble forcing her to be truly vulnerable and instead of asking for favors asking for HELP allowing her to stop acting like a woman written by a man and act like an actual adult woman BY women who actually understand that experience. Rob was SO out of his depth - his portrayal of Leanne in earlier seasons already proved that.

But that’s just one of literally 1 million possibilities that would have been better than the direction Rob chose. He managed to strip away everything we loved about ALL of his characters until they were ghosts of themselves and it makes me SO UPSET 😭 because he literally revived a show just to finish the destruction path he started in season 3, that had started to be corrected in the movie because it was so controlled by the fans.

Rob and Joss - two men who’s success was built upon a largely female audience and then their misogyny caused them to try and destroy everything their audiences loved 🙃🙃🙃🙃

#thanks I hate it #veronica mars #fuck rob thomas #fuck joss whedon #logan echolls #season 4 veronica mars

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kit-williams · 2 months

Text

Established Love

Male Lead: Castle Universe/AU: Warhammer 40k/Space Marine Husbandry Canon Status: ???

NOTE: This is Platonic love/found family love/just platonic love if it comes off as anything other than that... this is me (a smut writer) trying to write something platonic (its like an NSFW artist drawing SFW)

NOTE 2: IM SORRY IF THIS IS HURT COMFORT

Castle knew no fear. Fear was an alien concept to Castle. But he knew what it means to love. Alone and uncertain was when he met Susan... and that bond that he felt with her... he loved her then. He loved her as he watched her grow from a child to a young woman. Castle would have loved her even as others told her to separate herself from the strange space man as it was... unbecoming of a young woman to be so close to a man like himself. He would have loved her even if it caused him so much pain.

He loved her as she scolded him trying to leave... she loved him as she chased after him with tears in her eyes, having skipped her lessons and all other things she should be doing during the day to chase him down and yell at him. She poured out how much she really loved him as she told him that it was suppose to always be 'Castle & Susan' and it was always going to be the two of them.

And it was... and he loved her... he loved her as she found her Harold... he loved her as she gave birth to her children. He was slowly falling in love with her brood... the boys and the girls... and the way their personalities grew and shrank.

He loved their family as it grew as her children were having children... and eventually even they were having their own children. It grew and shrank and soon it was just Susan & Harold and Castle in a house... and eventually it once more became Susan & Castle. And eventually... it just became Castle.

He was ready to walk away from Susan's home... to return to his life... to heal from the pain that loving can cause... how funny it was that the more you love the stronger you feel and when it's ripped away... it leaves a gaping wound that even the most skilled apothecaries struggle to heal.

But that's when you and your brood came into his life again... and Castle could give love more of a chance... it came to him so easy to love you... to love your children... he was already so willing to love to ease the pain and hole that Susan left in his heart... but he would outlive you... and most likely your children... and that love and heartbreak would spider out across his form... healing and changing.

He felt like a stuffed animal that he sees children having... how they start all pristine and then time wears on... some of them get left behind... others get broken and torn... and then there are those that weather the storm of life... they are utterly changed by love. Their arm might have been stitched back on several times and some of the stuffing has lost its fluff... impromptu bath times... left out in the rain... and yet it endures.

And like that well loved toy he has been there for all the tears... the fevers... the fawning... the heartbreaks... the screaming and all the I hate you's mingled with the I love you's. But as Susan told him from her book...

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails... and for Castle... Love always endures it seems.

Fluffuary Tag List: @bispecsual @the-californicationist @egrets-not-regrets @libraryshadow @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry #space marine husbandry sentience #space marines #OC: Castle #fluffuary #fluffuary2024 #platonic

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mcytblrconfessions · 7 months

Note

*sighs in sadness* Ocean Queen Lizzie you were too good a character to be released onto the masses who couldn't characterize you well in fanfiction to save your life :(

The joy your story brought me (self-proclaimed number one Ocean Queen fan /hj) is immense, but it does not cancel out the multitudes of fanfiction flattening you into a hollow shell of yourself who only exists as an extension of the men in your life, clogging the LDShadowLady fandom tag and making it nigh-impossible to fin the (rare) fic in which Lizzie is in-character

And trust me, I know. My experiences are born out of pain and sorrow. Deep in the clutches of hyperfixation, I checked the LDShadowLady tag several times every day for months, no filters. I looked at every fic in the tag, and the backlog of fics. I read every fic in the tag, with only a few exceptions for the most truly unstomachable fic. Even as my hyperfixation loosened, I still checked the LDShadowLady tag often, and scrolled through the backlog. I still read every Lizzie centric fic I can find, and a lot that isn't. I still am on a constant search for good Lizzie fic (please: anyone want to recommend any fics? I'm sure there's stuff I'm missing/missed/forgot to bookmark! she doesn't have to be the main character, just significant!)

I have gazed into the abyss. I have absorbed the scope of it. I have written fic on my own.

And yet: the problem is less with the lack of Lizzie fics, and more with the bad ones, the ones that don't actually feature her in any real capacity, which becomes easy to see once you've read a lot of them noticed the pattern, just a combination of sidelining, of mischaracterization, and mischaracterization by omission, that trap that is so easy to fall into.

I can forgive fandom for this to an extent. No fic writer is perfect, this is about the collective patterns. But after a certain point, it starts becoming harder to ignore: the way she is written into fics only to warp around c!Jimmy (sometimes other male characters) with zero regard for her interiority, her agency, her struggles, her potential, in fics that give male side characters these things.

The way she is ignored varies. Sometimes it is the most blatant examples: she is put in a situation in which multiple canon traits/opinions/experiences of hers would obviously be relevant, but all are ignored except supportive sister. Sometimes it is more subtle: it iisn't a plot hole that her being a supportive sister/caring/"strong woman girlboss" (in the way that doesn't actually give her any agency or depth or plot importance, she's still a flat character only there for support, but actually we only write her as a personw with no interior depth or anything interesting bc she's just so cool and competent and perfect there aren't any problems that give us reasons to focus on her or give her like, a character arc or something) is the only thing that comes up in the au, but the fact that the author didn't find anything else about her interesting or worthy of show, never considered showing her in more depth, giving her an arc, giving her choices to make, the fact that over and over again authors decide that the only reason to show her is if she's supporting a guy, grates a whole fucking lot. Mostly, it is more subtle but once you see it you will never stop unseeing it. I try to repeat it but I just sound like a broken record.

Am I going insane for noticing this when nobody else seems to? I worry that, even being mad mostly at the trend and not the individual writers, I am still somehow being too unfair to them. I check my line of thought over and over. Then, once again, I am reading a fic and I can't stop thinking about how it's another fic in the pattern, and I try to find something that isn't and it takes me pages and pages, and I am so angry again. Death by a thousand pinpricks. Driven insane by a thousand lackluster Lizzie portrayals.

It's hard not to feel crazy. People like the Ocean Queen! People don't dislike her character! She just slowly gets flattened, over and over. Never any interest in her depths. (yes I am ocean punning at a time like this)

I am awash in a sea of misery. Every day I think of her and I wish for a world where people liked her better. Where she was the character with a million fics exploring her potential. I think about it and I think about her and I think about my fic for her and the good fics I've read for her and I open another fic where Lizzie is tagged and I hope.

(The pain these fics bring me is immense but the joy I feel about the character is greater, at least. Mostly I think about that. Two sides to everything, how unfortunate/lucky)

Ocean Queen I love you.

#confession #mod response #long post #ch: empires s1 lizzie

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loudblonde · 5 months

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Male!Reader Mafia AU (chapter 19)

18+ Minor DNI

Summery: As (Y/N) and Simon get closer and closer, their relationship shifts to a new directon, a different one. No longer just some low life bodyguard and the son of the boss, but now a partnership build on mutual trust and protection. Lines are blurred and new alliances are forged even stronger.

Warnings(contains spoilers, but that is obvious): (Y/N) has some complicated feelings that if you have been a victim of emotional abuse and emotional neglect may be a bit hard to read about. Essentially (Y/N) realises he is capable of love and deserving of happiness

AN: I meant to have this out wayyyyyyyy earlier, as in last week but my engagement of 3 years ended, so sorry, I have just been too disraught, sad and pissed off to even consider writing this finished, somehow (Y/N) and Simon being so happy together was painful. I guess the fanfiction writer curse strikes again....

Word count: 3.2K

(Y/N) stared down at the sleeping Simon. He looked peaceful… no, he looked young and peaceful. No nightmares plagued his mind behind the eyelids, no anxiety was freezing his core and no doubt was tending the already huge garden of doubt flowers that grew in his mind.

(Y/N) smiled as he ran a hand through Simon’s hair, for once with care instead of possession. He had started to like Simon, no, he hadn’t lied to Simon earlier in the week. He loved him. He… loved… him. The thought was foreign to (Y/N), he didn’t know how that had happened or how Simon had wormed his way into his heart, yet here he was, warming up something that (Y/N) had forgotten he had. He felt odd. He was simultaneously on a cloud and in the deepest pits of hell, the last few weeks had been like descending into hell, every single layer worse than the other.

He felt a lot like Dante, forced to descend into hell only to learn how to love and have compassion. The thought left a grim taste in his mouth as he realised he may eventually feel bad for his actions. (Y/N) had never felt like more than a pawn to anyone, to his family, to the agency and to Price. But with Simon… Simon had never treated him like anything but someone better than him, superior then him, all the while (Y/N) knew from day one that (Y/N) could never be half the man Simon was. He saw him for what he was, a once beautiful angel that had survived abuse and torture at the hands of his parents, only to endure it at the hands of John Price.

Simon was beyond broken, an angel whose wings had been clipped and stolen, yet he had never fallen, he had never once let it truly break him. (Y/N) had seen the light and like his father he had sought to squash the light, yet no matter how much he tried, the light was so bright that (Y/N) had been overwhelmed and Simon’s kindness was so heartbreakingly pure despite everything that (Y/N) had changed positively. (Y/N) was somehow a better man for knowing Simon and Simon had stopped hiding behind Ghost as an attempt at hiding who he was.

He was growing his wings back and Simon was more confident in himself than ever and (Y/N) loved every single second of it. He closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

(Y/N) woke when the alarm blared into his ear. Both men groaned as they separated for the morning and got up. As they both got dressed (Y/N) caught Simon glancing at him, (Y/N) headed over and wrapped his arms around Simon from behind, he kissed the spine between his shoulders. “Hmmm, morning luv.” Simon’s voice rumbled. “You are not usually this clingy.” He leaned back against (Y/N).

“I just realised how much I care and how much I love you.” (Y/N) whispered into his back before kissing his back again.

Simon chuckled. “Well, sir, I am always here for you,” Simon said.

(Y/N) chuckled. “Thank you, Si.” He said softly before pulling away with a sigh. “What is on the agenda today?”

“Meeting with the Shadow Unit, as usual,” Simon said as he placed his knives in their usual places. “Then you have dinner with the police chief, one of your father's allies has lent out his restaurant for this, I hope you like Italian food.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “I don’t mind it, the food isn’t all that bad.” He hid his own knives as well before checking up on his drawing kit. He checked the sharpness. Simon’s eyes were on him through the whole process. When he was done he wrapped it again and walked over to Simon. They shared a quick kiss before walking out.

After breakfast and the daily first meeting with various people who (Y/N) made very little attempt to even remember who was, he headed to lunch with the police chief.

(Y/N) sat down and looked at the smug face. “My officer says you are working close,” Shepherd said.

“Of course, we appreciate the shadow unit more than we could ever express.” (Y/N) said as he leaned back in the chair. The waiter poured him a glass of red wine. “Besides, Graves, your lapdog, is quite useful in many ways.” He said.

“He wouldn’t appreciate you calling him that,” Shepherd said with a chuckle.

(Y/N) shrugged as he picked up the glass of wine. “Yet, it is true.”

“Touché, Mister Price.” Shepherd said. “Graves reported his men started calling you The Iron Fist.” He said.

(Y/N) sipped the dry wine before sitting it down. “Iron fist?”

“Yes, apparently you are quite strict.” He said.

“I am no drill sergeant.” (Y/N) chuckled. “But they are learning how to not crack under torture.”

“By… torturing them,” Shepherd said.

“Nothing a child can’t go through.” (Y/N) said nonchalantly. As though pain and suffering didn't matter to him and Shephard knew, in his heart, that for (Y/N) it probably didn't matter, as long as a soldier was made out of the child.

Shepherd looked genuinely taken back and a bit disgusted at that. “You put children through that?”

“It was what my mother put me through, they won’t ever experience anything worse, I promise.” (Y/N) said.

He looked distrustful of that. “Are you suggesting that my men will be in danger of getting kidnapped and tortured?”

“It is always a possibility, even without them working for us, what I bring to the family is fresh eyes and fresh blood. I have allies and contacts for future work that would leave many quaking in their boots but it will earn you a good bonus.” (Y/N) said with a smile.

“A good bonus?” The police chief asked.

(Y/N) took a piece of paper out of his pocket and wrote 20 000$ on it before turning it over and sliding it over to him. Shepherd took it and looked at it. His eyes widened as he looked at (Y/N). “Bi-annually, on top of what we already give you, that is just a taste too. I am expanding the business in due time, though not without regulating what happens. If your men think of me as The Iron Fist now they will be in for a rude awakening when I take over and actually handle more business than our lovely police force.”

“And what about Grave’s, your police lap dog? What will happen to him?” Shepherd asked as the food was placed down in front of them. Perhaps (Y/N)'s cruelty wasn't so outrageous if it got results like this…

“He will keep being a lapdog. If I say jump I don’t even want him to ask how high, he should jump as high as possible.” (Y/N) took a bite of food and swallowed it before speaking again. “I will keep him close but keep in mind that I am happily taken, I won’t fuck his brains out.”

Shepherd cleared his throat. “Do you use your body often for sexual favours to clients?” (Y/N) chuckled at that.

“Not anymore, no.” (Y/N) said. “I don’t tend to have open relationships. I am a tad bit… possessive.” He heard Simon shuffle behind him.

“You must make whoever it is very happy,” Shepherd said.

(Y/N) smiled. “Yes, I think so too.” (Y/N) said with a softness Shepherd hadn’t heard from him.

“And you won’t tell me who?” Shepherd asked, mostly as a joke.

(Y/N) chuckled and shook his head. “No, we like to keep things private.”

Shepherd chuckled at that. “Alright, alright. I will let you keep your secrets.”

The rest of the lunch was decent, they had spent it talking about some minor things. No business after that.

When lunch was over Simon and (Y/N) headed back to the warehouse being used as a training facility. They entered to see Graves running men through the usual drills. (Y/N) gave a hum.

He walked over to them and looked at everyone going through the different drills. “Your men show promise.”

“Thank you, sir.” Graves smiled at the praise. He looked at him. “How did your lunch go?”

“It went well. Has Gaz arrived yet?” (Y/N) asked.

“Ah, yes. He is in your office, Sir.” Graves said.

“Next time lead with that. Ghost, keep an eye on their training.” (Y/N) said before walking upstairs. He entered his office and looked at Gaz with a smile. Both men shared a hug. (Y/N) sat down behind his desk and Gaz sat down in front of it. “So, what’s new?”

Gaz leaned back. “Well, your father is stressed, but still working, we keep suggesting he takes a break or give you more responsibility.”

“He is getting old.” (Y/N) said. “I am here to help in any way he needs or wants.”

“Those two are not the same?” Gaz asked.

(Y/N) chuckled. “We both know they aren’t, Gaz.”

“Oh, this is business?” Gaz chuckled.

(Y/N) smiled and shook his head. “Do you prefer Kyle, out here amongst the dogs?”

“I think you said 'A dog and his pigs',” Gaz said.

“Well, the lapdog is very entertaining to tease and his pigs are very needed to get our business running.” (Y/N) shrugged. “Besides, I am very happy with how Graves makes Ghost react.”

Gaz smirked. “You like the fact he asks you to fuck him.”

“Yes, though you should know all about that, Kyle.” (Y/N) commented.

“Oh I do, I know far better than most people.” He responded.

“Aye, you do.” (Y/N) chuckled. “Does my father even know about what we did?”

Gaz nodded. “He found out when Ghost was honest and said everyone wanted to fuck your brains out,” Gaz said with a shrug. “He couldn’t do anything as he realised that everyone would in fact like to fuck you. He asked me why and I answered truthfully. He regretted asking and just let people be.” He said. “He figured it would keep people loyal to you when he retired.”

“It does tend to keep people close to me.” (Y/N) said.

“May I ask, how do you do it?” Gaz asked.

“You may and honestly, I don’t know. I am just charming. To some degree it is probably my training kicking in but… for me, this is just me.” (Y/N) said, once again, shrugging.

“Interesting,” Gaz said. “So it is all unintentional?”

“Probably to others at this point.” (Y/N) said. “But I do use it and wield it like a weapon.”

“Except with Ghost,” Gaz said.

“What?” (Y/N) asked.

“Except with Ghost. I see the way you look at him when you think no one is looking.” Gaz said. “You look at him as though he is your whole world and as if you would happily burn the whole world down just for him,” Gaz said.

“I do love him.” (Y/N) said as he leaned back.

“You love him more than you realise,” Gaz said. “You do realise it, right?”

“I…” (Y/N) looked away, his silence was enough.

Gaz tilted his head. “You didn’t realise you loved him?” He asked. “It’s okay to have emotions, to be human.”

“No, emotions are a weakness.” (Y/N) said. “Care is a weakness. I can’t be weak.”

“That’s why Ghost is here, why you have friends, so that if you are weak for a moment then they will support you. Have you not had that before?” Gaz asked softly.

“Get out.” (Y/N) choked out.

Gaz said nothing more, he stood up and left, closing the door behind him. Gaz looked at Ghost and sighed. “Check up on him.” He said before leaving.

Simon frowned before looking at Graves. “Excuse me.” He walked up the stairs and knocked. “Sir?”

He heard some shuffling around before (Y/N) cleared his throat. “Come in.”

Simon entered and tilted his head. “Are you okay?” He asked as he noticed (Y/N) had been crying, his eyes had puffed up.

“No, I… I am not good with emotions, Si.” (Y/N) said. “Kyle made me realise a few things, I… I can’t handle that well.”

Simon walked over and sat down in front of him. “Anything to talk about?”

(Y/N) shook his head. “Not right now. But thank you, Si.” (Y/N) chewed on his lip. Simon had never seen him so… nervous. “How are the recruits going?”

Simon stood up and walked behind the table. “(Y/N)?” He lifted (Y/N)’s face up with a finger under his chin. “Look at me, please.”

(Y/N) looked into his eyes. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

(Y/N)’s face conveyed very little emotion but his eyes were stormy as doubt and thoughts rushed through them. Every single fear he had ever felt was coming to life. “No.”

Simon sat in his lap and wrapped his arms around him. (Y/N) hesitated before wrapping his arms around Simon. He didn’t cry out loud, but Simon felt him shake as he sobbed into his shoulder, the facade of the charming suave man who got into everyone’s pants fell away and once again Simon saw the vulnerable man who had never experienced actual love before, he had gotten glimpses of that version of him in the past though never as much as right here.

They sat there for an hour, neither of them moved, and neither of them spoke. The lines were blurring. Simon had gained confidence in their time together and (Y/N) had slowly begun trusting him with his emotions. They were healthily shifting roles. They were becoming one.

Simon stood up and held his hand out to (Y/N) who took it silently. They walked out, got into the car and got home. Simon waved people away as he took (Y/N) straight up to their bedroom. He ensured the door was closed behind them before laying down on the bed, still fully clothed. (Y/N) joined him on the bed, he cuddled into him and placed his head on his chest before closing his eyes.

Simon wrapped his arms around him and drew small circles on (Y/N)’s hips as he watched him fall asleep. Simon fought off sleep himself for a while before he too succumbed to the would-be nap, except no one woke them up.

(Y/N) and Simon awoke together around midnight. Both were far too well-rested to go back to sleep. (Y/N) looked up at Simon before cupping his cheek. “Thank you, for taking care of me.” He whispered.

Simon kissed his palm. “I will always take care of you.” He whispered back before (Y/N) straddled him.

“May I?” (Y/N) asked softly.

Simon nodded.

(Y/N) kissed him, it was slow and full of love, there was no demand for anything to go further but Simon reached up and gently cupped his cheek as they kissed, his other hand went down further landing on (Y/N)’s lower back. When they pulled away to breathe, their foreheads pressed together. “I want you,” Simon whispered.

(Y/N) smiled and kissed him again. “Then you will have me. Go clean yourself and I will prepare everything here.” (Y/N) said softly as he got off him. He watched Simon walk off before lighting a few mildly scented rose tealights, he ensured there was lube, condoms and things to clean Simon up with afterwards before sitting down. His mind went to Simon’s lips, how sweet they tasted against him, how much he wanted him forever and how much he loved him. (Y/N) smiled softly.

Simon came back out, already naked. (Y/N) undressed before walking over. He looked up into his eyes. “I love you.” (Y/N) said. Simon smiled at that and kissed him before saying, “I love you too.”

(Y/N) led Simon over to the bed where Simon lay down. He got between his legs and grabbed the lube, he squirted a good amount on his fingers before he started preparing Simon. First, one finger, slowly in and out, gently easing its way, there was no need to rush. Every single movement was followed by a kiss to the thigh, not something that would leave visible marks but Simon would spend the rest of the week feeling the ghostly kisses.

(Y/N) added a second finger, he curled and spread his fingers just right to get small moans out of Simon, he looked up at him with a smile and watched as his eyes halfway closed. The sheer trust they had in each other was beautiful. He added more lube before adding a third finger. His fingers curled around Simon’s prostate drawing further soft moans out from him.

(Y/N) pulled away as he grabbed a condom. Simon whined as he felt empty, he looked at (Y/N) and bit his lip as he watched him take the condom. “I am clean,” Simon said. (Y/N) looked at him and tilted his head. “So am I. Are you sure you want to bareback this?”

Simon nodded. “Yes.” He said. “I trust you, we are both clean.”

(Y/N) gave a nod at that and lubed up his cock, it was already hard. He positioned them both just right before slowly sliding into him. He bottomed out and waited for Simon to get comfortable. “You are taking me so well.” (Y/N) praised. Simon smiled at that.

(Y/N) leaned down without stopping his movement. Simon held onto (Y/N) as they shared loving but sloppy kisses. Both chased their mutual satisfaction. “Fuck Si, you feel so good.” (Y/N) said against the kiss, his pace didn’t falter.

Simon’s grip on (Y/N)’s shoulders and arms didn’t falter as he moaned against the kiss. (Y/N)’s choice of words sent him spiralling closer to his own edge. “(Y/N), fuck, this is so good, please don’t stop!” He cried out. He opened his eyes and looked up at (Y/N). His cock was leaking precum all over his stomach. He detached one hand and reached down before tugging at his own cock, further sending him spiralling towards the fast-approaching edge. The knot in his stomach was forming faster than he could even begin to realise. “I’m close.”

(Y/N) felt a surge of pride, Simon was already so close just because of him. He fucked into him harder. “Cum when you can, Si.” He panted.

Simon kissed him again, their tongues clashed against each other as teeth hit teeth, it was sloppy, tired and loving.

(Y/N) bit Simon’s lower lip as he kept thrusting into him, he was barreling towards his own bliss, not caring as moans tore themselves from his mouth, his sense was flooded with Simon and the feeling of his wet warm hole.

Simon moaned out louder than before as white cum sprayed over his hand and his stomach. He clenched around (Y/N) who thrust into him a few more times before cumming deep inside him. (Y/N) panted out as the adrenaline left their bodies. “Fuck si… Ah god, you were good, this was, hmmm, amazing.” He said and pulled out, he watched as his cum fell out of Simon’s hole.

“You were even better,” Simon said from his blissed-out state.

(Y/N) chuckled and grabbed a towel before cleaning Simon up. “Thank you, my love.” (Y/N) said.

“Shower now or later?”

“In the morning,” Simon said as he opened his arms.

(Y/N) wrapped his arms around him as he lay down with him. “Hmm, whole rooms gonna stink of us, Si.” (Y/N) said.

“Fuck it,” Simon said and chuckled.

Both men rested for a few moments before falling asleep in each other's arms again.

All lines between them blurred. They had become more equal and more in love. Nothing could tear them apart now. Not John Price, not Police Chief Shephards and not (Y/N)’s family. They were a unit now. Perfect for each other and perfectly dependent on one another.

Hopefully nothing would go wrong.

Tag list:

@rasberry-jupiter @one-green-frog

#simon ghost riley x male reader #loudblondes cod mafia au #cod x male reader #cod men x male reader #simon riley x male reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley x male reader #male reader #simon riley x you #fanfiction

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