#━━ ♡ YOU SHOULD TRY AND GET AHEAD [ PLOTTING ]

[bwaybaby]

i'm too tired to work on the rest of my replies tonight after running errands all day long, so.... like this post for me to slide into your dm's for some plotting? <3

[hivemuthur]

To Be Known - Ch.1.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. Uncharted waters for me, because I have no idea how many chapters it will come out as.

Reader is: British, Young Vic (get it?) theatre company director, working class, in her 30s, a control freak, a semi-conscious sub. Viktor is: Czech (as always), working in biotech with Jayce, working class, in his 30s, a control freak, a conscious dom.

MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 4,6K

warnings, or rather this work contains: d/s dynamics between main characters (but who the fuck knows what Mel and Jayce are doing), love (attraction?) at first sight, no strings attached to lovers/strangers to lovers (so like reverse emotional slow burn?), lots of porn, angst, happy resolution. I will be adding kink warnings as they appear in the future chapters.

author’s note: Ok, so, um, hi! A Deer and a Man is ending, so something else has to begin. It’s like… a very freeform thing I’m doing here. Sort of about nothing, just relationships with d/s dynamics, because I want to play around with some kinks and stuff. I’m trying to make it make sense here, but not everything might, since it’s just my subjective take on things. It will have some d/s etiquette but not always, because I’m clumsy and my characters get infected with my clumsiness :v Nothing’s new really (hehe, get it?), some plot, some porn, some feelings. It’s basically me going to IKEA asking you if you wanna come and grab some vegan meatballs and the meatballs are smut in this :v So yeh, hi, welcome to another blurb of a mutlichap work.

Special thanks to my friends @rennethen and @strongfartzemergency for pre-reading this and enabling my brainrot. Artist is @petitesieste, just ahh ♡

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Your eyes glaze over the computer screen, trying to memorize a list of poor souls to probe the next day. An ouroboros of theatre life has reached another mark, one where you must make a million decisions in a short span of time: Which plays will grace the stage, who’s performing in them, who’s directing, and who’s dressing all those people in their fancy costumes? And, most importantly, who’s paying for all of it?

So far, a successful year has set your bar even higher, with the next season looming in the golden light of August evenings. You don’t even have time to warm your bones in it—you have to think ahead, transport your brain to the future, to a cold January, when the real test begins for you. In truth, you don’t have time to do anything beneficial for your bones, and you’ve just learned to accept that your joints crack like dry wood every time you move.

A head peaks through the crack in your door, and you don’t have to look up to know who it is.

“Charlie,” you greet him, your nose still scrunched up by the screen. “I know, I know. I’m going, I just need a second.” You begin to rise from your chair but remain hunched over, extending your arm blindly toward the computer. “Did you bring my shoes?”

“Yes, and I’m not kicking you out,” says Charlie, passing you a pair of ballet flats. “But if you want a driver, well… he’s getting impatient.”

“That’s okay, I can commute,” you smile at him, taking the shoes and glancing at your watch. “It’s only Camden… oh, shit, it’s very late. You should, in fact, kick me out.” After a few hurried jumps while putting the shoes on, you're back to frantically picking up unrelated objects and shoving them into your purse: tissues, lipstick, random notes to review in the morning, and Mel’s gift—a seasonal Young Vic pass for her and her plus one.

“Where are you guys meeting?” he asks, passing you the rest of the things you will obviously want or need. It’s a seamless collaboration with Charlie. Since the very beginning, you two have been sharing a brain, and this is partly why nothing has collapsed yet. On the contrary—both you, as a theatre company director, and Charlie, as an assistant director, have been doing an amazing job, mending together a forthcoming approach and love for theatre. And this is all your head is at, despite the one evening of reprieve where you can share beers with friends in a pub that Mel has chosen completely out of character for herself. Which is why, instead of answering, you ask, “Do you really think we can do Hamlet?”

“Why wouldn’t we be able to do Hamlet?” Charlie parrots, passing you a coat with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t know, is it not a bit… on the nose? It’s my second year, and my brain’s steamed up so much that I’m doing Hamlet?”

Charlie chuckles softly, as he steps behind you to dress you up. “You are going to do a bitchin’ Hamlet. And now can you please go and have some fun for once?”

“This is fun, Charlie. Hamlet is fun,” you say, holding his arms and giving him a playful shake. “Fun!”

“Calm down, captain,” he grins, rolling his eyes. “Where are you guys going?”

“Ugh… World’s End?”

“World’s End?!” Charlie covers his mouth in feigned horror, his eyes wide. “This is so unlike Miss Medarda!” he whispers, shooting you an incredulous look.

“I know, Mel wanted casual,” you shrug, rolling your eyes. Then, as you move past him, you swat him lightly on the shoulder, seeking another round of uninhibited cackles. “Don’t be mean, Charlie!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Charlie laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Ah, World’s fucking End, who would’ve thought. Let me fetch you a driver, my lady.”

You shake your head and scan your office one last time, making sure you haven’t left anything important behind. Figuratively, of course, since almost everything dear to your heart is actually being left behind. And even though it’s only for a couple of hours, not being in control is frightening.

On the other side of the coin are your friends, with Mel right up front. She’s been there since the very first second of your meeting—right after you yelled at a light technician, making him flinch and nearly fall off the ladder. You had immediately corrected yourself with, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted. But this lightwork is still shit. Please fix it. I ask you kindly.”

That was when Mel grinned, wrapped an arm around your shoulder, and whispered into your ear, “Okay. I want to be your friend.”

Since then, Mel has been one of the main patrons of your theatre company, and you—being a firm unbeliever in your own abilities—are convinced it’s largely her money and pep talks that have granted you the creative freedom that led to you becoming an artistic director. Your worlds collided fast and hard, and, being another person married to her work, she quickly became one of the closest people in your life.

Until Jayce.

Mel, being someone who treats every relationship as an investment, doesn’t limit her influence to the arts. So when her family decided to fund research grants for scientists from the Francis Crick Institute, you knew something was coming as soon as she justified the decision with, “And they are both very handsome.”

You know the urge very well—the ever-nagging need to have everything under control, to oversee every grain of sand that rolls through the waist of the hourglass, every second planned, every schedule so tight there is barely time to breathe. It’s one of the things that bonded the both of you.

So when Jayce came along—with his motivation stemming not from a sickening need for self-accomplishment or a desperate urge to prove something to the world, but from the purity of his own heart and a healthy curiosity—Mel began to crack. And then the disease spread to you.

Now, you actually rest. You spend your free Sundays socializing. You talk about things other than work. You’ve even been on a few unsuccessful dates. And it’s all Jayce’s fault.

You loved him for it immediately—the small crumbs of the outside world granted to you and Mel through his unabashed joy and excitement. Jayce made things fun, and turning your phone off—briefly relinquishing control—became a little less terrifying.

From there, your thoughts drift in different directions until your absent-minded stare at the moving lights outside the car window is interrupted. The driver, in a grumpy tone, informs you that you’ve arrived at your destination. You crack the joints in your hands before thanking him and bidding him goodnight.

The World’s End is all red from the outside, its glow bleeding onto the wet pavement. Through the glass, you spot the back of Mel’s heavily accessorized hairstyle, a head of intricate twists and gleaming accents. You glance at your reflection, and—well. You’ve seen better days.

Your mini skirt has twisted around, placing the slit exactly where you don’t want it, so you yank it back into place, cursing Charlie for not telling you. In the process, you notice a small eyelet in your tights, the hole widening with each step you take. No nail polish to stop it from spreading. You curse yourself for that one. Your shirt is crumpled at the stomach—a reminder of hours spent hunched over your desk. Your necklace has caught a bunch of stray hairs, which you pick out frantically as you stride toward the door. And the rest of your hair? An artistic mess, sculpted by an impatient hand that’s raked through it a hundred times too many today.

Once inside, Mel’s slender hand and a row of her impossibly white teeth beckon you forward as she stands up to give you a hug.

And the inside of The World's End is exactly what you would expect from a Camden pub—big, loud, and brimming with mismatched charm. The walls are cluttered with a collection of art that looks like it was bought in a rush at a local flea market. There's a hum of conversation mixing with the thrum of the music playing in the background, and the space itself is large, almost cavernous. The low ceiling and uneven, wooden floorboards give it an unpolished look that feels welcoming to some, but it's not exactly the kind of place you'd expect to see Mel at.

Mel, in contrast, belongs in a sleek, minimalistic bar, somewhere where the drinks are as carefully curated as the furniture, where everything is perfectly composed. Here, she’s lost in the midst of it all, a little too refined for the space, as if her sharp lines don’t quite align with the pub’s rough edges. The things we do for friends.

“Darling, I’m glad you made it,” she chirps, walking toward you and spreading her arms wide.

“Now I can say I’d go to the end of the world for you,” you murmur into her shoulder, squeezing her tight. Then, pulling back, you present a small envelope. “Happy birthday, love. Here—best possible seats.”

Mel’s brows lift as she takes the tickets, flipping them between her fingers. “You shouldn’t have,” she says, though the gleam in her eye betrays her excitement. “But thank you. You wouldn’t believe who Jayce has managed to drag along,” she murmurs into your ear.

“Oh, it can’t be,” you whisper back, scanning the table over her shoulder.

A few of her closest friends sit huddled together, deep in conversation and laughter. Then, Jayce’s broad frame, unmistakable even in the dim light. And next to him—

A pair of loose shoulders, wrapped in a red shirt stretched between two sharp blades. The nape of his neck, covered in a mess of brown curls. He leans on one hand, nodding along to whatever Jayce is saying, his profile cutting sharp against the glow of the street lights.

Viktor. The last man standing, the one seemingly immune to Jayce’s influence when it comes to making people step out of their comfort zones. And yet, here he is. Of all occasions, it’s Mel’s birthday that has somehow coaxed Viktor out of his self-imposed solitude. A horse you wouldn’t have bet on.

You are led to the table, where all the seats seem to be taken—until Viktor removes his cane from the empty stool beside him and gestures for you to sit between him and Jayce. As you lower yourself onto the stool, you take his hand briefly and say, “The smartest man in the room, finally in the room.”

“You must be talking about Jayce,” he counters, a glint of amusement in his eye. He holds your palm for just a moment longer than necessary before letting go. “I’ve heard much about you.”

“Only good things, I hope,” you reply with a smile—until Mel’s head suddenly pokes between the two of you.

“What’s your poison, honey?” she asks. Only now do you notice her flushed cheeks and the way she’s completely disregarded the concept of personal space, her arm stretching beyond your shoulders to tug playfully at Jayce’s hair.

“A pint of bitter?” you say, startled.

She frowns slightly, but you quickly follow with, “Cheers,” hoping to steer her attention elsewhere. Her eyes squint at you, but she relents, giving Jayce’s back a clingy hug before strolling off to the bar. Only now Viktor’s hand releases yours.

He studies you for a moment before turning to his glass, giving you the chance to take a closer look—

The first two buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing the hollow between his collarbones, skin up to his neck is covered in a satin sheen of sweat. Tendons shift beneath it, blue veins threading along his throat. His hair is faintly damp around the ears, curling and plastering itself to his temples. From the side, his jaw forms nearly a perfect square.

You don’t dare to look higher.

Lower down, though, his sleeves are rolled up carelessly, exposing freckle-specked arms. You spot it by dropping your gaze naturally.

Mel was right. They are both very handsome.

As the birthday gal disappears toward the bar, you are left wedged between the two scientists, the noise of conversation assaulting your ears. Across the table, Amara leans in, her many rings clinking as she refills someone’s glass from a sweating bottle of wine. Beside her, Salo—always overdressed for the occasion, his blonde curls neatly combed back—gestures broadly mid-story, his voice animated. A few seats down, Mion, the youngest among them and always balancing the line between sharp and naive, listens intently while occasionally stealing olives from Mel’s abandoned plate.

"So," Jayce starts, shifting his weight so he can face you properly. “What’s keeping you so busy these days?”

You exhale, stretching your arms along the back of your seat, making your spine pop. “Wrapping up meetings with playwrights, directors, and actors—making sure everything aligns. Managing funding and sponsorships, finalising script choices.”

Salo whistles. “Sounds like a headache.”

“It’s a miracle she’s here at all,” Jayce adds, nursing his beer. “I half-expected her to send a regretful telegram from the depths of her desk.”

That earns a laugh from Amara, who nudges your foot under the table. “And what are the plays, then? What’s in?”

You rest your chin in your palm and do a mock countdown with the fingers of the other. “Further than the Furthest Thing, The Scottsboro Boys, A Streetcar Named Desire—possibly Hamlet.”

Mel, just returning with your beer, lets out a delighted gasp as she sets it down. “Hamlet? Oh, darling, tell me you’re doing it.”

“Calm yourself,” you warn, reaching for your drink. “I said possibly.”

She spreads her hands dramatically. “I can already see it now—the staging, the lighting—”

“Don’t start designing the posters just yet,” you cut in, but she’s grinning too widely to be discouraged. “I can still change my mind.”

“You know that’s a lot for one person,” Viktor remarks, leaning in from your right, his voice lower, meant just for the two of you. His pupils are darker, wider than the number of glasses of wine he’s had would suggest, assessing you from under hooded eyelids.

“I’ve always run through my life,” you say simply, tipping your glass toward him. “I do have help, though.” Viktor clicks his tongue, his mouth curving into a half-smile.

Before you can figure out what it means, Mion suddenly snaps her fingers. “Wait—how did you and Mel meet, anyway?”

Mel waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, I saw her preparing Yerma, and it was love at first sight.”

“Love?” Salo lifts a brow.

“She was standing on stage, sleeves rolled up, arguing over how the chairs should be arranged.” Mel sighs theatrically. “Her diligence. Her eye for detail. I knew I had to have her.”

Jayce snorts. “And by ‘have her,’ you mean ‘fund her.’”

Mel grins. “Exactly.”

The table dissolves into laughter, glasses clinking. Conversations crisscross—Salo and Mion bickering over some technical aspect of stage production, and you don’t have the heart to correct them. Jayce launching into an enthusiastic recounting of an experiment gone wrong. Someone beside you leans in to talk, and for a moment, you lose the thread of conversation.

The haze of smoke, the warmth of alcohol-softened breaths, the layered voices—it all blurs. Next to you, Viktor is speaking, but his words are swallowed by the noise.

The room tilts slightly, or maybe it’s just the drink settling in. Sounds overlap and ring in your ears as exhaustion takes hold and you zone out. Somewhere nearby, a bottle of wine gets passed around, then discarded in the middle of the table, still within your reach. A voice cuts through the fog, softer, closer. Then sharper, clearer than before.

Foreshadowed by Viktor’s hand on your leg—his right palm rests on you, and the moment it does, you tilt toward him, only to find he’s done the same. His fingers press inward, just barely grazing the inside of your thigh. It’s a gentle invasion, entirely unprovocative, something that simply happens—natural. His left arm hovers over your backrest as his mouth nears your ear, and you can feel the tickle of his hair on your cheek.

“Pass me the wine.” A soft command, tilting toward a question at the end, firm and quiet all at once.

You reach for the bottle without looking, your eyes fixed on his throat as he breathes. The moment it comes close, his touch leaves your leg and finds your fingers instead. His skin brushes yours, spreading the sweat from the glass onto your own, and something coils low in your stomach.

“Good…” he murmurs, clipped, as if something else should follow. “Thank you.” And then his warmth is gone, leaving you painfully sober, achingly empty.

It’s one of the most agonising seconds of your life—except this time, there’s something sickly sweet curling around the edges, a lingering undertone that was missing from all the other agonising moments you’ve suffered through.

For the rest of the evening, your attention doesn’t waver, save for the necessary moments to put Mel in the spotlight.

Viktor lingers close. Not close enough to raise any eyebrows—everyone else is too busy bickering and laughing at Jayce’s anecdotes—but enough for you to notice and relish in it. His breath occasionally fans your face when he leans over you for the bottle, his knee bumps yours under the table. He sits tilted toward you, his arm hooked against your stool, and his eyes never leave you, one way or another. He bombards you with questions and answers yours without blinking.

"Where did you study?" you ask, lips glued to the rim of your glass, leaving an stamp of your lipstick there.

"Abroad," he says vaguely, tipping his head. "You?"

"England. Try again," you counter, not looking up, only baring your teeth to the remnants of a cocktail in your hand.

Viktor exhales a quiet chuckle, tilting his glass idly in his fingers before conceding, "Vigilant, of course. Very well—biochemistry at UTC Prague." He pauses, watching your reaction. "Then onward to Francis Crick through MSCA. Now—tell me yours." The last part, a command again, gentle and firm and you find yourself reciting in no time.

"Theatre and Performance at Goldsmiths," you reply, your words a little looser, the alcohol working its way through your veins.

"Ah, how prestigious," he murmurs, voice laced with amusement.

"If you consider five years of bullying that, then yes," you slur, twirling your drink in your glass. His expression sharpens, brows lifting slightly in silent question. You sigh, meeting his gaze. "I got The Royal Academy of Dramatic Art scholarship. Before that, I led an utterly non-prestigious life in Staines."

"Hardworking girl," he purrs, and oh—his hand returns to your thigh, this time less inconspicuous as he drags a long finger up and stops just beneath the hem of your skirt.

"Where do you live?" he asks, his voice dipping lower, quieter, like the answer might be something just for him.

"Hackney," you answer immediately, then, seeing his knowing smile, feel the need to correct yourself. "The bad Hackney. You?"

"Eh, Islington," Viktor says, a hint of sheepishness in his voice.

Your mock jaw drop is immediate. "Unbelievable," you drawl. "And you dare to make fun of my fancy living?"

Viktor smirks, his fingers brushing your thigh before retreating. "You are making it up. But we can share a cab home then."

Something jumps in your chest at the thought of being locked in a tiny space alone with this man. And the cab driver, but, nevertheless. "I suppose we can. When do you want to go?" you ask, as steadily as you can manage right now.

He exhales slowly, then leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "Let's go now."

You have to stop your eyes from rolling in your skull. In fact, with the mix of various alcohols cursing through your veins and the secretive glances he’s been giving you, you’d probably nod vigorously if he offered to fuck you on the bar.

You step away from the table, weaving through the crowded space as you pull out your phone. Your fingers tremble slightly—whether from the drinks or the anticipation, you can't tell. It doesn’t matter. The cab company confirms your ride is on its way, barely three minutes out.

When you return, Viktor is still lounging against the table, his fingers tracing the rim of his now-empty glass. He doesn’t look at you right away, but his body angles toward you the moment you step back into his space. You lean in just enough to let the scent of him—wine, sweet sweat and washing powder—settle into your senses before speaking.

“We have three minutes,” you say casually, as if not stopping yourself from clenching your thighs.

Viktor gives a small, knowing nod and starts shuffling around for his cane and coat. His movements are unhurried, but there’s a quiet efficiency to them, a preparedness that has you smiling.

From across the table, Mel lets out a dramatic sigh. “You’re leaving already? I knew I shouldn’t have sat two workaholics together.”

Jayce snorts into his drink. “At least they lasted this long. I was expecting Viktor to slip out halfway through.”

Viktor hums in vague amusement, fastening the buttons of his coat. “And miss all your storytelling? Impossible.”

Mel rolls her eyes but grins. “Fine, fine. Go, be boring. Just don’t forget—” she waggles a finger at you—“you owe me a Hamlet.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Goodnight, Mel.”

With that, you feel Viktor’s hand brush lightly against the small of your back—an absentminded gesture, almost cautious, but it sends a thrill down your spine.

It’s raining again, and neither of you has an umbrella, so you huddle together under your purse until Viktor opens the door for you. You fall in with no grace whatsoever and slide your ass across the back seat to make space for him. He steps in slowly, throws his address to the driver, then slumps down beside you, looking at you expectantly.

For a moment, you freeze—until you realise everyone is waiting for your address. Mumbling out the street and number, you lean back, your shoulder blades pressing against his arm.

And oh. You know damn well you won’t be able to let this go beyond tonight—or that you shouldn’t be fucking around where you figuratively eat—but he smells good, and his eyes stay on you, dark and hungry. So you tip yourself into the crook of his shoulder, tilting your head up with an innocently pleading look.

Viktor chuckles, as if something has just been confirmed, and his slender hand finds its way between your thighs. His body shifts subtly, shielding you from the driver, who barely suppresses an eye roll in the rear-view mirror. His lips, burning with alcohol and want, close over yours. His tongue pushes inside, licking slow and deep along the row of your teeth. His fingers travel up your leg, stopping painfully close to where you ache for him most, and squeeze—just enough to brace himself as he leans in further.

You fumble with the buttons of his coat, slipping your hands beneath to tug his shirt free from his trousers. Another warm chuckle rumbles against your lips.

“So efficient,” he murmurs, breaking the kiss to mouth at your ear. His breath is hot when he whispers, “Do you want to fuck here, or will you be a good girl and wait until we get home?”

A strangled moan escapes you, and your own hand flies up to clamp over your mouth. Viktor grins against your skin.

“Good. Quiet,” he purrs, before dragging his tongue in a slick trail down your neck, stopping halfway to suck a bruise into your flesh.

Breath stumbles in your lungs when he stops, lips flushed, wet and red with your smeared lipstick, his teeth barely grazing your skin before he leans back to look at you. His fingers remain firm between your thighs, a teasing pressure that makes your legs tense and tremble beneath his touch.

Whatever has led you to this moment is not your usual behaviour, but somehow, you can’t be bothered to announce it. Long ago—somewhere after shitty date number five, or fifteen—you swore off bad sex for the sake of no sex and peace of mind. You grew tired of partners who were more tease than do, and the ones who assumed you’d thrive on organising everything in bed, just as you do at work.

You crave someone to take that pressure off you. Someone who would simply allow you to be dumb, even just for a few moments. To fuck your brains out so that poor strongest muscle of yours can replenish and breathe before you have to step back into the saddle and lead the chaotic orchestra of theatre technicians, actors, directors, and founders toward whatever critics deem a successful season. To take all the decision-making away and praise you for it.

And you have no guarantee that Viktor will do exactly that—other than the way his roaming hand squeezes your leg so firmly or the way his tongue, insistent and wanting, doesn’t ask permission before invading your mouth. The way he has stared at you the entire night has left you hotter and more bothered than anyone’s scrutiny ever has. And even if this is a mistake, it’s one you are willing to make. Your thighs shake at the thought, and Viktor gasps softly against your lips.

"You're trembling," he murmurs, voice low as the vowels roll thickly off his tongue. His free hand reaches up, pushing your hair aside. He trails his knuckles along your jaw, his thumb pressing lightly against your parted lips. "Cold, or something else?"

You give a breathy laugh, rolling your hips ever so slightly into his palm, chasing that friction. Viktor hums, pleased, before his fingers slip higher—just barely ghosting over the hanging-there nylons shielding your underwear. Your breath catches.

The cab rattles over a pothole, jolting you both, but neither of you pulls away. If anything, it only makes Viktor bolder. He shifts to face you fully, pressing you back into the seat as he kisses you again, deeper this time, his tongue curling languidly around yours. You taste wine and your own spit on him, and it makes you dizzy.

His hand abandons your thigh only to grab your wrist, dragging it to the front of his trousers, where he's already half-hard beneath the layers of fabric. "I want you," he breathes against your mouth, nipping at your lower lip before letting his forehead drop to yours.

You palm him through the material, pressing just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath. The sound alone makes a fresh gush of lust bloom in your knickers.

Then—a pointed cough.

You both jolt as if caught doing something far more illicit than you already are.

"Islington," the cab driver announces dryly, eyes fixed firmly on the road.

Viktor huffs out a laugh, dragging his fingers through his already-mussed hair. "Do you want to come in?" he says, as if you hadn’t just been grinding against each other like reckless teenagers in the back of a cab.

You swallow, pulse still pounding in your ears. "Yes," you nod. "Yes."

“I suppose we will wrap up the ride here,” Viktor says reaching for his wallet and taking out one note too many to make up for whatever the poor man had to endure.

“Yeah, mate, I figured. Have a great night.”

[howlettsbaby]

Our Little Secret ʚ♡ɞ

brian quinn x afab!reader

warnings: porn w/ little plot, reader is over 18, age gap, unprotected sex, oral!fem receiving, daddy kink, secret relationship, dub con (??) , rough sex, pussy inspection, nipple play, use of pet names (baby, doll, slut), mild manipulation, squirting, choking, overstimulation

summary: it’s been hard keeping a secret relationship with your dads best friend. despite how much you crave him, how would brian react if you started pushing him away?

a/n: just a small announcement - i have received various requests and i’ve already got drafts going for a couple of them. please don’t be alarmed if it takes me a while, i’m doing my best!

ever since you started sneaking around with your dads best friend, it feels like your whole life has changed. you cared for brian, you really did. but it was hard not being able to show your relationship publicly.

—

currently, your sitting on your kitchen island, eating a bag of chips when he walked in. looking up from the bag, you watched as brian closed the door behind him. he made his way towards you, sighing as he stood ahead you.

“hey baby,” his words were gentle. he softly smiled at you, resting a thumb over your uncovered thigh. it’s been hard trying to avoid him, despite seeing him recently around the house. you could tell he knew something was up with you. needing to come to a conclusion, he spoke before your could greet him back.

“you going to tell me whats been going on?” you let out an exhale, knowing that this moment was approaching. you knew you needed to communicate with him, but you couldn’t lose your dads best friend.

you sighed, avoiding eye contact. “i don’t know if we should do this anymore bri..” he paused, removing his hand from your thigh. “what do you mean?” he questioned, confused from your mixed feelings. “i just..” you stopped, trying to find the right words to say. “you know i care about you, i just don’t want us to get caught.” you murmured while he remained still.

“we’ve talked about this honey, you know i won’t let anyone find out.” he softly caressed your cheek soothingly. “i can’t let go of you.” you whimpered at his statement, “i can’t let go of you either.” looking up at him - you locked eyes with the beautiful brown-eyed man. instantly, a pool of wetness started to form in your panties. “is this why you haven’t answered my texts baby?” you nodded nervously. he exhaled once again, letting a smile creep around his lips to comfort you.

he placed a kiss on your lips, holding onto your jawline. “i’m sorry,” a small whine exited your lips. “don’t be, let daddy take care of you, mkay?”

his calloused hands wrapped around your thighs, lifting you up with a small gasp exiting your lips. “not here though.” he continued kissing you as he made his way up the stairs, concentrated on making his little doll feel good. when the two of you approached your room, he opened the door and placed you on your bed. he removed his lips from yours to stand up and go lock the door behind him — this was for nobody else to see.

brian rushed back over to the bed, immediately smashing his lips onto yours. “you taste so sweet baby,” he flirted. you blushed in response, rutting your heated area against his clothed buldge. “you want me baby? i want you.” your cheeks became even hotter - “yes, want you so bad daddy” you squealed, craving for him to be inside you.

his cock bulged at your whines, pulsing for you inside his jeans. he nearly tore your shirt in half due to his eagerness to take it off. luckily for him, you were bare underneath. your nipples hardened in the chilly room. “look so pretty like this,” he stared at your perfect tits for a moment, before smashing his face in-between them. his lips connected to your left nipple, as he massaged the right with his hands. you threw your head back while running your fingers through his hair. your freshly manicured acrylics scratched his scalp in all the right places.

after that, he worked his way out of his clothes, leaving him in only his boxers. he moved down your tiny shorts after he unclothed himself, discarding them to somewhere in your room. for a second, he admired your soaked panties. “all for me doll?” he chuckled, grazing his hand over your covered clit. you nodded in response, aching from the need of pleasure. “it aches daddy,” you rubbed a hand over your lower-belly, whining out for him. “i know baby, gonna fix that for you m’kay?” he lowered himself over your pulsating core, removing your cotton panties.

brian slid a finger through your glistening folds, admiring how much he turned you on. he watched as your hole clenched around nothing, and how your clit was beating out for him. “touch me, touch me bri” you threw your head back in anticipation. “just a second baby, let daddy have a look.” he said before he removed his hands from your wet pussy. brian then gripped your thighs for support as he kissed alongside them, nose nearly touching your clit. when you were about to confront him for the teasing, he slammed his tongue directly into your dripping hole.

he glided his tongue in and out your hole before sliding it around your clit. his grip on your thighs became rougher as you started to squirm. he watched as you started to grab everything - the sheets, his hair, your stuffed animals. he knew he was the only one who could make you feel this way, and planned on never letting you go. he didn’t give a fuck about risking his friendship with your dad - hell, he just started talking to him when he saw his pretty, innocent daughter.

brian was the first man to ever touch you like this, which led to you becoming obsessed with him. the way he cared for you as if you were a fragile piece of glass meant everything.

“mm, gonna cum,” you whined, alerting him about your release. he nodded his head side to side, lips still locked in your pussy. “not yet.” he demanded. his voice was stern and imperious. you moaned, not knowing how you’ll hold on any longer.

a couple minutes went by, and he was still settled in between your legs. “can’t bri!” you nearly screamed, becoming dumbfounded by the pleasure. he looked up at your face, watching how it contorted and how your eyes rolled back. the pleasure became too unbearable, so you started pushing yourself away from him. he was strong though, too strong. he kept you locked in place by just holding down your thighs. brian had a goal - and he knew he was about to reach it.

many “no��s” and “please’s” left your lips before you could feel something unfamiliar approaching. before you could make another move, a small aray of hot liquid drained from your core. it made a complete mess all over your bed but more importantly, all over his face. you hollered before the last drop of liquid left your body. your body fell limp on the bed, too weak to move.

brian lifted himself up and examined the mess you made. “didn’t know you could squirt doll,” he moved his way to hover his entire body over you. you let out a small whine in response, not able to form words in your head.

he moved your body and spread your legs before pulling down his boxers. “gonna fuck you now, okay?” it was almost as if he was asking permission, but you knew that wasn’t what it was. you nodded with your eyes still closed, too heavy to open them. “i need words baby” he demanded. you sniffled as a tear rolled down your cheek, “okay daddy,” you huffed. he kissed the tear off your face before lowering himself into your overused cunt.

instantly, you winced at the pain of his large cock slowly sliding inside of you. he made it about halfway before pulling out and gliding his cock along your folds. you groaned when his shaft touched your sensitive clit. caught up in the bliss, you snapped out of it when he slammed his cock fully inside of you. “ah, mm - hurts daddy.” you cried, wrapping your arms around his back for support. he was too big, and could barely fit inside your small cunt. “i know baby, hush, daddy’s got you.” he said peering above you.

he started to thrust inside of you, as you rocked your hips back n forth. the burning pain soon passed and turned into immense pleasure. he felt so fucking good deep inside your core.

he started to pick up the pace once he felt your hips move. his cock throbbed in your hole while destroying your sensitive gummy walls. it took everything in him not to completely brutalize you. he knew you were just a sensitive little girl, and he cared for you.

you could feel his tip kissing your cervix, sending you into a spiral. brian always watched your faces because it was easy to tell when you were going to cum. also, he just loves to look at his pathetic little slut whining on his cock. “yes, yes, yes!” you groaned out as he started to rub your puffy red clit with his thumb. nearing your orgasm, you bit down on his shoulder to muffle your noises. he grabbed one of his hands that were wrapped around your waist, locked it in with your hair, and harshly tugged you back. “no baby” he said between thrusts. “gotta hear you.”

while his hand was still pulling your head back, he moved his lips down your neck, sucking on the skin. brian knew all of your sensitive spots, and knew where to kiss you.

“i’m so c..close” you could barely manage to get the words out, stuttering between them. “you gonna cum for daddy, hm?” he said as he placed the hand that was once in your hair around your neck. “gonna make a mess on daddy’s cock?” his eyes were dark with lust. you could see it in him.

you could feel the knot in your lower stomach, begging for a release. “can i cum daddy, please?” you pleaded. he groaned in response, leaving you to release the buildup that’s been trying to get out. your back arched as you rode out your intense high. his orgasm followed soon after, pulling out and spreading his seed all over your stomach while you were still spazzing out.

he held you close as you started to calm down. you immediately fell into his chest, crying from the intense intimacy you two just shared. he rubbed your back soothingly and wiped the tears that fell from your face.

you both laid in silence for a moment, but it was comforting. then, you looked down at your legs and spot the huge mess you made. you whimpered, “i’m all messy” he chuckled. “i’ll clean you up soon baby, just let daddy hold you for a second.”

“mm, was i good?” you innocently look up at him. he grinned in awe, realizing how fucking obsessed with you his was. “did so good for me baby.” you smiled widely before tucking yourself back into his hairy chest, feeling a wave of relaxation hit you.

“we gotta do this again.” you said, words mumbled as you were tucked away. “hm, don’t think this is the end of it baby.” he said as the two of you closed your eyes and cuddled after the intimate event.

[silentcryracha]

❍ ‗ Spotlight (lee know) ‗ ❍

Pairing : Lee Know x f reader

Summary : An upcoming work event stresses you out of your mind. But someone's there to help you relieve some of that stress, and who would've thought that it would be that one annoying co-worker?

Genre/ Warnings : it's a light co-workers enemies to lovers thing, talk about stage fright, mention of anxiety and bad breakup, talk of being chated on, some insecurity (brief and not specific mention), smut with plot (ONLY 18+), protected sex (UNBELIEVABLE?), soft dom minho of you squint, the whole this is a bit angsty, ending is open (is it tho?)

Word count : 10k (oh brother)

A/n : Has it ever happened to you to be SOO pent up and stressed that you could punch a wall and cry at the same time? Yeah, exactly. How about we fuck instead! Lmao, enjoy

ps: There could be grammar errors. Do NOT repost on other socials. Leave feedback if you feel like it, otherwise enjoy! ♡︎

masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It all started with that damned research plan. 'Why the fuck did I even agree to that?', that's pretty much the same question that's been going through your mind for the past week.

Your boss held a meeting some time ago and asked your unit to bring up some ideas for an upcoming convention that will be held a few hours from your city. Several major companies in your field would be presenting their own projects to some big names in the industry plus some extremely wealthy people, that actually put their money into good causes.

So you did what you had to, took a couple of days to research and came up with an idea. You knew it was a good concept, and that you were good at your job. You were pretty confident. However, you were part of a team. A small one, but still, you were not in charge of anything in reality.

Which is why you nearly had a heart attack when during the meeting your boss actually decided on the spot to create a whole concept based on your idea. With you in charge.

Panic flooded your mind as you tried to reason with him, going from 'I can't do it' to 'We're a team', literally anything to try and make him change his mind. Even downplaying yourself, for how much it hurt your ego. Just because you have great ideas doesn't mean you want to have the literal spotlight in a livestreamed work convention!

"This unit has been doing a good job for the past months, while still being experimental. I think you deserve it. But I need you to prove yourselves this time, too. So what do you say, y/n?"

And with that, he got you. Why lie. Not only because you desperately wanted to get ahead in the company, but also because you knew for a fact that the rest of the team wanted it as bad as you did.

Were you really going to be the villain and turn down such an occasion for everyone, just because of your own overthinking? So, in the end, as unsure as you were, you still accepted.

And you couldn't lie, the prospect of getting recognition and a better working position fueled your motivation. You would've still been sick 10 minutes before the event, you were sure. 'But that will come later', you tried to convince yourself.

Fast forward to two weeks later, that's how you found yourself stuck to the office computer at 8 pm. On a Friday night. In your twenties. All the documents, research, presentation, audio, script…literally everything was ready and finalized.

You were pretty sure that if you asked your co-workers to check it one more time...you would've had the whole computer thrown at you. So you did it yourself, of course. Again and again.

You were the one who would have had to go up on a stage and explain it all, weren't you? You were so worried that your stage fright would make you somehow forget it all and even managed to fuck up reading from the script.

The fourth, or maybe fifth, coffee of the day being the only thing keeping you going. Aside, maybe, from the adrenaline. You were tired, yes. You should be going home, checking that your suitcase was properly packed and your tickets ready for your morning flight. Yet your anxious and perfectionist mind just wouldn't let you relax.

"Aren't you going home?" a voice interrupted your flow of thoughts, making you roll your eyes. You didn't even have to look to recognize that voice.

"No. But you should." you responded, with annoyance in your voice.

Lee Minho. Your 'second in command', as per your boss words. You have never quite spoken, before the past two weeks. Which sounds incredibly unrealistic, being in the same small work unit and all, but it was true.

Your team was an efficient one, but definitely not a tight one. All seven of you were literally picked out from different bigger divisions in the company, some even from other office buildings.

Straight away you were told that your team was going to be an experiment. This was roughly ten months ago, which wasn't much, but for a bunch of people who were essentially stuck in a limbo, uncertain of where they'll end up the followung year, was more than enough.

Being honest, you weren't particularly eager to get close to any of them. Whether it was an off-vibe or just you being kinda closed off and shy, you weren't sure. Regardless, you kept work life and personal life well separated.

Lee Minho, for example, was someone who you could never quite read. You may not have been very social, but you were observant. You knew that he was good at his job, often getting extra meetings and praise from higher ups. He was also quite standoffish, kinda like you. You did see him a few times talking with some other people at the company's cafe. But you didn't know them.

Then, suddenly this presentation thing happened, and just like a bunch of new class mates, the team was forced to collaborate. And boy, did you learn to know him quickly.

Your guess that he was good at his job was correct, but he was also extremely cocky while doing it. Your boss put you in charge, and yet it seemed that his life mission was to contradict and question you in almost everything. And the most infuriating thing was that he had a point, each time.

You lowkey hated him, because he would just add fuel to the fire. More details on a topic, some script corrections, visual corrections to pictures and illustrations. He seemed to be wanting to do stuff his way. But so were you, so it was kind of a silent war between you two. During one of the earlier briefs, you even mentioned it to your boss, and he just said to compromise. Easier said than done for two stubborn, competitive, people.

"The janitor will come soon to kick you out." he insisted, as he took his long suede coat from the hanger.

"Then I'll tell him to give me a few more minutes." you replied, squeezing your eyes for a moment, desperately trying to moisten them a little after spending so many hours in front of the computer screen.

"You said that forty minutes ago. Everyone else has already left like, two hours ago." his voice didn't have any particular feeling to it, but the fact that he was so insistent made you snap.

"Listen, Minho" you started, turning your head back towards him, "Whatever this is, quit it. I don't need an assistant, nor someone to remind me of the office's rules and I certainly don't need your concern."

This time it was his turn to roll his eyes, an annoyed smirk on his sharp features as he crossed his arms and leaned back on the wall.

"And I'm not claiming to be any of those. Are you forgetting that you're the head of the team and it's your job to make a decent presentation for all of us, right" he responded, the scolding tone suddenly making you feel uncomfortably small. He was right, of course you knew it.

You stood up, the desk chair rolling slightly behind you.

"Of course I fucking know-" your venomous response was suddenly interrupted by a knock on the big glass window of the office.

You and Minho both turned your heads and saw the two janitors staring at you. The older man who knocked looked quite annoyed and like he didn't give a single fuck about intruding, but the younger one behind him had his eyebrows raised and looked to be hiding an amused smile, clearly enjoying the show.

"I'm sorry miss y/l/n, we can't wait any longer to close up the floor. It's the company rules." he said, absolutely not meaning the 'sorry' in the slightest. And you couldn't blame him, really. You wouldn't either.

So you took a deep breath, faked a polite smile and nodded.

"Yes, I understand. I'll just pack my stuff and be out in a couple of minutes. Promise." he just grumbled a 'sure' while the younger one behind him gave you a tight lipped smile in embarrassment, then walked off.

You side eyed Minho as you turned back to your station to pack up your stuff and turn off the computer. Making sure to send yourself a copy of the slide presentation and the speech script. Well, another copy of the previous five files, anyway. Can never be sure enough!

'Don't you dare say anything.' you warn.

'Wasn't going to.' he replied, 'That was embarrassing enough already' you picked up on the humor in his voice, but it didn't make you smile in the slightest. You just wanted to get rid of him and go home to stress yourself until tomorrow, in peace. Maybe with a drink or two.

You noticed him waiting for you, for some reason, but you decided to ignore him and walk out of the office without sparing him a glance. He quietly followed ad you approached the elevator, and then pushed the button for the first floor before you could.

You stood there in silence, annoyingly aware of his presence not even a meter behind you.

"Why do you hate me?" Minho spoke with a curious, yet careful tone. His question took you by surprise, and also embarrassed you a bit. Did you actually even hate him? That seemed like a strong word for whatever you had going on.

"I don't 'hate' you." you answered, making the word, "You're just extremely annoying." he snorted a laugh.

"Well, at least you're honest." the irony in voice didn't escape you, and you instantly felt... quite bad? Qauite honestly you didn't know how to reply, so you shut up instead.

The elevator doors finally opened at the first floor, which was already eerily quiet and dark. Except for two security people that waved both of you off as you exited the building.

"Well, y/n, get home safely. I'll see-" he started to talk while taking a step back, but you stopped him, gesturing with your hand.

"Wait, Minho" he stopped in his tracks, clearly surprised. Your eyes wandered on the street, watching the cars pass by, as you rubbed your clothed shoulder, both from the cold and the nervousness.

"I'm sorry. I don't actually have a personal problem with you. And even if I did, my behaviour was unprofessional and rude. So I apologize." you created a small puff of hot air as you talked.

"Y/n-" you interrupted him yet again, not on purpose, but you kept going, in hopes of finishing off that awkward interaction.

"Also, I'm not your boss or anything, but I wanted to tell you that you did a good job. And, while it does cost a small piece of my ego to admit it, you gave some very good inputs. So, thank you." you cleared your throat a bit, still not looking back at him, even though you could feel his gaze on you.

Minho bit back a smile, and was about to answer, thinking you were finished, but suddenly the mood shifted and your voice started to tremble. His smile dropping fast and a confused expression taking place as he listened.

"I'm not usually like this, I-I...' you bit your lip, trying to regain composure, 'It's been a shitty period lately and this was kind of the last straw you know? I fucking hate speaking in public, goddamn it." a bitter and shaky laugh left your lips, your eyes becoming shiny.

You must've been out of your mind, you thought. How did you go from being a bitch then opening up and crying in the span of ten minutes? With Lee Minho of all people?

You were just about to wrap the conversation up and start trying to catch a taxi, but the cherry colored- hair man suddenly started to walk closer. You finally looked up, mainly in confusion, and saw just the shadow of a smile and kind eyes.

"'It's fine, y/n." he paused, "How are you getting home?'

You sniffled, blinking a few times, "I'm gonna catch the first cab that passes from here, I don't live that far but I can't be bothered to walk in the dark right now." he nodded in acknowledgement.

"My car is parked about two minutes from here" he pointed behind you, "If you allow me I'd like to offer you a ride." you stood there for a second, trying to rationalize the fact that your co-worker with whom you had beef until five minutes ago was offering you a ride. So you relied on humor, to lighten up the situations.

"I don't know, are you going to kill me?" he widened his eyes for a second, genuinely looking panicked for a second. He started to wave his hands around awkwardly.

"No, woah-" he spoke, "If you don't feel safe-" your small laugh instantly relaxed him, as he lowered his arms back down and giving you a side eye in the process.

"I'm sorry. But you can't honestly blame me, with everything going on in the world." you justified yourself, starting to walk to the spot he pointed out, "Just so you know, my mom and best friend have my location. Just in case."

"Ah, ah, ah." he faked a laugh as he followed behind you. The light of a grey, seemingly spotless and quite expensive looking, car blinked a couple of times.

Minho opened the passenger seat for you, then circled the car back to the driver's side.

--

The car ride was pretty much silent, and a light but definitely present layer of awkwardness filled the air. He asked for your address, put it on the navigator, then didn't speak again.

You joked about his car looking expensive and he snorted a laugh, nodding. "It did take a couple of years and a promotion to pay off, yes."

Then silence..again.

Thankfully the car ride was quite short, as you anticipated. Only made a couple of minutes longer by the traffic of the people getting off work. Late, like you two, you imagined.

He pulled up in front of your building, parking the car to let you get off.

You truly had no idea what came over you, but nonetheless you blurted out "Do you wanna come up for a drink?"

Minho's mouth went slighly agape, as he was so obviously trying to suppress a smile. His cocky aura making it actually hard to understand if he was about to mock you or seemed pleased.

"Oh?" and that made it so much worse, making you scramble for a response.

"I mean- it's not even nine pm, and tomorrow it's gonna be the end of a jurney of hard work." you justified, "I'm still gonna celebrate by myself, by the way. I was just offering." the last sentence being almost muffled, which actually made it funnier for him. You looked kinda cute.

"You know what, boss number two," your head snapped at those words, along with him turning off the car engine, "I think I may use a drink. I wouldn't have any at my place, anyway." he smirked.

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile as well. You both got out of the car, and walked to the building's entrance as he locked it witht he distance key.

"And what do you have waiting at home, if not a glass of wine at the end of the day?" you joked as you entered the building. You started to walk up a set of stairs, so he just followed, a few steps behind.

"Three cats?" the humor in his voice actually made you turn your head to read his expression.

"Really?" you smiled. He nodded prudly, still following behind you.

"Oh yes. My pride and joy, if you will." you laughed, finally stopping on the second floor, in front of a white door.

"Wouldn't have made you out to be a cat's man" You unlocked it, turning on the light as you invited the redhead inside. He politely took off his shoes by the entrance, following your example, and bowed his head.

"Well, you don't really know me, if we're being honest."

"True." you nodded, a bit embarassed, "Please, give me your coat. It's warm here, I promise." you smiled. He thanked you, handing you the item.

He looked around while you went in another room. The apartment was definitely a nice one, even if not the largest. It looked cozy and quite artsy, but tastefully so. Lots of CDs, a couple of paintings, a nice tv, a leather couch. The living room had a balcony with a city view, and was connected to an open space kitchen.

"Please, make yourself comfortable. On the couch, at the table. Wherever you want." you came back with a pair of black light tracksuit pants, a nice loose shirt with some graphic design on it, and your hair down.

Minho couldn't help but, casually, notice how good those pants made your ass look. But he cleared his throath and opted for a seat at the table, before his gaze lingered too long.

"Thanks", he sat down comfortably, curiously looking at the kitchen furniture, "You have a really nice place"

You smiled politely, giving him a nod.

"Thank you, Minho. I actually didn't move here too long ago. About five months-ish?", you explained, "Alright, let's get back to business. I have a few things." he tilted his head to listen.

"I have two types of my personal favorite, red wine. Then some whiskey that wasn't even gifted to me to begin with," your tone was slightly off as you said it, but he didn't ask.

"Then I have some tequila, gin and... champagne. Yeah, that's it." he chuckled.

"Well, comparing to mine's, that's a small but respectable collection." he joked, "I'll just have some of that italian wine, thanks" he smiled, amused. You laughed a bit.

"It's all small bottles. I only really drink wine. I also use it for cooking. The rest is for nights with girlfriends. Don't picture me as an alcholic, please" you both laughed at you scrambling to justify yourself.

"If you say so, yn" he teased.

"Oh, c'mon!"

--

You didn't really remeber exactly how you ended up from sharing a glass of wine and cheering to your incoming job presentation, to eating leftovers, then moving to the couch. But you got there.

The difference is that after getting a bit too giggly and a little lightheaded, you both agreed to switch to water. Yeah, that's probably when you also decided to put something in your stomachs.

After all, he would've had to drive back home. And both of you couldn't afford a hangover when you had such an important day ahead and a flight at eight am.

It was now around eleven pm as you sobered up, just hanging out on your cream colored couch.

"So that's how my friend from sixth floor found out boss is cheating. Big time." he concluded, making you rolle your eyes dramatically as you took a sip of water.

"Of course he's fucking cheating on his wife. Of course" he raised a finger, leaning a bit forward.

"It's not only that he's cheating. He's cheating with the chief editor and a bunch of other emplyees too. Lost fucking cause" your mouth opened in shock, gasping.

"Nasty man! I just hope it's a bunch of immoral people and nothing more serious it's going on, at this point." you shook your head as he nodded in agreement.

"I know right? Of course it's mainly hushed office rumors, but at least a couple of those have to be true. My friend's girlfriends says there's eye witnesses." you smirked slightly, humored.

"Scandal" he snorted a laugh at your comment as he ate a piece of cake. A strawberry and whippe cream cake your best friends got you when you got the job.

"What about you," his eyes moved back to you, "Do you have anyone? Aside from your three fur babies, of course." he smirked a bit as he chewed on his bite, taking a couple of seconds to try and read your expression.

"No, no one." he answered, "I was actually married for about a year. Then the stupidity wore off." your eyes actually widened in surprise at his words.

"You were married? For a year? What happened?" your questions were quick and probably quite nosy, so you backtracked, "I'm sorry. If- I mean, if you feel like sharing. Of course."

"It's fine", he shook his head lightly, he moved a bit on the couch to get comfortable, "It sounds crazy but it was years ago. We were eighteen, and stupid. We were together for like, six months, and since she was having trouble with her parents and needed a place to live, I guess that my stupid-in-love mind decided that getting married and renting an apartment was the right call." he explained, not with any particular intonation. Maybe some humor, actually.

"It was an extremely quick decision too. Proposed, one day later we were legally married. But then we quickly understood that marriage wouldn't solve her problems, so while I just questioned myself over and over and scrambled to find work, she went out and cheated."

"Oh my gosh!" you exclaimed, covering your mouth with your hand. He nodded, with an ironic expression.

"Yeah. I actually never found out how long that went on. Hopefully less than our marriage. That'd be embarassing." you instinctively reached out, placing your hand on his knee. You regretted it immediately as soon as your eyes met though, so you retracted it, brushing it off.

"I'm really sorry. That's shitty. I know how it feels." the bitterness in your voice finally made Minho place the small pieces you had intentionally scattered in the conversation that eventing, making him put it together.

"You got cheated on too?" you cleared your throat, sighing slightly.

"Not that I would've imagined the conversation going there tonight but, yes. That's- well that's why I'm living by myself now. You know how it is, messy breakup, lots of tears, and then you move on."

"I'm sorry.", his voice was soft and sincere, "How have you been holding up? You're certainly killing it on the job, though." he smiled at you.

"Even if it makes you nervous." he added. You gave him a small grateful smile, but couldn't help to get a bit sad.

"Thanks. You know, I do love being by myself. The relationship had become stale for a while. I kind of saw it coming. But of course, after two years, it stung." you admitted, "Wasn't particularly kind to my self esteem. Leaving him with my half of rent to pay while being jobless was kind of paybay, not gonna lie." you raised an eyebrow, making him laugh.

"Deserved, honestly." you laughed instinctively a bit too, but your mood was definitevely affected a t least a little now. Minho wanted to comfort you, telling you that he didn't see anything that you should be insecure about. But he stopped himself, feeling like he would've overstepped some boundaries.

"I'm sure you're doing great. Parties with girlfriends, a whole place by yourself, killing it at work. It's gonna be okay." that was the most he allowed himself to say, but judging from the grateful look in your eyes, that was probably enough.

You blinked a couple of times, awkwardly catching yourself getting voulnerable for the second time that evening with a man that until a few hours prior was just a bit less than a stranger.

As you thought that, you actually remembered to take a look at the clock on your wall and saw that it was half past midnight. You got up instantly, slightly startling Minho.

"Shit, look at the hour. I will probably not sleep for a good while, but it may be late for you. With the drive and all. I'm sorry I kept you blabbering for hours." you released a small, nervous laugh as you picked up both of your leftover cake plates.

He nodded slightly, mostly at himself, getting up.

"I don't have very regular sleeping schedules. My cats tell me when it's bed time." he joked, making you smile. "But I think you're right. I definitely sobered up now, don't worry."

You nodded, eyes struggling to stray from his brown, shiny ones. You cleared your throat, catching yourself before you could make things more awkward.

"I'll get your coat, wait a sec" he silently followed your figure as you disappeared again, then, just as you did, he tried to get a grip and walked towards the entrance where he had left his shoes.

He slipped them on, slapping himself slightly on the cheek to get some composure back. Just after that you came back, smoothing out his coat.

"Let me help you" you spoke softly, without really asking. He turned his back to you without speaking, offering you one arm, then the other. He then shrugged his shoulders a bit to fit the coat properly on.

"Thanks" you nodded, acknowledging him silently. You proceeded to open the door, and turn on the stairs light on for him. He turned back to look at you, now just a few steps outside of the apartment.

"Your cheeks turned red.", he teased, "Did you warm up well?"

"Yes" your tone was a bit more serious than his, wondering if his question hid a deeper meaning behind it. Maybe what he was really asking was if you warmed up to him, after all.

He looked down, nodding. He then smiled warmly, looking up back at you.

"Good. Thanks for the drink, it was fun", he stated sincerely, "Make sure to rest well, goodnight yn"

But, as he was about to leave, he felt your hand reaching for his sleeve. He stopped, turning back to look at your hand, then fixing his gaze on you. Your eyes were looking at him so intensely, almost burning into his. He didn't speak. He waited.

"Would it be extremely unprofessional if I asked my co-worker to stay over?" your words were teasing, but your tone as well as your gaze didn't match them. That's what made him hesitate at first.

"Are you sure?"

You retracted your hand, letting go of his sleeve. A hint of insecurity hitting you. But not towards your desire, more towards yourself. Imagine if he said no and rejcted you.

"You can say no" he fully turned to face you, walking closer.

"I didn't say 'no'. I asked if you are sure. Are you?" his tone wasn't harsh at all, but it was serious. It's true, he didn't say no. And you also weren't really sure why, but you were sure you wanted him. So, just in case...

"Yes, I am. We're both free, consenting adults. Doesn't have to mean anything. Letting go some stress, you know." you shrugged, leaning against the doorframe, crossing your arms. Acting way more cocky than you were actually feeling. Truth be told, you were so horny you would've probably crawled if he asked you to.

Minho squinted his eyes a bit, studying your expression. But he saw right though you. He didn't know the extent of your confidence at that moment, but he could see that you wanted him like he wanted you.

"Right" he finally spoke, slowly walking closer and closer, instinctively making you backtrack inside, your eyes fixiated in his as if you were hypnotised.

"Just de-stressing a bit, I guess" he pushed the door shut lightly with his foot before reaching for your cheek with one hand and your waist with the other. Taking the hint, you crashed your lips with his.

The kiss didn't start slow, it was right away a messy, passionate one. Minho shrugged out of his coat, never leaving your lips for as much as he could.

"Wait- the coat-" you panted softly, but he shut you up quickly, pulling your even closer by grabbing at your lower back.

"Fuck the coat" he managed to answer, making you laugh faintly. Your lips separated as you stepped back enough to lead him to the bedroom. During the small walk, there was a pause, and neither of you talked.

You reached the bedroom, and slowly as you stood at the edge of the king size bed, you started to undress each other.

Starting from his tie, which was alrady loosened, then his shirt buttons coming undone one by one, then his belt. Minho didn't really move, nor rush you. He just held you by the waist, following closely your hands.

Being so lost in admiring his perfectly soft but muscular body, you kind of forgot that you were still completely covered. Not that you were exactly looking forward to getting naked and vulnerable at that moment in your life, but it was kind of require, as they say.

You stopped just before getting to the zipper of his elegant pants, his boner already forming a tent. You looked up at him, kind of questioning his stillness. But he was already looking at you, eyes lusty but comforting at the same time.

"Do whatever you want." he stated, taking one of your hands and encouraging it towards his pants, "Consider it a personal congratulations gift. Guide me." he continued, then squinted his eyes a bit, getting closer with his face to yours with a small smile.

"Unless you'd like me to?" that one sentence did so much damage to the least bit of self respect you were clinging to...so might as well.

You nodded slowly, you chest going up and down heavily, trembling a bit from the mix of excitement and, well, a bit of shame. The kind that will bring you pleasure though.

And he saw it. Again he saw right through you. Not that in the horny state you were at that moment you would've had much to hide anyway.

Minho chuckled, leaning in right next to your ear, whispering "Good girl", his lips starting to kiss your neck seductively, "Take my pants off for me, mmh?"

A moan escaped your mouth as your hands worked shakily with his zipper, then pushing the fabric down, revealing the expensive brand boxers he was wearing. And the hard on. Couldn't forget about that.

"So good for me. I'm going to undress you too, now. That's okay, right, honey?" his hands toyed with the hem of your t-shirt, waiting for consent, which arrived very quickly after.

"Yes, please" he cooed at that, proceeding to lift up your shirt and get it off you, leaving you in your simple, cotton bra. You didn't exactly dress up expecting this, but well.

"'Please'? You're so cute" he praised, continuing his works by pushing down your tracksuit pants. At that point, as drunk on lust and praise as you were, your insecurity couldn't help but hit as you were becoming aware of Minho's gaze.

That's why when he felt your hands squeeze his sidez a bit and get tense, he stopped, leaning back to check on you.

"What's wrong?" you gulped, throat suddenly feeling a bit dry.

"Nothing, it's- ...Don't stare too much. I don't know if I can handle it." your words were just above a whisper, but it made him a bit sad. He wasn't pitying you, he just felt sorry that your head wasn't allowing you to be as free as you wanted.

He understood. Of course he did. Everyone at least once, at some point, felt insecure about themselves. And while he truly think you shouldn't be, he wouldn't push it. He'd just make sure to make you feel good in the moment, like you deserved.

He brushed it off, shifting the mood to a lighter one. He nodded as he went back to touch your body up and down, his lips back to your neck.

"Alright, but- " he paused, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, squeezing them, eliciting a sigh from you. "On the condition that you'll let me suck on these later" he smirked, winking at you. You blushed even more, huffing out a laugh. Your head was clear again, so you decided to have fun with it.

"But now-" you gave him a little push, making him land on the bed, then straddling him. "There are a few things I want." he smirked, amused.

"Seems like it's gonna be a little of a game after all." he teased making you smile seductively.

"We'll see. Now stay still like a good boy." Minho's hand on got even harder, if possible. at your words. He wasn't used to be a sub at all, but that 'good boy' kinda...intrigued him.

At that point you got off of him, kneeling down beside him. You pinched the hems of his tight boxers and pulled them down, letting his cock sprung free, standing up mid-air from his abs. You pushed the fabric down enough for Minho to discard it, which he did.

He was half up, standing on his elbows, to not miss the view. And what a view.

You had started to stroke his cock slowly, with both hands, doing a sort of up and down gesture mixed with some twisting, that was sending him directly to heaven. But he was way too turned on already, he was afraid that at the minimum touch he would cum, so he regrettably stopped you, and instead switched positions, dragging you under him as he hovered above you.

"I'm sorry, princess, I'm not gonna last if I let you play too much" he explained with a sigh.

"You though...let's see if my sweet girl is ready for me" he continued, with mischief in his voice. His hands invited you gently to part your legs, and you complied easily. Your need to be touched almost unbearable now.

Minho shimmied down on his stomach, directly face level with your, still clothed, pussy. He raised his index, teasing your mound then your slit, which was clearly indicated by the wet patch on the grey cotton panties. You hissed and squirmed, desperate for him to touch you properly.

"Oh wow, look at my sweet girl, looking so wet already." he cooed as he started to kiss the inner of your thigh. "Should we check properly, mh?" all he needed was a desperate yes from you, to quickly act and slip down your legs the panties, discarding them somewhere.

"Oh my godness...look at this sweet, shiny, pussy. So cute. Is it all for me?" he asked cutely. You moaned instinctively and nodded quickly.

"Yes, all for you. Please Minho, I need it" you whined, trying to rub your thighs together for some relief, but his hands promptly kept them open.

"Tsk, tsk, kitten. Now be good for me. I promise I'll give you what you want." and with that he started out giving a fat, tongue flat, lick from your ass, then your pussy, and reaching the clit. The deep moan that exited from you would've almost been embarassing, if only Minho's actions with his tongue didn't distract you again right away.

He had started to kiss right where your whole was messily, occasionally trying to poke in the tip of tongue to try and gather as much of your arousal as possible. You were a whining, moaning mess, but you knew exactly that as soon as he'd actually start giving attention to your clit, you were done for.

Which is exactly what happened a few minutes later. When he was satisfied enough that you were absolutely drenched all over, his mouth and chin included, he moved a bit north, starting right away to skillfully suck and toy with your clit.

The sensation was so intense and you were already so sensitive that the contact made you prop yourself up a bit, but Minho promptly placed one of his strong, veiny hands on your stomach and pushed you back down, which you allowed yourself to go right away. But his hand was still there, so you took the opportunity to intertwine your fingers with his.

"Fuck, oh my God- Minho, please...please" you were incoherent, but he knew very well what you wanted and he was determined to give it to you good. That's when you felt first his index, then index and pointer fingers enter you swiftly. No resistance at all. You were so wet that you barely felt them, until he started to move them just right, stimulating your walls.

The gradually added movements and speed of both his fingers in your cunt and his mouth on your clit had your stomach tightening so quickly, and then you came. You came for like a whole minute, and then some. It was actually crazy how intense and how prolonged minho had managed to make your orgasm. No doubt the best head you've ever recieved.

He gradually slowed down, until only his fingers remained to play with your slick as you came down from your crazy high. Minho had leaned his cheek against your warm, kids shaky, thigh while he watched you with a satisfied smirk.

"Are you okay, kitten? You have no idea how cute you sounded as you came on my mouth and fingers, purring and whining like a sweet kitten." you looked back at him with hazy eyes, as you made grabby hands. He chuckled and removed his fingers from your pussy, placing them immediately on his own cock, starting to stroke himself up and down.

You pulled him close, over you, pushing down on his shoulders with your arms. Your legs closing around his hips, immediately trying to grind on something.

He moaned in the kiss, "Such a horny baby that doesn't even need a minute after she just came" he teased you but you didn't cared, you whined and pulled him closer to keep the sloppy kiss going.

"Need you, mh- please, get- get 'nside 'o me" your words slurred but he understood you anyway. He parted from your lips, panting.

"Baby girl, w-", he swallowed trying to speak coherently, "You have protection?"

You nodded, pointing to the drawer of the nightstand. He moved a bit to reach into the drawer, fishing out a condom. But not before taking a peek at your cute, little, clit sucker toy.

He bit back a smile as he sat back on the heels of his feet to unwrap the condom and slide it carefully on his painfully hard dick.

"Usually it's rabbit toys" he teased, making you laugh faintly.

"I can't come with penetration only" you shrugged, which made your tits jiggle in your bra. Suddenly hypnotizing Minho, which had a promise to respect, he remebered.

He smirked, then properly got back between your legs, and just as you were about to pull him in for a kiss, he retracted with an eyebrow raised.

"First, this is gonna come off" his hands slid down the strips of the bra down your shoulders, then he reached behind your back to untie it completely. He sighed when finally he could throw the piece of fabric away, and enjoy the heavenly sight of your tits. Which, with his outmost disappointment, you rushed to cover with your hands.

"Hey, you promised!" he scolded you, "Plus, I already ate you out, what damage are a pair of tits gonna do now? None." he answered his own question, at which point you gave up and moved your hands back on his strong shoulders. He gasped, in awe.

"Ah, here they are..." he bent down, immediately attaching his mouth to one of the nipples, making you moan.

"So soft, round, so sweet..." he cooed as he grabbed them, squeezed them, kissed, licked and soft-bit them. Your hands were now intertwined in his cherry red hair.

"Minho, baby-" you both noticed how you slipped with the petname, but you brushed it off "Please, I need you. Need you inside me so bad, please.." he heard your plea and nodded, giving a break to your breasts just enough to position himself with your entrance, and then slowly but steadily he entered you.

It felt like one long stroke, until he filled you to the brim, his tip hitting the back of your walls, making you both moan. He stayed still for a couple of seconds, propping himself up with his forearms by the side of your head.

"Oh- hng, fuck. You feel s-so good. C-can I-?" you nodded frantically, moving your hips to meet his, making him hiss.

With that, he started moving, back and forth, at a normal speed, without ever exiting completely, instead focusing on stroking your g spot each and every time, driving you absolutely insane.

"Ah, fuck M-min...please go faster, please, please" he whispered praises and reassurance in your ear as he complied, his hips starting to go faster and faster. He kept going until he started to feel you tense up, and you croaked out "M close..s-so close, please"

At that point he moved his dominant hand from your side and slipped it between your bodies, circling your clit with two fingers to help you get there.

You gasped at his action, tightening the grip your thighs had on his hips a bit and arching your back, feeling your orgasm so, so close.

And it only took a couple more strokes for you to cum.

"Ah! Fuck, I'm- I'm coming, Minho", while your orgasm was happening, he felt your walls tighten around him, which made him frown in fatigue. "I- I know, sweet, come for me" he managed to say as he was still punding into you, but his pace was faltering.

This time it was your turn to help him get there, so you grinded on him, helping movement and friction, while also tugging a bit at his hair, which you noticed he seemed to like. And as expected, he groaned, then moaned, finally stilling as he came inside the condom.

His arms were trembling a bit, and he looked absolutely fucked, so you just pulled him to lay on your chest and rest. His head on your breasts. Both trying to calm down your breaths.

You were in silence for a little while, but then Minho pulled himself up and carefully got up from the bed, going straight to the private bathroom in the bedroom.

It kind of hit you at that moment, that this was not normality. This was a one night stand with a co-worker. So you also got up, quickly picking up your discarded clothes. Putting Minho's on the edge of the bed, while you exited the bedroom to go wash up in the other bathroom.

It didn't take long, as you decided that you would've taken a full proper shower tomorrow before leaving. Right. The flight. The speech. It all came back hitting you with a force, hitting you back with reality.

But reality was still in your bedroom, too. So you dressed back up, freshened up and quickly went back.

Minho was in his boxers, busy buttoning up his work shirt. His gaze landed on you as you appread on the doorstep. He gave a quick smile, then looked back down. And your heart kind of broke at that.

Was he also embarassed, or did he regret it already? And what were you feeling?

Everything was contradicting in your head right now, so you recomposed yourself enough to think clearly. It was now two am in the morning.

"Please, spend the night here. Then you can drive home tomorrow morning. It's so late now, I'm sure you're tired." it sounded so fake, so foreign to go back to being polite while just ten minutes prior you were tangled up in bed horny like animals.

"Yeah, okay. I'll be on the couch." he said as he also slipped his pants back on. You looked at him confused.

"The couch? But, the bed is big enough-" he interrupted you, picking up his tie.

"The couch will be fine. I just-", he sighed, "I need this, okay?" he pleaded silently. So you just nodded, keeping your head down.

"Please take anything you need. Good night, Minho" you spoke softly. He just breathed a "yeah" then closed behind him the door to your bedroom.

--

That night you didn't hear a single sound coming from the living room. It was just you, your overthinking, and the uncomfortable knowledge that a person that you have very quickly come to care about is sleeping seprately from you. On the couch.

You got him. You were confused too. But it still heavied on your heart. Until finally, you fell asleep from exhaustion without realizing it.

--

The morning after you woke up startled by your alarm. You checked the hour: six thirty am. Yeah, you definitely needed to get up. Those five more minutes will have to wait another time.

Then it hit you. You remebered what happened the night before. You remebered it all, perfectly.

The way you asked Minho not to go. The way he made you feel so good, both physically and mentally, for the first time in a while. Then you remembered how cold things ended up, too.

You got out of bed quickly, praying that he was still here, to at least make sure that everything was okay with you two.

But as you opened your bedroom door and walked out of the corridor, into the open space living room, no one was there.

The only thing out of place was the, usually discarded carelessly, now neatly folded blanket on the couch.

For some reason you felt like crying. What was wrong with you!

It was you, after all, that asked him to have sex and reassured that it wouldn't have meant anything. "Just stress relief", you said. He agreed. You both consented. You didn't regret it. So why did your stomach hurt?

--

At seven thirty pm sharp you were already on a taxi on your way to the airport.

You showered, got presentable enough, checked to have all your files, then picked up your small suitcase and you were ready to go. You would've had all the time to get 'professionally' ready when you got to the hotel. Which was also the place where the convention was gonna be held at, so even less stress.

When you arrived at the pre-established entrance number of the airport, you saw the team standing outside, chatting and some smoking.

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to act like everything was normal. But nothing was normal about you getting on a stage to talk live in front of million dollar companies. And nothing has been normal for you after the night before.

As soon as the team saw you walking over, they started to cheer and shout out embarassing stuff to tease you. You laughed, but gestured for them to shut up.

Everyone picked up their cases to fo inside, and that's when you noticed Minho. Of course he was there. It was his job, too. But while you were instantly named 'leader', mainly because of a joke and the other's laziness, he remained at the back, minding his business. So you did the same, for now.

Once you got through all documents, tickets and baggage checks, you entered the waiting area at your assigned gate and could relax for a while before they started calling in passengers. You and the team did not go first, but almost.

Your boss had been gracious enough to put you seven in business class, so you would be the second type of passengers to board the plane.

And with a rather quickly queue, that's exactly what you did. In less than an hour you were ready to take off. You had almost secretly hoped that your seatmate would be Minho, but of course it wasn't. It was an older co-worker, around his fifties. You made some small talk at first, but then you put on your headphones and focused on reharsing your speech and the slides.

--

The flight was on time, two hours later, you were back on land. You were kind of disappointed with youself, because at some point, Henry saying it was about half an hour in, you fell asleep.

But at the same time, you did have a very short and shit sleep last night so, better rest now than be sleepy later.

When you walked out at arrivals you saw a man in suit and tie holding up a sign with your company's name of it, so you approached him.

"Good morning, miss. Are you the seven people I have to take to this address?" he asked, showing you the paper. You nodded.

"Yep, it's us." you turned and gestured with your hand to follow you.

With some surprise, you found a mini van waiting outside, with nine seats including the driver's. Minho went on first, as far back as possible, and you went on last, next to the driver's seat.

The hotel wasn't that far, only fifteen minutes, so you got there pretty quickly. When you entered the reception, it was a bit crowded, of course with the amount of hosts that were there for the convention.

Yet again, you waited in line, then provided documents and the staff gave each of you a card key to your rooms. For organization purposes you were put all on the same floor, with rooms near to each other.

You just nodded in understanding and politely declined the invitation to have lunch out that some co-workers offere, opting to remain in your room, practice and maybe rest some more.

You didn't need distractions in that moment. But not everyone was on board with the plan, so you and another two people, oneof which was Lee Minho, went straight to the elevators.

You were grateful for Amanda, the senior of the team, that made small talk abou the appearence of the hotel. She was talking mostly to herself, even though she thought she was talking to you and Minho.

Thankfully in a couple of minutes, everyone went their separate ways and rooms. You sighed, relieved when you were finally alone again. This 'ignoring' situation was ridiculus, you were adults for fuck's sake. And yet neither of you approached the one for now, so you were both fools.

'This is getting fixed, tonight', you thought. The gala would've started at about seven pm, so hopefully by ten pm you were gonna be done. No matter what, you promised to yourself that you would've had a grown, mature conversation. But later.

Now you just preoccupied yourself with ordering lunch and, once again, going over your files. For the last time, thank god.

--

Five fifty pm. You were ready. Kind of.

Make up, done. Hair, done. Clothes, done. Papers, done. Purse? Ready. Your brain? Not ready.

You were honestly just trying not to sweat literal cold now and not cause yourself a stomach ache. Your only salvation at that point would've been distraction.

You remembered how fucking nervous you were at every single graduation in your life. High school, degree. Hell, even middle school. Being on the spotlight for anything always made you so extremely uncomfortable and sick.

It was only as you grew older that you understood that really, the only secret to get through this type of stuff is just fakin' it til you make it. No other way around it. If you deluded yourself into thinking that you had your shit together, so would others.

So that's when you decided to just go downstairs, a bit early just to hang out. Maybe have a drink or two. You weren't the only one who would've had to speak publicly that evening, so who knows, maybe you'd find your trauma twin.

You picked up your phone, purse, papers, then you were out of the door. Just as you almost made your way down the corridor, nearing the elevators, one of your heels got stuck on a bump in the moquette.

You gasped, saving yourself by planting your hands on the wall at your left for support. But that meant that now your papers and purse were on the ground. Messy. Great. Always better than a twisted ankle, you thought.

You bent down, trying to pick up the scattered papers in order, when you suddenly heard a voice.

"Everything okay?"

"Shit!", you clutched the paper to the chest, scared. You looked behind you, but aside from the scare, you recognized the voice immediately. Of course you did.

"Yes, just tripped. Thank you." Your tone was cool as you addressed Minho, going right back to stacking your stuff in your hands.

"Wait, let me help" without thinking, he joined you, starting to pick up the files as well. In perfect order, too. Of course your second in command would know the presentation by memory as well.

"I got it." You so much spared him a glance as you got back on your feet, snatching back the paper. He stood back up, too. Hands in his elegant pants pockets. Awkward.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice so casual and polite it actually made you mad. You crossed your arms, a little awkwardly as your hands were busy.

"Oh, so now you're talking to me?" Minho frowned. Mirroring your pose, closing off.

"What? You think it would've been appropriate to air out personal business while sitting in a car with five other people? Co-workers?" he snapped back.

"No one said anything about drinking and hooking up, a normal "good morning" would've been enough" you rolled your eyes.

"Well it's not like you attempted it either, yn"

"Ah, yes because I surely felt welcomed with open arms after you-"

"Hey guys! Wait for me!" You and Minho both turned your heads toward the young woman speeding up her walk. She was the youngest in the team. Niece of the boss, nonetheless.

You both took a step back from each other instinctively. You offered a fake smile and wave as the red haired man pushed the button for the elevators.

"Ah, thank you! It's a bit late, but at least I won't be showing up alone" she laughed. You widened your eyes, scrambling to fish the phone out of your purse.

"What do you mean 'it's late' !?" The clock showed six pm and five minutes. You frowned, but before you could speak, Minho did it for you.

"It's not late, stop panicking her. They opened the conference room at six. They're gonna start at six thirty. It's fine." the young girl seemed a bit intimidated by the stern tone used by the man, but the just shrugged.

"Oh well, I may have read the invitation wrong. Same thing." you took a deep sigh, taking a moment to calm not and not choke her on the spot.

"Better this way." you offered the same brief fake smile.

Finally the damn elevator doors opened, so you stepped inside and once again Minho pushed the first floor button. It could've been a silent couple of minutes, but of course they younger girl just could not resist.

"Did you learn everything well?" Oh wow.

"I have spent weeks researching and editing this stuff, I didn't only 'learn' it like a school poem." the annoyance in your voice really couldn't be hidden anymore, so good thing the elevator doors opened back up.

This time Minho took it upon himself to lighting place his hand on your back to lead you outside.

"Everything is ready, see you inside" he exclaimed back. So much for not acting suspicious, you thought.

You stopped a few meters away, stepping to the side away from his hand.

"Is everyone trying to get on my nerves specifically tonight, or" your voice dripped sarcasm, making the man roll his eyes.

"Yeah, right. You got enough on your plate right now, I know. That's why I tried to be civil" he didn't let you have the chance to bite back, as he kept going " In any case, I'm gonna leave you alone now. Go get a drink. A light one. Relax, you'll do great. Later, we can talk. In private."

"Yeah, okay, whatever. Let me actually distract myself now, or I'll end up starting to argue at the stand instead of explaining my speech." with that, you forced yourself to walk away.

--

At exactly six thirty the conference started. You were seated with your team, of course. Everyone around this large, round table.

So cute, like king Arthur and his knights. And you were king Arthur in that moment. And hell, you would've better extracted that sword perfectly at first try.

Your turn didn't came until about an hour and a half later, after the welcoming speech, a couple of virtual messages from rich people who were too busy to be there in person, and a bunch of other companies' expositors.

"Please, give a round of applause for the next representative." the announcer spoke into the mic as he read from a folder, listing your company's name, the CEO, a few words of introduction, then finally your name.

The public applauded politely as you walked on stage with a smile, as carefully as you could. Couldn't have attempted twisted ankle number two at that moment.

"Thank you. Good evening. Tonight I am here to represent our," you extended your arms toward your team's table, " - company's project. I was honored with the duty of exposing the project to you. Hopefully it was the right call!" the crowd laughed and smiled.

You focused on explaining the idea, from the first draft, to research, then one by one describing and arguing the slides. Finally citing sources and closing your speech with some polite greetings.

The crowd once again clapped as you gracefully made your way down the stage. The presenter moved on, and a big sigh of relief left your mouth.

Your team looked at you with smiles, congratulating you as you went back to the table.

--

The whole official thing actually wrapped up around eight, not nine pm as you expected. Dinner was served and then a more casual after party was held. Not an actual party, more like a jazz music ambience with drinks, made for conversation.

And you did engage in some conversation, mainly with strangers and people from other companies. Some more job related topics, some about the event itself, others just very small talk.

By ten pm you were absolutely ready to ditch the whole thing and go to bed. You did it, it's over, it went well and the world didn't fell. So yeah, you called it a day. With everyone else, at least. But you still had some unfinished business with a person in particular.

Minho not so secretly followed you with his gaze all evening. He was so glad that the presentation went smoothly and it was over. He was also very proud of you. While your... relationship had been very short by then, he worked with you enough to know that you put your whole efforts into this project, and it paid off.

He was keeping his eye on you, but you were keeping yours on him as well. And both of you noticed. To be honest, the intention wasn't even to hide it.

You never interacted once. He just congratulated you along with everyone else, then that was it.

As he had been doing all night, he followed you with his eyes as you made your way out of the conference room. He waited a couple of seconds, then nonchalantly ditched his half consumed drink and followed you. As he expected, he found you waiting for him.

"Fancy seeing you here" he teased. He may have not acted like it, but he was actually quite nervous.

"Yeah, right" you replied with the slightest hint of humor, " I know there is a pool outside. It's closed now but you can still access it through the garden."

The man nodded in acknowledgedment, silently following at a moderately short distance, behind you.

Neither spoke a word until you were outside, the pool sides and the small garden dimly lit with warm lights. You sat on the sunbeds, next to each other. It was actually pretty cold, but you didn't seem to care at that point. At least there was no one else there, as you hoped.

"So..." he started, mostly to break the ice. And like that, as if you were waiting for a clue, you blurted out "Do you regret it?"

Minho stared at you for a second, slightly confused.

"What makes you think that?"

"Just answer. And be honest. I can take it, you know." your rubber your shoulder, both from the cold as well as the nervousness.

"I know you can." , he stated, serious "No. I didn't. Did you? Is that why you're asking?"

Your gaze finally found his again, the annoyance giving you some courage.

"No, I didn't. It was my idea, remember?", you paused, " I'm asking because you were cold last night. You know, after." just like that, eye contact was out of the window again.

"What? If anything it was you who disappeared without saying a word." he retorted. You raised an eyebrow.

"I went to clean up. You went to the bathroom so I thought you wanted some space."

"I was going to help you clean up. Not even the time to come back with a towel that you already left. At that point I thought, 'ah nice, the stress relief is over, better go back home' ", he air quoted with his fingers, "What was I supposed to think? Those were your intentions after all."

You couldn't really debate that. That's exactly what you said. It was crazy, you didn't even really know each other. If you weren't co-workers you wouldn't have seen each other again, ever. And that was probably the biggest mistake.

You knew the risk of getting personal life involved with the workplace. But then again you only wanted a night of meaningless sex. Why even make this fuss? Yet, there must be something. Otherwise you wouldn't bother having this conversation.

"Might be. All I know is that I literally asked you to stay, I offered you a place in my bed. Without any second meaning." you specified, "And instead you shut me down and went to sleep on the fucking couch. Left without a note or anything." you tilted your head to the side.

"I have already explained my reasons.", he replied, "Honestly what I get from this is that we're both pretty bad at communication." you stared at each other for a moment, and then, out of the blue, stifled laughs.

"Why are we arguing like an actual couple?" you asked, genuinely confused and weirdly amused by the situation. He shook his head, as clueless as you were.

"I have no idea."

Silence fell between you two for some time. Until you leaned back, propping yourself up with your hands on the sunbed.

"So what now?"

"What now?" he repeated.

"Do we pretend like this never happened?" yours was a genuine question, no second meaning or pressure behind it. He shrugged.

"Do you want to?"

"Do you?" he rolled his eyes, a light smirk on his face. You were just parroting each other at this point.

"I mean, I enjoyed myself. Don't know about the future, but that's a quite nice memory to keep, at the very least." he replied honestly, sneaking you a look, "Did you enjoy it?"

The question and the eye contact combined making you you blush. You nodded, acting more nonchalant than you were actually feeling. But you couldn't hide the but of mischief in your eyes at the thought.

Minho licked his lips, biting back a smile. Then nodded to himself.

"Right. Well, I say we see what happens. One thing we can agree on, though, is whatever, - if- anything happens, it stays out of the office" he waited for your response.

"Okay", you said, "Let's see what happens on Monday, then." you exchanged a smile.

Yeah, who knows, what will happen on Monday?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Y'all are gonna hate me for that finale🤣 but I warned you!!

That's it from me, hope you enjoyed and if you did, feel free to leave a feedback :')

Bye<3

[vanilladollette]

Hiii! I was wondering if you can write about the glory characters (the bullies) x fem reader who makes snide remarks and when they try to roast her, she'll roast them back 20x more worst. And yeah that's all!

Love your writings hon♡ !!

The Glory Bullies x Snarky Fem! Reader

Author's note: I'm not good at making comebacks. We're just going to imagine that I made cool comebacks.

Park Yeon-jin

Initial Reaction: Yeon-jin is used to being the one in control. She loves to put others down to elevate herself. When you make snide remarks or sarcastic comments, she’s initially thrown off guard. She's used to having the last word.

Your Comeback: One time, she tries to mock your outfit, calling it "outdated" or "too cheap." Without missing a beat, you reply, "I didn’t know you were such an expert on fashion, considering your wardrobe looks like it’s stuck in a bad K-drama from 2000." Yeon-jin's jaw clenches, but she tries to hide her irritation with a fake smile.

Result: She tries to retaliate, but your comebacks always seem to hit a nerve. Yeon-jin doesn’t like being upstaged, especially by someone she considers beneath her, so she’ll often leave the scene fuming, plotting her next "attack," but deep down she knows you won this round.

Choi Hye-jeong

Initial Reaction: Hye-jeong might be the one who uses passive-aggressive jabs and does so with a smile, pretending to be sweet and innocent. She’s always a little less bold than Yeon-jin. When you make a sarcastic remark, it makes her uncomfortable because she doesn’t like someone fighting back.

Your Comeback: One day, Hye-jeong tries to comment on your "unpolished" appearance, saying, "You should really put more effort into your look. It’s sad to see someone so… plain." You give her a long, unimpressed look before quipping, "Well, at least I don’t have to rely on Photoshop to make my face look better." You can see her eyes widen—she wasn’t expecting that burn.

Result: Hye-jeong is visibly flustered, and she tries to hide it by laughing nervously. But in her mind, she’s already formulating more ways to "get back at you." However, you’ve put her in her place, and it stings more than she lets on.

Jeon Jae-jun

Initial Reaction: Jae-jun is arrogant, and he’s known for his cocky demeanor. He loves trying to make people feel small, often belittling them with his remarks. When you respond with a quick-witted jab, he’s caught off guard, but his pride refuses to let him admit it.

Your Comeback: He tries to get under your skin by saying something like, "You’re pretty cute for someone with zero personality. It must be tough being this boring." Without missing a beat, you reply, "Oh, I’m sorry, did you say something? I was too busy listening to the sound of your voice—that’s like nails on a chalkboard."

Result: Jae-jun pauses for a moment, clearly taken aback by how effortlessly you shut him down. His ego gets bruised, and he tries to retaliate, but you’re always one step ahead, twisting his words and making him look foolish. He might laugh it off, but deep down, he’s annoyed you just got the best of him.

Son Myeong-oh

Initial Reaction: Myeong-oh might think he’s tough and has the power to throw insults without consequence, but when you fire back, he’s quickly out of his depth. He’s more of a coward than a true bully, often hiding behind his insults because he knows people will usually back down. Your sharp comebacks throw him off balance.

Your Comeback: Myeong-oh tries to mock you, "You’re just another one of those 'intellectual' types who think they know everything, huh?" You shoot back, "Oh, I definitely know more than you. For instance, I know that your personality is as bland as the cafeteria food, and even that’s giving it too much credit."

Result: Myeong-oh’s expression shifts from smug to confused. He tries to cover it up by muttering something about you being too "sensitive," but the words are hollow. He quickly realizes that he can’t win when you turn his weak jabs back on him with such ease. His usual smug demeanor fades, and you know you’ve put him in his place. His cowardice becomes more apparent, and he’s left avoiding you as much as possible.

Lee Sa-ra

Initial reaction: Lee Sa-ra thrives on boredom, and nothing entertains her more than belittling others. She picks apart everything—appearance, status, interests—just to see people squirm. To her, it’s all a game, and she assumes she always has the upper hand. But when she tries this routine on you? Big mistake. Not only do you refuse to cower, but you annihilate her with comebacks so devastating she can barely function. Sa-ra can dish it out, but she definitely can’t take it.

Your comeback: Sa-ra flicks her hair, examining you with the same bored expression she wears when critiquing one of her unfinished paintings. “It’s honestly tragic that you have to walk around looking like... that. But hey, maybe in a few years, thrift store fashion will be trendy.” She expects you to roll your eyes and walk away. Maybe even get defensive. What she doesn’t expect is for you to smirk and fire back immediately. You feign a thoughtful expression. “That’s rich coming from you, Sa-ra. The only reason people even pretend to like your art is because they’re scared of your parents. Without them, you’re just another talentless hack with a superiority complex. Tell me, do you even enjoy painting, or is it just the only thing you can do without needing a personality?”

Result: The confidence in her smirk falters because deep down, she knows there’s truth in your words. She doesn’t paint for passion—she does it for validation. And you just exposed her greatest insecurity. Sa-ra hates you. Not because she actually despises you, but because she can’t win. Every time she tries to insult you, you make her regret it. She starts avoiding confrontations with you, but she’ll never admit it’s because she’s scared of what you’ll say next.

To be added to the Taglist

[amongemeraldclouds]

better than revenge | chapter three: from moonlight to sunrise

Can be read as a standalone, Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Chapter three summary: Flashback when you first spoke to Mattheo and he needed your help during winter break.

Warning: Blood, swearing, no use of y/n. I’m using my creative license to bend rules that may not work in the original setting (eg. apparating at Hogwarts and so on).

Author's note: If you read this as a standalone, it’s always gonna stay as sweet as it is, no exboyfriend!Mattheo plot looming about.

♡ main masterlist

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Flashback when you met me.

The moon shines brightly outside the window. I feel a yawn making its way up my throat as I head for my dorm. The place is so silent at night with most students home for the winter break.

A loud crack erupts and someone apparates ahead. What the hell? I raise my wand defensively, but then I see a figure lying on his side, cradling his stomach. I run towards him, hoping he’s not seriously hurt.

I kneel when I reach him and nearly recoil as the metallic stench of blood hits me. There’s so much blood. I close my fist to keep me in place and gently place a hand on his shoulder.

He grunts and rolls to his back, wincing in pain. I see his face and recognize Mattheo Riddle. I’ve seen him around in class and in parties, he’s the type of guy your mother would warn you about. I’ve never spoken to him before.

“Can you stand?” I ask, offering a hand and he nods. I haul him up slowly, bringing his arm around my shoulders for support. He’s heavy but we take things step by step as I walk him towards my dorm, it’s much nearer than the hospital.

I lay him down my bed and prepare a washcloth and bowl of warm water. Once I stop the bleeding and clear most of the blood on his face, I hand him a glass of water. “Thank you,” he says.

I have so many questions, but I just ask the important one. “Whoever did this to you, will they come back? Are they hunting you down?”

“If you think this is bad, you should see the other guys,” he replies, sounding smug despite his bruises.

When he lays back down, I introduce myself. “You’re lucky I study healing magic, I know some spells and have potions here that can help you. You seem injured in your stomach area, would you allow me access?”

“I’m not normally like this,” he says, embarrassed. “Usually, I’d buy you dinner first,” he quips then coughs and winces.

“And that’s what you get for being a smart ass. Permission?” I try again. He nods this time and I unbutton his shirt so I can inspect his injuries. He has two broken ribs and soreness in his abdominal area but nothing further.

I cross my fingers behind me as I think of the right spells. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Mattheo interrupts my thoughts.

“Do you really have a choice?” I retort. “We can take you to Madam Pomfrey, but then you’d have a lot of questions to answer. I’m guessing it’s why you apparated here instead.”

“I meant to apparate in my room,” he tries to explain. With his injuries, I’m amazed he was able to do it at all without ripping himself to shreds in the process.

“Well, if you must know, I was the top student at my healing magic class level one and two,” I say. 

“Nerd,” he says teasing.

“You’re lucky you’re already injured or I might have a go myself. Now do you want to be treated or not?”

“I’m sorry, go ahead,” he sobers and wonders why the hell he was being such a shithead.

I recall the spells again and keep my fingers crossed behind me. I’ve never actually used them before on a living, breathing human, but he doesn’t need to know that. After three tries, it works. 

“I feel so much better,” Mattheo remarks, eyes brightening. It surprises me how captivating they are like stars twinkling in the night sky. I smile back at him.

“I just need to apply some potions, make sure you don’t get an infection then we’re all done.”

I beam after applying the last dose - all those classes and late nights studying paid off. 

“Now get some rest and I’ll take the couch. I need to monitor you for the next couple hours and reapply some of the potions. You’ll be right as rain by tomorrow,” I say.

“I can go back to my dorm, you’ve already done enough,” he says, moving to get up. 

I hold my hand out to his shoulder to stop him. “Nope, if you get up and something goes wrong, you’ll just make it difficult for me. Come on, doctor’s orders.”

He lies back down. “Fine, but the bed is big enough for the two of us,” he says tapping the side of bed for me to join him. “I’m not gonna let you take the couch. It’s not like I can move that much anyway, just don’t do anything to me,” he says playfully.

“If I had bad intentions for you, I would’ve done it already,” I say yawning, way too tired for all this.

He catches it and tamps down whatever annoying remark he was going to say. “Thank you for healing me. Come here, let’s rest,” he says in a gentle tone.

I place a pillow between us and join him after freshening up. Finally snuggled in my blanket, it doesn’t take me long to drift off to sleep.

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎ 

Mattheo wakes up just as the first rays of sunshine filters in through the window. He looks beside him at your sleeping face, wondering how anyone could be so kind to him. Let alone someone he never spoke to before.

He also wonders why you had to be so beautiful? The way the light radiates off your face gives you an angelic quality. If you were truly an angel, he wouldn’t even doubt it.

Something in his heart flutters like an animal waking from hibernation. It was far more dangerous than any of the wizards he fought off last night. In fact, he’d rather face an army of dementors than explore this feeling.

But maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind it at all.

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

♡ main masterlist

A/N: For the longest time writing this series, this was my favorite chapter.

Taglist: @hoeforvinniehackerrr @i-think-you-are-gr8 @thecraziestcrayon @adreamingpendulum @themarauderswife7 @midsoulz @ultramarinetovelvet @val-writes @lafrone @daisiesformylove @mildly-delulu @allebasi05

[polarislex]

id rather be crazy like you 𓂃۶ৎ

♡ live update thread ♡

 ♡ master post here ♡

AND THE PROLOGUE IS LIVE FOLKS! thanks to you, and getting this post to SEVEN likes, i went ahead and uploaded the prologue!

link here

Just to note really quick - updates for this may not be super quick. I am currently writing my chanbaek fic and i do want to bang out as much as of that as i can! with that being said though, if this gains traction and if i can get 10 kudos & 2 comments on the prologue, i will shift and get the first chapter completed and up! I want a goal that I think could be achievable but yet a bit pushing for a smaller writer like myself!

Also, to add a bit of a backstory to this idea (if anyone is curious): back in, i think, 2018/2019, this original idea was set in strictly aesthetics with BTS and EXO being the main 2 groups I was doing them for! ironically enough, this was more an idea i had while talking with old friends on tumblr back in the day of what themed aesthetics should i do next (i think i just finished some of the disney princess ones). there was, at the time, no correlation to descendants (though, obviously now, I can't say that. I've watched the movies, and some elements may be similar) I then tried my hand at a social media au with Jimin being the main focus, but i ended up putting it on hold to cancel the au all together. I didn't know how to move forward with where I was, so it sort of just crumbled and died ahaha

now, i think then around 2021/2022, i sort of revisted the idea on my own, but with the idea to make aesthetics solely for nct members. this never happened, but the idea did stick with me for years. it was always something i wanted to really, really, really, dabble back into but i was never sure how. Did i write little one shots looped together in one fic with conflicting timelines for that sense of confusion? did I revive the social media au? or do I try something completely different.

so, now in 2025 and getting that boost from the likes on tumblr, here we are. i decided to go with nct dream being the main focus, but exo members will also provide relevance through the story (along with mention of some bts members for the sake of the original plot)! you can always go to my tumblr and look through my masterlist to find the old aesthetics for bts and exo, but i hope within the next few weeks to have updated exo as i see fit AND have nct dream done! In the mean time, enjoy the playlist! drop a kudo, leave a comment / leave a like or comment here on tumblr too! or send me an ask!

till next time! xoxo lexie

02/08/2025

I think I may have gotten too ambitious so I’ve merely made it a 5 kudo goal! I’m going to keep it at 2 comments because I really really want to hear thoughts, but if I hit the kudo mark, I’ll update! I love seeing the traction it got on here too!

[kisses4kaia]

i’ve been seeing ppl do sej x coryo x reader and all the time i see dom sej, switch coryo, and sub reader and it gave me this idea.

i think it would be interesting to see dom coryo, switch sej, and sub reader. yes ik this is very much ooc BUT IDGAF 😵

the plot could be that coryo and sej find the reader’s diary that she kept hidden in a shoebox. in the diary she’s saying things like “oh i want coryo or sej so bad omg”(obviously not like that LMAO). i feel like you could put romance into this plot too by having them see that she also would write about these cute scenarios abt them both. TEETH ROTTING THINGS EVEN.

i’m not sure if coryo would be more gentle with sej bc in my mind he(coryo) would be the one to actually consider the things in the diary. sej is up for the idea, but he’s nervous abt doing this with coryo bc duh it’s his best friend.

anyways, i hope this is interesting enough to do bc i liked how you wrote sub sej!

(this was long asf i’m so sorry 😭😭 also, this doesn’t have to be a long ass fic! if you think this would be better as a longer fic or shorter fic, GO AHEAD‼️‼️)

YES I LOVE ! plz don’t apologize i loved hearing ur thoughts . oh and i changed some minor things about this but i still hope u enjoy💞

your blood ran cold as corio stood at the foot of the bed, your fuzzy pink diary in hand as sejanus stood next to him, arms crossed and a smug look on his face, as if he was trying to contain laughter. “god, i would die happy if i could sit on coriolanus’ face and have sejanus stuff his cock down my throat,” corio quoted your journal, an devilish, amused, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “such dirty words for such a shy girl. don’t you agree, sejanus?”

he meets the blond boys eyes and nods, in modest agreement. “i don’t know, corio, i’m not all that surprised. i mean, she practically begged to join our group for the project,” he cocked his head slightly as he reasoned, all too casual about the situation.

he hadn’t lied, when professor click assigned a project for groups of three, you immediately got to batting your eyelashes and flattery with the two boys. at first, your intentions were pure, only wanting to ensure a good grade for the assignment, and it made the most sense to try to get with sejanus and coriolanus, for they had the highest marks in the entirety of the class. you had wanted nothing but an ‘a’, until you began noticing how beautiful corio’s eyes were in the sunlight, and how full and plump sej’s lips were when he pushed a pencil through them in concentration, and you hadn’t even realized you’d begun spiraling. you entrusted your diary with all the details of your infatuation for the boys, and as you wrote on late, dark nights, you’d never expected to have the subjects of your logs read it. you were utterly mortified, and your paled expression did not conceal it well. “oh, come on now, darling. don’t be ashamed, we aren’t judging you,” coriolanus cooed at your rigid posture at the head of the bed.

today was supposed to be the last day. the last day you were working on the project, and you’d let them into your empty home, into your bedroom, and onto your bed. you had let them linger in your room while you grabbed your school bag from the living room, facilitating them just the right amount of time to snoop if they so pleased, and you should have known that they did. in their defense, how could sejanus even be blamed for reaching for the blush book sitting in such plain sight on your nightstand? how could coriolanus be at fault for reading more when the first page had ‘corio ♡’ and ‘sej ♡’ written about 30 times all over the lined paper? when you’d returned, completely oblivious to their snooping, corio had hidden it behind his back and obscured it from your view. it was only when you turned to grab a pen off of your nightstand, the nightstand in which you retired your diary to every night, that you noticed the pink rectangle missing. slowly, you turned to face the boys who were standing, your innermost thoughts and secrets in corio’s hands. “i-it’s not what it looks like, i promise. i just…” you’re stumbling over your words nervously and you can feel sweat forming on your brow.

corio just laughs before sejanus takes the book from him, thumbing to another page. “all i want is for sej to hold me in his strong arms while corio eats me out. i need him to call me a good girl, i need it, i need it, i need it,” as he reads, his voice is monotonous, but his face reads touched, pleased. he looks over to corio, and upon viewing the expression on his face, knowing exactly which gears are turning in that head of his, he shakes his head. “i don’t know, corio. is that really a good idea?” sej is hesitant, but the blond boy just keeps staring at you with hungry eyes, the brunette boys apprehension not deterring him from his goal one bit. “sejanus, she obviously wants it if she wrote a whole fucking novel on how bad she needs to get her holes filled by me and you,” he reasons, speaking as though you are not in the room, which sent shivers rampant all over your skin. “but together?” sejanus squeaks and corio’s expression of amusement shifts from you to him. “what, you don’t want to? because i’ll be here? c’mon, sejanus, let’s not pretend i can’t see you’re hard at the mere idea of seeing me cum inside of her,” sejanus just rolls his eyes and redirects his attention back to you. “you want this?” he’s walking slowly, closer and closer to you, you who’s sat pretty at the head of the queen-sized bed, like an unsuspecting doe while the wolves prey on you hungrily. coriolanus walks around the other side, and your senses are on fire, watching your two classmates stalk towards you with primal lust swirling in their deep eyes.

you can only nod weakly, afraid that if you were to make a sound, your own voice would betray you. “words, sweetheart,” corio says in a singsong voice, his hand reaching out to your chin, jerking it to force your eyes to meet his. “please,” you squeak, lower lip almost quivering. the blond boy pouts at you, before using his free hand to fall between your thighs, flipping your skirt up before petting your cunt over your embarrassingly damp panties. corio’s digits move skillfully as the pads of his fingers press through the fabric and onto your clit, pulling desperate whimpers out of you. you haven’t forgotten about sejanus in the slightest, hyper aware of his looming presence, but you were much too afraid to break eye contact with corio, so you simply whisper faintly under your breath “sejanus,”

corio lets up on his grip of your jaw and allows your eyes to land on sejanus, who’s palming his bulge through his trousers. his eyes read your needy ones before grabbing your hand and replacing his own. you gasp at the how large he feels even through the layers of fabric, and have to bite your lip to the point of breaking skin so as to contain a moan. corio’s ministrations feel good, so good, but it’s not enough. “more, please. need you, need you both” your eyes begin pricking with tears as you look back at the snow boy, face rendering as a plead as your hips buck weakly into his hand. “i know, baby, i know,” corio leans down and for the first time, presses a kiss to your lips, before pulling your panties to the side and sliding his middle digit into you with ease. you moan against the sweet lips on yours, and turn to face sejanus, eyes begging for permission as you toy with the button on his trousers. “go ahead, pretty,” sejanus breathes out, pleasure building up within him. as well as you can manage while under the influence of gratification corio is invoking upon you, you undo the button and the zipper of sejanus’ pants and pull them down along with his boxers, allowing his cock to spring free. you were mesmerized at first glance, he was beautiful; girthy, but still quite lengthy. prominent veins ran up and down him and his tip was a dark shade of vermillion, weeping with pre. you swear you thought drool was coming out of your mouth, because sejanus just smiles knowingly, guiding your hand back onto his cock.

at the same time, corio adds another finger to your tight cunt. his other hand comes in to use the pad of his thumb to draw calculated, deliciously meticulous, circles on your sensitive bud. you can tell sejanus is close from the way his eyes flutter shut as pleasure overtakes him, from how you can feel him twitch in your hand, and you know your release is coming soon, too. and when it does, pleasure courses through your veins, you had never felt anything like the orgasm corio talked you through. “fuck, yeah baby. cum all on my fingers, hm? poor, pretty, baby. so wound up f’me,”

not long after, you feel sejanus’ seed spill onto your hand, a string of explicits falling smoothly from his plump lips, along with moans of your name and praises for how good you make him feel. when his eyes reopen, you suddenly feel bolder than you did 20 minutes ago, and stare him down like he’s the prey, while licking his sperm off of your pretty, delicate, manicured, fingers. sejanus thinks—no, he knows—that could’ve made him cum again on the spot if corio hadn’t interjected, his tone a starved and vicious growl.

“on your knees, now.”

[nadiuu]

10, 36 and 41 for the writing meme POR FAVOR ♡

How could I say no if you asked me with a 'por favor'? kdjsbfajksdfbh XDD (THANKS FOR ASKING EZ♡)

10. How do you decide what to write?

Divine inspiration, my friend (nah, but kinda yeah, but nah askfanhxfbas)

Honestly, I have no idea, at least not with one-shots. Something just sparks in my brain, and suddenly there’s a concept that I can tie to whatever characters I’m currently obsessed with. From there, it kinda develops on its own. I find a theme, then something to start and end the piece with, and before I know it, I’ve got 2k words written hahahha

I usually stick to canon because a lot of what I write is just me filling in the gaps the creators left behind. Figuring out the justifications is a fun challenge (yes, I’m a masochist), and I love letting my imagination run wild. If it ends up being believable (no matter how fantastical the universes I write about are), even better ;P

For multi-chapter fics, I try to have at least a general idea of where the story is going. Every long fic I’ve written (or am writing) was (or is) already fully developed in my head with key moments that serve as turning points in the plot. I might not always know exactly what happens between those points, but I make sure to keep track of the things I need to develop before I get there. I also reread previous chapters so I don’t forget anything I’ve already set up. This usually means I always have (in very chaotic notes) two or three chapters prepared ahead of the one I’m currently writing, with all the topics I need to cover or conclude, along with any scenes I want to add in between (for character or relationship development).

36. Do you visualize what you read/write?

When it comes to writing, yes. The thing is, I hate descriptions, so sometimes they turn out a bit weak... XDD Some people have told me that reading what I write feels like watching a movie, very cinematic, with the camera focusing here and there, capturing different shots, and I guess that reflects how I imagine and see everything in my mind hahahha

As for reading, first of all, I must admit that I don’t read much. I know I should, to improve my writing, but I’m very picky, and it’s hard for me to find a book that truly hooks me. My biggest requirement when reading is, precisely, that the author doesn’t overdo it with descriptions. I prefer a rich way of expressing things rather than a million detailed descriptions forcing the author’s vision on me. I like what isn’t explicitly stated, what’s left implicit, you know... doing magic with words. If that’s done well, I can see the scene in my head in my own way. What I mean is that the more I’m forced to see something in a particular way, the less I can actually picture it... So, when it comes to reading, I guess my answer is: it depends on the author XD

41. Link a fic that made you think, “Wow, I want to write like that.”

This one's tough. Most fics I read are in English, and English is a language I can’t fully appreciate... I think the only author who has ever made me feel that way is Kami del Antro (yeah, in Spanish, my dear ez, sorry XD♡) I’m linking her author profile on FFN, where she used to publish. I read her stuff when I was like 13 or 14 (when I first discovered the fandom), and I admired her so much. I dreamed of writing like her hahaha Now that years have passed, I can definitely say I’ve improved a lot, but I still admire her just as much! I can’t pick just one fic, and I haven’t read all of them yet (it’s on my to-do list), but every time I read one, I always find some hidden gem.

[fatesundress]

⭑ observations ii. tom riddle x reader

part i here.

summary. two weeks after your last encounter with tom shatters all of your previous observations, tensions are high, and eventually, something's gotta give. (it's tom. he’s giving head)

tags. smut (so. so much. minors BE GONE TO WHENCE YOU CAME!), fem anatomy + reader is referred to as a woman by someone, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, again implied tall!tom or short!reader (take it however you prefer), jealous tom does not understand friendship but then again neither does reader apparently, a little wine is had, the room of requirement is used shamelessly as a plot device, did i mention smut, i’ve lost my mind etc etc.

note. this is a part two, so go ahead and read the first part and come back if you'd like :) obligatory preface: it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also woahh was not expecting the love on my last post so thank you! i'm still trying to figure this whole acc out so support, questions, (requests? never done those before) anything is appreciated ♡

word count. 6.3k

The next two weeks are agony. You don’t, in fact, stop meeting with Godefrey to study, because you do, in fact, still need a good mark in Ancient Runes and for all his faults he can reach the tallest shelves and he’s a faster writer than you. Also, Tom Riddle is fantastic with his hands but this does not make him God.

You find pureblood politics a bit archaic. You find muggle courting a bit stifling. This leaves very little space for what took place between you and Tom in the middle of a corridor two weeks ago (you can’t stop wincing at how insane that sounds) and very little patience for his utterly original and impressively humble request that you halt your studies with Godefrey. Godefrey doesn’t stick his hands up your skirts while the two of you are studying. He doesn’t silence your gasps with a shush and a finger to your mouth, doesn’t — wouldn’t (you’re so imaginative when you want to be) — tell you to keep reading as his thumb draws circles between your legs, tell you to repeat the words that get caught in your throat, tell you how much he likes it when your eyes go dumb and glassy and all you can say is his name. So, really, Tom should have nothing to worry about.

“I swear,” Selwyn says, picking at a plate you don’t think she’s actually eaten anything off with how distracted she is, “he’s looked over here at least three times.”

You don’t dare glance at who you know she’s talking about. “You’re obsessed.”

Pot. Kettle. Whatever.

“Are you sure you didn’t do something to upset him in Potions? Didn’t botch something that might mar his perfect record?”

You flick her forehead and she scowls. “I’m not an idiot, Selwyn. I handle myself just as well in Potions as he does — he wouldn’t —” Wouldn’t have complimented your rapport if that weren’t true, wouldn’t have said you communicate efficiently, make a good pair, probably wouldn’t have — fingered you in the hallway? — Yes, that too. Slipped your mind! So easy to forget.

You take a long exhale, and smile impassively at her. “I didn’t botch anything, trust me.”

She finally takes a bite of food. “Maybe I did something…”

And then she’s lost in thought again, eating now, at least, and you shake your head softly as you watch what are likely a million different theories flitting through hers.

“Morning,” Tom says to you when you enter Potions after breakfast, a delicate smile tugging at his lips.

You have, of course, trained for this. 

It’s your fifth — sixth? — time sharing a table with him since that night and it is somehow easier by nature and harder by anticipation (of what, you have no idea) every time. The first was terrible. Unsalvageable and without a silver lining. It had taken almost an hour that morning to charm the violent hues of red and purple spanning the column of your throat, and ultimately, the marks were so persistent you’d forgone the glamours and decided to just wear a turtleneck. You’d been fortunate it was December, but that was about all there’d been to be grateful for. You hadn’t been able to look at Tom all class and his hand had brushed yours once to take a phial from you and you’d flinched so sharply it would have shattered on the floor if he hadn’t caught it with a charm. And he’d smiled, as he’s smiling now, a soft, “Careful,” that honestly, for a moment, made you want him dead.

Now you could speak just fine, look him in the eyes in practised intervals, and almost, impressively, make articulate conversation with him again. Make stupid comments about Slughorn and Lestrange and bear the weight of his grin knowing it was there for you.

His, he’d called you. A very funny notion.

“Morning,” you answer on a smiling sigh, sleepy but jovial all the same. 

You deserve applause for this. Ten trophies in the hall with your name on them.

“Tired?”

“Mhm. Essays for Ancient Runes are due Friday and studying has been keeping us up all night.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve yet to ascertain. Your research has been put temporarily on hold, scattered and splintered by the revelation that your first observation was, admittedly, a little bit off, and you have no means of figuring out a look like that when you can’t even begin to figure out anything else.

“Has it?” he asks, a tinge less friendly.

“Well,” you say, grinding the lacewing flies, “that’s commonplace, isn’t it? You take all sorts of advanced classes, I’m sure you understand the work it takes.”

“...Hm.”

That’s it. That’s all you get from him.

And if Selwyn’s concern over you botching your work in Potions wasn’t already, obviously dispelled, the glee on Slughorn’s face as he assesses your and Tom’s cauldron should do it.

“Brilliant! Utterly brilliant!” He claps a hand over Tom’s back, regarding you both with pride so thick it clouds his eyes, like he's drifted into a revery of the future (you and Tom, you expect, are his most prized graduates, making history under his name, proving his immense wisdom) before he appears to return to Earth. “Ten points between the two of you, hm? Very, very good — though, of course, no surprises there!”

He chuckles to himself as he evaluates the other students, and you catch a horrified wheeze of Godefrey’s name (bless his heart) as one of the cauldrons in the back begins to sputter and froth to the floor.

You look to Tom with some droll little comment at making it to the end of term with top marks, but his gaze is burning into Godefrey’s table in such a way you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what was causing his cauldron to boil.

Well. Perhaps not, then.

You and Godefrey hand in your essay that Friday with more relief than apprehension — you both decide it’s quite good — and you laugh loudly and breathlessly as he picks you up and thanks you a thousand times, spinning you until you’re dizzy. You refrain from making any promises to attend his Quidditch games, but he vows to let you have the snitch he catches despite absolutely having no right to keep it.

And Slughorn, you come to find, was not exaggerating his elation at your skill. After trotting after you on your walk back from Ancient Runes to invite you to the last Slug Club dinner of the year, your spirits are high with the blissful satisfaction of a job well done and a night to celebrate it with.

You can breathe, finally, when it’s the last week of school before Christmas break and Selwyn’s zipping the back of a last-minute dress you purchased in Hogsmeade.

“Gorgeous,” Selwyn says with a grin. “Wish this school would have a bloody ball so I could really dress you up.”

“Buy a doll, Selwyn, you can dress them however you like.”

“You are such a —”

You burst into laugher, swatting her wand away as she pokes your side with it. 

“Just go then, before I hex you!”

“All right, all right!” you concede, arms raised in surrender. “Don’t ruin all your hard work now.”

“Oh,” she calls on your way out the door. You turn and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes as she tucks her wand back in her pocket. “And do tell me before I leave tomorrow if Riddle spends all night staring.”

You groan as if it’s a truly abominable thing to imagine. Riddle, staring with those dark eyes of his? You, the centre of his attention? Ghastly. You daresay you’d never recover from the horror of it.

“Don’t leave before I tell you how remarkably uneventful a night it was,” you say with a sidelong glare, and leave before she can edge in the final word.

You have no idea what a Slug Club supper typically consists of, but you imagine for Christmas he’s gone a little further with his festivities. His office is glittering in hues of green and red and fleecy, snow-dappled gold. The lights overheard (some similar charm to the one in the Great Hall but a tad less complex, you think) drip and then vanish into the air like squeezed berries, and the berries — served with pastries and ice cream — taste like they've been enchanted with something. Drizzled in elf-wine or sugar-something. Selwyn was right that the standard dress isn’t quite formal enough for a ball, but it’s… formal. The boys are in clean-cut dress robes and the girls are in fine gowns of slightly varied lengths. By the overwhelming number of them you recall being archetypes of pureblood fanaticism, it makes sense how expensive they all look. You yourself brush up nicely, if not a bit more frugally, but you've never been to an event like this at school, and that’s exciting enough on its own not to be bothered.

It’s another degree of training (Is there going to be a marathon? Are you at war?), an incredible leap from your preparations before Potions every other day, to be ready when Tom Riddle enters the room a respectable five minutes late with a gleam about him more captivating than any of the lights.

“Ah, Tom!” Slughorn exclaims, and ushers him into a seat you remark before Tom is even in it is discomfitingly near to yours. “We’re all here at last… Supper, then? Hope you aren’t too full already, I’ve got the House Elves running laps tonight!”

You’re spared Tom’s immediate proximity by a Ravenclaw couple seated in the chairs between you, their hands clasped under the table while they sip wine from shiny goblets, and you only realise the prolonged extent of your observation when Tom glances at you from the spot over, and you startle yourself into reaching for your own goblet to appear busy. It's a struggle pretending to enjoy the wine.

You eat. You listen to cluttered, unending tales of Slughorn’s time at school and how he earned his post. You drink, and then you regret not drinking before eating because there’s only a very light, very nice buzz that warms you when you finish your cup, and the Ravenclaw couple is — oh, no, it isn’t just them — they’re standing up to dance as a gramophone sparks to life and a low, dulcet orchestra begins to play. There are now two notably empty seats separating you from Tom.

What had you said this night would be? Blissful satisfaction? No, not that kind. You couldn’t blame Selwyn for suggesting you’d blundered Potions — you didn’t feel exceptionally smart right now.

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Tom says, pulling the chair beside you.

Where is the bottle of wine? Nevermind. None of that. You behave regrettably enough sober.

You manage a simple, “And yet.”

“And yet.” His lips quirk before he takes a sip from his goblet. 

You lament for a second that you’ve only actually kissed those lips once. They spent a great deal longer on your fortunate neck.

“Will you be here over break?” he asks, and it isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, you suppose.

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to know whether to expect you or not.”

Expect you? No, yes — refer to observation two: unusual is not an apt enough word for him.

It takes you a moment to conjure a response befitting polite dinner conversation. That is, after all, still what this is.

“I suppose you can. I’ll be busy, of course.”

Well, you didn’t say you conjured something good. It’s a big fat lie. Placating, vague, empty. And you suspect Tom knows that.

“Pity.”

Yes, he knows. He’s all quiet amusement again.

You stare off, satisfied to be left alone —

"And what is it that'll be taking so much of your time?"

“Well, I'm —” And now you have to build the lie — “I’ve told Godefrey I’ll attend to his Quidditch practise. Since the pitch isn’t in use.”

God, it’s so stupid it’s almost impressive. You don’t even know if Godefrey will be here over break, and you could have chosen any number of excuses that would pique Tom’s interest less than it’s apparently consistently piqued by the mention of your study partner. 

There’s that strange, indecipherable look again. Riddle is a perfect surname for him, you decide then, and you almost laugh at yourself for it, but that would probably not go over well should he ask what’s so funny.

“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s hardly charity.”

“Hm, it’s kind of you to think so.”

You huff, tipping your goblet back to swallow the last meagre dregs of your wine.

“You look lovely.”

It’s just a little bit — just a tiny, straggling little bit of elderflower that captures your throat — and you cough into your goblet. “Thank — thank you.”

And, well, he looks lovely too. Obviously. Sickeningly so. You know as much about his personal life as he lets anyone but you’re positive he’s at least a half-blood, if not muggle-born, and it makes you wonder the influence of his renownedly plain black suit in a crowd of neat, long robes. He manages with little effort to look better than all of them at their best. And then his eyes drift over you in that way. Appreciatively, quick enough that it isn't rude, but — enough. They stir a devastating memory. You adjust under his gaze even when it’s situated on your face, far too heavy a thing for you to carry. “Does Godefrey call you lovely?”

What?

You blink at him, your mouth is probably open and you probably look stupid but he’s so… irritating. Yes, of course Godefrey calls you lovely. Godefrey tells you you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met (after his mother), and he drowns you with sherbet lemons at no cost, and he writes at the speed of light to match the quickness with which you recite your textbook, and none of it means anything. Tom is just —

“Unbelievable.”

He quirks a brow. “What was that?”

“I said you’re unbelievable, Riddle. Is it impossible for you to comprehend that I might have friends? That Godefrey is my friend?”

“Well, memory serves me right that you seemed a bit confused on the conventions of friendship last you mentioned it. Forgive my uncertainty.”

He — that was —

“Well, that’s because we are not friends.”

“No.” He leans in. “We are not.”

You push your chair from the table with all the grace you can manage for such an abrupt motion: a tight, impersonal smile on your face as you walk away and approach Slughorn, only realising when you get there that the neck of your goblet is clutched in your hand like you’re trying to strangle it.

Whatever he sees on your face, he isn’t drunk enough yet not to frown at. “Ah, our newest gem — hardly seen you all night! Not leaving already, are we?”

You glance at the clock. It isn’t as though you’re being impolite by abandoning his party in the middle of the event. It’s decently late, the servers are stuck to the walls with little to do, and most of the room has divided into waltzing pairs or hushed debates.

“I’m taking Selwyn to the train station tomorrow, sir. Unfortunately I need to be up quite early.”

Yes, yes, it’s all so tragic. You’re depressed to go.

“Such a shame,” Slughorn frets, wobbling a tad and balancing himself on the wall. “You’ll be all right getting back? Not at all dizzy, are you?” His laugh is cleaved by a loud hiccough, and then he laughs even more. “My, well, I myself may need to be carried!”

“...I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you.”

“Oh, no, no... trouble at all — there’s — hm… ah, Tom!”

No, no — is it bad you almost reach over and slap your palm over your professor’s mouth? Is it at all impressive that you don’t? You should look on the bright side in moments like these. You should admire your restraint. But of course, Slughorn’s eyes don’t fall upon Tom for nothing. He's halfway across the room already, likely giddy beneath his mask, and Slughorn must have spotted him approaching to achieve this brilliant solution. “Tom can escort you back, no?”

Tom (unforgivably) is beside you now, a very mean, very pretty smile on his face.

“Not too much to ask, I should think? You know the castle best. Head Boy — sometimes I still can’t believe it!”

You look up at Tom and your jaw is clenched where you’ve since put down your drink. There is too much tension in you to know what to do with, and in whatever capacity someone like Tom can look thrilled, he assuredly does.

He holds out his arm. “It’s hardly charity, sir.”

You wonder what spell would catch him most off-guard if you were to blast him in the face right now.

Slughorn claps his hands together. “Ha! Yes, well… perfect, then! Off now, the two of you, off now. Do have a good — ” He hiccoughs again — “rest!”

You don’t even bother the diplomacy of smiling at Slughorn as your arm loops through Tom’s and you’re exiting the party. 

Neither of you say a word through the corridors, and that’s very well.

If you could just get back to bed without speaking to him you may still consider it a good night. You may be able to push his strangeness and his entitlement and the annoying way his hair falls to another day, when he pesters you about Godefrey’s nonexistent Quidditch practise, which — come to think of it — you do think he told you he'd be headed home for the holidays. You really fumbled that one.

And then Tom’s thumb is brushing the bare skin of your arm and your step falters a bit. But he doesn’t mention it, and so neither do you.

And then he’s drawing down your elbow to your forearm so softly it almost feels like he isn’t touching you at all. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you.

And then your arm, without really meaning for it to, is slipping from his and his hand is holding yours instead, feather-light as lithe fingers wrap over yours and your breath is not the same as it was when you left. He doesn’t mention it. He just keeps going.

His fingers work back up your arm and you shiver as they drag across your shoulder, gaze searing your neck as the soft digits find their way to your jaw, and you get the sense he’s remembering just how much he liked the taste of it, and you’re… you’re letting him. Again. You’re leaning closer, you’re seeking him out, you want him flush against you and even that might not be satisfactory.

You are, in the end, a half-decent observer and a terrible liar.

You’re grabbing his hand with a small amount of direction and a great deal of meaning. You suppose it's because, historically, you’ve proven to have trouble with words in moments like these, and you don’t really know where you’re taking him but god, you know where you want him. Somewhere soft, this time, thick enough that you can fist your hands around it and melt. Somewhere he can hover over you, maybe hold you down a little, just until — maybe, miraculously — you might make him break a little too. Clamber over his lap. Make him yours.

“Tom,” you mouth, some question in the way your eyebrows knit.

The moment you say his name he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours. And, ah, right, that’s what this feels like. You’d almost forgotten. 

This kiss is not chaste, hardly tender. It resists in that it demands you push, plead, take this for yourself to prove how badly you want it, and he smiles into you when you do. And then, sated by your efforts, he lets you have him. You’re gripping the collar of his suit as his hands wander appreciatively down the back of your dress, pulling you into him by the waist as the kiss deepens. He’s savouring you like you’re something religious that’s been offered to him, and there’s the taste of wine between you and you’re still here, coherent enough that the symbolism isn’t lost on you.

“I've been thinking," he says between kisses, “about the way you felt when I touched you. I've been thinking how long it might take before you need it again." 

You gasp at the sensation, and god, God, you've been wondering too.

You’re pulling him impossibly closer and something hard is pressing into your hip and you clutch tighter onto his shirt. You need it off, you think, and — has your dress been clinging to you so bothersomely all night? You need that off too. You need skin on skin. You careen him backwards without direction, your mind a muddled mess of all the many things your body is screaming it wants, like this is fucking imperative; to give it up would be catastrophic.

You suppose, based on what you’ve read, that that’s how the Room of Requirement works. It’s still funny to think it would apply to this.

To remove yourself from him to watch the door form in the stone (to see the dark, languid shape of his eyes bearing down on you, the wet, stained pink of his lips) hurts. Your awe that the door is forming in the stone at all only somewhat alleviates it. Tom seems to recover from the revelation much faster than you.

His mouth is on yours once more, a hungry kiss; spare fingers at your waist, guiding you through the door and shutting it carelessly behind him. He’s like fire against you, radiating as he presses in on you, his hand tangled in your hair and his hips flush against yours. It's a cheap trick when his mouth begins its descent — he obviously hasn’t forgotten how much you liked it the last time — from your jaw to your throat, as his lips trail down your chest and you're shivering into the warmth of him.

You’ve heard it said before, in some romantic sense, that it’s sometimes hard to tell where you end and a lover begins. This is not like that. You've never been more aware of anything than the point where you and him meet.

You’re tugging blindly and earnestly at him again, trusting in the nature of the Room like this isn't the first time you've been in it, and then you're stumbling onto a bed you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago (people say magic is a neutral force but evidently this is not the fucking case), fingers carding through Tom's hair as his body pins you to the mattress. His mouth is molten hot. You squirm and pant beneath him, your breath coming faster than it ever has. Everything feels sharper and deeper and more intense under his touch, every sensation heightened until it's almost impossible to tell pleasure from pain, his tongue from his teeth.

How did it take you this long to do this again? To need him like this?

And his — you should really have the mind to see the mistake in all of this but perhaps that's for later — his fingers are pulling your sleeves down, propping your back to arch as he reaches under you to unzip your dress, apparently too impatient to sit you up and take it off properly. It bunches around your waist where he leaves it. For a moment he stops to look at you, your chest exposed in the dim sconce-light, and then his mouth dips down to circle your breast and you're biting down on a pillow to hold back the whimpering gasp that longs to escape you. He hums around the flesh, kisses across your sternum to the other, laving tenderly. And then he’s at your stomach, kissing a stripe to your belly button before pushing past the dress he's left ringed around your abdomen.

You shimmy under the weight of him to prop your head up — to see past the mass of silk that obscures his face from you as moves lower and lower, hands spanning your hips to keep you still.

His face hovers above your thighs, and he doesn’t move.

“Did you enjoy my fingers?" he asks. 

At that you freeze, thighs pressing together to bury the hand that's rising between them, and the reaction is answer enough. 

Tom smiles somewhat. “Hm, you did." 

He spreads your legs, one hand pushing your underwear aside and regarding you with delicate, shameless appetite — something that might even be adoration: like this is all he's ever wanted you to want.

“Do you think you'd enjoy my mouth, too?"

Words are gone. There's nothing left in you.

Tom doesn't mind. His head moves artfully between your legs, holding them apart and steady, pressing kisses to the base of your thighs. Your hands flail from the sheets, desperate to grip something else and you hold back a sound that feels like irritation and need at the same time. You need him closer, higher than this. He knows. You can feel his smile biting into your skin.

And then you manage a nod though you're not even sure he's looking at your face anymore (and what a picture to imagine he is) and you worry momentarily it won’t be enough for him — that he’ll ask you to be nice and say it out loud for him — but he hums with something merciful, and — his gaze lowers from yours. You catch the smallest glimpse of his tongue before it’s on you, wet and slow and unrelenting and you say his name, but it’s a mewl; you choke on it. It sounds like a cry.

Pitiful, needy, undone. Just how he wants you.

You think all efforts to remain even remotely composed are thrown to the wind as soon as his tongue is lapping at you, fast and then slow, everything you want and not even remotely close. He sinks all his weight down as if he can predict the moment you'll writhe before you do — and you do. With his grip he tells you to endure it. You only need him to say it with his hands and his mouth but he breathes back, licking his lips and he actually says it. “Be good.”

That makes your breath hitch and your cheeks swell impossibly hotter, and reality is a small glint in your periphery where everything else is burning red. “Y-you’re—”

His mouth silences you, tongue catching your clit in a drawn-out, agonising motion, and you gasp and lurch forward to inch through the sensation, craving more. Reason is lost on you, a throbbing familiarity forcing you to grind your teeth down on the pillow to stop yourself from telling him to — you don’t even know. Finish you. Abandon all reluctance. Just let you come as hard as you know he wants you to. But he pauses, observant as he raises to work his fingers against you. Watching how your slick coats them like it’s the most enthralling sight he’s ever witnessed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to push one inside of you, hearing your breath catch above him and the moan that comes tumbling out of your throat, pillow be damned.

You do your best to breathe through it, and you know he knows how to make you unfold like this, so the meticulous lightness of his ministrations tells you he’s trying to keep it from you now. You’re almost embarrassed about the fact that you’re dripping onto his hand regardless; his lips puffy, his gaze unnervingly, dizzyingly carving you in two.

“Just,” you rasp, clutching desperately at his wrist. “Tom, please.” 

Your begging must be music to his ears. (It’s a rare, unplanned fifth observation: that you think he’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name like that.)

He adds a finger. It’s encircling you, first, and no amount of restraint can stop the harsh gasp that leaves you, but then it’s his tongue and two fingers and he’s pushing into you how you wanted, and he makes a pleased sound against you, gripping you tighter with his free hand, still not allowing you movement and fuck, are you trying. Your body moves on impulse. Your mind is blank. All that matters now, like the last time, is this. Him. You moan, a low, throaty noise that's a little too loud, a little too wanton; you can't recall if anything has ever come from you quite like it and Tom devours you at the sound.

He wants more and you agree. It's as much an obsession as your observations: more, please, anything and everything.

It’s the precision of his touch — not some bored, hurried transgression — that brings your hands roughly to his hair. “Tom,” you whine, holding him tight, and the purr of his obliging mouth is something destructive.

As soon as you feel another swell of something deep down, your mouth is falling open.

His tongue is sliding through you, fingers curling deeper, and then your clit is in his mouth, and he’s looking up you between your thighs as your eyes wrench shut, and you’re coming.

Your voice breaks somewhere in the catastrophe of it. Your body spasms, static to every atom, and he pins you down through it. He doesn’t grant you the reprieve of escaping the frenzied, glorious torture of it. His mouth still lingers. His tongue moves thankful and unrelenting. 

Tom takes all of you and something else, and you think it is destruction, creation, both. How terrifyingly similar they suddenly feel.

His lips are swollen and slick when he finally detaches from you and you want to kiss him, but he’s leaning back to admire his work from a new angle. You swallow, unable to blame him for it because you look down at yourself and — this is something else. Your arousal is dripping to his chin. You're shaking. Your legs are still clenching around his torso. They’re holding him so tight you can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt.

But he just rolls off you. Adjusts his trousers and your abdomen flutters and you think, don’t. You don’t even realise you’re reaching for him until your hand is around his wrist and you’re still sighing through the come-down, panting into the hot air. He presses a kiss to your forehead, a real one this time, fingers damp on your jaw as he holds you. You make a note that that’s the second time he’s done that. That you thought it was strangely intimate the first time and nothing’s changed other than how much more you like it.

And it doesn’t really feel like you can help it but crawl with gooey, trembling legs onto his lap. Doesn’t feel like you can help it when you lean in and capture his lips with yours, bite down, moan unabashedly into his mouth at the stiffness that presses against your core when you do, steal his tongue and the taste of you on it.

When he pulls away he’s looking at you like he doesn’t think you can actually do this. Like you’d just crumble the moment you tried.

A low, determined protest rises in your throat and you’re kissing him again. You’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, you’re trembling to reach for his trousers. 

When you can finally shrug his shirt off and press yourself against him, feel that skin on skin you wanted so badly, you find it somehow even more suffocating than its absence. You’re left wanting a more you aren’t able to fully conceptualise after what he's done to you already, but you’re grinding involuntarily against him and his teeth are scraping your neck and he's hissing at the sensation, and yes, there’s more.

Your breath is staggered when your hips stutter into a roll. You — fuck — you tug fruitlessly at his belt and he smiles against your throat. He takes your hands and guides them. You can feel him, hard against your thigh, and you’re spreading your legs to usher him where you want, clawing at his chest without really meaning to.

Tom, still with your hand in his, unbuckles his belt. He pulls down his trousers just enough to bare himself to you, and maybe he’s right that you can’t manage it yourself but he stops guiding you like the intrigue of finding out is too good to resist. There's something both intimate and imperious about the way he looks at you then. A challenge. It's a kind of intensity you have to believe is just for you, a challenge you meet by daring to believe you're right. You're more than happy to give yourself to it, to let his hands and his eyes and his mouth claim you for his own, so long as you get to claim him for yours.

You do. You struggle for it. He’s very patient. 

But then it’s there — more — as you finally sink down on him and bite his shoulder and he shudders a low, almost pained exhale, clutching hard at your waist.

There’s a silent, suspended moment where neither of you move. The room feels entirely still. Your lips quiver over his pulse. Your stomach flips at the intensity of it, the undeniable quiver of his desire beneath you. You smile against him now, like he always does to you, conscious enough to mumble into his neck, “Mine.”

Tom stutters inside you, fingers gripping you impossible tighter as you dare to think he even gasps. You dare to think he likes it.

And then one of his hands grabs your jaw and his kiss is searing. He thrusts upward and you cry into his mouth, searching to match his pace in a way that you appreciate, for once, he seems unlearned in. It’s all a bit messy, a bit new, palms in fists, in skin, in hair, digging for every part they haven’t already taken from. The kissing has lost all elegance. The sound in the back of Tom’s throat is divine, the feeling of him inside you as he slips his hand back between your legs — like he needs everything, like he knows you do too — it’s ineffable. It coils somewhere deep, touches something you didn’t know existed. Your hips are rotating on instinct, thighs still soft and slack from coming apart on his tongue, but you’re determined. It feels like finding even ground. It feels like something you deserve: to make him feel how you did.

Your head rolls back, eyes pinching shut in bliss, but Tom is there at your jaw again, forcing your blurry gaze back to him.

His hips are inching even further, the intensity of his pace as he adjusts to you making you dizzy. You think, realistically, there’s sound coming out of you, but you aren’t entirely sure when it’s so close to him, when your mouth is between his fingers and your ears are ringing and he’s looking at you like you’re made for him. 

“Mine.” And it isn’t a dismissal of your claim but a confirmation that one will not be without the other. His voice is raw and breathy and something about the way he whispers it makes you contract inadvertently around him, hands swatting his chest like they don’t know what else to do. There’s just too much.

You recognize you’re trying to say something. Some plea, a moan, his name (is there anything else left?), but you’re just babbling into his mouth and he holds you there to listen. He doesn’t kiss you. It’s your failing words against his lips. He mercilessly swallows whatever syllables try to shape them.

It’s there again when you need it most: the heavy, swirling feeling inside as he snaps his hips, his fingers digging into your waist with punishing firmness. His breathing accelerates, a low sound in his throat, and you push harder onto him. Your vision is gone again, head gripped in his hands to keep from rolling back so that, you suspect, he can watch defeat split you down the middle again — not over your shoulder, not with him squeezed between your thighs — with his eyes on yours, your every broken moan so near to him that he can feel the breath of each one.

You’re grappling desperately at skin that doesn’t feel like enough to hold onto, even though he’s rocking inside you, and you see the insanity of it, you see that it isn’t logical. Too much and not enough at once — you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but it just is.

“Please,” you manage in a voice you don’t recognize. “Please, Tom, pleasepleaseplease —”

Had you said before it was foolish to call him forgiving? You take it back. Tom is very eager to satisfy.

He finds some place inside of you and you don’t know quite what it is that he changes but it's new, uncharted, and you break there. You dissolve. You’re liquid in his hands as you sob, stuttering around him, shaking like you didn’t know was possible, and you swear — you swear you’re going to take him there with you. It isn’t that you could stop yourself if you tried but your body is tightening around him, fingernails carving half-moons into his skin, and you’re pushing down on him through the ecstasy. You’re forcing your eyes open so he can see you break in full, watch them flutter back all soft and pretty.

You're sated by your ruin when it ruins him too.

The sound he makes is ragged. Undone. He can only bury it halfway with a kiss you think is actually more of a bite, twitching inside you as he fucks you through it.

For a moment that feels detached from time, you're lost in each other. His hips stutter to a halt, your body softens. And he’s pulling out of you like it hurts, mouth falling open as he does. You wince at the loss. There's a sweet soreness between your legs, and you’re held only by the weight of him. You think that if it weren’t for his hands, you’d fall flat off the bed.

But he sort of lifts you off as he lays you on your side, watches you for a long time as if to decide something important before laying down beside you. You watch him too. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, and when there’s not a single curl left clinging to the sweat on your skin, he continues anyway. You let him trace your lips, your jaw, your nose, and somehow, a bit terrifyingly, your final observation: nothing about it feels unusual at all.

You did say he was yours.

[bwaybaby]

Hey, you. Yes, YOU. I dare you to fill out my INTEREST CHECKER that'll take no more than 3-5 minutes & then I'll come to you for some plotting.

[bunnyswritings]

ur blog is soo helpful !!!! ive been looking into writing more lately and this is like a godsend <3 i was wondering if u could do some starter tips?? like stuff to avoid as a new writer :o ps. hope ur having a wonderful week!!!

ahhh, hello!! this is such a sweet message, and thank you, i hope you have a fruitful week ahead too ♡ i'm so glad you're writing more lately- i'll def do my best to provide some starter tips (though i'm really also a starter myself 😅 so i hope you like these, and feel free to let me know what you think!) also, just to put it out there that these are what i found helpful personally / what i think will be helpful, and may / may not resonate with everyone. Also, this topic is soooo broad and there are a million things that can be covered, but for now I'll just keep it short and go with stuff to avoid (or rather, approach differently) as per request. if you / anyone else would like another post for more specific writing tips, feel free to drop it in my ask box!

Some general writing tips — stuff to avoid; little things to not overdo

over-planning

overusing fancy vocabulary

over-describing

over-criticising your work

over-comparing

more details under the cut!

Over-planning — plan the general outline, direction of your plot, message of your story, characters and their rough personalities; yes, do all that well! good planning makes for a good story, but i think it's helpful to remember that sometimes things don't pan out the way we envision them to. and it's important to let certain things go, appropriately of course. if your initial storyline doesn't quite fit the characterisation of the protagonist etc (and vice versa), then perhaps it's time to rethink things — and NOT be too hard-up about it. [tldr: be flexible!]

Overusing bombastic vocabulary — i'm sure you've come across millions of writing advice pieces that aim to spruce up your vocabulary with bombastic phrases. by all means go ahead and pick a few that fit the mood and style of your writing. otherwise, i'd say that sometimes, less is more. throwing in fancy words for the sake of it may not be as helpful as you think. there should be a fine balance between using words that add flavour + help to illustrate nuances and using words to make your piece seem complex. simplicity goes a long way, as i've learnt. but having said that, building up a solid repertoire of vocabulary / good phrases is always helpful, the key thing is using those phrases in the right context. definitely easier said than done, so i suggest reading your favourite author's works couple of times through and pick up their way of using language to their advantage.

Over-describing — narration, descriptive language are great, and can really help to nudge your story in the right direction. it helps set the scene, the mood, and all these are critical in writing... BUT! not the same can be applied to describing actions. not every single action has to be written out explicitly — an example: she walks over to the kitchen, turns around, and opens the refrigerator. she then takes out a canned drink, and places the drink on the countertop... etc — you get the point. some things can be left implied, rather than explicit.

Over-criticising your work — ahh, the age-old piece of advice. i do it all the time, and you probably do too... sometimes, being harsh on yourself and on your work may seem like the only way to better yourself and push your limits, but often times, i personally find that this is counter-productive both on the physical and mental front. it wears you down, it is a nidus for dejection and negative vibes. i think the way i try to get round this is by taking pride in my own work; telling myself that 'this is something i wrote, these are my ideas put into prose, these are my thoughts written on paper'. the caveat here is that avoiding being over-critical of your work DOES NOT and should not mean avoiding proofreading. proofreading is extremely crucial to check for grammatical and structural errors (i recommend doing it once or twice yourself, and if possible, getting a fresh pair of eyes to do the same).

Over-comparing — this ties in nicely with the previous point. take pride in your work! this is something original from you and you only, written in your unique style. having authors/writers whom you look up to is essential in moulding your writing style and habits, but should not be the sole focus when you write. remember that every writer is different, every piece of writing is different; this goes even for pieces with similar plots / tropes / character personalities. nuances, subtleties and underlying messages can come through very differently when written by different people. after all, our life journeys are all personal, which is a factor influencing the way we convey messages across through the written word.

and... that's it for now! i really hope that this helps. honestly, i'm scratching the surface here, and there are lots more i can talk about when i have more braincells >_<

feel free to drop any other requests or questions in my ask if you'd like ♡

[sanjoongie]

9~ Mommy Kink/Praise Kink: P. SH

♡Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Reader (f) ��Genre: non-idol, Mommy/Baby Boy au ♡Word Count: 1,185 ♡Warnings: mommy kink (reader is the mommy), praise kink, begging, orgasm denial, vaginal sex, spitting, lots of dirty talk, slight nipple play ♡Rated: 18+ MDNI, smut with no plot ♡Masterlist link~ | Previous Day~ San | Next Day~ Yeosang ♡Dedication~ @mejuii @downtoamagicalland the unholy trinity beta team

"Mommy, please," Seonghwa begs, digging his teeth into his lower lip. "Please, can I come inside of you?" Seonghwa has one of your legs cast over his shoulder and is fucking you side ways, as instructed.

"Pretty baby," You praise Seonghwa, pushing his hair behind his ear, "You can last a bit longer, right?"

Seonghwa shakes his head, eyebrows creasing in a cute frown. "No, I can't. I can't, please, Mommy, please let me come inside of you, I'm so close."

"Slow it down, baby," You encourage him and his pace decreases until he's just shallowly thrusting into your tight heat.

"Your pussy is so warm," Seonghwa whines, thrusting a bit sharper than he should have, considering you told him.to cool it. "I love being inside it."

You smile upwards at him, "I know you do. That's why we're learning to hold back our orgasm, so you can be inside me longer."

"Mommy, please!" Seonghwa wails, jutting out his lip. "I don't wanna wait. I wanna come inside of you again and again. I want my cum to spill out of you, and then I want to clean it up with my tongue."

You tsk at Seonghwa and put a hand on his chest to stop his movements. "You are acting spoiled, Seonghwa."

Seonghwa’s eyes widen. He's trying to look innocent to get away with his outburst. “But I’m not spoiled. My mommy wouldn’t have a spoiled baby boy.”

He got points for creativity. “Then are you my good baby boy, Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa nods quickly and sucks in his bottom lip. His eyes get hooded and he leans downwards. “I want a kiss, please.”

You find yourself indulging in him, meeting those pink lips for a wet kiss given the amount of times Seonghwa lips his lips. “I’m putting lip chap on you next time, Seonghwa, your lips are going to be so chapped,” You scold him.

Seonghwa frowns at you again. “My lips are soft. Why are you being mean to me? Won’t let me come and say my lips aren’t nice to kiss.”

Your nose micro-twitches as your anger spikes at the insinuation that you were picking on Seonghwa and not trying to take care of him. Where previously you were cupping his cheek now you grip his chin and cheeks harshly. “Seonghwa, baby, you’re prettier when your mouth is closed or your tongue is out. What’s it going to be?” You growl.

Seonghwa lowers his eyes in obedience. “Tongue, Mommy.” He sticks out his tongue and you spit into it. He leaves his tongue out until you command him to swallow. “Thank you, Mommy,” Seonghwa says quietly. That was much better.

“Are you going to be a good boy for Mommy now, Hwa?” You ask him, releasing his face. 

“I am a good boy,” Seonghwa insists. 

“Then you’re going to fuck me into an orgasm, love, and then you’re allowed to come inside of me. Do we understand each other? Or do I have to put you in your time out corner?” You make solid eye contact with Seonghwa. He would have to sit against the headboard and watch you fuck yourself with a dildo. He despised that punishment and would do anything to avoid it, that much you could bet on with Seonghwa. 

“Yes, Mommy, I’ll do it. I can do it. I can make you come and I can be a good boy. I wanna be a good boy. I am a good boy.” Seonghwa’s face is so earnest and his naughty side went back into the dark where it belonged.

“Go ahead then, Hwa. Fuck me with your pretty cock, hmm? Show Mommy what your cock can do for her.”

Seonghwa rubs his face against your leg as he bends you even farther. His hips work themselves into a speed that allowed him to adjust them so he could snap that last inch of his cock into your g-spot. You cry out and Seonghwa smiles against the skin of your leg. “See Mommy, I know how to fuck your pussy so good. I know just how to move so that you feel good. Your nipples get tight and your pussy gets so much more wetter when my pretty cock is fucking you. Only I can do this for you, right, Mommy? Only your baby boy can do this for you, right?” Seonghwa’s eyes look down at you, looking for your praise. If only you would tell him that he was the best and good and exactly what you needed; if only you would fill his heart and head with happiness. 

“Oh, God, yes, Seonghwa, just like that, Baby. That’s my baby, you know just how to fuck Mommy’s pussy. You feel so good, Seonghwa. That’s my good boy.” The only problem with Seonghwa doing exactly what you commanded was that it made you… a little unfocused. Your words turn into verbal cues as your climax begins to build.

“I can be good for Mommy,” Seonghwa whispers to himself, “Focus, Seonghwa, focus.”

“Seonghwa, don’t stop, keep that tempo, fuck, yes Baby, this is it. You’re going to make Mommy come, just like that Hwa--Baby!” You come all over Seonghwa’s cock and he stops inside of you. He shifts until he’s lying between your legs, head fully resting on your breast.

“Did it, Mommy,” Seonghwa murmurs, lips whisper-close to your nipple but not close enough to take them in his mouth. “Made you come. Sound so pretty when you come, Mommy.”

You comb your fingertips through his hair, just the way he likes it. His cheek snuggles into your breast. “Can I come now, Mommy. Can I come inside of you? I’ve been a good boy, right, Mommy?”

You’re a little sensitive from your orgasm still but it was always a delight to witness Seonghwa work himself into pleasure himself. His face is always so expressive. “You can come now, Seonghwa. You have my permission.”

Seonghwa braces himself over you on his elbows. He’s elevated enough to thrust into you and his head is low enough that he can suck on your breasts. His eyes are closed as his tongue lathing against your nipple between his lips. His hips do their magic, his cock feeling still delicious dragging against your walls. Soon, his hips are slapping against you, searching out his climax until he moans against your nipple, teeth making a threat against your nipple. He works in and out of you as he paints your insides with his cum. 

“That’s my good Baby,” You coo at him. “Did you come hard? Was it good, Hwa?”

“Mommy, it feels so good to come inside of you,” Seonghwa whines, muffling his words against your breast.

“Let’s clean you up, my sweaty boy,” You tease him. You push an errant hair out of his hairline. 

“Mommy!” Seonghwa whines, sensitive now.

“I’ll rub you real slow, baby, I promise. I’ll treat you for being a good boy and letting Mommy come first. Then you can wear your kitty pj’s, kay?”

Seonghwa sits up and sends you the brightest, sunshine smile. “Thank you, Mommy.”

Masterlist link~ | Previous Day~ San | Next Day~ Yeosang

[brighteststar707]

Hi!! May i ask for Zen and cheek kisses, thank u so much♡♡

Hi!! Thank you for the request! I took a bit of a different direction with this one and I hope you like it <3

#9: Cheek kisses

Opening day for any new show is always busy. Despite all the preparation and nerves leading up to the day, it’s always a favorite for both you and Zen.

The show was beautiful, and Zen was phenomenal (as usual). The spotlight is on him as he takes his final bow for the audience. He is shining. For how often he jokes about his good looks, you truly believe that when he’s on stage, he transforms into something inhuman. Your Zen becomes something dazzling, infinite, otherworldly.

You join the rest of the audience in a standing ovation, letting yourself be carried in the emotions of the crowd. Zen has tried to explain to you one of his favourite parts of stage plays many different times; the power in making a full theater of people feel the same overwhelming emotions. The first time you watched him perform, you finally understood what he meant.

He scans the audience and quickly spots you, sitting in the seat he reserved specifically (the best in the house). You wave at him excitedly, hoping that your enthusiasm is conveyed to him. Of course, he reads you easily. He beams at you from center stage, high on the approval of the crowd (and more importantly, you).

He is scheduled for a live interview after the show, and you’re hoping to get him alone before it starts. Besides watching him perform, this is your favourite part of live theatre. Seeing Zen afterwards, full of adrenaline and beaming with pride. The god returning to his human form. The world outside can have God Zen, but this person he is in the aftermath is all yours.

Unfortunately, you get caught up in the crowd on your way backstage. People are moving slowly, still discussing the plot twist and Zen’s portrayal of such a unique character. By the time you get backstage, you know you’ve lost any chance at time alone with him. He spots you (he has been waiting for you, as always), and gets the crowd to let you through till you reach him.

As you expected, the interviewer is already there. She looks thrilled to be talking to Zen one on one. From the looks of it, she was just going through the introductory questions. As you appear by his side, she gives you a quizzical look, quickly sizing you up. You’ve interacted with enough journalists by this point to see the cogs turning in her brain; all the different snippy titles she could use to make the most of your sudden appearance.

You reluctantly switch into manager mode. You push down your excitement and try to look more subdued as you give Zen the bouquet of flowers you had picked specifically for him. You give her a smile that she doesn’t return, so you go ahead and introduce yourself as Zen’s manager. A beat passes before she continues with her questions.

You try to stand patiently through the interview, and you almost succeed. Almost. Towards the end, her questions stray from professional into personal. She punctuates every question with a giggle and tries to ask about a rumour regarding a relationship between Zen and his co-star (which he  deftly avoids).

Although your relationship was an open secret to most of your colleagues, you try to keep press far away from it, for your own privacy and for the sake of his career. To that end, you usually try to keep a distance between yourself and Zen when you make public appearances.

The interview finally wraps up, the camera turns off, but the woman lingers. She attempts to make small talk with Zen, and he politely tries to signal to her that he’d like to leave. Your patience (already worn thin) disappears all together. Your manager front drops and you close the distance between you and him. Then, in an impulsive move, you put a hand on his shoulder, stand on your tiptoes, and give him a kiss on his cheek.

It's the only gesture you ever allow yourselves to do in public, but it should get the message across.

“I’m proud of you, Zen, you were magic up there.”

Zen is not easy to fluster. But it looks like the combination of the kiss, his own remaining adrenaline and your complement break him entirely. He turns beet red and remains frozen. He tries to speak, but when he opens his mouth, he can’t form the words.

The interviewer’s eyes widen and stare at you both in shock. You smile back at her sweetly. A kiss on the cheek is not something too newsworthy, especially with no pictures to back it up.

He manages to recompose himself enough to turn to the woman and thank her for conducting the interview. His face is still red and, to your delight, there’s urgency in his tone now.

Without another word, he takes your hand and starts walking in the direction of his dressing room. You follow him, spring in your step. Finally.

[brigadeleadxr]

———  BASICS  !

(PEN)NAME:   kingsleigh / but you say it kingsley it’s just the not-crazy spelling is usually taken online

PRONOUNS: she/her

ZODIAC SIGN: leo

TAKEN  OR  SINGLE:  this gem??? this dime???? snapped up.

———  THREE  FACTS  !

i voice act a lil’ on the side! you can catch me in some indie games and podcasts. but tiny tiny roles. 

i like baking cute pastries! sadly the cuter the pastry, usually the weirder the taste

i dyed my hair pink and then...my school announced convocations would be in person this year....so now i guess i’ll graduate with pink hair rip

———  EXPERIENCE  !

PLATFORMS USED: literally started on gaiaonline of all places. And then it’s just been tumblr and tiny bit on discord but I didn’t like it so much there.

i went on tumblr when OUAT was big. And also i thought it was a good show back then. so. think about that. 

———  MUSE  PREFERENCE  !

GENDER:   I’ve only had 3 muses on tumblr, 2 of them girls, 1 boy. all fun good times. i gotta say though, shipping gets way more aggressive/popular when you’re writing a boy so it was a little more stressful.  

LEAST FAVOURITE FACE(S): i don’t pay too much attention?  I guess just when the actor/public figure has said they’re uncomfortable with it, or if they’re a particularly despicable person in real life, but in the animated realm it’s the wild west, go off kings.  

MULTI OR SINGLE: I don’t write enough/frequently enough to make a multi worth it. also i love making the themes to match a character’s aesthetic. It’s like building the house in sims, that’s 70% the fun in setting up the blog 

———  FLUFF  /  ANGST  /  SMUT  !  ♡    

FLUFF: we need fluff in our lives. good palate cleansers. some nice chill wholesome threads. the goofy stuff. the quiet moments. it just comes easy to you, and they make you laugh. 

ANGST:  everyone on this entire website just wants to maximize suffering you can put your characters through. me included of course. Of course the biggest character developments and plots tend to fall under angst, and i love seeing the growth the muse experience changes how you write them as time passes. I gotta be in the right mood to sit down and write it though. When I’m really into it, sometimes I find it can bleed into my mood irl, which is why it’s important to have some smaller goofier threads to balance it out. 

SMUT:  i’m ♠  AND my muse is a minor.  i’m already engulfed in a sex supersaturated world on the daily you sex maniacs. (*kidding)  But real, for my previous muses, I didn’t have an aversion or anything, but I just didn’t really go looking for opportunities. I could try reading some now and then!

PLOT  /  MEMES:  TO THIS DAY, i’m not even sure how plotting should go. how much detail is getting planned out ahead of time? Are you just figuring out a premise and then launching off from there? I wish i could watch an instance of it and just take notes. I like how plotting allows for the more complicated events and arcs to take place. But I also like how memes tend to pair up unlikely muses and unlikely scenarios. Makes for crazy goofs, and sometimes REALLY character defining moments??  so?? both??

tagged by: @sadamenai​

tagging: U WANTED IT? YOU WENT FOR IT? NOW BABY YOU GOT IT.

[bwaybaby]

I'm so happy that Baby's blog is officially open for business, but I'm still in the process of making icons—— would anyone care to fill out her interest checker while I work on them? 👉👈 I'll even come to you for plotting afterwards!