#How are you? xox | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miraclewoozi · 1 year ago

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no because literally though. what part of being an adult and paying taxes means ive gotta lose my ability to make a blanket fort 😖

ELECTRIC. - y.jh

your best friend is many things. smart, funny, empathetic, a complete and utter pain in your ass to name but a few. and on the evening of his twenty-eighth birthday, you discover something a little unexpected: jeonghan is very afraid of thunderstorms.

pairing : jeonghan x fem reader. content : f2?. smut. fluff. a bit of angst. comfort. (MINORS DNI) w/c : 6.3k warnings : swearing. jeonghan has astraphobia / a fear of storms (for a brief period, he's a little fragile). intentional lowercase. smut tags utc. PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything. notes : happy birthday to this sweetest of sweethearts. i would chew my right arm off if he asked me to. (barely proofread. if you see a typo, no you didn't.<3)

smut tags : pussy drunk jeonghan (my beloved), no real power dynamics but jh is a cocky mf and a bit of a dick, panty sniffing hehe, fingering, oral sex (f rec), reader is turned on by the storm. they're very unserious about it.

the lead actors meet in a kiss. the screen fades to black. so ends yet another round of your annual birthday movie nights.

jeonghan reaches for the remote and silences the end credit theme to the film you’ve just finished watching at the same time as you lift your head up off his shoulder, stretching high above your head and letting out perhaps the loudest yawn (-stroke-moan) of your life. your joints ache from too long spent in one, rather cramped, position, your eyes feel heavy in the late hour. the room falls almost silent around you both, save for the harsh splashing of rain against the windows.

(this really doesn’t help the fact that you’re seconds away from falling asleep.)

“what did you think?” jeonghan asks, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

“not my best pick,” you say, scrunching your nose a little. “not my worst, either.”

your best friend gives a short ‘ha’ of agreement, finally standing up off the couch. “couldn’t have said it better myself.”

he gathers up the takeout boxes currently decorating his coffee table and grabs the now empty drinks glasses with his free hand, grunting softly as he stands fully upright again. you see him trying to roll out a kink in his neck and laugh from where you’re still settled comfortably in the couch cushions.

“you’re going stiff in your old age,” you tease him, grinning brightly. he fires a look at you that simultaneously dares you to keep going down this path, and yet also, tiredly agrees. “remind me to book you a good massage for your birthday next year.”

he grunts something that sounds suspiciously like an instruction to go fuck yourself as he takes his leave from the room, carrying everything that needs to be thrown away or washed up into the kitchen. you busy yourself on your phone while he’s gone, deciding to check in on your weather app. you quite like the rain and you’re really not that worried about driving home in it; you’re just curious how long it’s going to last for.

in the delay of the app opening, a series of bright flashes bounce off every single wall in the living room. when you glance outside, the rain is falling harder than before; barely ten seconds later, a thunderclap roars through the ajar windows and you feel it all the way down into your tummy.

you don’t have a chance to excitedly run across the room to get a look at the storm, though. a loud swear and the sound of crashing glass stings your eardrums before the rumble is even over. instead, you’re bolting through in the same direction jeonghan disappeared off in just moments ago, your heart having taken dangerous residence your stomach.

“what’s wrong?!” you ask as you skid around the corner in your socks, just managing to catch yourself from sliding straight into the wall at the end of the hallway. “i heard a—”

you freeze, then, falling silent. jeonghan is gripping onto the kitchen counter like his life depends on it with both shattered glasses laying at his feet; he looks like he’s seen a ghost, all white-knuckled and clammy and pale-lipped. it’s terrifying.

“hey,” you say, slowly making your way into the room, mindful not to startle him and even more careful not to stand on one of the many shards on the laminate. “what happened? are you okay?”

he nods, weakly. swallows hard. blinks a few times, curls and uncurls his fingers, steps back from the counter.

“yeah,” he breathes eventually, uncertain and still visibly shaken. he wipes his palms on his sweatpants and looks over at you, forcing a smile, but you’ve known him for entirely too long to be sold on this terrible performance. “i, uh-...”

but jeonghan stops short, shaking his head, running out of words to say. for a moment, you think maybe he’s about to apologise; that’s the shape his lips make, anyway. you cut in before he gets the chance.

“it’s okay,” you say, leaning one hip up against the counter. “go sit down, i’ll clear all this up. watch where you stand, though.”

“you don’t have to–” he starts, but you interject before he can even entertain the idea of cleaning the mess himself.

“i know i don’t, but i want to. go. i’ll only be a minute.”

begrudgingly, he agrees; you grab the broom from his kitchen cupboard and start slowly sweeping the broken glass into a dustpan while he carefully steps on the safe parts of the floor and makes his way back through to the living room. you make reasonably quick work of everything, emptying the fragments into the bin on top of the takeout boxes – all that’s left by the time you’re finished a couple of minutes later, is to try and figure out what caused all this in the first place.

jeonghan isn’t an easily shaken individual; you know this from years of experience. he seems to be able to catch you every time, without fail: whether he’s just popping out at you from behind a door and making you yelp, or he’s near-on giving you heart failure by texting you that something terrible has happened and that you need to come over, immediately, only for said ‘terrible’ thing to be that he got really comfy on the couch without making any popcorn. but regardless of all the numerous ways he manages to terrorise you, you’ve never, ever managed to do the same back to him.

he’s always shrugged off your attempts, bragging that he just isn’t afraid of anything. so… you’re not really any closer to finding an answer at the time of going back through to the living room with your backpack slung over one shoulder.

“you wanna tell me what happened in there?” you ask, sitting down next to him on the couch. you’re sure his posture is supposed to be an attempt to convince you that he’s absolutely fine, now, but jeonghan looks stiff and is outright refusing to meet your eyes, despite your best attempts. again, unfortunately, you aren’t so easily fooled.

“i just came over dizzy,” he lies, doing his best to play it down. “maybe i stood up too fast and had a delayed reaction, i don’t know.”

“i’ve known corpses get up faster than you did, hannie,” you deadpan, laying one hand by his knee. “come on. that’s crap.”

he doesn’t quite jerk away from you, but you do feel his thigh muscles tense under your touch. you slide your palm down onto the couch between you instead in an effort to make him a tiny bit more comfortable.

“it’s nothing,” he tries. “really. it’s–”

“jeonghan–”

“y/n.”

the room around you falls silent, both of your stubborn personalities at a stalemate. he won’t talk, and you won’t let him stay quiet. it’s been this way for years. since you were teenagers, even. you’d think he would have learned by now. (he hopes that you might have, too.)

but, there is a fact at play that makes you stop staring him down, and you relax your shoulders slightly as you sit forwards.

“i’m only letting this go because it’s your birthday,” you sigh, clasping your hands together. “if it was any other day of the week–”

“yeah, yeah. trust me. i know.”

there’s an edge to his voice that almost sounds like your jeonghan. like the teasing menace you know and adore. almost. it’s missing something. missing his usual spark.

“i swear to god, though, if i find out you’re sick and you’re not telling me,” you mutter under your breath. not quite under your breath enough, mind – he hears you perfectly, and you can see, out of the corner of his eye as you start to rummage through your backpack for your car keys, the way his ears prick up.

“don’t be stupid, i’m not sick,” he says. the truth in these words, specifically, is evident in the weight of his voice, in the way his fingers brush against the small of your back. “i swear.”

“pinky swear?” you ask, turning to look at him over one shoulder.

he holds out his little finger on his right hand for you, both eyebrows raised in a silent challenge. you pinch your lips tight before hooking your own pinky through his, leaning in and pressing a short kiss to the pad of your thumb. the way you used to when you were kids. ‘you really can’t break those.’ he used to say. ‘they’re like, triple the strength’. saved for really important promises. when he does the same, you know you can believe him.

“okay,” you concede, going back to your search. “in that case – i think i’m gonna head on home before the roads get flooded.” you had to learn the hard way that the drains in this part of town aren’t known for their ability to handle much more than a middling rainfall.

somehow – always, somehow – buried at the very bottom of your backpack, you manage to find your keys and your hand curls around them as soon as you feel one of the rough edges against your fingertips. it’s barely been three seconds since your announcement, but jeonghan has managed to shuffle right into your personal bubble anyway and is now sitting with one arm pressed fully against your own.

“i don’t know if it’s safe to drive when it’s like this,” he says quietly. “it seems dangerous.”

“i think i’ll be okay if i leave, like, soon,” you try to reassure him.

“you think,” he repeats, narrowing his eyes at you.

“i’ve driven in so much worse, believe me,” you say. “don’t worry, i’ll be careful.”

“why don’t you just stay the night?” he offers. “you’re not working tomorrow, are you?”

“i’m not,” you confirm, and you do genuinely consider the offer for a moment before deciding to decline. “but i need a shower, and–”

jeonghan interrupts you, a little too quickly. “you can use my shower, i’ve got spare towels. i’ll sleep on the couch. don’t drive in this.”

“hannie, stop worrying,” you laugh, starting towards the door. “i promise, i’ll go slow and i’ll text you the second i’m home.”

“y/n,” he sighs, stepping towards you, jaw tense. “please. just this once.”

you swallow, looking all over his face, trying to figure out what train of thought the cogs behind his eyes are turning in tune with, why he’s so stressed about this. you’ve never known him behave like this sober. (you’ve only ever known him to be like this once, at all, and he tried to kiss you, then, so–)

“i really…” you start, only to be interrupted by another brilliant white flash. your eyes dart to the window just in time to see the lightning bolt through the clouds, and you feel your face noticeably soften in wonder. barely four seconds later – it’s getting closer – the loudest thunder clap you think you’ve heard in your life drowns out every thought you’ve ever had.

every thought, except the sudden pressure of jeonghan’s fist around your forearm. every thought, except the stuttered gasp he lets slip. every thought, except the sudden fear in his too-wide-eyes.

oh, you think, realisation dawning on you as the blunt press of his nails grows just a fraction softer in time with the end of the rumble. that’s…

“it’s okay,” you say softly, taking a step closer to jeonghan and opening your arms for him to step into. “it’s okay. i’m here.”

he falls against you like an unsteady house of cards, his arms tight around your back and his head buried into the place in your shoulder where it fits the best. you’ve never seen him like this, and you’re not really sure what to do with yourself; he’s always been the sturdy one, between the two of you. he’s always been your rock. there’s a little bit of an irony in how he’s always been the one to help you weather the storm, but with the shoe on the other foot…

“how can i help you?” you ask, trailing your fingers up and down his back, not really sure that he can feel you through the thick material of his sweatshirt but you’re trying your best, anyway.

he squeezes you tighter, buries his head further down into your shoulder, takes a few shaky breaths in through his mouth and screws his eyes shut a little more before he makes his request.

“please stay with me.”

if your heart wasn’t aching for him before, it most certainly is now. you nod to the room at large, hoping jeonghan can feel the movement even a little. you don’t loosen your hold around him, though: you let your best friend cling to you for as long as his muscles will allow before they start to ache and he has to step away.

“come with me,” you say once he’s finished running his fingers through his hair, trying to set it back to rights. “it’s okay.” you hold one of your hands out to him and he takes it, albeit apprehensively; giving his palm a squeeze with your own, you guide him through the apartment towards his bedroom.

“what are you–?” he asks, and despite his earlier hesitance to hold onto your hand, he doesn’t want to let go of you now you’ve reached your destination. he just stands next to you, fingers threaded through yours, looking at your face with tired eyes and a lifted brow.

“grab your bedsheets,” you tell him, shaking your hand free. “and your pillows. we’re gonna make a fort.”

“a what?”

“a blanket fort,” you say. “to hide from the storm.”

he doesn’t say anything for a moment, and for a brief second, you think maybe the idea has offended him. his face hasn’t lifted into the smile you sort of expected it to; instead, he’s just staring down at his bed as if he’s trying to will himself out of existence.

“we don’t have to do all that,” he says. “it’s… that’s way too much?”

“it’s your birthday,” you counter. “and i want to make you a birthday fort. like we used to, when we were kids. it’ll be fun!”

he gives a little sigh, but it’s not one of sadness or exasperation with you. it’s defeat. except, you think if you could taste it, you’d be able to pick up a tiny lacing of sweetness in his exhale.

“fine. you’re building it, though.”

you think it’s safe to say that perhaps, you’re a bit out of practice. you distinctly remember this being much easier when you were young: throwing bedsheets and blankets over the couch and propping them up with chairs or broomsticks. the forts that you would make as a child were, truly, a sight to behold: you used fairy-lights to decorate one, once, and it still remains one of your most prideful projects to date. the slight catastrophe that sits in jeonghan’s living room by the time you’ve finished laying out the last few pillows is… more a cave, in your opinion, and not a very pretty one, but you emerge from it smiling anyway and jeonghan looks at you so fondly that no matter how rubbish it is, it’s worth the half an hour you spent putting it together.

“what do you think?” you ask, sitting back on your heels.

“it’s not your best,” jeonghan teases as he walks towards your monstrosity masterpiece, critically eyeing the ‘roof’ that would definitely fail any kind of health and safety audit. “but it’s not your worst, either.”

a bright smile lights up your face as he drops down to his knees and crawls inside the space alongside you, letting the ‘door’ (a particularly thick blanket) fall down behind him. one of the (many, many, many, many, many) problems you encountered was trying to make one of these to fit two grown adults, but with him tucked away inside with you and a few flashlights to prevent you from being plunged into darkness… ignoring the potential for it all to come collapsing in on you at any given time, it’s surprisingly comfortable.

you lay back against the pillows first and jeonghan follows soon after, a weirdly gleeful smile playing at his lips as he does. he curls into your side and you talk, and talk, and talk. about everything. about nothing. it doesn’t really matter.

you’re not quite sure why, but the deep roars of the storm outside don’t seem to bother jeonghan quite as much in here. maybe it’s because he’s not alone, and there’s no imminent threat for him to be: maybe your company really is making a difference. he still reaches for you every time there’s a particularly loud clap, still closes his eyes and takes a series of deep breaths until his stress passes, but for whatever reason, he feels significantly less tense.

and when, after the third boom, he decides just… not to let go of your hand? who are you to try and force him?

there’s… just one problem, though. you’re ecstatic that the storm isn’t bothering jeonghan as much, now. that he can talk absolute nonsense to you in your private little hideaway, that he can lean his head against your shoulder and chuckle at your bad jokes and even crack a few of his own. genuinely, you could not be happier. for him.

but there was more reason than wanting to sleep in your own bed that had you desperately trying to get home before you realised the gravity of your best friend’s situation.

with every new growl of thunder outside, something low in your stomach twists, accompanied by an ache, a warmth, a throbbing between your thighs. at first, it was easy enough to battle through. you kept telling yourself that the thunder never lasts too long, that you could get through this without jeonghan being any the wiser, that everything was going to be fine. but now, almost an hour later, the buzz of electricity in the atmosphere and the entirely-too-addicting scent of your best friend’s fabric softener has you feeling hot enough you could faint.

you twist and shuffle over and over, hoping to find a position that eases the throbbing. it’s fine, you think, taking a deep breath and praying to every deity you can recall by name that jeonghan doesn’t notice your discomfort. i can do this. it’s fine. just a little while longer.

a spectacular boom sounds through the apartment and jeonghan’s fingers tighten around yours so much that, against all your better judgement, you let out a loud gasp. not out of pain, though – no, you wish. if only it was that easy. ha. no – as he squeezes your hand, images flash through your mind of him being the one to relieve you of the tension building up beneath your skin. of him gripping and grasping and tugging, thrusting, tasting, adoring. your throat runs dry and you squeeze your thighs together desperately, pinching your lips tight, willing your pounding heart to calm the fuck down. willing your cunt to stop drooling into your panties.

“fuck,” you breathe when he finally lets go. you feel him shuffle at your side and prop himself up on one elbow, looking down at your face with mild terror written into the lines of his own.

“i’m so sorry – did that hurt?” he asks, searching your eyes for any kind of clue. you wish he wouldn’t. surely, you think, pressing your tongue harshly against the roof of your mouth, surely my pupils are blown to oblivion, right now.

you shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

“are you sure?” he asks, slowly running his fingers down your arm, moving to take hold of your hand again if you’ll let him. you flinch, the drag of his nails akin to an electric shock – like being struck by lightning, you tell yourself – and he snaps his hand back straight away. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you hurry, pushing yourself up to sit (almost head-butting him in the process) and groaning at the way the seam on your jeans rubs against your clit. who wears fucking jeans to a movie night? what absolute moron–

“do you feel okay?” jeonghan questions, sitting fully upright now too. “do you think it was the foo–”

“oh my god, please,” you whimper, bowing your head, letting your hair fall around your face, shielding you from him. just a little. not quite enough. “please. i’m fine. stop asking. i’m fine.”

“said everyone, ever, who was in fact – not fine,” jeonghan quips. “do you need water? i can help, just talk to me–”

“jeonghan,” you snap, whipping your head back up. your face feels hot and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt this tense before in all your years on this earth. all your muscles are tweaking in anticipation for something that most certainly is not going to happen, and you really need him to stop talking in that deep, smooth, caring voice. with immediate effect. for the love of god –

…and heaven above, the penny drops.

jeonghan’s concerned expression turns to one of complete shock and you cover your face with both hands, trying so desperately hard not to be perceived by him in this most humiliating of moments. he doesn’t say anything for a second, and you tell yourself that he’s probably trying to find either a terrible joke to ease the tension or a way to tell you to go home. you don’t know which would be worse, but it’s only a matter of time until you find out.

therefore, you definitely don’t expect him to pry your hands away from your cheeks, and for his shit-eating, impishly charming, handsome-as-fuck grin to be the first thing your eyes land on when you open them.

“really? thunderstorms?” he asks, close enough that you feel the breaths that his words don’t quite steal. “that’s your kink?”

“it’s not a kink,” you whine, throwing your hands down either side of you. he doesn’t release his hold on your wrist, though. “come on, don’t be–”

“of all the things you could be into,” he says. oh, he’s back. he’s back with a vengeance. you suppose, really, you should be glad that he’s feeling more like his usual self, but the fact that it’s at your expense? that there’s no-one else around for him to turn on instead? that this is your topic of conversation at ten past midnight on his living room floor?

“hannie, please,” you huff, lips drawing downwards into a frowning pout. the ache isn’t going away. why isn��t it going away? why is this cocky, smirking version of your best friend making you feel even hotter under the collar? what’s going on? “don’t you think i’ve suffered enough?”

“not even nearly,” he says, sitting up on his knees, resting his palms on his thighs. “since when? how did you even fig–”

boom.

and his jaw falls slack, watching you squirm.

you’re quite literally fighting for your life. or, at minimum, for your friendship. because, really, you could jump jeonghan’s bones right now and you don’t actually think he’d turn you down (something to be filed under: thoughts that are not making this any easier). but that’s not what you’re trying to do; you’re trying to help him feel better, and take his mind off his fear, and when he pulls his bottom lip between his bottom teeth before speaking –

“okay, wait. hear me out.”

to both of your surprises, you do. you don’t try and protest, which he was sort of expecting you to do. you don’t tell him to shut up, you don’t try and get away from him. you sit there, eyes wide, hands curling into the blankets beneath your slowly numbing ass, and you wait for him to continue.

“i can help you.”

your heart shoots up into your throat and you struggle to swallow around it. your breaths are heavy, laboured, your lips parted and a little swollen from how you’ve been biting at them for the past hour and a bit.

“you don’t have to–”

“shut up, y/n,” he says dismissively, crawling in front of you and lifting your hands away from the bedding you’re kneading (pathetically, in his professional opinion) like a cat. “listen. you’ve helped me so much tonight, you don’t even know. let me return the favour.”

“hannie…”

“hannie,” he whines, in a poor imitation of your voice. “hannie, i only helped you because you needed me– is that it? look at you, y/n. you’re a mess.”

if this were anyone else, you’d be livid. not only at the way he so effortlessly makes fun of you, but at the fact that he accurately finished your sentence without having anything more than an affectionate nickname to work from as a hint. you don’t know what to say, suddenly stunned into silence, but it’s all right. you don’t need to say anything; he keeps going.

“you need me. let me help you – look. it’s my birthday.”

he wants this, you think to yourself, growing slightly concerned by the way your heart continues to hammer in your throat. he wants… me.

you give one slow, but definite, nod of your head and jeonghan’s grin grows from cocky to genuine. he crawls until he’s right up in your space, lifting a hand to your cheek, and you forget how to breathe for a moment as he looks you in the eyes with more heat than the mid-august sun.

“lie down,” he says, pushing that last little bit closer and capturing your lips in a kiss. it’s short, but mind-boggling. your brain goes totally blank when he pulls away. “it’s okay. i’ve got you.”

but you do as he says and shuffle around the little fort so you’re on your back, head resting against one of the many pillows you’re grateful you brought in here with you. he crawls on top of you, then, caging you in with one hand either side of your head, settling with one of his knees slotted between your just-parted thighs.

“okay?” he asks, searching your face for any signs of discomfort or worry. he doesn’t find any, though – he’s met only with a perhaps too enthusiastic nod and your hands playing at the hem of his sweatshirt. he chuckles, bending down to kiss you again, a little deeper this time, a little longer. open-mouthed and hot, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip, dropping onto one elbow so his torso lies almost flush against yours.

“easy, tiger. taking care of you, right now.”

you sigh as his lips start to descend down the column of your throat, and you press your shoulders back into the blankets to try and push that little bit closer to him. one of his hands slips beneath your own shirt and his palm comes to rest flush against your hip, dragging his thumb in small circles over your skin.

“this,” he mumbles into your collarbone, tugging the neckline of the garment between his teeth for a moment so you know what he’s referring to. “off.”

“bossy,” you mumble, your body cold all of a sudden as he sits back away from you and you tug your t-shirt off over your head. as you do, he reaches behind his neck and tugs off his sweatshirt as well before he tosses it up near your head, out of the way.

now, this is certainly not the first time you’ve ever been around jeonghan without anything covering his top half, but it is something that you rarely get the chance to see. if it’s not the fact that he’s chronically freezing cold, it’s because he’s grown emotionally attached to some of the baggiest tops known to mankind, or he’s worried about getting a sunburn so is still covered up at the beach. for one reason or another, this just isn’t something you’re blessed to see very often, and he looks so good you almost forget that it’s him.

of course, that only lasts until he says something really fucking dumb. in other words, all of about three seconds.

“how… practical,” he says, eyes trained down on the bra covering your tits. in a way, it’s probably a good thing you’ve snapped back to your senses, because you once again find yourself thinking that if this were anyone else, you’d have told them to get off you and never call you again.

but why is jeonghan, of all people, criticising your choice of comfy underwear… weirdly endearing?

“sorry,” you grunt, making no effort to hide the (flesh-toned, full-coverage, entirely too old) bra that he’s looking at like it’s personally offending him. “didn’t expect to need to impress, tonight.”

“don’t be sorry,” jeonghan says, shaking his head as he unpops the button on your jeans and tugs them down over your hips. “just… do better next time, yeah?”

you laugh so suddenly, so abruptly, so loudly that you choke on your own spit and end up coughing a little, propping up on one elbow to try and relieve the burn in your lungs as he continues to work your pants off your legs. by the time he scrunches them into a ball and puts them to the side, too, you’ve managed to catch your breath, and gasp out, “next time?”

“next time,” he nods, making himself comfortable between your thighs. he lays one palm on the inside of each knee, pushing them as far apart as your hips will allow, before he brings one hand over your covered cunt and drags his thumb up and down your slit.

you don’t even get a chance to ask why he’s so sure there’ll be a next time. he skillfully works you through the material and in seconds, has you tipping your head back into the pillows, moaning at the overwhelming feeling of finally being touched.

“so fucking wet,” he sighs, feeling your arousal through the cotton of your underwear, pressing the material between your folds. his thumb circles your clit over and over, the pressure just right – not so light that he’s teasing, not so hard that you’re squirming away from him. hell, if you knew he was this good, you’d have dragged him into bed years ago.

“come on, hannie,” you gulp as he starts to work his thumb faster, starts to massage at your inner thigh with his other hand. “need more…”

well, he doesn’t need to be told twice. you lift your hips and he tugs your panties down your thighs, unhooking them from around your ankles. you expect him to, you know, return to business, but he does something just a little bit unhinged first and brings your soaked underwear up to his face. you hear how deeply, how loudly he inhales, the subsequent groan he gives even louder, and you swear the reason you end up bumping his hip with your knee is to bring him back to earth, because it actually feels like he’s forgotten you’re lying right there.

“i’ll do it myself, in a minute,” you threaten, and jeonghan grins wickedly down at you as he lowers your panties down to join the rest of your discarded clothes.

“no you won’t,” he tells you – he tells you? – , finally now lying down between your legs, just inches away from your glistening cunt. “god – as if i’d ever let that happen.”

“i swear– ” you start, half a second before one of his fingers presses against your hole. you stop talking with a gasp, a hand flying to your chest and squeezing against your tit. just like that. in a heartbeat, you’re done for.

he seems intent on gathering as much of your arousal on his fingertip as he possibly can, running it through your folds, pressing it inside you, smearing your slick all over and then some like a fucked-up painting. only once he’s satisfied does he finally start to work his finger in and out, pressing his lips just above where your clit is begging for his attention.

“don’t play stupid,” you chide him when he looks up at you through his lashes, eyes wide and feigning innocence. “if you can find it through my underwear, you can find it now.”

“bossy,” jeonghan tuts. “what’s with the rush, huh?”

and he adds another finger to the first, both long and elegant and reaching spots inside you that your own physically can’t. you keen against your will, hips reacting of their own accord, trying to fuck your pussy down against his hand. he makes no effort to stop you.

“m’not gonna beg,” you tell him. “just – fuck, get your mouth on me. now.”

to his credit, he does.

and more to his credit, being eaten out has never, ever felt this good.

the hand not grasping at your chest shoots down to tangle in his long, silky hair, and jeonghan moans loudly against your pussy as he laves his tongue everywhere he can. over your clit, between your folds, slipping it inside your hole in place of his fingers – he’s relentless, slurping and groaning and finding some sort of insane stamina from somewhere deep in his soul. you swear to god, this is not the man who sometimes falls asleep with his light on because he doesn’t have the energy to get up and turn them off.

within a matter of minutes, you can feel the coil in the pit of your stomach growing tighter and tighter, your walls fluttering around his fingers, your moans and whines only getting louder by the minute. your legs are shaking. your thoughts are little more than static, and him. at some point – you don’t know when –, jeonghan reached around your hips to pull your thighs together and clamped them around his ears, mumbling against your clit something to the effect of to help with the thunder. (you don’t mention that there hasn’t actually been another thunder crack since he started making out with your pussy. it doesn’t feel relevant, somehow.)

every time you tighten your thighs, every time you squirm, he hugs you tighter against his cheeks and you just end up humping against his tongue. something tells you maybe that was the plan all along?

sparks of energy start to prickle all over your skin as you teeter on the edge of your high. your fist tightens in jeonghan’s hair, your breaths become fewer and further between. it’s frankly a bit of a miracle you’ve even managed to last this long – you held back as long as you could, determined to milk as much of the pleasure his hands and his mouth so skillfully bring as you can. just in case there’s no next time, but… hell, do you hope there is.

“hannie, i’m–” you gasp, his fingers curling upwards again and resuming their earlier assault on your g-spot. “fuck, hannie, i’m so close–”

“mm, have been for a while, huh?” he asks, drawing his mouth away from you, licking his tongue over his arousal-slickened lips. “you’ve been holding out on me.”

“yeah, but-... i wanna come so bad,” you swallow. jeonghan flicks his tongue out over your clit again and you jolt up into the touch. “please, don’t stop.”

“won’t,” he promises. and it’s the last thing he says before his lips meet your pussy again and he brings you over the edge into the most electrifying of climaxes.

by the time you’ve stopped twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm, jeonghan is sat up on his knees again, softly massaging at your hips with his thumbs. your vision is still kind of fuzzy at the edges when you glance up at him, and for a moment, with a hazy outline and an amber glow behind him owed to the flashlight you set at the entrance to the fort, you think he looks a little too much like an angel.

“where the hell did that come from?” you ask him, fighting against the squirming in your belly. fighting against the sensation that feels a little too much like butterflies.

“really?” he asks in a breathy laugh. “that’s-... i mean, do you actually want to know, or…?”

you mull this over for a moment before crossing your arms over your eyes and concealing yourself from his view, shaking your head. one part of you is morbidly curious as to how he got so good at giving head. the other part of you is too busy trying to gather the brain cells he just sent flying across about eight different dimensions.

“i think you’ve broken me, jeonghan,” you breathe, feeling more than seeing him lie down next to you again. his lips press sweetly against the curve of your shoulder. warmth radiates from that one spot, all over your body. you smile, like a complete loser.

what’s worse is that you really don’t mind.

“is that a yes, then?” he asks, slinging an arm over your waist. you turn your head to look at him, eyes crossing a little with how unexpectedly close he is.

“yes to what?”

“to next time,” he says. his grin matches yours and you nod your head at him, yes. in your peripheral vision, you notice how he lifts one hand, extends his little finger. straight in front of you, you see both of his eyebrows raise.

you pinch your lips tight before hooking your own pinky through his, leaning in and pressing a short kiss to the pad of your thumb. the way you used to when you were kids. ‘you really can’t break those.’ he used to say. ‘they’re like, triple the strength’.

saved for really important promises.

“to next time.”

thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed this. as always, your likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are always deeply appreciated.<3

#srb #fb : electric.#m 🚀#(pls let me know if u want a different emoji I’m just currently on a rocketline spiral ;-; xox)#thank you so much for always being here and supporting the stuff I write. I literally can’t explain how happy I get seeing your url in #my notifications 😭🫶#you’re always so sweet im so glad you enjoyed this one too :(#jeonghan who rolls out of bed because standing up is too hard but would run a marathon for pussy is in fact my favourite genre of jeonghan #my wonderful little menace. i love him 😔#pls take good care of yourself and have a lovely weekend 🥹 you mean!!! a lot!!!!!! to me!!!!!!!!

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xcarveoutmyheart · 1 year ago

Note

How were midterms? Hope you can properly relax now!

Hiya! Thank you so much! Ahh, my midterms. Well, I suppose it was okay? Tiring, honestly. Even now that midterms week is over, they’re already piling up on the deliverables </3

Though unlike the midterms, the due dates are a lot more manageable, so there’s that! I’ve been taking time to do some self care since I ended up running myself into the gutter with how much I was worrying about it.

However! All’s good now. I have very, very high scores for all but one (remember how I said I was running myself into the gutter? Yeah, I got mind blocked for my favorite class.) I’m not upset about it though! One bad test does not define me!

But thank you so much anonnie! It’s good to be back. I’m trying to figure out how I can improve on my posts, so I hope everyone can be patient as I do so!

#I miss my anons #errr anon #I miss u 🧁 anon I wonder how you’re doing #I kinda want more anons too huhu #pls feel free to drop an emoji so I can add you to the anon list (only if you want!)#~xox

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l0vergirlsw0rld · 3 months ago

Text

my little voyeur

neighbour!loganxvoyeur!reader

a/n: so sorry about the hiatus, started university and midterms are already here, crazy. anyway, enjoy this little idea i had, inspired by a real life situation. xox

wc:3.1k

MDNI !!! 18+, AGE GAP, SEXUAL CONTENT, ALCOHOL USE

summary: Y/N is growing needier with every one-night stand her hot neighbour brings over, one night she decides to be his next.

"-Oh fuck, keep going!" A muffled voice cried between the rhythmic thumping noises that came from the ceiling above you.

You bit down on your lip, shifting needily on your sofa.

"Here we go again" You mumbled to yourself, glancing at the clock on your microwave.

8:37 PM.

"Earlier than usual... Do you have to be somewhere early tomorrow?" You pressed the mute button on your TV remote to get a better listen.

The intrigue in your neighbour's activity had been a shameful recent development. He'd have company over almost every night now; which meant constant, rough sex.

The shared two-story house was old, and the walls were poorly insulated, which surely didn't aid your newfound obsession. Your unit was the basement suite: a homely one-bedroom, one-bathroom with a large kitchenette and living room. Even though you both lived in the same quarters, you both had your own respective spaces and entrances, which meant you rarely crossed paths.

You knew little about the man upstairs, only that he lived alone, wasn't the talkative type, and rode a Harley Davidson that was equally as loud as his one-night stands.

Though it was ill-mannered of him to be as careless as he was, you couldn't stop yourself from being attracted to him. He might've had a good twenty years on you, but that didn't matter in this case.

The man was in phenomenal shape for his age; You had come home one day to him working on his bike, shirtless. His physique was composed of thick broad shoulders that counterbalanced his narrow waist and muscular biceps that bulged beneath his skin, flowing seamlessly into veiny forearms. Dark curls of hair stretched downwards from his brawny chest, over his chiselled abs and disappeared into the denim waistband of his wranglers.

To pair with that irresistible body, was a charmingly rugged face. Thick, untamed eyebrows cast a shadow over his piercing hazel eyes, while dense sideburns traced the sharp angles of his jawline. His short, spiked hair flared into two distinct tufts on either side of his head, adding to his wild, primal look.

"-Logan! I'm coming!" The voice screamed. Since this all began, you found yourself feeling rather bitter. Not only was it rude and annoying but from what you managed to pick up, most nights they would be playing out the very type of fantasies you'd always had but never got the chance to experience.

You let out a heavy sigh, feeling that excitement slowly pool in your lower stomach. You knew this would end soon, Logan seemed to have quite the routine, so your impending neediness wouldn't go any farther.

His partners were usually dead silent for the rest of the night, presumably busy sleeping off the intense sex, which made the inconvenience somewhat tolerable. The only time they would potentially disturb you again was as they made their exit down the stairs the morning after. You could catch glimpses of them as they passed in front of your kitchen window, usually around the time you'd be having your coffee.

From the looks of it, he had a type: girls your age. They'd always be dressed in last night's skimpy outfit, with knotted hair, but somehow still looked gorgeous. As they stumble their way to the taxi at the edge of the driveway. You'd observe them closer pressing up the glass, often spiking your jealousy.

The first few you had laid eyes on made you snicker a jaded"How original." But you were well used to it by now.

Logan was your typical walking mid-life crisis; Bringing home adventurous young women, fucking their brains out, sending them away in a yellow chariot and never talking to them again. From the frequency of these one-night stands it looked as if he was trying to satisfy a hunger he couldn't seem to fulfill. Almost like preparing for hibernation.

He was living the bachelor life that men his age could only dream of having, but there was something about the whole routine that felt...off. It was as if every conquest left him more empty, more distant and detached from everything and everyone around him. It wasn't just women that Logan indulged in, he was also a heavy drinker. You could tell by the recycling bin, always overflowing with liquor bottles, and the fact that the few times you'd been to The Black Lodge—the only bar in small-town Burns, Alaska—you had seen him there

You watched from your bar stool, careful to remain unnoticed. The brief exchanges between him and the bartender made it clear he was a regular—no need for small talk, just an easy, practiced silence. Logan's eyes, however, never lingered on the glass of neat whiskey in front of him. Instead, his gaze swept over the crowd, scanning for his next target, his posture relaxed but predatory. Despite his intimidating exterior, there was something magnetic about the way he worked the room, luring them in with lustful glances. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was built to win.

His trophy shelf was overflowing, yet there was no trace of happiness in Logan’s eyes.

You couldn’t help but wonder if this was the Logan everyone else saw—rough around the edges, careless, chewing through women and booze as if they were nothing more than fleeting distractions. Or was there something deeper, a hidden tenderness that only emerged behind closed doors? He never had family or friends over, just a revolving door of women. His life seemed lonely, private, and it made you wonder what demons gnawed at him when the nights grew quiet and the distractions faded away.

Was it trauma?

Regret?

Or just the inevitable realization that his time was running out?

A part of you cared and wanted to be there for him, but it wasn't as simple as ringing his doorbell, he was unapproachable. During the few interactions you shared, he made it unmistakably clear that he had no interest in forming any kind of relationship with you. His responses were dry and curt, laced with a dismissive tone that cut down any hope of connection. Each word felt like a brick wall being built between you. He practically didn't look at you the entire time, keeping his eyes focused everywhere else but on yours. You couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment with every exchange, it was as if he was purposefully keeping you at arm's length.

Through your confusion, you understood why. You weren't what he was interested in, you couldn't contribute to his unfaltering hunger. You were more than happy to not be categorized with what he'd bring home from the bar, but a slight part of you wished that for one night, you would be.

The selections were slim in Burns and you were newer to the area, which made it impossible to call for a late-night booty call, unlike him. It had been a long time since you'd last been with someone and the constant exposure to Logan's fruitful sex life made you grow needier by the day, which is where your obsession initially formed.

It began with something small, almost too innocent to notice. You found yourself paying closer attention to his everyday routine, drawn by curiosity. You’d glance out the window to check if his motorcycle was parked in the yard, and when you heard the faint sound of his footsteps starting the day, you’d instinctively check the clock taking mental notes of his wake-up times.

Before you knew it, your interest had evolved into something deeper, something far more personal. You began noticing his trash in your shared waste bin; discarded remnants of his life blending into your obsession. At the liquor store, you found yourself buying the same brand of beer he preferred, curious to experience the taste that would linger on his lips if you kissed him. At the supermarket, you began to choose the same detergent, not for practical reasons, but to breathe in the scent that clung to his skin.

There was a day that he left his Johnny Cash shirt outside. He tossed it on the ground carelessly after working up a sweat while fixing something in the yard. When he left, you ran out and took it. As your compulsion grew, so did your need for closeness to him. The shirt became more than just a relic of him—it was a trigger.

You began wearing it late at night, feeling its used fabric against your skin. While the sounds of him having sex filtered through the thin walls. The rhythmic creaking of his bed upstairs, the faint moans, you’d inhale it deeply, lost in his scent. You'd thrust your fingers deep inside of you, following along with his rhythm, imagining it was him inside you—picturing how Logan would take control, filling you with the intensity you longed for. In those moments, it was as if he belonged to you, even if just in fantasy.

Your cheeks flushed red as you listened along, It was become too much to handle. You unmuted your episode and got up, needing to find some distraction.

"It’s almost over," you told yourself, trying to ignore the urge to grab his shirt and take care of things right then and there. Instead, you walked over to the unpacked boxes in the corner of your living room, hoping to find a distraction.

As you opened the cardboard, you started sifting through the mismatched stuff crammed inside. Your fingers brushed against something soft and bristly, sparking your curiosity. You tightened your grip and pulled it out for a better look. To your surprise, it was an old wig from a Halloween costume—vivid and wild, a memory you had almost forgotten.

The faint sounds you were trying so hard to ignore managed to slip through anyway, sparking a devilish idea as you twirled the wig in your hands. You were going to get his attention, whether he liked it or not. A mischievous grin spread across your face; this could be your way in. It was time to shake things up and show him a side of you he hadn’t seen yet.

It was the next day, and you knew for sure that Logan would be at that bar, just like he was every Thursday. You stepped inside, adjusting the wig discreetly, tucking away any hint of your natural colour, determined to become someone new for the night. This was a wild idea, but desperate times called for bold measures. You were dying for some relief and he was the only remedy for this ache you couldn’t shake.

The bar buzzed with energy, a lively crowd which meant you had competition. But tonight, you were set on one thing: going home with him, and anyone else.

You’d dressed the part—skin exposed, tight-fitting clothes that hugged your curves just right, making you feel both powerful and vulnerable at the same time.

You scanned the bar, your heart racing as you spotted him in his usual seat. The moment you walked in, his eyes locked onto you, holding your attention captive. You averted your gaze and took a shaky breath, your feet guiding you across the room, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Pretending not to notice his gaze, you played coy, an enticing smile dancing on your lips. You slid into the seat across from him and reached for the black menu that lay before you, feigning interest in the options. Your eyes traced the words, but your mind was elsewhere—focused on the weight of his stare and the electric tension building between you.

The bartender approached, and you quickly ordered the first thing your eyes landed on, feeling a rush of nerves. You folded the menu neatly, deliberately turning your attention to the crowd, avoiding his gaze, you weren't playing his game, you were playing yours. The thrill of the chase sent a shiver down your spine. The bar chattered around you, laughter and conversation creating a lively backdrop as you focused on maintaining an air of nonchalance, even as you could feel his eyes on you, studying you with that intensity.

A beautiful stemmed glass slid in front of you, snapping your attention to your hands. You mumbled a thankyou and you took a sip, savouring the sweet burn as it slid down your throat. It gave you a moment to gather your thoughts. Just as you were about to steal a glance his way, you noticed from your peripheral that he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. That confident look told you he knew exactly what you were doing.

"Nice wig," he said, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the noise of the bar like a knife. The compliment sent a rush of heat to your cheeks, but you kept your expression cool, shooting him a sidelong glance as if you were just as unfazed by him.

“Thanks,” you replied, forcing a casual tone. “Just thought I’d switch things up a bit.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. The game was on, and you were ready to play.

Logan leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “It suits you, it's different.”

You felt a thrill at his words, the compliment warming you in ways you hadn’t anticipated. You kept your composure, but inside, your heart raced. “I like keeping things interesting,” you replied, matching his playful tone.

The atmosphere around you shifted slightly, the crowd fading into the background as you locked eyes again. The moment felt charged, filled with unspoken possibilities. You could sense the magnetic pull between you intensifying, and it was exhilarating.

He took a sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact. “Well, you're doing a good job of doing that."

You smiled, feeling a rush of confidence. “It's just a little bit of fun for a Thursday night. What about you? Same old routine, I bet?”

His smirk widened a glint of challenge in his eyes. “You could say that. But maybe I’m looking for something different tonight.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through you. This was the moment you’d been waiting for. You leaned forward, pushing your breasts together. “Well, that's hard to imagine. What’s your idea of different?”

Logan’s eyes dropped to your cleavage. “How about we take this conversation somewhere a little more private?” His voice was low, rich with promise, and it sent a jolt of anticipation through you.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning casualness even as your heart raced. "And where would that be?”

He chuckled softly, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “How about the upstairs at your place?”

The two of you made your way up the narrow staircase, the familiar creak of the wooden steps echoed in the silence. You could feel the heat radiating off him, each step heightening the anticipation of what was to come. You both reached his door, and his keys jingled as he unlocked it.

The door swung open, and you stepped inside as he held the door open for you. The soft light from his living room illuminated the space, casting warm shadows that danced along the walls. The place was surprisingly tidy, with the scent of cedar and booze lingering in the air.

Logan followed you in, closing the door behind him with a deliberate click that sent a thrill down your spine. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

You didn't know what you expected but it wasn't this. You took in the details of his space—artwork hung at odd angles, a well-worn couch sat invitingly in the center, and an empty whiskey glass perched on the coffee table. It was comfortable, lived-in, and spoke to the kind of man he was.

“Nice place,” you said, trying to sound casual, but your pulse quickened as you caught the intensity of his gaze. A beat passed.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, a hint of seriousness threading through his playful tone.

Your heart raced at the implication of his question. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” you replied biting your lip, voice steady from a boldness surging through you.

Logan smirked, his expression shifting from playful to something more primal and dark.

“Good. Because I don’t plan on holding back. Gotta teach you a lesson after all,”

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, backing you against the wall with a firm press of his body. The warmth of him enveloped you, and you felt your breath hitch as he leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours. As he grabbed your face, his calloused fingers dug into your cheeks roughly, parting your lips open.

“I know you took my shirt, you fucking freak,” he murmured, his voice thick and husky.

You were unable to form words as you felt the threat of what was to come flood your senses. Your heartbeat stammered in your rib cage, fear overcoming you but there was a thrilling undercurrent of excitement that was hard to ignore. Logan’s intense gaze held you captive, and the edge in his voice sent the tension crackling in the air between you.

“You didn’t think I’d notice?” he continued, a low chuckle escaping his lips, laced with a hint of danger. “A man owns about three good shirts and is bound to notice when one goes missing.” His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, making your breath hitch again, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond.

“You’ve been watching me,” he stated, his voice dropping even lower. “Spying on me like some lovesick teenager. It’s cute, but it’s also… a little sick.” The intensity in his gaze softened slightly, a flicker of something deeper behind his fierce exterior.

You swallowed hard, the words caught in your throat. “I—”

“Save it,” he interrupted, his grip tightening around your jaw just enough to keep your attention focused on him. “Don't give me excuses. Tell me why.”

The question hung in the air, heavy and charged. What could you possibly say that would explain the tangled web of emotions and desires that had led you here? His proximity was intoxicating, and the conflict between fear and yearning made your head spin.

“I... I just wanted to understand you,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I hear you with the women you bring home... and I want that. ”

Logan's smile grows somehow even darker. "So ya' got all dressed up for me because you want me to fuck you like I do with the others? That right, sweetheart?"

The only thing you could do at this moment was give him an eager nod, the ache between your legs growing shamefully larger by the second.

“I’ll give you what you want kid', but you need to know something first.” He paused slightly, the air between you thick with tension.

“I’m the best at what I do, and I don’t do it very nicely.”

cliff hanger I know, but i'm such a slut for teasing.

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salvieslovenotes · 8 days ago

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Blame it on the sun pt.1

summary: you and Vi have been best friends for years, which is fine, only you also happen to be a teensy bit in love with her. You're handling it, except a road-trip and a week at the beach might just prove to be the tipping point... pairing: fem!reader x vi (arcane) contains: modern!au, collage!au, road-trip/beach!au, friends to lovers. 2k a/n: i haven't written before so please be gentle! this is a part one, where i am it's super sunny and i was at the beach and suddenly thought about a vi beach au and wrote this in my notes app. sorry not proofread! might do part two/three soon xox

‘Say it again,’ Caitlyn instructs.

You sigh, exasperated. ‘Cait, this so isn't gonna work.’

‘It is!’ Caitlyn insists. It's hard to take her seriously from where she's seated on her yoga mat, in the lotus position and glaring you with a determined gleam in her eye. ‘This is your mantra. You're pulling in all the strong, independent energy. Go on! Say it!’

‘This is ridiculous.’

‘Say it!’

‘I am sexy and fearless,’ you say, giving Caitlyn a flat look.

‘And…’ Caitlyn prompts.

You huff another sigh. ‘And I will not spend the whole week pining after Violet.’

‘You won’t,’ Caitlyn affirms. ‘You're too good for that.’ Her smile turns soft. ‘Just relax and have a brilliant time.’

Caitlyn, your college roommate, really is the most patient woman on the planet, and who's been subjected to more than a few of your Vi-related rants. You and Caitlyn aren’t in any classes together but met at pilates, and she's been the best roommate you've ever had. She’s also the only person who knows how you feel about Vi.

It's just... you needed to tell someone. You and Vi have been best fiends for years, since you were small. You grew up together, went to school together, moved away to college together, have the same group of friends. You played in each other’s paddling pools at three years old for god’s sake.

Right now you're waiting for her and your friends to pick you up, and then you're all going to spend a week of summer break on the coast.

You love Vi, of course you do. Only the tiny, totally insignificant problem is that you're also in love with her.

It's fine. You can totally handle this. You have your mantra and everything.

It's not like you haven't tried to get over the way you feel. At first it was just a little crush. So, when your first high school boyfriend asked you out, you said yes. And you liked him, you really, really did.

But your feelings for Vi didn't go away... they just stayed. They just got stronger. But you're best friends, and she doesn't feel the same. You're friends. So you've become excellent at shoving your feelings down, excellent at dating around here and there, excellent at swallowing your jealousy when Vi has another hookup.

She's never dated seriously, but, as captain of the university’s football team, people know who she is. Unfortunately, being on the cheerleading squad, you get to hear just what the girls think of her. Just how they pine for her after a hook up. It's irritating, them always asking you if she's mentioned them, if she's interested. But you've got this. You accept every few of the dates you get asked on, hoping that maybe this time it'll work. That they'll make you forget Vi.

Only they never do.

You're starting to think maybe no one will.

But you're good—you're excellent at pretending. If you happen to slip up and moan to Caitlyn about it then so what. That's what roommates are for. You always make Caitlyn’s on-again-off-again girlfriend, Maddie, pancakes in the morning when Caitlyn is sleeping in.

‘You'll be fine,’ Caitlyn reminds you, eyes soft. ‘Give me a call if you wanna moan. Or put on that little thing that can barely be called a skirt I know you’ve packed, make the whole club want you and she'll regret her whole life.’

‘Ha ha,’ you snort. Vi won't obviously, but Caitlyn’s gentle teasing makes you smile all the same.

There's a loud beep of a car horn from outside.

‘Oh. Guess that's me.’ You grab your bag, swinging the strap over your shoulder and looking around, trying to think if you've forgotten anything.

‘Suncream?’ asks Caitlyn, moving into downward dog with practiced ease. ‘Second bikini? Book? Rose quartz? Passport?’

‘Passport?’ you echo, distracted, checking your bag for the millionth time. There's another loud honk from outside. ‘But we're not leaving the country…?’

Caitlyn makes a shrugging movement. It looks funny from her current position. ‘You never know. Prepare for anything.’

‘Right,’ you laugh, but grab your passport just in case on your way out, calling, ‘bye love!’

‘Remember your mantra!’ Caitlyn yells just as you slam the door of your little flat.

Hurrying down the steps, you find Vi's beaten-up red jeep idling in the middle of the street.

She's twisted around in her seat as you pull open the door, arguing over music with Ekko, Claggor and Mylo, your friends you met at uni. Powder got a scholarship to Oxford for chemical engineering, and so you only see her over the long Christmas break, but you all call often.

‘What's wrong with Sabrina?’ Claggor asks defensively. He's going through a current obsession - his music tastes change weekly based on the girl he's sweet on at the time. Right now, it's Sabrina Carpenter. Juno has been on repeat.

‘Not again,’ groans Ekko. ‘Hey,’ he adds, nodding at you as you drop your bag on the floor of the front seat and swing in next to Violet. ‘Tell him, would you?’

‘I like Juno,’ you shrug, grinning

Ekko groans again, tossing his hands up as Claggor lets out a triumphant ha!

‘It’s good!’ you laugh as Vi makes a loud scoffing noise. It makes you smile; you happen to know Sabrina occupies a significant portion of her workout playlist.

Something clenches in your chest at the sight of her. She looks unfairly good, wearing a singlet that shows off her tattoos and arms. Around her neck she's wearing a necklace you brought back for her from holiday one time; it's got a mother-of-pearl pendant, and the slightly crazy lady who sold it to you said it carried protective power from giver to receiver.

‘So I’ll be protecting you always,’ you'd said as you gave it to Vi, laughing. It had been a joke, obviously, but her voice was soft as she thanked you. And she hasn't taken it off since. Not once.

Apparently, one time she had a fit before a game when the clasp broke and it fell without her noticing. Ekko, who's also on the team, told you with a funny expression you couldn't decipher that Vi refused to play until she found it.

‘I suppose everyone has funny pregame rituals,’ you shrugged it off. Tying left shoelaces before right, tapping their locker three times.

Still, it makes your heart kick a little faster every time you see the necklace on her.

‘Damn Princess, way to make us all suffer,’ she says, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. It’s an old nickname, left over from the Princess-themed sixth birthday party you had. Vi turns back to the front, glancing at you quickly then whipping back so fast she’s in danger of damaging something, and she stares at your top for a second, eyes wide.

‘Uh...?’ you say, cautious and more than a little confused.

Vi sort of coughs, heat flooding her cheeks. ‘Nothing.’ Turning to face the road, she clears her throat a good three times. ‘Right, everyone ready? Let’s go then.’ She puts the car into gear as you buckle in.

From the backseat you hear Ekko snort. ‘Nice top,’ he says dryly.

You look down at your halterneck. The pattern has small holes everywhere, like a lacy curtain, and maybe it's a bit much normally, particularly as you can’t wear a bra with it, but you figured as you're going to the beach, it’s fine. Powder crocheted it herself and sent it as a gift for your birthday, along with a vaguely threatening and capitalised instruction to MAKE SURE YOU WEAR IT ON YOUR BEACH TRIP. So... here you are, following instructions.

‘Thanks,’ you say to Ekko. ‘Powder made it.’

Vi mutters something you can't quite catch but sounds vaguely like I'm gonna kill her.

‘I love that girl,’ sighs Mylo with a snigger.

As Vi turns off onto the next street, you connect Claggor’s phone, and as Sabrina starts playing you roll down your window and settle back.

Some time later, everyone’s playing fuck-marry-kill to pass the time on the long drive, and Vi’s laughing at something Mylo says. It's almost perfect. If you ignore Vi beside you, the way her hand rests on the gear stick, one elbow on the windowsill as she loosely grips the steering wheel. It's warm; sun pouring through the windows and you’re trying really hard not to stare at veins on her arms, when suddenly she brushes a hand over your thigh.

The gasp that escapes your mouth is frankly mortifying.

Alarmed, you glance around at her to find Vi frowning at you, confused.

‘D’you mind?’

‘Huh?’

‘Uh...’ she makes a face, a small amused smile tugging at her lips, crooked and slipping to one side. ‘I asked if you could get my sunglasses. They're in the front pocket.’

‘Oh. Yep. Sure can do,’ you say hurriedly, fetching them for her and mentally kicking yourself.

You need to get it together.

It's fine.

I’m not gonna pine, I’m not gonna pine, I’m not gonna pine, you repeat in your head. You're distracted enough that you're starting to think Caitlyn has a point with the whole mantra thing, but then...

Then Vi does something completely inane and absolutely devastating (literally just runs her hand through her hair), her bicep bunching as she raises her arm in a way that's unholy, a sight that belongs in a strip club not a sun-filled front seat on a random Tuesday morning. You turn hastily to the window, heart hammering and mouth suddenly very dry.

Oh this is so not fine.

_______________

Damn Little Mix. Damn them to hell.

No one should be dancing like that, to fucking Little Mix of all groups. Like, really. The way your hips are swaying should be studied by hypnotists, because Vi cannot drag her eyes away.

It's magnetic, sensual and playful all in one heady rush. Every time she thinks she’s used to you, thinks she’s got this... yearning for you under control, you go and do something inane, you smile, roll your eyes, nudge her shoulder, and she’s falling all over again.

It feels like she’s fallen so many times. It can’t get any stronger, she can’t feel any more than this—and then somehow she does.

But you’re friends. Friends don’t think about each other like that. Friends don’t have to bite back the other’s name while sleeping with someone else. Friends don’t fall asleep dreaming about each other.

You’re friends, so she shouldn’t go insane when you simply lay a hand on her shoulder, or nudge her hip. Shouldn’t catch herself staring at your mouth and thinking about it against hers—

Nope. Nope, she’s not doing this. Right now, she's busy being mad at fucking Little Mix, who clearly have got it out for her.

What makes it worse is that you two have always been exceptionally close. People often mistake you for being together as a couple, and Vi always tries to laugh it off, make a joke out of it, when in reality it burrows through her like a blade.

Because that's what she wants, it's all she’s ever wanted.

But because of that, how there's always been an easy casualness between you, how your relationship has always been a little touchy-feely, Vi doesn't need to imagine what it would feel like to have you close, she knows.

It’s worse. It’s so much worse. She knows how well her hands fit into the curve of your waist. She knows what the swell of your hips feels like.

Sometimes she can’t help herself, imagining sinking her teeth into the soft flesh, the sounds you'd make. The way you'd moan her name.

Sometimes she feels she's going mad, wanting you. Wanting you when you're right there. Sometimes she feels she is mad already. She'd accidentally broken a mirror last time you introduced her to your latest fling, a boy from another uni you’d met a match. The way he wrapped his arms around you made Vi want to rip his hands off. They touched you. They shouldn't get to do that.

Fuck.

She downs the rest of her drink, swallowing painfully. You’re camping at a beach for a night, mid-way along the coast to your destination. Everyone’s around a fire, stars twinkling in the velvet sky. Mylo has his speaker turned down low, not to disturb the other people on the beach. Firelight flickers across your skin, giving you an otherworldly glow.

Desire and yearning twist inside Vi into something painful, something tinged with ragged desperation. Her hands are shaking slightly where she’s gripping onto her cider can so tightly she accidently crushes it. She's not really sure what's wrong with her.

You're just... dancing. That’s all. Just dancing.

Laughing, swaying in the firelight, twirling as Ekko raises your arm to spin you by the hand.

It feels like Vi’s heart is sitting on her tongue, she has to keep swallowing it back down. Try as she might, she can't look away.

‘Pretty isn't she,’ says Claggor. He sounds slightly amused. Everyone but you seems to know she's got a thing for you. That she's always had a thing for you.

‘She's beautiful,’ Vi hears herself say–confess. She can’t help it; it’s true.

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sissylunalovely · 9 days ago

Text

- One year of beeing on Tumblr ✅️

- One year of posting old pictures of me dressed up, but later deleting them because of feeling embarrassed👎🏼

-One year of dressing myself up once every 6 months at max 👎🏼

-One year of trying to taste cummies but never succeeding 👎🏼

I NEED TO CHANGE

Let's take this one year milestone as a turningpoint:

I NEED HELP with becoming the girly girl I am destined to be.

I will set some challanges that I will have to do if a certain milestone is reached.

I will post proof of every challange I did, after reaching each milestone:

- For every 10 likes this post gets, I will be listening to 30 Minutes of Bambi Hypno.

(Time listened so far: 2h 24min)

- 1 Reblog: Make my profile picture public again ✅️

- 5 Reblogs: upload my favourite picture of me being dresses up AND KEEP IT ONLINE ✅️

- 10 Reblogs: Upload 5 more pictures of me beeing dressed up ✅️

( From here on I will post a picture of myself in cute outfits every 10 Reblogs anyway)

- 20 Reblogs: Wear a butplug for the first time (and tell you guys how I liked it of course) ✅️

- 50 Reblogs: Fully dress myself up in an outfit you guys choose out of my collection

( Every 50 Reblogs you guys will get to choose a new outfit for me to wear)

- 100 Reblogs: Dress up, wear Make-up and Heels and keep everything on for at least 5 hours

- 120 Reblogs: Wear panties 24/7

- 150 Reblogs: Eat cummies for the first time in my life

- 200 Reblogs: Buy a dildo and practice sucking it to perfection

- 250 Reblogs: Cum by only using my new dildo

( From here on, I will never be allowed to cum any other way)

- 300 Reblogs: Lock myself in chastity and wear a plug for at least 5 hours every day

- 500 Reblogs: Make a Social Media account of my sissy self and regularly post pictures on it

- 1000 Reblogs: Go out in public while beeing fully made up (seriously, please don't make me do this)

I know there are some pretty big jumps between some milestones, so I will be open for suggestions for new milestones to add in at various points, so please feel free to give me some suggestions 🫶

I hereby SWEAR that I will complete EVERY milestone I reach without exceptions and document everything here on my blog.

Please make this blow up so I will finaly be pushed into living as my true self 🫶

Please help me girls 💕

@karlie-xox @alwayscute @aridpo @sleepybimbobambi2 @sissymissyxo @sissyloren @sissylucy20 @initiativelouise @i-like-forcefem @ivyrosetglued @goodwitchkylie @goodgirlmadison @makehimyourgirlfriend

#feminine sissy #forced crossdressing #forcedfeminisation #forcedfeminization #forcedsissy #humili sissi #sissy tasks

461 notes · View notes

moonselune · 1 month ago

Note

Could I request headcanons where gn!Tav said they're too plain & boring for that to happen when he asked how would they feel about being courted for Halsin, Rolan, Raphael, Gale, Astarion, and Wyll? - emoji anon

Hey hey emoji anon always a pleasure to see you in my inbox xox

Gale:

The evening sky was painted in soft hues of lavender and gold, the dying light casting a warm glow over the camp. Gale sat beside you, his fingers idly tracing patterns in the dirt as the two of you shared a rare moment of stillness. The remnants of supper lingered nearby, and the faint crackle of the fire filled the spaces where words had yet to form.

You had always been a quiet presence—steadfast and observant. Gale had long been drawn to your grounded nature, your calm amidst the whirlwind of their adventures. Over the past weeks, that draw had turned into something deeper, something he could no longer ignore. Tonight felt like the right time to broach the subject.

He took a deep breath, then turned to face you fully.

“May I ask you something, my friend?” he began, his voice gentle but steady.

You glanced at him, curious, and gave a small nod.

“How would you feel about being courted?” Gale’s tone was warm, but his words were tentative, as if testing the air. “By someone who sees you for all that you are?”

Your eyes widened slightly, the question clearly not one you’d anticipated. You hesitated, looking away as if searching the horizon for an answer. Then, with a faint sigh, you shook your head. “I… don’t think that’s something I’d expect to happen.”

Gale’s brows furrowed, his curiosity piqued. “Why not?”

You fiddled with the edge of your sleeve, your voice low and even. “I’m plain. Boring. I don’t have anything special to offer. I’m not… the kind of person someone courts.”

The words were simple, almost matter-of-fact, but Gale could hear the faint note of self-deprecation woven through them. His heart ached at the thought of you seeing yourself this way—so unremarkable when, to him, you were anything but.

“Plain?” he repeated softly, as though tasting the word and finding it absurd. “Boring?”

You nodded, your gaze still fixed on the ground, unwilling to meet his.

Gale shifted closer, his movements deliberate but unhurried. He leaned forward slightly, trying to catch your eye.

“You see yourself as ordinary,” he said gently. “But allow me to offer a different perspective.”

You glanced at him, a flicker of skepticism in your expression.

“There is a profound beauty in simplicity,” Gale continued, his voice gaining a quiet intensity. “In the way you listen so intently when others speak, as though their words hold the weight of the world. In the way you notice things most people overlook—like the way the sunlight catches on a blade of grass, or the quiet joy in a companion’s laughter.”

He paused, his gaze searching yours. “Do you know how rare that is? To move through life with such quiet awareness, to find wonder in the things others dismiss? It’s anything but boring.”

You blinked, clearly caught off guard by his words. Your fingers stilled, and for a moment, you seemed at a loss.

Gale smiled softly, his expression both kind and earnest. “And as for plain… I would argue that nothing about you is plain. Not to me. You have a depth, a quiet strength, that draws people in—whether you realize it or not. Including me.”

Your lips parted slightly, as if to protest, but no words came. The firelight danced in Gale’s eyes as he continued, his tone growing warmer.

“You think yourself unremarkable,” he said, his hand resting lightly on his knee. “But I see someone who is steady in a world full of chaos. Someone who doesn’t need grand gestures or flamboyant words to leave a mark. You do so simply by being you.”

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The fire crackled softly, the wind rustled the leaves, and Gale waited patiently, his heart laid bare.

Finally, you spoke, your voice quieter than before. “I’m not sure I see what you see.”

Gale chuckled softly, a sound full of affection. “That’s all right. For now, let me see it for you.”

His words hung in the air, an offering, not a demand. You searched his face, as though trying to find some trace of insincerity, but all you found was warmth and a gentle resolve.

After a long pause, you nodded—tentative but genuine. It wasn’t an outright acceptance, but it was a start, a crack in the wall you’d built around yourself. Gale’s smile widened, relief and joy evident in his expression.

“Then I’ll consider myself fortunate to take this first step with you,” he said. “For however long you’ll allow.”

He didn’t press further, content to let the moment settle. Instead, he shifted back slightly, his posture relaxed but his gaze still lingering on you, as if committing this moment to memory.

Astarion:

The moon hung high in the sky, its pale light spilling over the camp and painting everything in silver hues. Astarion leaned against a tree at the edge of the firelight, his posture casual yet poised, as if every movement was deliberately chosen to exude elegance. He had led you here for a moment away from the others, a chance for privacy in a rare moment of quiet.

He had been observing you for weeks now, intrigued by your quiet nature and the way you seemed to exist outside the clamor of the world. You weren’t like the others, who vied for attention or filled silences with chatter. You were steady, calm, a constant presence that had unexpectedly captivated him. Tonight, he decided, was the night to act.

“How would you feel about being courted?” Astarion asked, his voice smooth and deliberate, though a hint of genuine curiosity underpinned his words. He tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes watching you intently.

The question startled you. Your brow furrowed as you turned to him, studying his face for a moment before looking away. You hesitated, as if unsure of how to answer, before finally speaking, your voice quiet but firm.

“I don’t think I’m the type of person anyone would court.”

Astarion blinked, caught off guard. He straightened, his usual smirk replaced by an expression of genuine confusion. “And why, pray tell, would you think that?”

You shrugged, your fingers idly toying with the edge of your sleeve. “I’m… plain. Boring. I don’t stand out. There’s nothing about me that would make someone look twice.”

He stared at you, momentarily at a loss. In all his centuries of life—undead and otherwise—he had heard many things from many people, but this? This was utterly baffling. Slowly, he pushed off the tree, taking a step closer to you.

“You truly think that?” he asked, his voice softer now, his usual theatrics momentarily set aside.

You nodded, still not meeting his gaze. “I’m just… me. There’s nothing special about that.”

Astarion’s lips parted, an incredulous laugh escaping him. It wasn’t mocking, but rather a genuine reaction to the absurdity of your words. He took another step closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to decipher a riddle.

“You are utterly fascinating,” he said, his tone tinged with exasperation. “And yet you don’t even see it.”

You finally looked at him then, surprise flickering in your eyes. “Fascinating? Me?”

“Yes, you,” he said, his voice gaining a playful edge but still rooted in sincerity. “Do you think I spend my time with people who bore me? Who fade into the background? Darling, you’ve done nothing but capture my attention since the day we met.”

You blinked, clearly taken aback. Astarion seized the moment, stepping closer until there was only a breath of space between you. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm in a gesture that was surprisingly gentle.

“You think yourself plain, but let me tell you what I see,” he continued, his crimson eyes locked on yours. “I see someone who is steady when the world is chaos. Someone who doesn’t feel the need to shout to be heard, because their presence speaks louder than words ever could. I see kindness, strength, and a quiet resilience that most people could only dream of possessing.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he raised a hand, silencing you with a sly smile. “And boring? Oh, darling, you couldn’t be boring if you tried. Do you know how refreshing it is to spend time with someone who doesn’t feel the need to posture or perform? Who is simply… themselves?”

His hand lingered on your arm, his gaze softening. “You’ve been a balm to my restless soul, whether you realize it or not. And while I do enjoy a challenge, I assure you, this—us—isn’t some idle game to me.”

Your breath hitched at his words, your mind struggling to reconcile his sincerity with the image you held of yourself. For a moment, you simply stared at him, searching his face for any trace of insincerity. But all you found was honesty, woven with a thread of vulnerability that Astarion rarely let anyone see.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. He smiled then, a genuine smile that softened his sharp features.

“You don’t need to say anything, my dear,” he said. “Just… allow me the chance to show you how wrong you are about yourself. One step at a time.”

There was a moment of silence, the world around you fading into the background as his words hung in the air. Finally, you nodded—a small, tentative gesture, but one that spoke volumes.

Astarion’s smile widened, his usual confidence returning as he stepped back, though his eyes never left yours.

“Good,” he said, his tone lightening. “Now, let’s consider this the first step. And I promise, you won’t find it boring in the slightest.”

As the moonlight bathed the two of you in its glow, you couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of warmth in your chest—a spark of something you hadn’t dared to hope for. Astarion, ever the enigma, had found something extraordinary in you, and perhaps, just perhaps, it was time for you to see it too.

Wyll:

The campfire crackled softly, casting a warm, golden glow over the small clearing. The day’s trials had finally settled into the past, leaving the evening peaceful and calm. Wyll sat across from you, his posture relaxed but his eyes searching your face. You’d spent much of the evening in comfortable silence, but Wyll had something weighing on his mind, a question that had been lingering for weeks now.

He straightened slightly, his expression shifting to something earnest and determined.

“Can I ask you something, my friend?” he said, his voice gentle but steady.

You nodded, turning your attention fully to him, your quiet gaze encouraging him to continue.

“How would you feel about being courted?” His words were soft, but they carried a weight, as though he’d thought about them long before speaking. He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes warm yet watchful. “By me.”

Your reaction wasn’t what he expected. Rather than the usual flustered surprise or shy delight, you looked away, your brows furrowing slightly. For a moment, you seemed lost in thought, your fingers tracing idle patterns in the dirt.

Finally, you spoke, your voice quiet but steady. “I don’t think that’s something someone like me would expect. Or deserve.”

Wyll blinked, caught off guard. He tilted his head slightly, his expression softening with concern. “Why would you say that?”

You shrugged, the motion small, almost imperceptible. “I’m… plain. Boring. I don’t have anything special to offer. I’m not the kind of person someone courts. Especially not someone like you.”

His brows knit together, the statement hitting him harder than you probably realized. For a moment, he was silent, processing your words. Then, slowly, he shifted closer, his movements deliberate and unhurried, as though approaching a spooked animal.

“I think you have the wrong idea about yourself,” he said gently, his voice steady but filled with quiet conviction. “And about me, too.”

You glanced at him, surprise flickering in your expression, but you said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“I’ve had people sing my praises for years,” Wyll said, his tone tinged with a bittersweet smile. “They see the Blade of Frontiers, the hero of Baldur’s Gate, the warlock who made a devil’s bargain to save lives. They see the titles, the stories. But do you know what’s often missing in all that admiration?”

You shook your head slightly, curiosity softening your guarded expression.

“Truth,” he said simply. “They don’t see the person behind the blade. They don’t ask about Wyll—just Wyll, the man who likes to read by the fire, who enjoys a good laugh and a quiet evening, who sometimes feels lost and unsure, just like anyone else.”

You frowned slightly, your fingers stilling as you listened. He leaned closer, his gaze earnest.

“That’s what I see in you,” he continued, his voice softer now. “You don’t treat me like a symbol or a story. You see me as I am—flaws and all. And you? You’re anything but boring. You’re steady, thoughtful, kind in ways most people overlook because they’re too busy shouting over the world.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he held up a hand, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Let me finish,” he said, his tone teasing but kind. “I’ve been surrounded by noise for so long. People who only care about the legend and not the man. But you? You’re a balm to that chaos. Your quiet strength, your grounded nature—it’s a gift, one I’m lucky to witness.”

Your gaze dropped again, your hands fidgeting in your lap.

“I’m not sure I see what you do,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s all right,” Wyll said, his smile widening. “You don’t have to see it right now. But I hope, if you’ll let me, I can help you see it someday.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of the fire crackling, the world around you fading into the background. Slowly, you lifted your gaze to meet his, something vulnerable but hopeful flickering in your eyes.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you murmured. Wyll chuckled softly, his voice warm and reassuring.

“You don’t have to say anything, not yet,” he said. “But let me court you, in my own quiet way. One step at a time.”

You hesitated, the weight of his words settling over you, before finally giving a small nod. It was tentative, but it was enough.

Wyll’s smile brightened, his joy evident but restrained as he respected the moment’s delicacy. As the firelight danced in his eyes, you felt a small spark of warmth in your chest, a flicker of something you hadn’t dared to hope for.

Halsin:

The two of you sat on the edge of a tranquil grove, where the whispering trees and a gently trickling stream created a sanctuary of peace. Halsin had invited you here—his favorite spot in the forest—to share its beauty with you. The warm glow of sunset bathed the grove in golden light, making everything feel almost dreamlike.

Halsin turned to you, his expression thoughtful but earnest. For days, he had been working up the courage to address the feelings stirring in his heart, feelings he couldn’t ignore. He was a man who valued honesty, and with you, there was no need for pretense.

“How would you feel about being courted?” he asked, his deep voice as steady as ever, though a flicker of vulnerability softened his usual confidence.

You blinked, caught off guard. The question hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. For a long moment, you simply stared at him, your thoughts turning inward as you tried to process his words. Courted? By Halsin?

When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, your tone steady but tinged with self-deprecation.

“I… don’t know why you’d want that,” you said, avoiding his gaze. “I’m… plain. Boring. There’s nothing special about me.”

Halsin’s brow furrowed, and he leaned closer, his large frame radiating warmth and concern.

“You think yourself plain? Boring?” He shook his head, a soft sigh escaping him. “I don’t see you that way at all.”

You shrugged, a small, almost invisible motion. “I don’t talk much. I don’t stand out. There’s nothing about me that would catch someone’s attention, let alone someone like you.”

The words were simple, but they carried a weight that struck Halsin deeply. He studied you for a moment, his golden eyes filled with quiet contemplation. Then he reached out, his hand hesitating briefly before resting lightly on your forearm—a grounding gesture, firm but gentle.

“You are wrong about yourself,” he said softly. “Painfully so. Perhaps others might overlook you, distracted by louder voices or flashier displays. But that does not make you plain. It makes you rare.”

Your gaze flicked to his, searching his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you found was honesty—unflinching and unwavering.

“Do you know what drew me to you?” Halsin continued, his voice steady. “It wasn’t grand gestures or clever words. It was the way you see the world. The way you move through it with quiet grace, noticing things others miss. The kindness in your actions, the thoughtfulness in your silences. You don’t need to speak loudly to be heard, nor shine brightly to be seen.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, skepticism still lingering, but his words stirred something in you—a small ember of hope, fragile but warm.

“I have lived a long life,” Halsin said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I have seen many things, met many people. Yet none have made me feel as you do. When I am with you, I feel… peace. A sense of balance I have long sought. How could I not wish to court someone who makes the world feel whole?”

Your breath hitched, the sincerity in his words overwhelming in its simplicity. He wasn’t trying to convince you or charm you—he was merely telling you the truth as he saw it.

“I know you think yourself plain,” he added, his tone softening further. “But to me, you are extraordinary. And I would be honored if you would allow me to show you that.”

You looked away, your fingers tightening slightly against your knees, processing his words. It wasn’t easy to see yourself through his eyes, to accept the idea that someone as kind, wise, and strong as Halsin could feel this way about you. But his earnestness was undeniable, and the warmth in his gaze felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

Finally, you nodded—a small, almost imperceptible movement—but it was enough. Halsin’s smile widened, a quiet joy lighting his face. He didn’t push for more, didn’t press you for an answer beyond that. He simply placed his hand over yours, a silent promise in the gentle weight of his touch. For the first time, you felt that maybe you weren’t as plain as you thought.

Rolan:

The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled light over the clearing where you and Rolan sat. The camp was a short distance away, but it felt like a different world out here, surrounded by the gentle sounds of nature. Rolan had invited you to join him, claiming a need to get a break from the tower, ostensibly to discuss a spell he was refining, but the conversation had meandered into more personal territory.

Rolan, ever the picture of confidence with his sharp wit and sharper tongue, seemed uncharacteristically hesitant as he looked at you now. His fingers drummed lightly against the cover of a spellbook in his lap, the only sign of his nerves.

"I’ve been thinking," he began, his tone carefully measured. "About… connections. Relationships. And—hypothetically, of course—how one might feel about being courted."

You raised an eyebrow at him, your expression unreadable, but you stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

Rolan cleared his throat, his gaze darting briefly to the ground before returning to you. “How would you feel about it? If someone—hypothetically, of course—were interested in courting you?”

The question hung in the air between you, his carefully chosen words laced with something more vulnerable than he let on. You tilted your head slightly, processing his question, before finally replying in your usual quiet tone.

“I don’t think that’s something I’d expect to happen.”

Rolan blinked, caught off guard by your matter-of-fact response.

“Why not?” he asked, his voice sharper than he intended, though curiosity softened the edges.

You shrugged, your gaze drifting away from him. “I’m plain. Boring. Not the kind of person someone would look at that way.”

For a moment, Rolan was silent, his expression frozen in something between disbelief and frustration. He closed his spellbook with a decisive snap and leaned forward, his golden eyes fixed on you.

“Plain?” he repeated, his voice incredulous. “Boring? You cannot be serious.”

You frowned slightly, the smallest sign of discomfort. “I don’t see what’s so surprising about it.”

“What’s surprising,” Rolan said, his tone gaining momentum, “is that someone as unique as you could think of themselves that way. Plain? Hardly. You have a presence that is… grounding. Quiet, yes, but not boring. Do you know how rare it is to meet someone who listens so completely? Who sees people, not just their façades?”

You looked at him, startled by his intensity, but still hesitant to believe him.

“And boring?” he continued, his hands gesturing animatedly now. “You? Boring? I’ve seen the way you notice the smallest details, the things everyone else overlooks. The way you spoke back at the grove and at the Inn. The way you find meaning in the most unassuming moments. It’s like watching someone unearth treasure where others see dirt.”

You blinked, clearly unprepared for such fervent praise. “I think you’re exaggerating.”

Rolan snorted, leaning back but keeping his gaze on you. “Oh, I assure you, I’m not. I confess I may have a penchant for flair but if anything, I’m being far too restrained. You may not see it, but I do. And the fact that you don’t parade it around for the world to admire makes it all the more remarkable.”

There was a beat of silence as his words sank in. You looked away, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve.

“I’m just me,” you murmured. “I don’t think I’m what anyone would want.”

Rolan sighed, his usual sharp edges softening as he leaned forward again.

“And what if I told you that you’re exactly what I want?” he asked, his voice quiet but unwavering.

Your eyes snapped to his, wide with surprise. He held your gaze, his expression uncharacteristically open and earnest.

“I’m not saying this lightly,” he continued. “I’ve met plenty of people who’ve tried to catch my eye with flair and dramatics. And yet, here I am, drawn to you—not despite your quiet nature, but because of it. You make me feel… seen. Grounded. And that’s not something I take lightly.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. The fire of his conviction left you momentarily stunned, your usual composure slipping.

Rolan, ever perceptive, offered you a small smile.

“I’m not asking for an answer right now,” he said, his tone gentler than before. “But if you’re willing, I’d like to show you what I see in you. What I value.”

You hesitated, your mind swirling with doubt and confusion, but there was something in his eyes—a sincerity that made it hard to look away. Finally, you nodded, the motion small but meaningful.

Rolan’s smile widened, his confidence returning as he straightened.

“Good,” he said lightly, though his eyes still held a spark of warmth. “I’ll consider this a victory for now.”

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the clearing in hues of gold and amber, you felt a strange warmth settle in your chest. A welcome warmth, one you began to wish would never go away.

Raphael:

The dim glow of the Infernal plane's ever-present crimson light cast flickering shadows across the opulent chamber Raphael had conjured for this meeting. He had whisked you away from camp, claiming that he simply had to talk to you. It's not like any of you could stop him.

So, you sat across from the cambion, the weight of his intense gaze like fire on your skin. His effortless elegance and sly charm made him an intimidating presence, and yet, here you were, an enigma in his life—a mortal who had somehow dared to pique his interest.

Raphael leaned back in his ornate chair, swirling a goblet of dark wine as a faint smirk played on his lips.

“Indulge me, dear one,” he began, his voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. “If someone were to court you, what would you think of that? Hypothetically, of course.”

His tone was playful, but his golden eyes betrayed a glint of something deeper, something predatory and curious. He wanted your answer, and more than that, he wanted your reaction.

Your expression remained neutral, though his question tugged at something uncomfortable within you. You shifted slightly in your seat, avoiding his gaze for a moment. When you finally spoke, your voice was soft, almost self-effacing.

“I don’t think that’s something I’d ever need to consider.”

Raphael arched a brow, intrigued. “And why, pray tell, is that?”

A small shrug was your only initial response. You glanced at the ground, your hands resting idly in your lap. “I’m too plain. Too boring. I can assure you, that no one would go to the trouble for someone like me.”

The room seemed to grow quieter, the ambient sounds of the infernal realm fading as your words settled in the air. Raphael’s smirk froze, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. For a long moment, he said nothing, simply watching you, assessing.

Then, he laughed.

It wasn’t the cruel, mocking laughter you might have expected. It was something deeper, richer, though no less sharp. The sound echoed through the chamber, laced with incredulity and amusement.

“Plain?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly with disbelief. “Boring? You wound me, darling. To think you’d insult my taste so gravely.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his reaction. “I wasn’t insulting you,” you murmured. “Just… stating the truth.”

Raphael leaned forward suddenly, his goblet forgotten on the table between you. His piercing gaze locked onto yours, and the playful veneer fell away, replaced by something far more serious.

“Let me make one thing abundantly clear,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “I do not waste my time on ‘plain’ or ‘boring.’ I am Raphael, cambion and devil, and my desires are nothing short of extraordinary. And yet, here I am, entertaining this conversation with you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a sharp gesture.

“Do you think I value surface-level trivialities? Flashy baubles and empty charms?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “No, my dear. What draws me—what fascinates me—is the quiet strength you carry, the steadfastness that refuses to yield even when the world would see you broken. You call yourself plain, but I see a canvas upon which potential is painted. You call yourself boring, yet your very presence intrigues me in ways no banal mortal ever has.”

You stared at him, stunned into silence by the sheer conviction in his words. Raphael rose from his chair and took a step closer, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you. Despite his intensity, there was no malice in his expression—only a fierce, unyielding confidence.

“You think yourself undeserving of my attention?” he said, his tone softening but losing none of its weight. “I assure you, my attention is not so easily won. And yet, you’ve captured it. What does that tell you?”

You swallowed, your throat dry. “That you’re… persistent?” you ventured, your voice tinged with hesitant humor. Raphael chuckled, a genuine sound that softened the edges of his sharp demeanor.

“Indeed,” he said, his smirk returning. “But more than that, it tells you that there is far more to you than you realize. And I intend to show you exactly what I see.”

You looked away, your thoughts a chaotic swirl of doubt and hope.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” you admitted, your voice barely audible.

Raphael tilted your chin up with a single finger, his touch surprisingly gentle.

“Then allow me the pleasure of proving you wrong,” he said, his voice a velvet promise. “You may doubt yourself, but I do not. And I am not one to be easily swayed.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You found yourself nodding, unable to find the strength to argue further. Raphael’s smile widened, a predatory glint returning to his eyes.

“Good,” he murmured, stepping back with an air of satisfaction. “Then let the courting begin. And trust me, my darling—there is nothing boring about what lies ahead.”

As he returned to his seat, his goblet once again in hand, you felt a strange mix of apprehension and warmth settle in your chest. Raphael’s words had shaken something loose within you, and though you weren’t sure what to make of it yet, one thing was certain: this devil would not let you fade into obscurity. Not without a fight.

Fun to add Rolan and Raphael to the bunch with this one, hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

P.S thank you all for your sweet messages it truly means a lot xoxo

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

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thevelvetvampyre · 6 months ago

Text

The Dinner Party - Cillian Murphy x Reader

Summary: Cillian can’t wait any longer to fuck his friends daughter after finally seeing her now that she’s legal

Warnings; age gap, riding, fingering, p in v, oral (fem receive), he’s a giver, sneaky and a creeper, met when reader was underage but like a good boy he waited, affair / cheating, general smut and adult content + alcohol / intoxicated behaviour.

(ALSO ONE USE OF Y/N I LOVE IMAGINING HIM SPEAKING TO READER DIRECTLY and I feel like he’s just one to use a girls name when speaking to them anyways)

Notes: sorry I haven’t been active, I’ve been fucking my boss lol (proudly, I am not joking) + I wrote this ages ago so it may be horrible xox

─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ───

The dinner party was coming to a close, broken champagne glasses splattered shards over the linen covered table as the candles had burnt to a crisp and the wick began puffing black. Most importantly, the guests were heaving the thick scent of alcohol which filled your fathers living room with dancing, laughing and kisses being shared between people they’d cringe over the morning to come.

“Come on! Just a dip.”

Your best friend has drunkly jumped into your swimming pool fully clothed, the cool water up to her chest as she stayed eager to persuade you in with her.

The heat of the drink in your hand had spread across you and left you smiling stupid at her antics, huffing as you chugged the remainder of the convincing liquid down your throat and placing the glass on the table next to you.

“Fine! Fine… just for a while.”

Your words sounded tired but your happiness and excitement was evident, pulling the bottom of your dress up over your head and leaving you bare in your bra and panties.

Squeaking in excitement she twirled in the water, screaming praises about the way your body looked and how ‘sexy’ you were when you were so bare.

Jumping into the pool, the blurred noises had filled your ears and your skin lathered in bumps to the contact of the cold.

“Isn’t tonight so beautiful.”

You raised from the water to see her floating on her back stargazing, the start of summer was like crack to her and you could only find it addictive yourself.

As the pair of you giggled, floated and embraced in the water, spluttering out sentences of admiration to your friendship, the pounding of the indie music inside had become clearer as the patio door swiped open and your parents, plus a couple of their friends, made their way stumbling and laughing to themselves.

“Are you ladies okay?”

Your dad screamed over the thumping drums, breaking your attention away from each other and looking at him.

“Hell yeah!”

You screamed and threw your arms up, your best friend following suit with a squeal herself.

“Love to hear it honey!”

Your eyes pulled from your dad who swayed with the largest grin you’d ever seen and landed on his friend, Cillian.

He stood there as your eyes met and his smirk became increasingly evident under the blue moonlight. Lifting his hand that held the beer, he threw you a cheers as his gaze dropped to your exposed body hidden beneath the turquoise blue that transparently hid your frame.

Whether it was the sting of the cold liquid you’d submerged yourself in or the lust in his glance, the chills that snuck up your spine sent a shiver to your core.

You’d met the man once, this time last year actually. You of course knew who he was from the impressive array of movies he’d starred in and you were thrilled to hear your father had befriended the man at a PR event. Striking up a close friendship exceptionally fast with the actor, he was soon invited to one of the beautiful, lavish dinner parties your dad hosted once every year.

You were only 17, but my god was he gorgeous. The smell of his masculine musk that surrounded you, his firm grip on your delicate hand as he introduced himself as a stranger, those piercing baby blue iris’s that undressed you slowly in front of your parents.

No- no, of course he didn’t mean to look at you like that. Of course his eyes didn’t fall from yours to your plush lips, admiring how soft and kissable they were. Of course they didn’t soon fall to your perked tits and felt his cock thicken as he imagined how soft they were to squeeze. And of course, he didn’t watch the way your hips moved you along the marbled floor as he imagined himself biting into your silky thighs as they wrapped around his head.

He was married after all, and he was who he was. A gorgeous, talented, Hollywood actor who would have absolutely no interest in a girl less than half his age with all his glitzy awards and a wife who could please him in ways you had yet to learn.

But oh, you were wrong.

From the moment he laid eyes on you, you possessed his thoughts which soon spread to his palm as he fisted himself to the mental picture of you in his head. The way your lashes batted and your teeth dug into your lips, the furrow of your brows as you listened to whoever was speaking at the table and the pull of your lips as they spurred out drunken words.

With each step he took out of his home he’d excite himself with the thought he may bump into you, joke about what a coincidence it was to see you in public and ask you how you’ve been.

You were in the corner of his mind, the hallucination in his sheets and the ghost that crept around each promising corner.

You haunted him. You were the coffee he drank, the scripts he read, the women he fucked and the air he breathed.

A year later, here you were, intoxicatingly half naked in your own pool and finally legal.

Like a corpse that revived from the dead, you were deathly beautiful and his haunting desires had manifested in front of his very eyes.

You send him a smirk that expressed pages of expressionless desires that had too, haunted you.

“Right… who’s feeling one more?”

Your father exclaimed as he shot down the last of his beer and raised the glass.

His friends cheered loudly as they threw their arms up and tripped over seemingly nothing back into the house. Cillian’s eyes had remained on yours as they darkened, clenching his jaw through his arousal and cocking his brows up before slowly turning around and following the group inside.

For the next hour you stayed basking in the moon with your best friend, exhausting yourselves with laughter and dancing in the pool that soon brought you to tiredness.

“Thank you for coming tonight.”

You smiled appreciatively at her, sighing out as you held your sore stomach from the stitch that had pierced your lungs.

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She pulled you in for one more hug before you swam to the corner of the pool, cursing at the lack of towels to cover you from shivering in the cold summer air.

“Dad!”

You screamed, repeatedly.

Of course, no response as the music had grown louder- if that was even possible, and most definitely impaired him from hearing your desperate screams.

Oh fuck it.

You pulled yourself up from the pool and grabbed your dry dress, wrapping the material around you the best you could.

“Stay here- I’ll get us towels.”

You pulled open the door and immediately got hit with the smell of whiskey, the pounding of the music and the lack of lighting that explained the mass amounts of broken glass on the countertops and floors.

Sneaking through the walls, you almost made it to the living room when the sound of a man clearing his throat caused you to snap your neck into the kitchen.

There he was, leaning against the counter with that god forsaken smirk he glared at you and his eyes amused at the state you were in.

“Having fun out there?”

Cillian brought the tip of his bottle to his lips, swinging it back as his gaze dropped to your dripping body.

His cock swelled in his pants, admiring how delicious you looked when you were wet.

“Yes, Mr.Murphy.”

You said sweetly, turning your full posture to him and grinning shyly at his question.

“Hm… looks like it.”

His lips parted as his gaze was hot and obvious, leaking arousal out your cunt as he licked his bottom lip at the sight of you.

“You look stunning Y/N.”

His voice was low and quiet as he complimented you, your blush pricking your chest as your pussy clenched around nothing. You dropped your head down as your grin grew to avoid is lustful gaze as his intimidating presence was growing unbearable.

“Oh come on… don’t get s’shy on me now.”

His voice was soothing as he babied you, leaving the counter to slowly walk over you as he dropped his neck to meet your low gaze.

Before you got the chance to respond, your father had barged in and greeted you with a loud welcome.

“Hey! Don’t try courting my angel…”

Your dad had turned to Cillian, raising his voice and finger to point at him in a joking manner.

“Eyes off!”

Cillian chuckled as he pulled his gaze off your dripping tits, cock now painfully erect as he decided then and there he needed you. Brushing past you as he walked through you and your father, the skin of his arm grazed yours and you shivered at the contact.

Your best friend had eventually left and so did the rest of the party, a few members having to stay overnight in an attempt to avoid the danger of the road at this time in their intoxicated state.

You sat wet in your bedroom, heart pounding as you repeated his compliment in your head and smirking at just how smooth and silky his voice was when he purred it to you.

Standing up, dropping your towel and pushing into your bathroom, you didn’t bother to close the door fully as your tile walls filled with warm steam.

Lathering your exposed, erect nipples in your body wash and rubbing your soapy palms across your body, you were lost in the thought of him as you bathed and cleared your scent of the chlorine.

Unbeknownst to you, Cillian was one of the guests who stayed. With your parents in their bed and everyone else passed out, he sneaked up the stairs on the edge of his toes and leant against the large wooden frame that kept you safe from him. Placing his ear on the wooden door his wet bottom lip dropped open as he listened carefully to the noise of movement inside.

With his palm pressed next to him, his smirk returned as he heard the dripping of your shower head and snaked his other hand onto the doorknob.

Quietly twisting his wrist to open the door, he winced at the squeak and stopped breathing as his heart thumped in his chest at his actions. From the subconscious alert that maybe sneaking into an 18 year olds bedroom wasn’t morally accepted? Especially as an older married man? No, of course not. His heart thumped in fear that he would get caught. That if anyone was to see him now, he couldn’t have you as he needed you tonight.

Breathing heavily as the coast was seemingly clear, he slowly pressed into the door and snuck in through the small crack. Swiftly turning around and pressing his weight above the handle, he quietly pushed it shut and sighed out a relieved huff at his successful entry into your bedroom.

Twisting his neck to the crack in your bathroom door, the corner of his lips curled as he made his way to the beam of light that poured out your bathroom.

Continuing to grin through the alcohol and your arousal of the slight contact you had with him earlier, your skin was warm as the water caressed you. The sweet smell of your soap had intoxicated the room, Cillian rolling his eyes at how your scent was just as addictive as he remembered.

Placing an eye through the gap in the frame, he salivated at how oblivious you were to him, how vulnerable you looked when you were stripped completely and how he could’ve stormed in and forced his thick, throbbing cock into your cunt right then and there.

He watched as the suds ran over your tits, onto your stomach and down your thighs. His veins pulsed through him and his jaw clenched, furrowing his brows and dropping his wet bottom lip at he watched you run your hands over your naked body.

He was growing needy, the tent in his pants poking towards you and thumping under the constraint of the material. He groaned under his breath as he watched you innocently touch yourself, reaching to every crevice of your body that he wanted to lick clean with his own mouth.

Admiring you in an agonising arousal for a few more seconds before you turned the water off, his eyes widened and he stepped back, swiftly but quietly making his way to your bed before sitting down and leaning back onto his wrists.

Stepping out the shower, you reached for your baby pink towel and wrapped it around your body, looking at your blush skin in the mirror before giggling quietly to yourself and opening the door.

Pulling your gaze up from the ground, your throat closed and your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes met Cillian’s. Your mouth went dry and your breath breathlessly left out your lungs, a mix of confusion and excitement fuelling your feet to slowly walk you forward.

“Miss me?”

He said smirkily, his Irish accent laced with the alcohol he drank earlier and tilting his head as his eyes assaulted you.

“What are you doing here?”

Your whisper was sharp and blunt, your red skin burned purple as you noticed his thick cock pointing towards you.

He licked his lips, slowly pulling himself up from your bed and walking towards you. Stopping in front of you, he lifted his fingertips and grazed them down the side of your arms.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you… have been onto you since last year.”

His voice was a low whisper as it was husky, the grazing of his nails on your skin sending goosebumps to your mound.

“Do ya… do ya think’f me too?”

His eyes met yours and his gaze softened as he poured his blue into you. An odd look of sincerity plastered his face as your cheeks grew warm to his contact.

“You’re married!”

Your whisper was a scream. He chuckled as his eyes fell to your chest, moving his hands to link his fingertips to the top of your towel and slowly unwrapping you from the cotton.

“That’s not what I asked.”

He growled as the towel pooled at the end of your body, standing frozen as his tongue grazed along this top lip. His eyes grew hungry as they ravished in how beautiful and exposed you were to him.

“Y-yes.”

You quietly admitted. A huff left his chest knowingly.

You wanted to cover yourself, feeling vulnerable to his gaze and suddenly insecure of what he’d think of your naked self. Raising your arms subconsciously you covered your midriff, he grunted as his fingers grasped at your forearms to stop you.

“Don’t…”

His desperation was evident, grunting through his words as he stared at you like a raw piece of meat, twitching closer to you with each second passing to close to gap between you.

“need to see you, I’ve waited so long.”

He drooled out the last words, finally pulling his eyes up as his brows knitted and landed on yours.

Staring into his eyes longingly, you pushed yourself forward for your lips to land on his. Now starving, he breathed heavily as his palm grabbed the back of your head to press you harder into the kiss.

Quiet, soft moans left your lips into his mouth as he whimpered shyly at your kiss, his mouth opening wider to force his tongue into yours. Accepting into the kiss and moving your head to twirl your tongue around his, he grabbed at your waist and started to pull you back towards your bed.

Unable to get close enough, he pulls you tighter against his torso as his lips press and pull against yours, wetting your mouth as he whined and grasped at your sides desperately.

Finally feeling your mattress at the back of him he sat down as he continued to knead your waist, shimmering back onto the bed and pulling you on top of him.

As the kisses grew aggressive, he flipped you under him and your back landed against the soft, plush blanket and he pulled back to gaze at your equally frazzled state. His eyes dazed and lips swollen, he stared at you through furrowed brows as he caught his breath.

“Need you…”

He whined, beginning to kiss the crook of your neck as he grazed your skin against his teeth.

“Need you so bad.”

His voice was crying as he pulled back, kissing lower and lower on your bare body and leaving a wet trail.

“Cillian- please!”

You moaned softly with your impatience evident, desperate to feel his mouth on your mound as his hot breath fanned your lower stomach.

He chuckled as he dropped his lower half off the bed, his knees banging against the floor as his forearms wrapped around your thighs.

Pulling you with ease so your cunt nearly hung off the bed, he bit marks with his teeth into your fleshy thighs and groaned around the kisses.

“Bet this cunt tastes so good.”

His voice continued to grow whiner, breaking his desperate kisses apart as he praised you.

“So fucking good.”

Planting more kisses as he was getting teasingly closer to your dripping hole, you began clenching both your thighs and walls in an attempt to push him closer.

“Fuck- I need you!”

Your words came out exasperated and he chuckled.

“Yeah?”

He gazed up at you, cocking his brows and licking his lower lip.

“Yes, god-please… please!”

Your fingers wrapped around his hair and your back arched, your cunt pulsating to finally feel him after waiting for so long.

Within a second his hot mouth was on your mound, lapping his wet tongue to taste how wet you’ve gotten from his teasing.

“Oh god- fuck…”

He pulled apart for a split second.

“You’re soaked.”

Attaching his lips once more, he began hungrily eating at you as your hips twitched beneath him.

Holding you firm in place as his tongue traced from your hole to your clit, your back arched as he quickened his pace and you couldn’t help but whimper under his touch.

“Yes-yes! Right there!”

Groaning in response, his tongue slipped into your cunt and fucked you fast, groaning at how sweet your pussy leaked onto his mouth.

As you squirmed and wiggled beneath him, he dug his nails into your skin and moved his head in synch to your attempted escape from his tongue.

Moving his tongue to your clit once more, he traced figure eights and removed his right hand, placing two fingers at your entrance he began circling teasingly as the tips of his digits picked up your arousal.

Slowly pressing them into your hole, a gasp left your lips as you let go of his hair and grabbed the sheets beneath you, your knuckles turning white in an attempt to not wake anyone up with your muffled screaming.

“So tight baby…”

He removed his mouth from your mound and began curling his fingers mercilessly, your legs being to tremble as you felt your orgasm knot in inside of you.

Staring in awe at the way you shook to his fingers, he stared at you in a daze and admired the way you took your pleasure so well.

“Fuck! I’m cumming…I’m cumming”

Your words were fast and mumbled, the heat in your core overbearing and possessive of your limbs.

“That’s it…”

The knot in your stomach was growing painful, needing your release as you whined against your sheets and shook uncontrollably.

“That’s it.”

Your orgasm shook over you, causing you to convulse as he continued to finger fuck you through your climax.

“Such a pretty girl when you cum hm?”

His voice stayed low and you moaned and cursed through your shaking, grasping the sheets desperately as white noise filled your ears and stars appeared at the back of your head where your eyes rolled.

Slurring out his name as quietly as you could, the violence of your orgasm took over you as you continued to remind him of who made you feel this good.

Slowing down his fingers, he delicately pumped in and out of you as you came down from your high. Your chest heaved as you began reconnecting with reality and lowering your gaze to meet his starstruck glare.

Slowly dragging his fingers out, he placed them to his knuckles in his mouth and licked them clean.

“Taste s’good honey.”

Your cheeks pulsated a heat as your orgasm was powerful and overstimulating, staring at him lick his fingers clean.

“Mhm…”

You moaned out, the exhaustion of how hard you came made you unable to speak a coherent word. Slowly standing up as his knees wobbled, he stood over you in triumph and fell on top of you again.

His throbbing, veiny cock pressed against your leg and your cunt began salivating at the sensation of his arousal, gasping at how big he felt through his pants.

Kissing you with no hesitation once again with an open mouth, he flung you over so you were on top and your boobs hung below his face.

Continuing to kiss you needy, he grabbed your ass and began dry humping you through his jeans.

“Fuck- please.”

He panted through the kisses, whining quietly as his painful hard cock begged to fuck your tight walls.

“Needs- mhm- to feel you baby.”

You continued to rub your wet cunt over his constrained cock, sitting up with no time to spare you whipped his belt off and unzipped his awfully tight crotch.

Raising his hips to shift his jeans to his thighs, his underwear soon followed and his massive shaft was suddenly protruding into your mound.

“So big…”

You could only muster a slight compliment before automatically grinding on the underside of his cock.

“Who got you so hard, Mr.Murphy?”

Your head swung back as your clit was caressed with his leaking red tip.

“Hm?”

You looked back down to see his mouth dropped, his glazed eyes staring at where you were rubbing on him and a red flush that bruised over his knitted brows.

“You- fuck…”

His head lulled back, squeezing his eyes shut as his fingers grasped deep into your hips once more.

“You did.”

His groan vibrated through him, urging you to grab the base of him as you aligned his leaking tip to your soaking hole.

You began to drop your hips as he dipped into you, his neck pushing back more into the bed beneath him and his back slightly arching at the sensation of him breaching your tight cunt.

“Fuck…”

He groaned and elongated his word, snapping his eyes open and hazily looking down to watch as he entered you.

“So fucking tight… this cunts so fucking tight.”

He whined as he panted at the feeling of you continuing to sink down on him, small whimpers breathing out with each of his short breaths.

Swinging your head back at the size of him, you couldn’t help but whimper yourself as he felt so thick and warm inside of you.

“Oh yes… feels- oh- so good.”

You sunk all the way down, moaning with each inch that vanished into you.

Finally reaching his base, you snapped your hips back up so only his beady, white tip was left inside of you.

With no warning, you fell all the way down once more and continued to rock as he groaned to the feeling of his cock stretching you out.

Feeling each inch reach a deeper part inside of you until it hit your navel, your inner thighs dampened with a mixture of sweat and both of your arousals.

Rocking faster as you sped up the way you bounced on him, your room filled with wet slapping noises and his groans that vibrated around you.

A string of incoherent curse words and praises fell from his lips, his face scrunching to a look of pain as the vein in his neck bulged and his breath knocked out his chest.

“Oh yes… taking my cock so- oh fuck- well.”

He struggled to find a balance of basking in his pleasure and watching you ride him, swinging his neck up to watch and flex at the side of your tits bouncing so delicately and swinging his neck back to squeeze his eyes shut as he tried so hard to not cum already.

“Sh- slow down!”

He winced, tightly holding onto your sides as he attempted to pause your rhythm.

“Why?”

Your word slipped out with a moan, bouncing fast and pornographically as your ass slapped on his balls and your clit rubbed on his pubic bone.

“You don’t wanna fill my tight pussy up?”

His cock flexed hard at your words, a cry falling from his lips as he rolled his eyes and panted pathetically to try and stop his balls from spilling inside of you.

“Please-please…”

His voice became ten octave’s higher, squeaking as his hips twitched upwards to fuck you deeper than your own pussy could handle.

“Oh please… please cum for me.”

You bounced aggressively as his legs began trembling, his nails scaring your sides as your chest heated up with a sweat from your rocking.

“Oh fuck- fuck I’m cumming.”

His head swung up as he watched you smirk down at him, your own mouth open for your sweet moans to seep into his ears as you edged him on.

You felt his cock twitch not once, but three times as a warm liquid squirted out to coat the back of your walls.

You watched as he convulsed underneath you, shaking and wincing with the gleam of a tear rolling down his cheek.

His eyes were squeezed shut as his mouth was wet and open, his brows twitching in sync with his cock and his chest heaved breathlessly.

“Ah-ah…oh god.”

His winces were easy and liquid out of him, his hot cum dripping down his shaft as you continued to fuck him as he filled your cunt with his sticky arousal.

Your bounces slowed as his nails loosened their grip on your side, his heaving filled with whines and chokes, sobbing at the aggressive orgasm that spasmed him into filling you full.

Pulling him out of you as you raised yourself, you fell next to him in a sweat and caught your own breath, proud of making the actor cum as hard as he did.

Laying limp for a couple of minutes with the smell of sweat and sex filling your room, the pair of you stared up at your ceiling as you caught your breath. Turning his head to face you, he blinked in a dazed gaze as he admired how pretty you were in the moonlight.

“You’ve been haunting me- y’know that?”

You turn to him and give him a smirk.

“Couldn’t stop thinking of- mhm- how good you’d feel.”

He pulled his pants on and fumbled to buckle himself back into his clothing.

“Yeah?”

You smiled in accomplishment.

“Couldn’t stop thinking of you either.”

You turned your head back up to the ceiling, the pang of guilt in your chest as your thoughts flashed of his lovely wife at home.

“What about your wife?”

You asked quietly, earning a chuckle from him as he sat up properly.

“Don’t worry about it…”

He turned to look at you laying lifeless on your bed, your eyes meeting his as you couldn’t help but blush at how gorgeous he looked, even after filling you so well.

“Can’t stand her anyways.”

He huffed out and rubbed his thighs, sighing deeply as he stood up and slowly walked towards your door.

Confused at his statement and how fast he was leaving, you sat up on your elbows and furrowed your brows in confusion to his fast arrival and even faster departure.

“Will I see you again?”

You felt pathetic asking, watching him walk away feeling used after he made a mess of your insides and bedsheet.

He grabbed the doorknob and turned to look at you, smirking as he cocked his head in amusement to your question.

“You’re everywhere I go honey…”

He turned the doorknob and it squeaked quietly.

“You’ll see me soon enough.”

Without hesitation or another look back at you, he slipped out your door and left you feeling just as naked as he did when he arrived.

Huffing out and laying back onto your bed, a knot of anxiety built as the guilt of your actions took over you. He’s done this before, and he’ll do it again.

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