#I cracked it as a joke and then the joke was on me

[faebled-stories]

Wagering Emotions

Kinkvember Day 21: Free Use

GFriend/VIVIZ Eunha (Jung Eunbi) x Male reader

AN: Hi guys! Are you proud of me? This girlie is finally leaving the house for something besides school! 😅 I started this fic right after yesterdays since I knew I had limited time today. Even so It's a bit of a long one, so I hope you're comfy and enjoy! 💖

“Oh, God—harder! Yes, right there!” The sultry cry was followed by a series of sharp, breathless moans that reverberated off the thin apartment walls. “Ugh, you’re so deep in me—don’t stop!” The woman’s voice dripped with exaggerated pleasure, her words climbing louder with each gasp. The rhythmic creaks of a bed frame added to the cacophony, creating a soundscape that was impossible to ignore.

Eunha clenched her pillow over her ears, but it was no use. The noises seemed to seep through the fabric, crawling under her skin like a relentless itch. Each gasp and moan hit her with jarring sharpness, as if mocking her failed attempts at peace. The bedframe’s incessant squeaks provided a rhythm to the chaos, an unrelenting reminder of what was happening mere feet away. She sat rigid on her bed, her teeth gritted so tightly her jaw ached. Her heart pounded in her chest, not from embarrassment but from pure, boiling frustration.

The moans built higher and higher, peaking with a sharp, guttural scream. “Ohhh—yes!” The sound stretched out, lingering in the air as the bedframe gave one final, forceful creak before silence fell.

The stillness that followed should have been a reprieve, but it wasn’t. It only magnified the absurdity of the situation, the weight of her irritation pressing down on her chest. She let the pillow fall from her hands, her gaze fixed on the cracked ceiling as her breath came in uneven bursts. The faint scent of lavender from her diffuser drifted through the room, its calming intention now nothing but a cruel joke.

This was her sanctuary—her home. Or at least, it was supposed to be. Instead, it felt like she was the intruder, an unwelcome guest in her own space.

It wasn’t just the frequency of these escapades, though they had escalated to near-nightly rituals. It was the complete disregard—the audacity to treat their shared apartment like a personal playground, to push her patience to the breaking point without so much as an acknowledgment.

With a sharp inhale, Eunha swung her legs over the side of the bed, the cool wood flooring grounding her as her frustration surged. She shoved herself into her oversized hoodie, the fabric heavy against her skin, and stormed toward the hallway. Each step was deliberate, her bare feet making soft, muted thuds on the worn hardwood. The flickering bathroom light at the far end of the hall cast erratic shadows on the walls, making the narrow space feel both claustrophobic and foreboding. The air was heavy, thick with a lingering warmth that seemed to seep through the apartment from your room.

As she reached the hallway, the muffled murmur of voices caught her ear. A giggle—soft and self-satisfied—floated through the stillness, followed by the unmistakable sound of your door creaking open. Eunha froze, just for a moment, letting her anger sharpen as her gaze fixed on the corner where the hallway turned.

When you appeared, the sight of you leaning casually against the doorframe was almost enough to send her over the edge. The lazy smirk curling at your lips, the easy, unbothered confidence in your posture—it was infuriating. But it wasn’t just you. Draped against your arm, looking equally disheveled, was Umji— one of her closest friends.

Eunha’s breath caught in her throat as her gaze locked onto her. No. No way.

Umji’s hair was a tangled mess, loose strands clinging to her flushed cheeks. Her makeup was smudged, faint streaks of mascara trailing under her eyes, which darted away as soon as they met Eunha’s. A collection of red marks decorated her neck in uneven patterns, stark against her pale skin. Her lips, swollen and trembling slightly, glistened faintly as though they’d just come up for air. The hem of her mini-dress hung unevenly, the fabric wrinkled and askew as though hastily pulled back into place. Most noticeable, though, were her legs—wobbly, hesitant steps that made the sound of her heels on the hardwood uneven. She clutched your arm for support, her fingers curling into your sleeve like a lifeline.

“Hey!” Eunha’s voice sliced through the stillness, sharp and unyielding. The sound echoed down the hallway, and both you and Umji froze.

You turned slowly, clearly unhurried, the smirk on your face deepening as your gaze met Eunha’s. “Something on your mind, Eunha?” you asked, your voice a drawl of mockery. The lazy tone only fanned the flames of her irritation.

But Eunha barely registered you. Her focus was locked on Umji, who flinched under the weight of her glare. Her posture shifted awkwardly, her hands fluttering uselessly at the hem of her dress, as though she could somehow straighten out what had already been done. Her cheeks were flushed a deeper red now, her lips parting as if she wanted to speak, but no words came. Her gaze darted back to the floor.

Eunha’s fists tightened at her sides as she took a step closer, her pulse pounding in her ears. The hallway felt oppressively small now, the dim light casting jagged shadows across the walls and your smug face. The faint scent of Umji’s floral perfume lingered in the air, mingling with the unmistakable musk of sweat, creating a cloying atmosphere that made Eunha’s stomach churn.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Eunha finally said, her voice low and trembling with fury. Her words were directed at Umji, whose trembling hands fidgeted with the hem of her dress.

“Eunha, I—” Umji began, her voice cracking as she looked up, her tearful gaze locking with Eunha’s.

“You what?” Eunha snapped, taking another step closer. “You knew. You knew how much I’ve complained about him—how much he’s driven me insane. Hell, I spent hours venting to you, and you always agreed with me. Told me I was right to hate him. And now you’re just… this?”

“It’s not like that,” Umji said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her shoulders curled inward as though she were trying to make herself smaller. “I didn’t plan—”

“Didn’t plan it?” Eunha interrupted, her voice rising. “That’s all you’ve got? You didn’t plan to hook up with him? Do you realize how screwed up this is?” Her voice wavered, her anger laced with hurt that she couldn’t quite hide.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Umji pleaded, her lips trembling as fresh tears filled her eyes. “It was—it was stupid, okay? I made a mistake.”

Eunha let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “A mistake? That’s what this is to you? A mistake?” Her voice cracked as she gestured at the red marks on Umji’s neck, the uneven dress straps, the swollen lips that spoke of the hours Eunha had unwillingly endured through the walls. “You’ve seen how much he’s made my life hell, and now you’re just another name to add to his list.”

“I know I messed up,” Umji whispered, her tears spilling over now, streaking her smudged mascara further. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m sorry.”

Eunha shook her head, her chest heaving as she fought the wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm her. She turned her glare to you, standing there with that smug, satisfied smirk plastered across your face like this was all some kind of twisted joke. “And you,” she spat, her voice dripping with contempt. “You’re disgusting.”

You shrugged, your smile deepening as you raised your hands in mock innocence. “Hey, don’t blame me for what she wanted.”

The casualness of your response nearly made Eunha snap. Her nails dug into her palms, but she forced herself to take a deep breath, swallowing the venom that threatened to spill over.

“Unbelievable,” Eunha muttered, turning her attention back to Umji. Her voice dropped, quieter now but no less sharp, each word laced with the sting of betrayal. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

Umji opened her mouth, her lips trembling as though she wanted to explain, to apologize, but Eunha didn’t wait to hear it. She spun on her heel, her steps echoing sharply down the hallway as she stormed toward her room. The flickering light overhead illuminated the unshed tears brimming in her eyes, though the heat of her anger kept them from falling. The ache in her chest twisted deeper with every step, but she didn’t dare let it show.

At the threshold of her room, she paused, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the doorframe. She turned, her glare icy and unwavering as it locked onto you. Her voice was curt, sharp enough to cut through the suffocating tension. Enough was enough.

“Look, we need to talk. Now.”

You sighed, the sound heavy with reluctant amusement. “I’ll text you later, okay?” you said smoothly, glancing at Umji as though she wasn’t Eunha’s closest friend, but just another girl in a long string of conquests. Your words carried a deliberate nonchalance, almost as if you’d chosen them specifically to twist the knife deeper.

Umji hesitated, her nervous giggle betraying her unease as she glanced between the two of you. Her hands fluttered to smooth her rumpled dress, but the fabric clung stubbornly to her curves, refusing to cooperate. Her face was still flushed, her tears still wet, and she seemed to shrink under Eunha’s glare. With a small, almost inaudible “sorry,” she wobbled toward the door on unsteady legs, her heels clicking softly against the floor. The sound seemed to echo in the tense silence as the door clicked shut behind her.

The apartment fell into an oppressive quiet, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator. Your demeanor shifted slightly, the amused smirk on your lips fading into something more guarded. You leaned casually against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest as you regarded Eunha with a faintly raised eyebrow. “What’s this about?”

Eunha didn’t ease into it. Her voice, trembling with hurt and fury, spilled out before she could stop herself. “You know exactly what this is about.  Maybe I could’ve lived with the random girls. Maybe I could’ve dealt with it. But Umji? My best friend? You knew who she was to me, and you still went ahead and—” She choked on the word, her hands trembling as she gestured toward the now-empty hallway. “You went ahead and made her just another body. Another notch on your bedpost. Do you even realize what you’ve done?”

Your expression didn’t change, but your gaze flickered, just for a moment, something unreadable passing across your face. “It’s not like I forced her into anything,” you replied, your tone calm, detached. “She wanted it. That’s on her, not me.”

Eunha stared at you, stunned into silence for a heartbeat before her anger reignited, hotter and sharper than before. “Are you serious right now? She wanted it? She’s my best friend! She’s not just some random girl you can screw and forget about. She’s—” Her voice cracked, and she shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “She’s supposed to matter.”

“And what do you want me to do about it?” you asked, your voice maddeningly calm. “It happened. It’s done. Are you mad at me for having fun, or at her for making a choice?”

“Both!” Eunha shouted, her voice echoing through the apartment. “But you—you knew better. You knew exactly what this would do to me, and you did it anyway. Like you didn’t care. Like I don’t matter at all.”

Her chest heaved, her glare blazing with all the hurt she hadn’t yet put into words. Her hands shook as she tried to hold herself together, her nails digging into her palms.

“I’m sick of this,” Eunha snapped after a moment, her tone trembling with barely-contained anger. “Every night, it’s some random girl, and I have to hear everything. I live here too, you know.”

You shrugged, your tone light and dismissive. “Can’t help it if they get loud.”

Her jaw dropped, disbelief flashing across her face before anger surged in to replace it. “Oh, please,” she hissed, her cheeks flushing crimson. “Those moans? They’re all fake, and you know it. You’re not that good.”

The familiar smile crept back onto your face, a gleam of amusement dancing in your eyes. You leaned forward slightly, the air between you growing heavy. “Jealous, are we?”

Eunha stiffened, narrowing her eyes as the heat in her face climbed. “Jealous? Of those bimbos you bring home? Hardly.”

Your smirk widened as you took a half-step closer, closing the already narrowing space between you. “Sounds like jealousy to me. Otherwise, why would you care so much about what happens in my room?”

Eunha’s eyes blazed, “Because it’s my apartment too!” Her voice rose, conviction lacing every word. “I have the right to set some ground rules here. This is supposed to be a home, not a dating service. We need to set some ground rules.”

The tension between you hung thick in the air, almost tangible. The faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen seemed deafening in the charged silence that followed. Your gazes locked, a silent battle of wills playing out in the dimly lit hallway. This wasn’t just about noise anymore; it was about respect, boundaries, and the collision of two people whose lives were incompatible in ways neither was willing to admit.

“Ground rules, huh?” you said finally, your voice low, almost teasing. Your arms remained crossed, but the mischievous sparkle in your eyes returned. “Okay, I’ll bite. What do you suggest, then?”

Eunha hesitated, her frustration bubbling to the surface in an exasperated huff. “You can’t bring anyone home anymore.”

You blinked, clearly taken aback for a moment, before letting out a bark of laughter that echoed off the walls. “What? You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” Eunha replied, her tone firm, her arms crossed tightly in defiance.

You shook your head, the corners of your mouth twitching upward. “That’s not going to happen. I’m human; I have needs.”

“Then take them somewhere else, get a hotel room I don't care,” Eunha shot back, her voice steady but laced with challenge.

You tilted your head slightly, studying her with a curious intensity. The tension between you seemed to thrum louder, like a taut string about to snap. Slowly, a wicked grin spread across your face, your eyes lighting up with an idea.

“How about we make things interesting?” you said, your tone dripping with intrigue.

Eunha’s frown deepened, suspicion coloring her features. “How so?”

“A bet.”

“A bet?” she repeated, her tone steeped in skepticism. Her arms remained folded, her glare unwavering. 

Your grin widened, a wicked gleam dancing in your eyes. “Yeah. Since you think they’re all faking it, how about this—we both go down on each other, and the first one to make the other cum wins.”

Eunha blinked, momentarily taken aback. The air in the hallway seemed to thicken, her breath hitching in her throat as the weight of your audacious proposition settled between you. “You’ve got to be joking,” she said, her voice steady but laced with disbelief.

You shrugged nonchalantly, the faint hum of the refrigerator in the background punctuating the charged silence. “You said I wasn’t that good. Prove it. If you win, I’ll stop bringing girls over entirely. But if I win…”

Eunha raised an eyebrow, her lips pressing into a thin line. “What’s in it for you?” Her voice carried a sharp edge, but there was a flicker of curiosity beneath it, almost imperceptible.

You leaned in slightly, the dim light from the overhead fixture casting a shadow across your face. Your voice dropped to a low, teasing tone, each word dripping with confidence. “You. Anytime, anyplace, for a week.”

Eunha’s breath caught, her pulse quickening as the sheer boldness of your words hit her. Heat crept up her neck, but it wasn’t just anger—it was the challenge, the audacity, the smugness in your tone that fanned the flames of her pride. There was no way you could win, not against her. She was hellbent on the fact that every moan that came out of your room was nothing but an act—girls faking it to stroke your ego because they didn’t know any better. Nothing about you screamed impressive..

“No way we are doing a week; that’s too long,” Eunha countered firmly, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance. Her heart raced, but she kept her tone steady.

You were unfazed, leaning back slightly with an exaggerated shrug, as though victory was already in your grasp. “Okay, what about over the course of a week? Three sessions of use with you, same as before, any time, any place.”

Eunha’s jaw tightened as she considered your alternative, the weight of your words settling like a dare she couldn’t refuse. The light buzz of adrenaline coursing through her veins made her palms feel clammy, but she straightened her spine, meeting your gaze with fire in her eyes. “Fine,” she said, her voice unwavering. “You’re on.”

Your grin widened, the corners of your mouth curling with triumph, as if you’d already won. “Let’s make some ground rules, then.”

The quiet apartment is suddenly alive with the undercurrent of challenge. The faint creak of the floorboards under your steps seemed louder in the silence. The terms were simple—no hands allowed, and the first one to cum would lose. It wasn’t just a game of skill, but of endurance, control, and unspoken stakes that neither of you fully acknowledged.

As the final terms were set, you led Eunha to your room—a space she’d passed by countless times, now feeling alien and charged with a dangerous intimacy. The air hit her first, thick with the unmistakable scent of musk and lingering arousal. The faint trace of Umji’s floral perfume mingled with something far more primal, twisting in Eunha’s stomach like a knot. Her throat tightened. She couldn’t ignore it—the room still carried her best friend’s presence, an unwelcome ghost that clung to the atmosphere and prickled at Eunha’s skin.

She steeled herself, pushing aside the pang of discomfort. She wasn’t here to wallow or falter. She was here to win. Today, this was her game.

The door clicked shut behind, and the sound echoed like a gunshot in the still room. You wasted no time, your movements deliberate as you peeled off your shirt with casual confidence, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting sharp shadows across your skin. Anticipation danced in your dark eyes, glinting with amusement as they traced her figure.

Eunha swallowed hard, a swell of nerves rising in her chest as she met your gaze. But she refused to falter. She reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head with a decisive motion, baring herself piece by piece until she stood completely exposed before you—naked and unflinching. The cool air of the room kissed her skin, raising goosebumps that she refused to acknowledge. Her chin tilted up defiantly, her resolve unshaken.

With a playful glint in your eyes, you gestured toward the bed, your lips curling into a smirk. “Ladies first?” you quipped, your voice dripping with amusement.

Eunha shot you a fierce glare, her jaw tightening as she fought the urge to fire back with something sharper. Instead, she climbed onto the bed, her movements purposeful and precise. But the moment her knees hit the mattress, a wave of discomfort washed over her. The dampness beneath her palms was unmistakable, the sheets faintly musky from Umji’s earlier release. A surge of anger flared in her chest, tightening her throat. Her best friend’s ghost clung to this space—this bed—turning what should have been just another challenge into something deeply personal.

You followed her onto the bed, your movements deliberate and unhurried, as if you had all the time in the world. You reached out, hands brushing against her hips as you guided her to straddle you. Her legs trembled slightly as she adjusted, the heat of your hands sending a jolt through her body that she stubbornly ignored. You leaned back, your smirk deepening as you settled into the mattress, entirely at ease. The flicker of amusement in your eyes burned against Eunha’s pride, daring her to falter, daring her to lose.

Her breath quickened, her pulse hammering in her ears as she hovered over you. The room seemed to shrink, the space between your bodies charged with a tension that felt almost electric. The scent of musk, sweat, and lingering arousal swirled around them, thick and inescapable, amplifying the intimacy of the moment.

For the first time, as her gaze flickered downward, she noticed something she’d never truly paid attention to before—your length, larger than she had cared to admit. The sheer size of you made her stomach flip, a wave of heat rushing through her so suddenly that it took her breath away. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, as if to stave off the reaction, but the faint ache building within her betrayed her efforts.

Her eyes lingered for a moment too long, tracing the prominent veins and the way you moved with an air of ease that only added to the magnetic pull you exuded. The sight was overwhelming, a reminder of your control, and it sent her mind spinning with thoughts she wasn’t ready to face.

A faint flush crept up her neck, her skin burning with a mixture of embarrassment and something she couldn’t quite name. She swallowed hard, forcing her expression to remain neutral as she tore her gaze away, her heart pounding in her chest. Determination flickered in her eyes as she tried to bury the reaction deep inside her, willing herself to focus on anything else.

This wasn’t about distractions or nerves; this was about her pride. Her chance to make you crumble as so many others before you had. She wasn’t just playing your game; she was going to win it.

As she leaned closer, the warmth of your skin radiated against hers, the proximity amplifying every sensation. The mattress shifted beneath you both, the springs groaning softly as the challenge truly began.

She began her assault slowly, her tongue tracing along your length, savoring the way you twitched beneath her touch. A smirk curled her lips as she realized you were already responding—a thrill of satisfaction coursed through her. He’s already losing, she thought, emboldened by the spark of confidence igniting within her.

Yet, the tables turned as your hands gripped her hips, pulling her down toward your waiting mouth with a deliberate, unyielding strength. The unexpected forwardness startled her, and she couldn’t help but gasp. Your tongue found her folds, teasingly exploring her with excruciating slowness. The touch sent shivers radiating through her core, making her body tense involuntarily.

Stay focused, she reminded herself, though the heat building inside her made it harder to concentrate. She picked up her pace, taking you deeper into her mouth, swirling her tongue with precision. Each low groan that escaped your lips reverberated through her, sending jolts of satisfaction surging through her. She poured every ounce of her determination into conditioning your reactions, her confidence surging with every twitch, every shallow breath you took.

She sensed her victory was close—your breath quickened, and she could feel you throbbing against her tongue. A few more moments, and she’d have you. She could almost taste the win.

But then, without warning, you shifted, your tongue pressing against a hidden, sensitive spot deep within her. The sudden, sharp jolt of pleasure ripped through her, a sensation so intense it stole her breath. A startled gasp escaped her lips before she could stifle it. And then you followed it up, your mouth latching onto her clit, sucking and teasing with just enough pressure to send her spiraling further into a haze of pleasure. Each flick of your tongue and gentle graze of your teeth seemed designed to dismantle her resolve, targeting every weakness she didn’t know she had.

Her body trembled, betraying her will as waves of ecstasy built within her, each one cresting higher than the last. She struggled to focus, to push forward and finish what she started, but it was no use. You were relentless, and her body was betraying her. Every stroke of your tongue felt impossibly perfect, a symphony of sensations that left her teetering on the edge.

And then it hit her.

The orgasm crashed over her like a thunderclap, a shockwave of pleasure so sudden and intense it left her reeling. It wasn’t just unexpected—it was overwhelming. Her breath hitched, a strangled moan escaping her lips as her entire body bowed against her will. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt, a climax so raw and consuming it rivaled her best and obliterated any sense of control she thought she had. Her thighs clamped reflexively around your head, trembling with the force of the pleasure wracking her body. She couldn’t stop herself—the sensation was too much, too all-encompassing to resist.

As the waves of ecstasy reached their peak, you thrust slightly deeper into her mouth, her lips stretched around you as she choked softly on your length. The sensation of being taken so completely sent a fresh jolt of pleasure surging through her, intensifying her climax beyond what she thought was possible. Her body shuddered violently, her muscles tightening as her cries became muffled, the act heightening the overwhelming rush of release.

Every nerve in her body felt electrified, every inch of her skin hypersensitive to the slightest touch. Her heartbeat pounded furiously in her chest, each thrum echoing like a drumbeat in the heavy silence of the room. The way you filled her, the weight of your presence pressing her further into surrender, only amplified the depth of her response, dragging her into a state of pure, unrelenting bliss.

The waves of pleasure seemed endless, each pulse pulling her deeper into the abyss. Her mind blurred, the edges of thought dissolving into a haze of sensation that left her powerless, her breaths coming in shallow, desperate gasps. Time stretched and warped, the peak of ecstasy feeling like an eternity as it consumed her completely.

When the tremors finally subsided, she collapsed against the mattress, her body limp and her mind clouded with disbelief. Her chest heaved with each ragged breath, her limbs heavy as if weighed down by the aftershocks of her release. The room felt distant, blurred by the haze of ecstasy still humming through her body.

Her lips remained around you, the weight of you resting on her tongue unnoticed at first as her mind buzzed with the intensity of what she had just experienced. Slowly, instinctively, her tongue began to move, tracing along your length in lazy, absent circles. It was almost reflexive, her body responding without thought, as if it craved the connection even as her mind struggled to process the reality of it all.

For a moment, she was lost in the act, her senses dulled and her body still pulsing with residual pleasure. But as clarity returned, the realization struck her like a cold wave. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson as her senses snapped back into focus, and she quickly pulled back, her lips parting as she released you.

Her heart pounded as she shifted away, her hands trembling as she tried to gather herself. How could this have happened? The thought lingered, sharp and insistent, as she struggled to reconcile the overwhelming pleasure with the reality that it had been your tongue—and her own instincts—that unraveled her so completely.

Eunha’s frustration boiled as you chuckled beneath her, your low, smug laughter sending waves of embarrassment coursing through her. Pulling back, you rose to a sitting position, your dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Looks like I won,” you said, your voice dripping with self-assured confidence.

A mix of humiliation and indignation simmered in her chest. “No! You… you cheated!” she blurted, scrambling off you in a frantic attempt to reclaim some semblance of dignity. Her movements were hurried and awkward, betraying her flustered state as she tugged at the rumpled sheets to cover herself.

You arched an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curling into a smirk that only deepened her frustration. “Cheated?” you repeated, your tone light, teasing. “Sounds like a sore loser to me.”

Eunha’s jaw tightened as she glared at you, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “You… did something! I don’t know what, but there’s no way! That wasn’t—it doesn’t count!” Her voice wavered as she scrambled for excuses, her mind racing to rewrite what had just happened. “I didn’t even cum—so you didn’t win,” she mumbled, her words tumbling out in a desperate attempt to shift the narrative, even as her own body betrayed her.

Your smirk widened, and you leaned forward, the playful glint in your eyes sparking a fresh wave of heat in her cheeks. “Didn’t cum, huh?” you asked, your voice low and taunting, the kind of tone that made her heart pound in equal parts irritation and something else she refused to name.

Before she could retort, you moved swiftly. Your fingers brushed against her slick folds, gathering the unmistakable evidence of her release. She gasped, her breath catching in her throat as her body jolted at the unexpected touch. You brought your fingers to your lips, savoring the taste with a deliberate, slow flick of your tongue.

Then, closing the distance between you, you captured her lips in a searing kiss, your hands firm against her waist. The taste of herself lingered on your lips, undeniable proof of what had just transpired. “Doesn’t it taste just like cum?” you teased, your words a whispered challenge against her lips.

Eunha froze, her mind spinning as the truth crashed down on her. The heat of your mouth, the unmistakable taste, the trembling in her thighs—there was no denying it. She had climaxed, and you had won.

But she wasn’t ready to admit it.

“That doesn’t mean anything!” she snapped, her voice sharp, though it wavered slightly at the edges. She pulled back, her hands trembling as she gestured wildly, trying to regain control of the situation. “You… you probably did something weird—something dirty! I wasn’t even ready! It’s not fair!” Her excuses came out in a rush, desperate and unconvincing even to her own ears.

Your chuckle deepened, rich and mocking, as you watched her unravel. “Face it, Eunha,” you said, your tone dripping with amusement. “I won, fair and square.”

Without any more options, she stumbled to her feet, her movements hurried and frantic as she reached for her discarded clothes. “Whatever,” she muttered, her voice thick with humiliation as she avoided your gaze. “This was a stupid bet anyway.”

But before she could make her escape, a sharp smack echoed through the room as your hand connected playfully with her rear. The stinging heat made her yelp, and she spun around, glaring at you with wide, furious eyes. Her face burned crimson, the mixture of anger and lingering embarrassment practically radiating off her.

“Deal’s a deal,” you said, your voice low and teasing, the grin on your face infuriatingly smug. “I’ll be collecting my prize soon.”

Eunha’s heart pounded, your words settling deep in her chest and sending a strange, unsettling mix of dread and anticipation coursing through her. She couldn’t bring herself to respond, her mouth opening and closing uselessly as she scrambled for a comeback that refused to come.

Without another word, she stormed out of the room, her footsteps echoing sharply down the hallway. The slam of her door reverberated through the apartment, a sharp punctuation to the moment. Alone in her room, Eunha pressed her back against the door, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps as her emotions swirled in chaotic waves—anger, embarrassment, and something she refused to name.

-----

The next day, the morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of Eunha's room, casting delicate golden patterns that danced across the floorboards like restless shadows. The warmth of daylight touched her skin, but it did little to temper the knot of discomfort and anticipation twisting in her stomach. She lay face down on her bed, her laptop propped in front of her, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She typed half-heartedly, forcing herself to focus on the screen. Yet, the weight of your presence in the room made it impossible.

Your quiet breathing behind her felt louder than it should, filling the air with a tension she couldn’t escape. She bit her lip, her body prickling with awareness against her will. This was her sanctuary, her room. A place where she was supposed to feel safe and in control. Yet now, under your gaze, it felt different. Oppressive. Confusing. The line between intrusion and something else entirely blurred in ways she wasn’t ready to face.

“Ready for your first session?” Your voice, low and deliberate, broke through the quiet. The words cut through her thoughts, making her body tense instinctively. She froze, her breath catching, unsure whether it was defiance or dread keeping her silent.  

The bed dipped under your weight, and suddenly, you were there, behind her. She stiffened as your hands brushed over her hips, slipping beneath the hem of her shirt. The soft rustle of fabric was deafening in the quiet room. 

She wanted to protest, to tell you she wasn’t enjoying this, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, her breath hitched as your fingers trailed lightly over the curve of her back. Your touch sent tingles racing across her skin, her body responding even as her mind recoiled. It wasn’t fair. She hated how her body betrayed her, how it melted under your hands like it had been waiting for this.

You started slowly, your lips brushing featherlight kisses along her shoulders. She clenched her fists, burying her face into the pillow as you worked your way lower. Each kiss left a trail of heat in its wake, your mouth moving with maddening patience down the length of her back. When your teeth grazed her skin, she let out a muffled gasp, her body jerking slightly before settling back into place.

Eunha squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sensations overwhelming her. I can't believe this is happening, she thought desperately, her cheeks burning as your lips pressed against the small of her back. She wanted to hate it, hate you, but the way her body responded made it impossible to ignore. Each touch, each teasing bite, only deepened the confusion swirling inside her.

When your lips brushed against the curve of her plump cheeks, she trembled. Her skin tingled as you lingered, planting slow, deliberate kisses before giving a playful nip that sent a jolt through her. She buried her face deeper into the pillow, her breath ragged, her resolve crumbling.

“You’re already reacting so much,” you teased, your voice soft but smug. “I haven’t even touched you.”

Her heart raced at your words, embarrassment and arousal mingling in a way that made her stomach twist. She hated how much she wanted you to keep going, how her body leaned into your touch even as her mind screamed at her to pull away.

Your hands slid down her thighs, coaxing them apart as your fingers finally brushed over her folds. She gasped, the heat pooling in her core undeniable. Why does this feel so good? she thought, biting her lip as you teased her, never quite giving her what she wanted.

“Look at you,” you murmured, your tone laced with amusement. “Soaking through your sheets, just like your friend.”

Her body trembled as your fingers continued their slow, agonizing exploration. Her breath hitched when you finally slid her shorts down, exposing her fully. She felt vulnerable, raw, and yet… exhilarated.

You gripped her hips, lifting them slightly so her chest remained pressed to the bed. Her back arched naturally, and her cheeks flushed with heat as you adjusted her position, leaving her most sensitive areas exposed. The vulnerability made her heart race, her breath catching in her throat as she felt your presence so close behind her.

Your hands moved deliberately, spreading her cheeks wide. The cool air of the room kissed her exposed skin, making her shiver as the contrast of warmth and chill heightened her awareness. Her breath hitched when she felt the faintest, deliberate puff of air against her sex. The sensation sent a jolt through her, her body clenching instinctively as a soft whimper escaped her lips. Her folds quivered under the sensation, and even the tight ring behind them pulsed faintly in response, betraying her heightened sensitivity.

You chuckled softly, watching as her body reacted under your control. “So sensitive,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing. The way her body responded to even the gentlest stimulation was intoxicating. Leaning closer, you let your breath wash over her again, this time more deliberate, the warm puff grazing her slick skin.

The tremble of her folds deepened, her body betraying her completely as the light air teased her again. Her tight ring pulsated under your gaze, the reaction mesmerizing as you held her there, savoring every flicker of her submission. You’re so sexy,” you said softly, your tone filled with admiration. “Your body loves every second of this.”

She whimpered again, burying her face into the mattress as the sensations overwhelmed her. The deliberate teasing left her trembling, her body attuned to every movement, every breath. You watched her, enthralled by the way she surrendered to the moment, her reactions igniting a fire that neither of you could resist.

When your tongue flicked out, finally meeting her folds, she let out a muffled cry, the pillow swallowing her voice. The first touch stole what little resolve she had left, her hips jerking slightly before your firm grip steadied her in place. The heat of your mouth and the coolness lingering from the air created a dizzying contrast that left her gasping.

As your tongue delved deeper, teasing her sensitive nub, her entire body jolted with the intensity of the sensation. You alternated between soft, teasing licks and firm strokes, your hands gripping her hips tightly to keep her exactly where you wanted her. Her legs trembled, her mind a whirlwind of contradictions—she hated this, hated how you were making her feel, and yet, she couldn’t get enough.

“You like this, don’t you?” you murmured between strokes, your breath warm against her slick skin. “You don’t want to admit it, but your body’s already told me everything I need to know.”

Eunha whimpered, her chest pressing harder into the mattress as she fought against the overwhelming sensations. The way you spoke, the confidence in your voice, sent shivers racing down her spine. She hated that you were right. No matter how much her mind resisted, her body had already surrendered completely.

The safety of her room, once her refuge, now felt foreign. The air was heavy, charged with arousal that clung to every surface. She couldn’t escape it—the pull of her own body responding to you, the way her most vulnerable self was laid bare for your enjoyment. It was maddening. It was exhilarating. And she couldn’t stop it.

Then, to her surprise, you added a finger. The digit entered with no resistance, sliding into her warmth effortlessly as her slickness coated you. When you curled it just right, a sharp cry tore from her lips, muffled by the pillow beneath her. Her body tightened around you, a jolt of pleasure surging through her as her hips rocked back instinctively.

The combination of your tongue, tracing deliberate strokes over her sensitive nub, and the rhythmic motion of your finger inside her sent her spiraling. Her mind became a haze, her thoughts scattering as the sensations grew overwhelming. The tension in her core tightened with every flick, every stroke, building to a crescendo she couldn’t escape.

Her body arched off the bed as the climax hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her with a force that made her gasp and scream into the pillow. The sound was raw, filled with a mix of ecstasy and disbelief. Warm liquid hit your tongue as her release washed over her, her body responding with an intensity she hadn’t anticipated. It was as if her body moved entirely on its own, separate from her mind, completely out of her control.

Her legs shook violently, her thighs trembling against your face as you held her steady. Every nerve in her body felt electrified, the waves of pleasure rolling through her like an unstoppable tide. Her hands clutched at the sheets beneath her, twisting them until the once perfectly made bed was a disheveled mess. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving as the aftershocks left her weak and trembling.

As her body began to calm, her mind reeled from the intensity of it all. She had never experienced anything so raw, so all-consuming. It felt like her body wasn’t even hers anymore, like it had betrayed her completely. The humiliation of that realization mixed with the undeniable satisfaction thrumming through her veins, creating a cocktail of emotions that left her dizzy.

You pulled back slowly, savoring the sight of her undone beneath you. Your lips brushed one last kiss against her inner thigh, a soft, deliberate reminder of the control you held over her. “One down,” you murmured, your voice low and dripping with satisfaction.

Eunha collapsed fully against the bed, her body melting into the mattress as her limbs refused to move. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her skin flushed and slick with sweat. She buried her face into the pillow, her mind scrambling to process what had just happened. Shame flickered in the back of her thoughts, but it was drowned out by the lingering heat of her arousal.

She hated herself for how much she’d wanted it, for how completely she had surrendered to you. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t push away the memory of your touch. The echo of your lips, your fingers, and the way her body had responded to you replayed in her mind like a vivid dream she couldn’t shake.

Even as she lay there, trembling and spent, a part of her was terrified by how much she craved more. She wasn’t fully yours yet—but the seed had been planted. And deep down, she knew that resisting you would only get harder from here.

-----

“Don’t worry, Mom, I’m fine,” Eunha said softly, her voice light but tinged with just enough warmth to reassure her mother. She leaned back against the couch, the phone pressed firmly to her ear. Her mother’s concern was a comforting constant, a tether to the normalcy Eunha was trying desperately to cling to.

“Are you sure? You’ve sounded tired lately,” her mother said, the familiar tone of worry pulling a faint smile from Eunha despite the storm brewing within her.

“I’m just busy, that’s all. Nothing to worry about,” she replied, her words practiced, as if they could steady her own wavering thoughts.

Her mother’s warm laugh filtered through the line, wrapping around her like a blanket. “You always say that. Don’t forget to take care of yourself, okay?”

“I won’t, I promise,” Eunha said, her chest tightening at the kindness in her mother’s voice. She focused on the conversation, trying to lose herself in its comfort, but the weight of your presence was impossible to ignore.

You were there, lounging beside her on the couch, your energy filling the room like a storm cloud. When her gaze flicked to you, her heart stuttered. The lazy grin on your lips, the mischievous sparkle in your eyes—it was enough to send a rush of heat coursing through her. She swallowed hard, her voice catching slightly as her mother spoke again.

“Have you been eating properly? You tend to forget when you get busy,” her mother said, concern softening her words.

“I’m eating just fine,” Eunha replied quickly, her tone betraying the distraction tugging at her. She gripped the phone tighter, forcing herself to focus on her mother’s voice even as your hand brushed lightly against her thigh.

Her body jolted at the touch, her breath hitching, though she tried to disguise it with a soft laugh. “Really, Mom, everything’s fine,” she said, the words feeling hollow as her pulse raced.

Her heart skipped a beat as your hand moved up her thigh, warm and commanding. Your fingers traced slow, deliberate circles over her skin, igniting a storm of sensations that made it nearly impossible for her to focus on her mother’s words. The phone trembled slightly in her hand as you leaned closer, your breath ghosting against her ear. “Ready for round two?” you murmured, your voice low and teasing.

Before she could process the words, you acted. With a swift, practiced motion, you pulled her into your lap, your hands firm yet gentle as they guided her into place. Her breath hitched as her body pressed against yours, her mind spinning from the sheer audacity of it all. The world outside—her mother’s voice on the line, the faint hum of the city beyond the window—faded into a muted blur as you moved with ease.

The hem of her shirt lifted in your hands, your fingers brushing her bare skin as you removed it with an insouciance that sent shivers through her. Her cheeks burned as the air touched her exposed skin, but her body betrayed her resolve.

A breathy moan escaped her lips when you shifted below her, the sound of your movements mixing with her moms voice. Her breath hitched as you reached down, slipping your hand beneath the waistband of your shorts. Her body tensed, her head turning slightly as if she wanted to see, but she stopped herself, the anticipation overwhelming. The moment was thick with tension as you freed your length, the weight and heat of it brushing against her skin briefly, sending a shiver racing up her spine.

Eunha swallowed hard, her pulse quickening as the reality of what was about to happen set in. For the first time, she realized just how much she had underestimated you. Her mind raced, but her body stayed still, her breath shallow and uneven as you positioned yourself 

Eunha swallowed hard, her pulse quickening as the reality of what was about to happen set in. For the first time, she realized just how much she had underestimated you. Her mind raced, but her body stayed still, her breath shallow and uneven as you positioned yourself beneath her. The weight of your hands on her hips steadied her, though the heat radiating between you only heightened her anticipation.

She hovered above you, her entrance brushing against the head of your length, and a sharp intake of breath escaped her lips. The first press of you against her made her thighs tremble slightly, the stretch unfamiliar yet electrifying. Slowly, you guided her downward, the head of your length pushing into her with deliberate, measured pressure.

Her walls tightened instinctively, gripping you as her body adjusted to your size. A gasp broke free from her lips, her head tilting back as the sensation overwhelmed her. Inch by inch, you filled her, the stretch igniting her nerves as her body accommodated the fullness. It wasn’t just the physicality—it was the sheer intensity of the moment, the raw connection that sent her senses spiraling.

Eunha bit down on her lower lip, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh in a desperate attempt to stifle the sounds rising in her throat. The effort was futile. Each movement sent a wave of pleasure radiating through her, the heat pooling in her core intensifying with every passing second. Her breath hitched as you bottomed out, the depth leaving her trembling in your lap.

You paused, letting her adjust, your hands firm on her hips as you held her steady. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, her body caught between the sharp stretch and the intoxicating pleasure. Her nails dug lightly into your shoulders, a wordless reaction to the overwhelming sensation of being completely taken.

Her mother’s voice on the other end of the phone became a distant murmur, a faint and meaningless thread lost in the overwhelming symphony of sensations coursing through her body.

Each deep, measured thrust sent shockwaves rippling through her, igniting every nerve as though you’d found a secret, untouched place within her. Your hips snapped upward with precision, each motion deliberate and unhurried, as though you were savoring every reaction. At the same time, your hands pulled her down, controlling her movements to ensure that every thrust hit its mark, driving her closer to the edge. The friction was intoxicating, the way her body yielded to yours making her thighs tremble as the pleasure intensified.

Her breath hitched as you shifted your focus, your lips trailing over the curve of her neck before descending to her chest. Your tongue traced a path over her skin before taking one of her breasts into your mouth, your tongue flicking expertly over her hardened nipple. Her free hand flew to her mouth, muffling the moan that threatened to escape as waves of pleasure surged through her. The warmth of your mouth and the deliberate pace of your movements ignited a fire that spread through her like molten lava, leaving no part of her untouched.

Her thighs quivered as she fought to stay silent, her nails digging into your shoulders as if clinging to the last thread of her composure. But it was a losing battle. Each thrust, each flick of your tongue, and every teasing bite pushed her further into a realm of bliss that shattered her carefully constructed facade. The conversation with her mother became meaningless—a forgotten backdrop to the intensity of what was happening between you.

You pressed deeper, your movements deliberate, each one unraveling her defenses layer by layer. Her breath hitched as you shifted slightly, your fingers tightening on her hips. Her mind swam in a haze of pleasure as you grazed your teeth lightly against the sensitive bud. The sharpness of the sensation sent a shockwave through her, her entire body jerking against you.

And then you slipped a finger into her tight ring, the unexpected intrusion sending her over the edge. Her back arched violently, her head tilting back as her body trembled uncontrollably. The combination of sensations—the fullness of your length inside her, the teasing graze of your teeth, and the pressure of your finger—coalesced into an overwhelming wave of pleasure that consumed her completely.

The crescendo hit her like a tidal wave, stealing the breath from her lungs as her orgasm crashed over her with ferocious intensity. Her thighs clamped tightly around your hips as the pleasure tore through her, her moans growing louder despite her efforts to hold them back. In a panic, she fumbled to mute the call with her mother, but the moment she did, a loud scream burst from her lips, unrestrained and raw.

Her body quivered against you, every muscle tensing and relaxing in rhythm with the pulsating pleasure coursing through her. Her nails raked down your back, leaving trails of fire in their wake as she rode the waves of her climax. Her forehead pressed against your shoulder, her gasps ragged and desperate as the aftershocks rippled through her.

And then she felt it.

The warmth bloomed deep inside her as you finished, your release spilling into her in long, deliberate pulses. The sensation sent a fresh jolt through her already trembling body, her walls clenching around you involuntarily as if to hold you in place. The heat filled her completely, leaving her both stunned and overwhelmed. Her mind reeled, trying to process the depth of the intimacy while her body betrayed her, savoring the connection.

As her breathing slowed, her thoughts darkened. Images of the countless one-night stands you had brought home flashed through her mind—the strangers whose laughter and moans had echoed through these walls, the women she had heard but never seen. Now, she was one of them. Claimed, used, another conquest to add to your list.

Her chest tightened at the thought, but her body still hummed with the remnants of pleasure, betraying the conflict swirling within her. She couldn’t deny how incredible it had felt, how consuming and raw the experience was. But the realization of what she had become—just one of the many—sent a pang of shame through her, mixed with an undeniable longing for more.

For a moment, the world dissolved into nothing but sensation. Her body was a trembling, overwhelmed mess in your grasp, and all she could feel was the heat of your skin, the pressure of your hands holding her, and the lingering pleasure that left her utterly spent. The room was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, a visceral reminder of the line she had crossed.

“Two down,” you murmured against her neck, your voice low and teasing, each word sending another shiver down her spine. The words hung in the air, heavy and electric, as you pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. The intensity in your eyes made her heart race all over again, her body igniting anew despite the exhaustion flooding her limbs.

Her hands shook as she scrambled to end the call, stammering a breathless goodbye to her mother before collapsing against you. Her cheek rested against your chest, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps as her mind spun with disbelief.

How had she allowed herself to get here? How had she unraveled so completely, lost so thoroughly in sensations she had once sworn she could resist? Yet, even as she wrestled with the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her, a part of her couldn’t deny the truth. Deep down, beneath the lingering embarrassment and self-reproach, there was a flicker of anticipation.

She wanted more.

-----

After two consecutive days of passion and intensity, the abrupt break that followed was a mixed blessing for Eunha. On one hand, her body welcomed the respite—the soreness in her thighs and the dull ache in her hips lingered like an intimate reminder of the fervent connection you shared. On the other hand, the absence of scheduled sessions left her restless. Her mind became a storm, every stray thought spiraling back to you.

Each moment apart felt like an eternity. Her memories replayed like a fevered dream—the way your hands had explored her body with unerring precision, the intoxicating sound of your voice murmuring against her skin, the way you pulled her under your spell with every electrifying touch. She couldn’t escape the lingering echoes of your presence, the phantom feeling of your fingers tracing her curves. The ache of longing bloomed inside her chest, a dull, throbbing need that refused to be ignored.

She hated how much she craved you. Her body, once entirely her own, now seemed attuned to the thought of you, as though it anticipated your every move. Her breath would hitch at the memory of your thrusts, stirring a deep, primal hunger that sent shivers through her spine when she let her mind linger too long. How did it come to this? She couldn’t decide whether it was desire or dependency, but whatever it was, it consumed her.

As the days stretched on, the tension between you became almost unbearable. Eunha caught herself stealing glances at you in the shared spaces of your lives. You moved with infuriating ease, your calm confidence a stark contrast to the chaos roiling inside her. Every fleeting look you gave her, every shared smile or casual brush of your hand against hers, felt like a spark threatening to ignite the tightly coiled tension between you. Her pulse would quicken whenever your eyes met, her breath catching as the air thickened with an unspoken promise.

And yet, you kept your distance. Aloof but ever-present, your quiet self-assurance was a maddening reminder of her own unraveling. Each encounter left her nerves frayed, her thoughts tangled in a web of anticipation and longing.

In the quiet hours, Eunha’s thoughts betrayed her. She would sip her morning coffee and imagine your lips brushing hers, your hands gripping her waist. She would read under the warm glow of sunlight, only to find herself yearning for the warmth of your body pressed against hers. The ache of your absence seeped into her dreams, your touch haunting her even there. When she thought of the inevitable final session, her heart would race, her mind spinning with fantasies of how it might feel. The thought was intoxicating—and utterly crushing in its reminder of the emptiness that filled the spaces between your meetings.

Finally, on the last day of the week, Eunha sat at her desk, her laptop glowing faintly in the dimly lit room. The document on the screen was an empty void, the blinking cursor a silent accusation. She stared at it, fingers hovering over the keyboard, willing herself to type something—anything—but her mind was a chaotic swirl, and the still-blank page spoke volumes. No words came. No work was done.

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, anticipation coiling tight in her stomach. She didn’t need to glance over her shoulder to know you were there. Your presence was magnetic, filling the air with a weight that pressed against her like a physical force. The faint rhythm of your footsteps approached, each step resonating like a heartbeat in the otherwise silent room.

The air grew charged, humming with unspoken words and unresolved tension. It was an invisible thread connecting the two of you, tightening with each passing moment. Eunha’s fingers twitched over the keyboard, a futile attempt to pretend she hadn’t already surrendered to the moment before it even began.

You came up behind her without a word, your hands sliding over her shoulders with deliberate ease. The heat of your touch sent a ripple through her, her body responding instantly. Her breath hitched as a shiver raced down her spine, her concentration on the empty screen obliterated in an instant.

Your fingers kneaded her tense muscles with just enough pressure to make her melt against the chair. Each movement was slow, confident, deliberate. She could feel the warmth of your body close to hers, the faint scent of your cologne mingling with the sterile hum of the office air. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes, torn between surrender and resistance, her thoughts spinning as she tried to reconcile the electric pull of your presence.

“It’s time for the last session,” you whispered, your breath warm against the shell of her ear. Your voice was low, rich, each word wrapping around her like a caress. The syllables lingered, thick with promise and urgency, igniting a spark deep within her.

Her body tensed under your touch, caught between the intoxicating pull of your words and the anticipation coursing through her veins. She turned her head slightly, her lips parting as if to speak, but the words died in her throat. The moment hung suspended, taut and electric, as though the air itself awaited her next move.

Before Eunha could find her voice, you effortlessly pulled her up from her chair. Her laptop screen dimmed, forgotten, as you turned her toward the desk in one fluid motion. Her breath hitched as you bent her over the cool surface, the sensation of the hard edge pressing against her chest grounding and thrilling all at once. She gasped softly when your hands slid down her sides, warm and deliberate, moving with practiced ease.

You worked methodically, your fingers grazing her skin as you peeled away her clothes. Each layer fell away like petals from a flower, leaving her bare and vulnerable under your touch. The chill of the air kissed her exposed skin, sending goosebumps rippling across her body, and the heat of your hands against her only deepened the contrast. She gripped the edge of the desk, her fingers curling tightly around it as anticipation built in her chest.

Her skin tingled with anticipation, every nerve alive and sensitive as you positioned yourself behind her. This dance, though familiar, felt new each time—each touch, each shared breath igniting a fire that burned brighter than the last. The air between you was thick, charged with the tension of the moment, and the faint scrape of fabric as you removed the last barrier between you only heightened the anticipation.

Your hands gripped her hips firmly, steadying her as you align yourself with her entrance. The heat of your length brushed against her folds, eliciting a sharp inhale as her body quivered beneath you. But instead of easing inside, you teased her—grazing her entrance with just the tip, almost like a kiss.

Her breath came in uneven gasps, her fingers curling tightly against the edge of the desk. Each deliberate nudge, each tantalizing brush of your head against her, sent jolts of pleasure through her, teasing her already heightened senses. Her body reacted instinctively, her hips rolling back in an effort to meet you, seeking the fullness you held just out of reach. But just as she pushed against you, you pulled away, your teasing smirk audible in the low chuckle that escaped your lips.

Her thighs trembled, her body caught in the maddening limbo between anticipation and relief. You continued the game, pressing just enough to stretch her slightly, letting her feel the promise of you, before retreating again. The sound of her labored breathing filled the room, punctuated by the soft creak of the desk beneath her. The tension built like a coiled spring, her body humming with need, every nerve screaming for release.

Finally, you gripped her hips tighter and pressed forward, the slow, deliberate stretch as you entered her drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. Her back arched instinctively as she adjusted to your size, her fingers digging into the desk for support. The moment was raw and electric, her body trembling as the fullness consumed her.

As you began to move, you shifted your grip, one hand trailing down to deliver a sharp, stinging slap to her bare cheek. The sound cracked through the air, followed by a jolt of heat that made her gasp. Her body tensed under your touch, a mix of surprise and exhilaration coursing through her. Another slap followed, the sting sending ripples of pleasure racing through her as she clenched around you.

“You like that,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing as you rubbed the reddened skin, soothing it before delivering another sharp smack. Each impact sent her higher, her body responding to every combination of pain and pleasure as you set a rhythm that left her breathless.

Your thrusts grew deeper, more deliberate, each movement precise and commanding as you drove her closer to the edge. The heat of your body pressed against her, the cool surface of the desk beneath her, and the lingering sting of your spanks combined to heighten her senses, leaving her utterly at your mercy. Her hips rocked back to meet your thrusts now, her movements instinctive and desperate, as though her body had been made to follow your lead.

Eunha clung to the desk, her breath coming in shallow gasps as her mind spiraled into the haze of passion. Rational thought dissolved into nothingness, replaced by the primal need to surrender completely. The sound of your bodies moving together filled the room, a symphony of heat and desire that left her trembling and undone.

Before Eunha could steady herself, your hand slid up her back, tracing her spine with deliberate slowness before gripping the base of her ponytail. The sharp tug tilted her head back, arching her spine and forcing her to press closer against you. The motion was commanding, almost primal, and paired with the rhythmic slap of your hips against hers, it sent a new wave of shivers coursing through her body.

The sting of your earlier spanks lingered, the heat radiating from her reddened skin intensifying the contrast between pleasure and pain. Your grip on her ponytail tightened, using it as leverage to drive yourself deeper. Each thrust was deliberate, precise, and powerful, eliciting soft cries from her that grew louder with every movement. You felt her clenching around you, her body gripping you tighter with each spank and every commanding tug of her hair.

“You’re squeezing me so hard,” you murmured, your voice dripping with teasing satisfaction. Another sharp slap landed on her cheek, and she cried out, the sound breaking into a breathless moan as her body trembled under you. “You like this, don’t you? Being bent over your desk like this, letting me take you however I want.”

Eunha could barely form a coherent thought, let alone respond. The mixture of pleasure and domination was overwhelming, her body instinctively rocking back to meet you. Her hips moved in time with yours, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure spiraling through her as her nails scraped against the desk, seeking any semblance of grounding in the storm you were creating.

Suddenly, your eyes flicked to her laptop, the screen darkened from inactivity. With a curious smirk, you reached over her, pressing on the trackpad to awaken it. The screen lit up, revealing a blank document, the cursor blinking idly as if mocking her attempt to focus.

You leaned forward slightly, your chest pressing lightly against her back, your lips brushing her ear as you murmured, “You were just waiting for me, weren’t you? Faking work just so I could come and interrupt.”

The words struck her like a lightning bolt, their truth sending her already racing heart into overdrive. She let out a shaky breath, her throat tightening as her mind reeled from the vulnerability you so effortlessly exposed. Yet, it only heightened the sensations coursing through her, the mix of humiliation and desire spiraling into something she could no longer resist.

Your pace quickened, each thrust driving deeper as the sound of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with her ragged gasps and breathless moans. The steady pull of her ponytail guided her body into perfect alignment, each movement drawing you closer to her deepest, most sensitive spots. Her walls clenched tighter around you, her body reacting instinctively to the rhythm you commanded.

“You’re so tight,” you groaned, your voice tinged with both exertion and satisfaction. The grip on her ponytail tightened again as your free hand traced down her back, gripping her waist to hold her steady. The push and pull of your motions became a dance of raw intensity, every movement calculated to pull her further into the abyss of pleasure.

Eunha’s breaths turned to sharp cries, her voice rising in pitch as her body betrayed her, hurtling toward release. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably, the tension within her building to an unbearable crescendo. Each thrust, each slap, each tug of her ponytail sent her spiraling closer to the edge, her body arching as if begging for the final push.

And then it came. A powerful thrust paired with the sting of another spank tipped her over, the orgasm crashing through her like a tidal wave. She let out a scream, her body quaking violently as every fiber of her being surrendered to the ecstasy you’d drawn out of her. Her walls pulsed around you, gripping you with a ferocity that only amplified your own pleasure.

Her forehead pressed against the desk as her moans softened into shaky breaths, her body trembling beneath you as aftershocks rippled through her. Your pace slowed but remained deliberate, drawing out every last ounce of her pleasure as you admired the way she clung to you, utterly spent.

“Look at you,” you murmured, releasing her ponytail and running your hand down her back, soothing the reddened marks left by your grip. “Completely undone.”

Eunha could barely form a reply, her breath still coming in uneven gasps as she slowly emerged from the haze of her climax. Her fingers flexed weakly against the desk, her legs quivering as she struggled to regain her footing.

But even in her exhaustion, a flicker of anticipation lingered in her chest. The intensity of what she’d just experienced wasn’t just overwhelming—it was addictive. And as much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t wait to see what came next.

As the tremors of her orgasm subsided, you pulled out, her walls gripping you one last time before reluctantly releasing you. The slickness of her release coated your length, gleaming in the dim light as you admired the way her body trembled beneath you, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

With a swift yet deliberate motion, your hand came down on her ass with a sharp spank, the sound cracking through the room like a whip. She let out a startled gasp, her body jolting slightly as the sting spread across her reddened cheek. Your hand lingered, kneading the warm, tender flesh as you smirked, savoring the sight of her arching beneath your touch.

“I just love your ass,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing. Your fingers traced the curve of her cheek, your tone dripping with admiration as you added, “So perfect. I could play with it all day.”

You punctuated your words by gripping both cheeks firmly, your thumbs sinking into the soft flesh before giving them a playful jiggle. The motion sent another wave of heat through her already oversensitized body, drawing a soft whimper from her lips as her legs quivered beneath her.

“You’re amazing,” you continued, your hands continuing to explore her, alternating between gentle squeezes and sharp slaps. The way her skin bounced under your touch captivated you, and you couldn’t resist watching her reactions—the way she trembled, the way her breath hitched with each motion.

Her body arched slightly, the mix of tenderness and dominance in your touch making her head spin. Every squeeze, every jiggle, every deliberate spank reminded her of how utterly at your mercy she was—and how much she relished it.

Your hand lingered, kneading the tender flesh, your fingers digging in just enough to draw another shiver from her. The mix of dominance and care made her head spin, and she couldn’t help but bite her lip as you leaned down to murmur against her ear, “We’re not done yet.”

A flicker of protest flashed in her hazy mind, and she opened her mouth to speak, her voice weak and breathless. “I… I don’t think…” she began, her words trailing off as the weight of your presence pressed against her. But even as her mind tried to form a coherent objection, her body betrayed her, arching instinctively into your touch.

“Shhh,” you murmured softly, your tone soothing yet unyielding. “I know you can take it.”

You stepped away briefly, leaving her bent over the desk, her body still trembling as she tried to collect herself. The sound of a drawer opening and the faint rustle of movement sent a thrill of anticipation racing through her. She bit her lip, her nails digging into the desk as her body tensed with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. When you returned, the cool sensation of lube on your fingers as you coated your length made her breath hitch, a fresh wave of nervous energy coursing through her.

With practiced ease, you spread her cheeks, revealing her tight, puckered hole. She let out a shaky breath, her voice catching as she whispered, “Wait… I’m not sure about this.”

Her words were feeble, lacking conviction, and you simply chuckled, low and teasing. “Trust me,” you said, your tone filled with quiet confidence. 

Her breath hitched as she felt a cold drop of lube land directly on her hole, the sensation startling yet oddly thrilling. Her body tensed, and she squirmed slightly beneath your hands, but the warmth of your palms steadying her hips kept her grounded. You positioned yourself, the tip of your length pressing lightly against her ring. You didn’t push in yet, letting her feel the pressure, making her hyper-aware of what was about to happen.

You stayed there, your presence a quiet, commanding force as she processed the moment. Her heart raced, her breath shallow, as the reality of her vulnerable position washed over her. The heat of your length against her and the weight of your hands on her body sent conflicting waves of tension and anticipation coursing through her.

“Anywhere I want,” you reminded her, your voice low and teasing, sending a shiver down her spine.

You began to press forward, the tight ring of muscle yielding slowly as you eased in. The stretch was intense, her gasp sharp and unrestrained as she clutched the edge of the desk. “I—wait, it’s too much,” she stammered, her voice shaky, her body trembling under you as her nerves warred with the raw, growing pleasure.

“You can take it,” you murmured, your hand stroking her back in reassurance even as you pushed further. Her protests faltered, her breath coming in shallow gasps as the sensation overwhelmed her. She could feel every ridge, every vein along your length as you pushed deeper, her body adjusting inch by inch. The mix of discomfort and raw pleasure left her dizzy, her legs quivering as she struggled to hold herself steady.

Halfway in, you paused, your hands steadying her hips. Her breathing was ragged, her body adjusting to the fullness. You reached down with one hand, your fingers finding her clit, circling it gently. The sensation made her cry out, her body clenching around you as the pleasure collided with the stretch of your entry. Her walls pulsed with every deliberate flick of your fingers, sending ripples of sensation through her core and tightening her grip on your length.

“Breathe,” you murmured, your tone firm but reassuring as you let her adjust.

You then proceeded and when you finally bottomed out, you held the position, the sensation of her tightness surrounding you utterly consuming. She was warm and slick, her body trembling as she adjusted to the new fullness. Her breathing came in shaky gasps, her body betraying her as the mix of pain and pleasure exhilarated her in ways she hadn’t expected.

She felt incredible—nothing like she had ever experienced before—and it ignited something deep within her. Her hips began to shift, pressing back against you in tentative movements. The message was clear, and you smirked, taking it as your cue to start.

Your thrusts began slowly, deliberate and deep, each one drawing a soft cry from her lips as the rhythm built. Your hand remained between her legs, teasing her folds and circling her clit, amplifying the sensations that coursed through her. Every motion was calculated, every thrust designed to send her higher, to push her further into the haze of ecstasy that clouded her mind.

Her body responded instinctively, her hips rocking back to meet you as the rhythm quickened. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with her gasps and moans. You felt her clenching around you, her body tightening with every stroke, every flick of your fingers against her sensitive nub.

“Admit it,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing, the words brushing against her ear like a caress. “You love being used by me. I unlocked something for you, didn’t I, Eunha?”

Her breath hitched at your words, her body trembling beneath you as she struggled to reply. Her voice came out in broken gasps, her words tumbling free before she could stop them. “Yes… yes… it feels so good,” she cried, her voice trembling with raw need. “I’m so full with you…”

A wicked grin spreads across your face as you tighten  your grip on her hips, driving into her with renewed intensity. Her cries grew louder, her body writhing beneath you as you pushed her closer to the edge. The pressure of your fingers on her clit, the heat of your body against hers, the stretch of every deliberate thrust—it was overwhelming, consuming her completely.

The build-up was relentless, her cries becoming more desperate, her body trembling as she teetered on the brink. The room echoed with her sounds—moans, gasps, and finally, a scream that tore from her throat as her climax hit. It was raw, unrestrained, the kind of sound she had once dismissed as fake when it came from the women you brought home before her. But now, those same sounds were spilling from her lips, unbidden, as the waves of pleasure ripped through her.

Her ring clenched tightly around you, her body convulsing as the orgasm consumed her. Every nerve in her body felt electrified, her cries piercing the air as she lost herself completely to the sensation. You didn’t stop, your hands gripping her hips with a firm intensity as you thrust deeper, chasing your own release.

When you finally spilled into her, the heat of your release filling her tightest depths, it was like nothing she’d ever felt before. The warmth spread through her, a sensation so alien and overwhelming it triggered another wave of pleasure that slammed into her like a tidal wave. Her back arched sharply, her thighs quivering as the combined sensation of fullness and release sent her spiraling into an even more powerful climax.

Her entire body trembled violently, her ring pulsing around you in rhythm with the aftershocks of her ecstasy. She was lost in the overwhelming sensations, unable to distinguish where her pleasure ended and yours began. Her voice broke into gasps and sobs of pleasure, the intensity leaving her breathless and lightheaded.

You leaned over her, your breath warm against her ear as your hands steadied her trembling form. Your fingers pinched her clit once more, a teasing stroke that sent her collapsing against the desk as the aftershocks rippled through her again. Her mind was a haze, her body slick with sweat, and all she could feel was the lingering, overwhelming sensation of being utterly claimed.

As her breathing slowed, her mind began to catch up to what her body had just experienced. The heat of your release still lingered deep inside her, a visceral reminder of how completely she had surrendered to the moment. For a fleeting second, she felt a rush of pride—this was hers now, the pleasure, the intensity, the connection. And yet, a part of her couldn’t shake the realization that this sensation, so intimate and raw, had once been shared with others before her.

But none of that mattered at this moment. All she could do was gasp for air, her body trembling against yours as the room spun around her, the aftermath of your shared ecstasy leaving her utterly undone.

“Such a good girl,” you murmured, your tone filled with satisfaction as you felt her body quiver beneath you. “All done. I knew you had it in you.”

Her legs gave out as the aftershocks rippled through her, leaving her limp and utterly spent. You held her close for a moment, letting her catch her breath, before you began to pull back. Slowly, deliberately, you exited her, and the sensation left her gasping softly. The emptiness hit her like a sudden void, her body instinctively clenching as if to draw you back in, but you were already gone.

Her eyes fluttered shut as the cool air brushed over her now-gaping ring, the absence of your presence making her feel incomplete. A strange, hollow ache settled deep within her, as though a part of her was missing. She bit her lip, suppressing the odd sense of longing that threatened to bubble up, her mind torn between shame and the raw need still thrumming through her veins.

You stepped back, letting your gaze linger for a moment on the sight of her. She was utterly undone, her body slack and trembling, her skin glistening with sweat. The way she looked—spent and marked—sent a surge of satisfaction through you. Before leaving her entirely, you raised a hand and delivered one last sharp smack to her reddened cheeks, the sound cracking through the room.

Eunha flinched at the sudden sting, a soft whimper escaping her lips. Her body shivered in response, her cheeks burning with a fresh wave of heat as the mark of your control lingered on her skin. The smack felt like a punctuation to everything that had just happened, a reminder of the claim you had staked on her.

As you stepped away, she remained draped over the desk, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Her mind swirled with disbelief and exhilaration as the realization of what had just happened fully hit her. She had never felt anything like this—never thought it was even possible. Her body still tingled, every nerve hypersensitive, and yet the absence of you left her feeling unmoored, yearning for something more. She leaned against the desk, spent and vulnerable, the weight of the moment settling over her like a warm yet haunting blanket.

-----

By the end of the week, Eunha had stopped fighting the inevitable. She had surrendered to your connection, letting you take what you wanted, each encounter intensifying the bond that tethered you together. Every touch, every glance, every whispered word deepened the intimacy between you. And in the quiet aftermath, when your breathing had steadied and her body still buzzed with the memory of your touch, she found herself wanting more. Not just the physical connection, but the unspoken exclusivity that seemed to linger in the air between you.

She wanted to be the only one you touched, the only one you claimed, the only one you used.

But then the week ended, and reality came crashing down.

You walked through the door with another girl, your laughter ringing out like a cruel reminder of everything she wasn’t. The sight hit Eunha like a blow, sharp and unforgiving. Her heart sank as she froze in the doorway of her room, her fingers gripping the frame as if to steady herself. SinB. Of all people, it had to be SinB.

Her mind raced as she watched you chat effortlessly, your hand brushing SinB’s arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. The way you smiled at her, leaned in just slightly as you spoke, set Eunha’s blood boiling. This wasn’t just disrespect—this felt personal. Jealousy burned hot inside her, laced with a bitter sting of betrayal. After everything you’d shared, how could you act so indifferent? And with her friend, no less.

SinB giggled at something you said, the sound twisting in Eunha’s stomach like a knife. Her jaw clenched as she watched the two of you move down the hall, your casual smirk cutting through her like a dagger. Her stomach churned as you opened your bedroom door, ushering SinB inside like this was just another meaningless encounter.

The door clicked shut, and something inside her snapped.

Before she could think twice, Eunha’s feet carried her down the hall, her heart pounding in her chest as rage surged through her. Without hesitation, she shoved the door open, the force of it startling both you and SinB.

“Eunha!” you exclaimed, your voice tinged with surprise as you turned to face her.

“Get out,” she spat, her voice trembling with fury as her gaze locked onto SinB.

SinB blinked, confusion etched across her face as she looked between you and Eunha. “Uh… excuse me?”

“I said, get out,” Eunha repeated, her tone sharp and unyielding. Her eyes burned with a fire that left no room for argument.

“Eunha, what is going on?” SinB asked, her voice rising in disbelief. “Why are you acting like this?”

“You know exactly why,” Eunha snapped, her voice cutting through the tension. “Just go.”

SinB hesitated, her expression a mix of confusion and annoyance, before grabbing her purse and muttering something under her breath. She glanced at you as if for an explanation, but you said nothing, your calm gaze fixed on Eunha instead. SinB huffed, brushing past Eunha as she left the room. The sound of the front door closing was loud in the ensuing silence.

Eunha’s hands clenched into fists at her sides as she took a step closer, her anger spilling over. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You tilted your head slightly, your expression infuriatingly casual. “Care to elaborate?”

“SinB?” she hissed, her voice low but trembling with emotion. “Are you just making the rounds of my friends now? Is that it? First Umji, and now this?”

Your smirk deepened, but there was a flicker of something else in your eyes—curiosity, perhaps. “I didn’t realize I needed your approval.”

“You don’t,” she shot back, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. “But I trusted you, and you… You’re doing this on purpose. You’re trying to—” She cut herself off, her chest heaving as she struggled to find the words. “Are you trying to humiliate me? To make me feel like nothing?”

You stepped closer, your voice calm, almost soothing. “You’re taking this awfully personally, Eunha.”

“Of course I am!” she snapped, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You used me, and now you’re—what? Moving on to the next? Except it’s not just anyone, is it? You’re picking my friends. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

The tension in the room was thick, the air crackling with the weight of unspoken emotions. You studied her carefully, your gaze steady as you leaned back slightly. “And why does it bother you so much? Why does it matter who I bring here?”

Eunha’s breath hitched, her anger faltering for a moment as the question hung between you. She swallowed hard, her fists loosening at her sides. “Because it’s not just about them,” she admitted, her voice softer now but no less raw. “It’s about me. It’s about what I thought we had.”

The silence that followed was heavy, the distance between you feeling both too much and not enough. For the first time, Eunha’s vulnerability was laid bare, and the weight of her words hung in the air like a challenge.

Eunha’s hands trembled as she stood in the center of your room, her chest heaving with the effort to keep her emotions in check. The silence between you was deafening, her words hanging in the air as she tried to make sense of everything she was feeling. The betrayal, the anger, the jealousy—all of it swirled inside her like a storm, but underneath it all was a need she couldn’t deny. A need for you to understand what this had done to her.

You raised a brow, completely unfazed by her confession. “What’s your problem?”

Eunha’s chest tightened, her heart pounding as she struggled to find the right words. “After everything… after this whole week, you just go back to bringing some other girl home like it was nothing?”

Your expression darkened slightly, though your tone remained calm. “Our deal’s over, Eunha. I didn’t think it was a big deal anymore.”

“It is a big deal!” she shot back, her voice cracking with a mix of frustration and vulnerability. Her eyes burned as she stared at you, willing you to see how much this mattered to her. “You used me all week. You touched me like I was yours, like I was the only one. And now you just… move on like none of it mattered?”

You stepped closer, your movements deliberate and measured, the space between you shrinking as your voice dropped. “What did you expect? It was a bet, Eunha. You lost. That’s all there was to it.”

Her breath hitched at your words, the weight of them landing like a blow to her chest. She shook her head, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. “No. You can’t tell me it didn’t mean something. You can’t just act like I’m the same as the rest.”

Your gaze softened for a fleeting moment, though your casual demeanor didn’t falter entirely. “And what if you’re not?” you asked, your tone quieter now, almost teasing. “What are you trying to say, Eunha?”

Her hands trembled at her sides as the words tumbled out before she could stop them. “I want to be the only one. The only one you… use.”

The air between you grew heavy with the weight of her admission. Her chest heaved as she looked up at you, her eyes burning with emotion. For the first time, her vulnerability was laid bare, her need for you undeniable.

You stepped closer, the distance between you almost nonexistent now. “That’s what you want?” you murmured, your voice low and deliberate. “You want to be mine?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice trembling but firm.

Your hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face as your lips curled into a smirk. “Prove it.”

She blinked, her breath hitching at the challenge in your voice. “How?” she asked softly.

Without answering, you stepped back, gesturing toward the floor in front of the couch. “Kneel,” you commanded, your tone calm but firm.

Eunha hesitated for only a moment before sinking to her knees, the plush carpet soft beneath her as her hands rested awkwardly at her sides. Her body trembled under the weight of your gaze, her heart racing as she obeyed. The silence between you was deafening, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric as you pulled your phone from your pocket.

She watched with a mix of curiosity and apprehension as your fingers moved across the screen. You sent a quick text before sliding the phone back into your pocket, your smirk deepening as you took a seat on the couch in front of her.

You leaned back, your posture casual, one arm draped over the back of the couch. “Don’t move,” you said simply, your voice carrying an edge of command that made her heart skip a beat.

Eunha nodded, her eyes flickering with uncertainty as she knelt there, her body tense under your unyielding stare. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, the weight of the moment pressing down on her as she fought to keep still. She wanted to ask what you had done, what would come next, but the intensity in your gaze kept her silent.

Minutes later, a knock echoed through the apartment, and her stomach twisted with nerves. Her eyes darted toward the door, but she didn’t dare move. She could hear your footsteps as you stood and made your way to the door, opening it with ease.

“Hey,” came Umji’s voice, her tone curious. “You texted me to come over? What’s going on?”

“Come in,” you said smoothly, stepping aside to let her enter. Eunha’s breath hitched as she heard the door close, her body frozen in place. Umji’s eyes landed on her almost immediately, confusion flickering across her face as she took in the scene.

“What is this?” Umji asked, her voice filled with disbelief as she glanced between you and Eunha.

You moved to stand behind Eunha, your hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “She wanted to prove something,” you said casually, your tone laced with amusement. “So I thought you might want to see.”

Eunha’s cheeks burned under Umji’s gaze, her body trembling with a mix of humiliation and anticipation. She felt your fingers trail down her arm, your touch both grounding and electrifying as you leaned down to murmur in her ear.

“Don’t make me wait,” you said softly, the words sending a shiver through her. “Start.”

Her hands moved to the hem of her shirt, her movements slow and hesitant as she began to undress. Piece by piece, her clothing fell away, leaving her bare and exposed under the sharp contrast of your commanding presence and Umji’s incredulous stare.

“What the hell is going on?” Umji demanded, her voice rising slightly, but she didn’t look away.

Eunha’s breath came in shallow gasps as you guided her closer to the couch, your hand tangling in her hair as you brought her face to your length. “Just watch,” you said simply, your voice calm yet commanding.

Eunha’s lips brushed against you, her movements tentative at first as she began to please you, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. Her warm breath ghosted over your length as her tongue flicked out, testing and teasing before she grew bolder. Slowly, she wrapped her lips around you, her head lowering as she took you into her mouth. Her hands gripped your thighs for balance, her touch light but steady as she worked to find her rhythm.

Her efforts were cautious but deliberate, each stroke of her tongue a mix of careful exploration and mounting determination. The sound of her soft, wet movements filled the room, a symphony of submission that drew your attention back to her. Occasionally, you reached down, your hand tangling in her hair to guide her movements, pushing her head down further. Each time, she responded with a muffled gasp, her body tensing momentarily before she adjusted, taking you deeper.

“Good girl,” you murmured, your voice low and soothing, your praise making her cheeks burn brighter. The words sent a surge of motivation through her, and she worked harder, her lips gliding smoothly along your length, her tongue swirling expertly around you.

For Eunha, this was the biggest test. Every motion, every flick of her tongue was charged with the weight of proving herself. She knew this was more than just an act of submission—it was a declaration of her place, her claim on you. A small, unexpected part of her stirred with arousal at the thought of Umji watching. Showing her friend who was truly yours, who had earned this, awakened a pride she didn’t know she possessed. It was intoxicating, this mixture of vulnerability and power, and it drove her further.

You leaned back against the couch, letting her set the pace for a moment before gripping the back of her head firmly and pressing her down. Her eyes widened as she took you deeper, her throat constricting slightly as she adjusted to your command. She let out a muffled sound, a mix of effort and surrender, before pulling back just enough to catch her breath. You allowed her a brief reprieve before guiding her again, her lips tightening around you as she resumed her work with even greater intensity.

Across the room, Umji stood frozen, her arms crossed tightly as she watched the scene unfold. Her gaze remained locked on Eunha, her expression a mixture of shock and disbelief. There was curiosity too, evident in the way her lips parted slightly as though to speak, only to remain silent. The sight of Eunha—once brimming with disdain for you—now fully submitting to your control was nothing short of a revelation.

“You’re really putting on a show, aren’t you?” you remarked, your voice dripping with amusement as your hand rested lightly on the back of Eunha’s head. “Keep going. Show her why you’re the only one.”

Eunha’s eyes flickered upward, meeting yours for the briefest moment before closing again. She redoubled her efforts, her movements growing faster, more fluid as her arousal fueled her determination. The wet sounds of her work filled the room, punctuated by her soft hums and the occasional gasp when you pushed her deeper.

Your breathing quickened as she found her rhythm, her technique honed with every passing second. Her lips tightened around you, her tongue pressing firmly against the sensitive underside as she bobbed her head. You groaned softly, the sound spurring her on as she worked to bring you closer to the edge.

When your climax hit, it was with a sharp exhale and a tightening of your grip on her hair. You pressed her down, holding her in place as you released, feeling her throat constrict as she swallowed without hesitation. Her cheeks hollowed as she took everything you gave, her obedience absolute.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, you leaned forward slightly, your hand loosening in her hair. “Tilt your head back,” you commanded, your tone low and firm. Eunha obeyed, tilting her head until her face was angled perfectly toward you. “Open,” you added, and her lips parted slowly, her breath coming in soft pants as you inspected her.

Your release pooled at the back of her throat, glistening under the dim light. The sight sent a surge of satisfaction through you, and you allowed yourself a moment to admire her submission before leaning forward slightly.

“Hold it,” you murmured. With one hand steadying her chin, you spat lightly into her mouth, the act deliberate and possessive—a seal of her surrender. “Now swallow.”

Eunha’s throat bobbed as she complied, her lips closing around the mix of sensations with no hesitation. Her eyes flickered upward, meeting yours briefly before darting away, her cheeks flushed with a mix of humiliation and pride.

“Good girl,” you said, your voice tinged with satisfaction as you wiped a thumb across her chin, catching a stray drop before it fell. You pulled her back slightly, your member still glistening as you began to tap it lightly against her lips, the soft, wet sounds drawing a faint blush to her already heated skin.

Your hand shifted to her cheek, guiding her head as you tapped her face twice, the subtle smack sending a shiver through her. The sound was muted yet deliberate, a reminder of her place and the power you held over her. Her lips parted instinctively, and you pressed the tip of your length against her once more, smirking as her breath hitched.

As you pulled back, your gaze flickered to Umji, who had remained rooted in place, her arms crossed tightly as she watched the entire scene unfold. Her expression was a mix of shock and disbelief, her lips parting slightly as if to speak, though no words came.

“I think we’re done here,” you said, your tone casual as though nothing unusual had just occurred. You gestured lazily toward the door, your attention still focused on Eunha’s flushed face. “We can’t meet up anymore.”

“What?” Umji managed, her voice rising slightly with disbelief.

You shrugged, the smirk on your lips unfaltering. “You see how it is. Eunha’s the one who belongs here now.”

Umji blinked, her gaze flickering between you and Eunha, still kneeling at your feet. Eunha’s chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, her hair disheveled and her cheeks still stained red from exertion and submission. Yet her eyes remained fixed on you, a silent devotion radiating from her as she knelt motionless, her body awaiting your next command.

Umji shifted on her feet, crossing her arms tighter as she glanced down at Eunha. “Eunha,” she said, her tone softer now, tinged with disbelief, “are you really okay with this? With him?”

Eunha didn’t respond. She didn’t move. Her gaze remained unwaveringly on you, as though Umji wasn’t even in the room. The lack of acknowledgement was as loud as any reply, leaving Umji stunned into silence.

“Well,” Umji said after a moment, her voice quieter. “I guess… I guess that’s that.” She hesitated, her gaze lingering on Eunha one last time before she turned toward the door. “Goodbye.”

The door clicked shut behind her, and the apartment fell into silence. You exhaled softly, leaning back against the couch as your hand slid through Eunha’s hair, the gentle motion drawing her gaze upward to meet yours.

“You’ve earned it,” you murmured, your voice low and approving. “You’re mine.”

Eunha’s lips parted slightly as a faint blush spread across her cheeks, her eyes shining with unspoken emotion. Slowly, she moved forward, her knees brushing against the carpet as she climbed into your lap, her arms wrapping around your neck with surprising tenderness. Her lips found yours in a soft, lingering kiss, her body melting against yours as if she belonged there—because she did.

Her breath was warm against your skin as she nestled against your chest, her head resting on your shoulder. The tension from moments before dissolved into something quieter, softer, as she clung to you. Her fingers traced absent patterns along your collarbone, her voice a soft whisper in the stillness.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her words carrying a weight that hinted at something deeper—a surrender not just of her body, but of her trust, her heart, and her place by your side.

You rested a hand on her back, the other threading lazily through her hair as you held her close. The silence between you wasn’t empty; it was full of an unspoken understanding, a bond forged through everything you had shared. At that moment, there was no doubt. Eunha was yours, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[ramblin-tiger]

Love the last panel referencing the fishtail and how they made that sound XD

On a serious note, I can feel everything about this, but In a different way.

Growing up, I moved a lot, so I never really had consistent friends bc of that. That made me the defacto outsider anywhere I was. So I never *really* cared about what people thought of my in the sense of fashion or likes. It was basically the norm that I was the weird goofy kid who was always reading and cracking jokes with people who liked me, and raging at people who would pick on me. That being said, what was it that I really liked?

Well, nothing, really.

Never being part of the "in" crowd ment i also diddnt really know what was popular or cool. Sure, I loved reading and eventually playing cards (tcgs), but beyond that I was pretty simple person.

So i guess in that sense, "my style" was just plain unassuming person that you'd never really notice until my flashbang-of-a-sudden-laugh would get your attention.

I never understood what was in style or fashion at any given time, so I was just myself.

It just happened to be that myself was a plain unimpressive kid that was face deep in a book 85% of the time, and joking with the few people I'd get along with 10% of the time. Oh, and an insanely angry kid that reeeeaaallllly wanted to beat the shit out of bullies.

fake conversation talking animals

[runraerun]

May God forgive me but a Hot Frosty!Steddie AU where Eddie (being a freak) ((and also a little high)) kisses a snowman and unknowingly brings it to life. ☃️ *dodges rotten tomato*

Hey, if you didn’t want Eddie to make out sloppy style with your snowman then why did you make him so hot, huh??? Why did you carve abs into him? Why’d you give him bedroom eyes?! 😒Anyway… as I was saying…

Eddie leaves, accidentally leaving behind his battle vest on the snowman, heading home to Forest Hills trailer park. Dude’s totally oblivious to the fact that he just performed a freaking miracle, shattering almost every law in the known universe, all because he thought a snowman was fine as hell.

Hot Frosty (aka our boy Steve), can’t do anything but think of Eddie. It’s his first fully formed thought he has as his snowy skin melts and gives way to human flesh. When he sucks in his first breath of cold, winter art, he exhales with Eddie’s name on his tongue. His fingers reach up and gently touch his freshly kissed lips. The kiss that brought him to life; the first and only touch of warmth he’s ever received.

Steve’s not wearing anything besides a very worn denim vest, covered in colorful patches—the one Eddie so thoughtfully gave him. Otherwise, he’s naked as a jay bird. Thankfully, being a snowman, he doesn’t mind the cold. :)

He walks around town, approaching the various townsfolk, asking if they know where Eddie is. He’s looking for Eddie. Do you know Eddie? Y’know, Eddie, the one who loves me. The one who kissed me tonight. He needs to find Eddie. Eddie will be looking for him too, no doubt.

Eventually though, someone calls the fuzz on this very attractive, very confused young man who’s walking around the snow bare-assed and bare-footed. Hopper immediately recognizes the battle vest—he’s busted Munson enough times, and he’s always wearing that beat up thing. So he calls up the Munson residence, but there’s no answer. He leaves a voicemail instead, growling at him to come pick up his clearly distressed boyfriend before Hopper presses public indecency charges.

How will Eddie react when he hears the message?! Will Eddie believe hot frosty!Steve’s far-fetched tale?! WILL THEY FUCK?! (answers: Very confused, not at first, & HELL YEAH THEY DO)

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

yandere!young justice x magician and sorcerer!reader

BUUUUUUUUUT,the readed is a part of the team,however,shows no interest in them,and it just there because she kinda just has to,and no matter how much they try to get her attention,she never gives them any of it.

(I love your writing btw😼)

Yandere! Young Justice x magician! Reader

The Cave was quiet, as it always was at night, the hum of machines and distant murmurs of the world outside barely touching the stillness that clung to the mountain like a second skin. In this isolated hollow, surrounded by the cool stone walls, you could hear your own thoughts—the whisper of spells, the pulse of magic, the unspoken words you chose not to say.

You never had to explain yourself here, never had to wear the mask of pleasantries or pretend you cared about anything more than the mission. The others, they didn’t understand. They couldn’t, not really. You weren’t like them, never had been. You didn’t need the comfort of their companionship. You didn’t want their attention, their curiosity, or their pity.

And yet, they tried.

Conner was always watching. A silent presence, brooding and intense, always lingering in the background, his eyes following your every movement. He never asked questions—no, that wasn’t his style. Instead, he observed, the way a predator watches its prey, calculating, waiting. He never made an effort to speak, not in the way Wally did with his incessant jokes or M'gann with her quiet warmth. Conner was patient, cold, waiting for something to crack, for something to change.

His silence was a constant reminder. He didn’t need to speak; you could feel his presence, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, always at the edge of your vision, always waiting.

It was unsettling, but you never let it show.

Wally was a different story altogether. His energy was like a crackling fire, unpredictable, always bouncing from one thing to the next. He couldn’t sit still, couldn’t leave you be. "Come on," he would say, leaning over your shoulder as you worked on a spell, his grin wide and carefree. "Show me something cool. You know you’ve got some crazy magic tricks up your sleeve."

His insistence was always accompanied by that grin of his, mischievous and bright, as though his charm could draw you out of your shell. But you never did. You never gave him the satisfaction of seeing you smile, never let him see you as more than just another teammate. It wasn’t his fault—he was just trying to make the team feel more like a family. But you didn’t care about family. You didn’t care about any of them.

“I’m busy,” you’d say, dismissing him with a flick of your hand, returning to your spell. And Wally, ever the optimist, would laugh and zip away, the sound of his footsteps echoing as he left you to your silence.

But it wasn’t enough for him, no. His persistence was a thing of legend. Sometimes you’d catch him watching you, his gaze fixed, a question burning in his eyes. "Why are you always like this?" he seemed to ask with every look. But he never voiced it. Instead, he’d turn away, hoping that somehow, eventually, you’d change your mind.

Then there was Robin. The dark and silent watcher. He knew how to stay in the shadows, how to be everywhere without being seen. His presence was like the night itself—always there, always watching, never truly gone. Robin was the most subtle of them all. He never asked outright; instead, he would drop little comments, observations that always felt like a puzzle, like he was trying to figure you out, piece by piece.

"You know, you could talk to us more," he’d say, casually leaning against the wall as he watched you work. His tone was light, almost playful, but you could sense the undercurrent of something more—something deeper. “We don’t bite, you know.”

You didn’t respond. Of course, you didn’t. The only response he got was the steady flick of your fingers over the spellbook, the quiet hum of magic filling the space between you. He didn’t try to get too close, not like Wally or M'gann, but his eyes never stopped tracking you, always measuring, always calculating. Robin was patient, the kind of person who knew that some things took time, that some people had walls that needed to be broken down slowly.

And you? You weren’t going to let him.

M'gann was the opposite. Her presence was always warm, soft, inviting. She would sit beside you, her legs tucked under her, her eyes wide with curiosity. "You know," she would say with that gentle voice of hers, "I could help you with your spells. I can be a good study partner, if you ever need one."

Her kindness wasn’t forced, never had been. It was natural for her, as natural as breathing. She wasn’t like the others who were driven by some sense of duty or curiosity. No, M'gann’s attention was genuine, a quiet offer of companionship. She was the one who tried to reach you without asking, without expecting anything in return.

But you didn’t need help. You didn’t need her to reach you. And so, you’d quietly decline, giving her nothing more than a polite smile before returning to the words in your book, the pages filled with symbols that had no need for her warmth.

And then there was Artemis. The sharp, straightforward one. She didn’t waste time on subtlety. Her approach was always direct, blunt, like a sharp blade that never hesitated. "You don’t have to be so closed off, you know," she’d say, her voice a mix of irritation and something else. It was hard to tell with Artemis—her eyes were always guarded, her emotions always hidden behind a wall of indifference. "We’re all in this together."

She had a point, of course. But you didn’t care. You didn’t care about being “in it together.” You had your own path to follow, and they weren’t a part of it. You didn’t need to explain that to her, or to anyone. So, you’d give her a nod, a brief acknowledgment that wasn’t really an acknowledgment, and move on with your work.

Kaldur was the calm one, the quiet one. His respect for you was obvious, but it never crossed the line into anything more. He would offer you a nod as he passed, his gaze soft, his presence steady like the water he controlled. He didn’t push you the way the others did. He didn’t try to break down your walls. He simply respected them, kept his distance, and allowed you to be as you were.

But even Kaldur had moments when his gaze would linger on you, just a second too long, like he was waiting for you to finally open up, to let him see more than the cold silence you kept locked behind your eyes.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough for you to feel the weight of their gaze, the quiet pressure of their attention. They thought they understood you. They thought that if they just tried enough, kept reaching out, eventually, you’d let them in.

But you wouldn’t.

In the midst of their attempts, you kept your distance, always lost in the pages of your spells, your incantations, the quiet hum of power that thrummed beneath your fingertips. They were drawn to you, like moths to a flame, their fascination burning just beneath the surface of their words, their glances, their actions.

But you would remain untouched. You would keep your secrets locked away, your magic a barrier between you and the world they wanted to draw you into.

They didn’t understand it, not really. They couldn’t. You were not like them. You didn’t need what they offered. You didn’t need to be a part of their team, their family, their world. You were the silent watcher, the one who kept their distance while they reached out, always hoping that something would change.

But it wouldn’t.

You weren’t there for them. You were there because you had a purpose, one that had nothing to do with them, nothing to do with the team, and nothing to do with any of their quiet, unspoken obsessions. You would remain distant, and they would keep trying, never understanding why you remained so cold, so unreachable.

And that, for now, was enough.

(A/n: thank you kind fellow fur🤭😽)

[comatosebunny09]

heavy | sylus q.

— summary: who takes care of the person busy caring for everyone else? sylus. the answer is sylus. — cw: female!reader, fingering, unprotected intercourse, naughty things done in a bathtub, creampie, alcohol mention, pet names, slight choking, allusions to depression and anxiety, explicit language, praise kink, not proofread, kinda rough sex, mdni — wc: ~3.4K — dividers by: @grabby-smitten — now playing: truman show - merges & l3gion

It begins with a steady pressure behind your eyes. 

Untreated, it blossoms into something more intense, seeping through your temples like spilled liquid, and the pain borders unbearable. You can’t focus on your work, the harsh glow of your monitor worsening your plight.

You snatch your glasses from your face. Attempt to ease the pressure with kneading fingers. Pinch the bridge of your nose. Sigh. It’s useless; your vision blurs around the edges, and your head is pounding as if your brain’s seeking release from your skull.

You don’t notice Captain Jenna behind you. Jump when she comes to you in the form of a firm hand on your shoulder, voice soft. “You should go home to get some rest,” she suggests through a pitying smile.

You don’t protest. There’s more to her words than a simple plea. It’s an order, and you’re smiling small, already gathering your things and slinking out of your cubicle. 

You’re grateful for the reprieve. Maybe a restart will help ease the weight off your shoulders.

—

Something smells divine.

It jumpstarts your appetite, the rich scent of herbs and meat seeping through the cracks of your apartment door. You didn’t realize how hungry you were, your stomach snarling whilst you ease your key into the lock. 

You can’t remember if you left something in the oven. Can’t be bothered to recall much of anything, your head still pulsing like a war drum. Your curiosities are sated once you slide into your home, and the aroma is stronger here. Hearty, nearly lifting you into the air to carry you to the kitchen like one of those old-school cartoons.

You meander into your kitchen after dropping your pack by the door—by a pair of designer, red-stained loafers twice the size of your own feet. Your suspicions are confirmed when you catch sight of a familiar shock of white and broad shoulders nestled between your humble decor and drab cabinets.

Never mind how he got here because you’re reining in a giggle. He’s wearing the frilly Kiss Me apron you got him as a joke gift a few months back. Humming something, bobbing his head before he acknowledges you over a broad shoulder. His scarlet eyes are mirthful, and the soft grate of his voice is enough to put you to sleep.

“You’re home early.”

You smile, tired and swollen-eyed, leaning against the doorframe. Study him over crossed arms. He’s busy with something on the stove. Concocting something delicious, and your stomach reminds you that it’s empty and you’re cruel.

“Jenna kicked me out.”

His shoulders shake with a chuckle when he returns his attention to the pot and wooden spoon in his hands. “Good. I take it you’ve only sustained yourself on coffee and air today.” Stopping, he peers at you again, a knowing lift to his brow. 

You sputter, the heat of embarrassment prickling your neck. He knows you too well. You’re an ass who often neglects yourself, pushing food and sleep to the backburner in favor of shouldering everyone else’s burdens. 

You pout, caught red-handed. The man in your kitchen chuckles. Sets the spoon down, and you watch him stride across the tiles for something. 

He comes to you with a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, already pouring the red, viscid fluid into a wine glass. Slender fingers brush over yours when he eases the glass into your hand. He angles himself to kiss you, full-bodied and red-blooded on the lips. A kiss that leaves you reeling. Craving more, the warm scent of his skin hijacking your senses as you tug on the collar of his shirt.

You whine when he pulls away, and he’s all smug smiles that crease the corners of his eyes when he steps back to tend to dinner.

A tide of warmth wades over your skin. You smile against the rim of your glass, grateful to have someone who knows you sometimes better than you know yourself.

Drinking might not be the best decision for you right now. But you haven’t the heart to tell him, watching with all the fondness of the world as he buzzes around the kitchen like a Disney princess.

—

Dinner will be ready in 30.

In the meantime, Sylus shepherds you into your bathroom, insisting you settle in with a bath. 

It’s lavender-scented inside your bathroom, the warm, wet steam washing over your cheeks. Greeted by the dull hum of the ventilation and the sound of rain lazily falling onto the world beyond your window.

You’re exhausted and hanging on by a thread. Don’t think you could manage the task of undressing on your own. So, he’s gentle as he props you on your counter, stripping you of your clothes, touching you like something to be revered.

His lashes bow when he swoops in to adorn your bare shoulders and the swell of your chest with kisses. Your body responds in kind when he nears your pebbling nipples, though he doesn’t grace them with the lazy drag of his lips. 

He promised you he would be good. At least until you’re washed up, fed, and comfortable.

He brands your skin to the crooks of your elbows, down to your wrists, your fingers. Catches your gaze when he kisses between the peaks and valleys of your knuckles, and the fire that burns beneath his irises sets your insides alight. 

Broad palms move down your sides, perch on your hips. He hefts you up with one hand fastened to your rear, and your arms and legs unconsciously shoot out to encircle him. He chuckles, swinging you ‘round, walking you to the tub. You’re the biggest baby when you’re tired, but he would never complain. He prefers you like this—all supple and pliant, desperate for the feel of his body against yours.

You watch the rose petals he sprinkled in your bathwater cling to your skin once you’re inside. And it works as a soothing balm through your person, the frothy water embracing you like a warm hug at the end of a tedious day. 

You sigh heavily, leaning back against the tub’s wall. Your eyes slide shut. You’re about to succumb to the pretty girls of slumber when the sound of shifting fabric alarms you. 

Sylus moves to leave, but your hands dart out to ensnare his wrist. He glances at you over his shoulder, a question hanging between his brows. 

“Stay,” you urge with a pout. Throw in watering puppy eyes for dramatic effect, laying the guilt on thick. 

He chuckles something hearty, settling onto the floor beside you. “I figured you could use some alone time. Besides, I’ve got dinner going. Do you want me to burn it? Cajun wasn’t on tonight’s menu, sweetheart.”

You huff. “You set a timer, right? It’ll be fine.” 

Truth is, he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this plane right now. A constant in a world filled with turmoil. Your security blanket. You never mind him impeding on your time, your space.

“Shall I help you bathe, then?” He doesn’t await your response, already reaching across you for your body wash and loofah. 

He’s tender as he works the soap into a rich lather over your shoulders. Honey-slow, dipping between the valley of your breasts, snickering when you instinctively arch into his touch when the material catches on your nipples. Once he’s satisfied your upper body is thoroughly saturated with suds, he maneuvers himself onto his haunches on the floor.

“Sit up,” Sylus instructs. You sluggishly obey, bowing forward to grant him access to your back. 

Lids shuttered, a content hum eases from your throat as he works out the knots and strain of your back. Smooths the loofah down the ridges of your spine, encircling one shoulder blade before moving onto the other. He’s gifted, trained in the art of your body. Knows just where to touch, to massage to get the cogs in your mind turning and your breaths evening out.

He dips the loofah into the water, and you giggle as it slides between the swell of your ass and the tub’s floor.

“Well, I can’t exactly get you clean when you’re sitting down like this.” 

Your gaze shifts to his. His eyes darken with something familiar, a smirk curving one corner of his lips as he salaciously cocks his head. 

You feel a pull in your tummy, and your lashes flutter, lips parting slightly. Without thinking, you position yourself onto your hands and knees, the water lazily sloshing about and licking your thighs. Curiously, you peer at him from over your shoulder and waggle your ass, playfully signaling for him to finish up.

Resigned, amused, Sylus works the loofah over the globes of your ass. Up and down the backs of your thighs. And it’s purposeful when, with each pass, he grazes your fat labia, peeking through the plush of your thighs. You shudder each time, a pleasant sigh escaping your mouth, and you wiggle to chase the harsh drag of the loofah, if only for him to mistakingly graze your clit with it.

He tsks behind you. “Sweetheart, we agreed this would only be a harmless little bath.”

How harmless could he expect it to be with him looking at you like that? Touching you like that, his palm branding your thigh whilst an errant thumb kneads the muscle there, dangerously close to the outskirts of your cunt?

“I changed my mind,” you relent in a breathy, needy whisper. And you’re rocking your hips this way and that, trying to lure his thumb into the catch of your pussy.

He laughs again, the sound of it murky, and you feel it furling in your chest. “As you wish.”

Your body vibrates with anticipation. You’re not made to wait long, a virile, wide palm stroking your legs apart. Soon after, you feel his thumb stroking down the expanse of your slit, and you jump, a shudder racking through you.

“Easy, darling,” he coos. Voice is thick as bourbon, and his thumb even thicker as he dips just the tip of it into your puckering sex.

He moves maddeningly slow as he collects some of your nectar on his thumb, smoothing it between your folds in search of your clit. He finds it with laser precision, stroking the distended pearl to life with meticulous circles that leave you baring down on nothing and moaning against the grit of your teeth.

A hand fastens around your hip. Massages one of your cheeks, holding you steady whilst he fucks his thumb into you slow and consistent, and the sticky squelch of your cunt soon fills the atmosphere as he works you into a mess of shaking tendons and sighs of “yes, yes, please. More. Fuck.”

Spurred by your words, he alternates between fingering you—trading out his thumb for his index and middle digits—and rubbing your clit. Ducks in to blister your rear with kisses, and you jerk, hypersensitive to every sensation, every sound. He pants softly behind you. Enjoys himself, watching you fall apart around his fingers, his girth pushing against the seam of his pants. He palms himself, kissing closer to your labia, the scent of it bewitching, and he wills himself not to add his tongue into the fray.  

He curls and pistons his fingers inside you, a frothy ring of lubricant collecting around the base of his digits. He eases a palm over the curve of your stomach to massage your tits and pluck your nipples, sweltering breaths fanning across your spine. 

You’re pushed closer to the precipice, towards that slurry edge of bliss. He murmurs words of praise against your skin, and you hump against his fingers like a beast in heat, chasing that sparkling rush. Chasing that crest of pleasure in your stomach, eyes screwed shut. Just a little longer. Just—

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” Sylus quietly demands, pressing against that unfathomable knot of pleasure inside you. 

And as if he has some sort of hold on your body, the world falls away from you at his behest. Your orgasm ripples through you, spilling like lava, pooling in your stomach, and dripping to your extremities. Your mouth opens with a gasp. A shaky exhale with his name in it, and you pitch forward, catching yourself on your hands last minute before you nosedive into the water. 

He laughs behind you, roosting one hand on your hip and the other on your stomach to steady you. “Good girl,” he croons, rubbing your pulsing cunt with his fingers. “You look so fucking sexy when cum like that.”

You shiver, clearly overstimulated, and he resigns to help ease you back onto your rear in the bathtub, kissing the sensitive space behind your ear. 

He lures you into a languid kiss with gentle fingers beneath your chin. Licks into your mouth, groaning his approval as you lazily return his affections, loose-limbed and spent.

You prop the back of your head on the tub’s rim, lips still sealed to his, and Sylus rubs up and down your body to encourage you back down from the clouds. You whimper into his mouth when he pinches your nipples, catching his hands to twine your fingers together, the stimulation too much. 

He greedily milks what remains of your voice from your throat before drawing away from your lips with a sticky click to pepper your throat and shoulder with apologetic kisses. 

When your heart beats something steady, and your labored breaths slide into something more even, Sylus peels away. “Dinner’s ready,” he purrs, grin all toothy, smug.

You track his movements to the door through hooded eyes, a satisfied cant to your lips whilst you sink to your chin into the water, mind a delicious slurry and the tension between your shoulders nearly gone.

—

“You’re insatiable,” he breathes, hot and wanton, against your hinged-open mouth. 

You have him notched between your splayed legs on the kitchen counter, and his hands are on an unhurried mission over your thighs whilst you kiss him. Your arms snake about his shoulders, fingers, easing into delicate locks of white, and you slant your mouth possessively over his, sealing your bodies together.

Dinner cools on the stovetop. Stuffed chicken breasts, garlic mashed potatoes, roasted asparagus. All a labor of love that you promise to consume after you’ve consumed him, pushing your greedy tongue into his mouth.

His groan vibrates your tongue whilst his thumbs ease over the inner cut of your thighs, and he grazes your outer labia with each pass, sending satisfying jolts of electricity throughout.

The bath renewed you. Cleared the fog from your mind, stoked the fire of your libido. Which is why you ambushed him in the kitchen, seducing him into fucking you when he was just about to set the table. 

Your body rolls like waves licking the shore against his, your nipples rubbing against the harsh fabric of his shirt. 

He’d peeled the straps of your negligee down your shoulders, bunching the neckline beneath your tits. 

“Fuck me,” you exhale, grappling with the catch of his belt. Hands perched on your waist, he peers into your eyes, brows knit with the strain of reining in his desire.

“Can I at least get you to the bed first,” he breathes, gritting his teeth when your lips brand his Adam’s apple.

“Nope.” You finally pull his belt free, and you busy yourself with unbuttoning his pants.

He chuckles darkly. Shakily, propping his hands on the countertop on either side of your thighs, letting you do terribly distracting things to his neck with your mouth. He sucks in a breath when you palm him, hand hot and searing against the cotton of his briefs. Cranes his head back, and you exhale all triumphantly against his throat, hand dipping beneath the elastic waistband to fish him from the confines of his underwear.

“Fuck,” he curses through swollen lips. Cheeks dust with a pretty shade of crimson, and he twitches each time your hand smooths over the leaking tip of his cock. Each time you stroke down the shaft, back up to thumb his slit, smearing his pre-cum over him.

“Fuck me,” you order once more, licking behind his ear. Draw his lobe into your mouth to nibble it, and he groans something bitten off, a pliant mess of muscle and sinew beneath the artful glide of your hand.

With no further goading, Sylus encases your hips with his hands. Drags you impossibly closer toward the edge of the counter, replacing your hand on his cock with his. 

He strokes himself so well. Your mouth waters from the sight, your sticky, bare pussy clenching with anticipation. The predatory gleam in his eyes reads as one of restrained desire. Like a beast subdued behind a cage, giving you an out, a chance to escape.

You merely swallow, enraptured by the sight of him so desperate for you. So eager when, moments ago, he was resistant to your temptation. He fists himself once more, his weighted hand swallowing up the bulk of his cock. He taps his heavy dick against your folds, the sensation curving your spine and siphoning an unbidden whimper from your lips.

He undulates his hips, rubbing himself between your folds, saturating his turgid flesh with your essence. And oh, it feels so good when his tip bumps the pucker of your pussy. He teases you with the prospect of fucking you proper, drawing himself out to repeat the motion from before, each time digging a little deeper.

When he finally eases home, nestled deep in the hot channel of your sex, your rigid walls ravenously sucking him in, you share a breath out. His chest heaves when he looks at you. The need that lurks behind his gaze makes your cunt flutter, and his responding groan is strained with the effort of keeping still inside you.

You lean back on your hands. Give him the go-ahead with a flicker of your lashes, and then he’s moving inside you. Fucking into you like a well-oiled machine, and he lifts the hem of his shirt to watch your union. 

You watch the steady ripple of his abs, wanting to chase the sweat that beads between them with your tongue. For now, you’ll settle for enjoying the feel of him. Throw your head back, your heels hooking into the backs of his thighs, keeping him in motion. Refusing to let him go. 

“Fuck,” he sighs. “Fuck, do you know what you do to me?” 

A sweltering hand curls around your neck, squeezing with enough pressure to bring your pulse thrumming to your ears. His thumb finds the hang of your bottom lip, drawing your mouth open to ease it inside. Your tongue darts out to sample the taste of it. Wraps around the worn pad, and you close your lips around it to suck. 

He fucks into you harder, your eyes rolling back as his balls knock against your ass. Reluctantly draws his finger from the hot suction of your mouth, splaying his fingers down your sternum to where your bodies convulge. 

“You feel so fucking good, kitten,” Sylus breathes. Thumbs your clit, your body convulsing. “So good, squeezing me like that. Taking me like a big girl. Look at you. So fucking good. Ah, fuck.”

That sparkling feeling pools in your stomach again. You grit your teeth, bowing forward to roost a hand on his shoulder. Your gazes interlock, and he’s so fucking beautiful like this, that carefully constructed composure giving way to something primal. Animalistic, and his hair falls into his face as he grips your hip to the point of bruising, mooring you to the countertop. Keeping you steady for him to ravage you.

After some time of skin slapping and desperate moans saturating the air, he twitches inside you. Hips stutter. Head falls back while his mouth hangs open, and he sighs, so relieved with one final stroke, molten spurts of cum painting your insides a gooey white. Branding down the inner cut of your thighs, puddling on the countertop.

You tug him into your arms, blistering his neck with open-mouthed kisses and the soft rake of your teeth. He shudders, leaning into you, propped on his hands on the counter, face nestled between your breasts.

You share a laugh as you massage his scalp. Relieved. And you’re patient as he softens inside you, stroking over the broad expanse of his back, cooing affectionate words against the crown of his head.

[sage-nebula]

I've been suicidal many times in my life, and while I could talk about those experiences, given what this post is about, I'd rather talk about something else.

My boss at my previous job was not just my boss. He was my friend, my mentor. I'd met him as a student employee; I still remember the day I went in for my interview, and I asked to speak with "Mr [name]," and the other student employee who answered the door made a face and said, "Hey, Mr [Name], this girl is here to see you" when he let me in because my boss never wanted us to be so formal with him. We were on a first-name basis with him, always. I was nineteen, and super nervous interviewing for my first job that wasn't retail or food service, but he cracked jokes and made me feel welcome. He treated all of us like that.

He was just a really good man. He always stood up for us, every time the university tried to do something that would make our lives harder or less safe. I made a Facebook status once about how I was harassed by a gas station employee near the university, and he commented telling me he'd bring his bat if I needed it. When one of the supervisors ended up overstepping boundaries in a big way with us student employees, he worked overtime to make sure that we would all be safe. When I got promoted to a supervisor position after graduation, and took it upon myself to oversea the yearly Secret Santa tradition for the students (meaning I didn't participate because otherwise I would know who my Secret Santa was), he decided he wasn't letting me go without a present and got me one anyway, despite my insistence that it wasn't necessary.

Unfortunately, he had his own demons to fight. He was going through difficult stuff in his personal life. He told me a lot about it; I was a confidant for him, and at one point he told me I was the only person he could speak to about any of it. More unfortunately still, as much as I wanted to be there for him, I was also struggling to keep my own mental health on track. It was around this time that I was looking into starting antidepressants / anti-anxiety medication for the first time because of how much I was struggling, and I was really focused on getting all of that sorted so that I could stop being tempted by the trains I heard pass by my home every night. Because of this, I didn't check in on him regularly. And so, when his boss called me one morning before my shift was supposed to start and told me that he had taken his own life, I was consumed by more than just shock and grief; I was crushed by guilt.

You see, I blamed myself. Largely because he had told me I was the only one who could confide in, I couldn't help but think that if I had checked in on him more regularly, if I had been there, this wouldn't have happened. I could have prevented it. I could have saved him. He wouldn't have taken his own life, and it wouldn't have been one of his young daughters who found him like that. Not only had I lost a friend of nine years, but I felt like I failed him.

I know now that isn't the case. There were many factors involved, not the least of which being it turns out I wasn't the only one he confided in after all. But it took me a long time to reach that point—a long time until I could honestly say that I didn't feel like it was my fault.

In the midst of depression and suicidal ideation, it can be incredibly hard to see the importance that you have in other people's lives—the place that you have there, that no one else can fill. I know this intimately, because it is something that I struggle with regularly. But even if you can't see it, you have to hold in the forefront of your mind that the importance is there. The impact will be felt. Not only do people care about you, but those closest to you will hold the weight of responsibility for your life on their shoulders for a long time. If nothing else, you don't want that for the people you care about, do you? You don't want to do that to them, do you?

You are not the only one harmed by your suicide. In fact, you're the one who will feel the impact the least. Death doesn't hurt the deceased; it only wounds the living. That's why we have funerals: it's for the sake of those left behind. But no amount of funerals or celebrations of life can assuage the pain left by a suicide. It doesn't help. Notes don't either.

If you're in a place where you're ideating, reconsider. Reach out to someone close to you. Tell them where you are, mentally, and have them come be with you. Believe me when I say that they would much rather sit awake with you all night, than wake up the next morning to a message that you're gone.

Give us the chance to be there for you. It's all we ask.

periodic reminder that your death by your own hand will wreak more havoc on the lives of those you know than you are ever capable of imagining and if you need a sign not to kill yourself this is it. people care more than you know & i am one of them

[keepingitformyself]

especially for tender ones like us

A/N: hehehehehehehehehehehehe synopsis: humor, anxiety, and the salvation of love.

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

genre: fluff.

warnings: no?

MASTERLIST

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

natasha tries not to stumble over her words when she suggests staying in, instead of going out. she does not mean to, but she does. 

how could she not? could you really blame her for wanting a quiet night? something that isn’t so public. she wanted to see you, of course, but she wanted to see you in a space you could be comfortable in, without any of the outside world and free from any distractions.  

you listen intently through the other line, you fight the giggle at catching her little stutter. she can’t see, but you smile widely at the whole thing.

“yeah, we can stay in. i can cook us dinner,” you nod. natasha’s shoulders drop in a quiet sense of relief at your words. her lips curl into a smile. “i’d like that. i can’t wait.”

although this would only be the fourth time you had met up together, to natasha, it felt like the first every single time. 

you continue talking for a little while more. natasha shares details about her day, work, and what she ate during lunch. she tells you how on her way to grab her usual coffee order, an americano, she decided she’d switch her order to a matcha latte after having had you recommend it to her. she tells you, 

“it was good, but not nearly enough caffeine for me to keep up with,” she said, her tone light but teasing. and while it hadn’t become her new favorite drink, just knowing she’d tried it for you was more than enough. her words sent your thoughts spiraling, a warmth blooming in your chest. you were certain that if she were standing next to you, you wouldn’t hesitate to kiss her right then and there.

but you can’t do that so instead, you just fall back on your bed like a high schooler talking to her crush. 

when you finally do meet up the following evening, natasha is buzzing with nerves she doesn't understand. she has taken down whole regimes and has fought aliens from space, yet she seems to draw the line when it comes to facing you. 

she knocks on your door, her other arm clutching a brown bag containing wine and flowers. a reasonable offering if you’re having dinner with someone you want to impress. 

when you answer the door, you're wearing a cream-colored knit sweater. 

“i thought i heard pacing out there.” you joke. 

natasha’s cheeks flush as she tries—and ultimately fails—to fight the smile tugging at her lips. “i wasn’t pacing,” she says, though the slight crack in her voice gives her away.

you step aside and invite her in, and neither of you acknowledges the quiet intimacy of the moment. it feels like more than just dinner, more than just a simple evening in your apartment.

you’re about to cook for her, and somehow, that feels monumental.

natasha’s nerves are a mess, though she can’t quite figure out why—or maybe she can. maybe it’s the way your presence makes her feel unsteady, as though the ground beneath her shifts whenever you’re near.

but natasha doesn’t want to be nervous.

she saw once—a penguin mistaking a sleeping walrus for a rock. the penguin had been caught completely off guard when the walrus stirred, nearly crushing it before it scurried away just in time.

natasha had found it funny at the time, the way surprises can sneak up on you. but now, thinking about it, it doesn’t feel so funny. it feels… unnerving.

surprises are bad for the heart, she thinks. she’s been taught her whole life to avoid them, to anticipate every possibility before it unfolds.

but knowing too much, being too prepared—that can hurt, too.

her thoughts are interrupted by your laughter, light and unburdened, as you guide her toward the kitchen. your smile is so easy, so genuine, and she can’t help but feel how good it is to exist in this space with you.

she offers to help you cook, but you shoo her away instead. you make her watch.

she sits there, with her hands on her lap, and just stares. and she can’t help the look of longing on her face. the kind of thing that suggests she wouldn’t mind this being a constant. 

you made pasta for the evening. nothing too spectacular, but natasha had treated it like you were a top chef and had spent hours crafting everything with your bare hands. 

and then once you’ve plated food for you both and you’ve gotten down to a few bites, you notice the small sigh natasha lets out. the flutter of her eyes as she takes in the meal. 

you smile at her reaction as you move some of the food with your fork. 

“do you like it?”

she looks at you, mid-chew, her mouth stuffed with the food, but she manages a smile. 

“yeah, uh, yes it’s good. it’s so good,” she says, hand over her mouth. 

you continue eating, talking about everything and anything. the night was filled with small moments that would bleed into much deeper ones. you laughed, she smiled, you smiled, she laughed. the kind of things one feels they become when around those who make you tender. 

and you don’t know how or when but you try not to notice how little by little natasha seems to retract a little. 

you decide maybe she needs a small moment for herself and start cleaning up the table. she offers to help, but you wave her off, insisting she relaxes. 

she tries to, but realistically, natasha doesn’t know how to relax. so she sits back and stares at you like she isn’t sure what to do with herself. she isn’t used to this at all. spaces like this–warm, cozy, comfortable.

the impending guilt comes. it’s all so layered. she feels so much at once. the nervousness, the anxiety, the fear of loss, the fear of not being present enough. 

natasha doesn’t know how to be here without sacrificing so much. 

after a while, natasha speaks up. 

“i should probably get going.” her voice too casual to sound like she meant it. she tries not to notice the look of disappointment on your face when you turn around to face her. 

“you don’t have to.” you find yourself saying, not wanting her to leave. 

she hums, something that says she’s already made up her mind. she gets up and gathers her things. 

you follow her to the door, or at least try to—but you pause at the end of the hall when you see her linger near the door, uncomfortably. unsure if she should leave. 

you call her out on it. “you can stay longer if you want.”

natasha wrestles with herself because she really wants to. she looks at the door as if it’d answer for her. 

you’re letting her know. 

natasha feels awkward, clammy hands. she doesn't know what she’s doing. and it’s hard to think of anything else when your eyes are screaming, don't actually leave, at her. 

you look at her carefully, trying to see if you can find any clear indication of what she may be feeling, but it isn’t hard to figure out the redhead in front of you. 

you’ve noted quite quickly how easy it comes for her walls to lower when you’re around. and if there’s anything you’ve learned from that, it’s that natasha romanoff isn’t the trained killer everyone thinks she is. 

sure we all have certain versions we show to certain people. but the natasha you know is anything but rough-edged. the natasha you’ve come to know is actually quite the opposite of what everyone else perceives. 

she’s tender, in her own silent way. too afraid to ever let too much slip away that she’s so painfully aware of everything around her. 

natasha is tenderness wrapped in quiet strength, a paradox of someone who feels deeply but guards herself fiercely. she sees the world clearly—the beauty and the harm—and carries that weight like a constant ache.

like she knows the world hurts more for those most aware of hurt. 

her tenderness isn’t soft; it’s sharp, vigilant, always bracing for the pain that comes with letting others in. you can see it in the flicker of her gaze, the way she hesitates as if expecting the world to hurt her.

and yet, she doesn’t harden. she holds onto that fragile, open part of herself, even when it would be easier not to. it’s beautiful and a little heartbreaking.

natasha looks up at you, then back down at her hands. just above a whisper, she says, 

“i don't know what i’m doing.” 

“that’s the most fun part.” you joke. she smiles, she doesn’t know how to say she wants more time. 

how could she say she feels greedy at this moment? she wants to protect being here with you. we have such little time, she thinks. 

bashfully, she steps closer to you, “i don't want to go.” she says. 

“then don’t.” and natasha almost complies. instead, she takes a step closer, her hand lifting towards your cheek. she’s so close now. 

she kisses you, soft, and shy, but you make her feel sure when your arm circles her neck, deepening the kiss altogether. when she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours, she lets out a shaky breath. 

“maybe i’ll forget my scarf,” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. 

“please do,” you replied. please leave your scarf, please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of leaving. please always come back. “that way you’ll have to come back later for it.”  

and just like that, her quiet uncertainty washes away. 

she takes her scarf off and drops it near the door. you follow her actions, you smile, amusement in your eyes. 

later that night, when natasha gets home, she texts you. 

i forgot my scarf. 

you reply, you’ll have to come get it then. 

[mapis-putellas]

𝑨 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒎?

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x reader

Words: 600+

Warnings: none

Summary: It’s late, and alexia has yet another important question to ask. [Requested]

The night was quiet, the kind of stillness that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. Your room was bathed in soft shadows, the faint glow of the moon filtering in through the cracks in the curtains. You lay sprawled out on your back, your breaths deep and even as sleep claimed you. Alexia was nestled against you, her head resting on your chest, one arm draped lazily over your waist.

The rhythm of her breathing matched yours for a while, but then it changed. She shifted slightly, her fingers tracing idle patterns against your side, and her head tilted up to look at you.

“Amor,” she whispered softly, her voice laced with hesitation.

You didn’t stir at first, lost in the heaviness of sleep.

“Amor,” she tried again, this time nudging you gently with her hand.

A groan escaped your lips, a low sound of protest, but your eyes remained shut.

“Wake up,” she whispered insistently, her accent wrapping around the words in that way that always made your heart squeeze. “Por favor, I need to ask you something.”

Your brow furrowed, and you mumbled something incoherent, your mind still foggy.

“Amor, please,” she pressed, her hand now gently shaking your shoulder.

Finally, with a deep sigh, you cracked one eye open to find her gazing at you intently, her brown eyes wide and serious in the dim light. “Alexia,” you murmured, your voice hoarse with sleep. “What could possibly be so important at—” you glanced at the clock on the nightstand, “—2:37 in the morning?”

She didn’t flinch at your tone, nor did she seem deterred by the clear irritation in your expression. Instead, she propped herself up on one elbow, her face hovering above yours. “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Then a third time, hoping you’d somehow misheard her. “A… worm?” you repeated, your voice flat.

Her lips pressed into a firm line, and she nodded. “Sí, a worm,” she said, her tone completely serious.

For a moment, you just stared at her, wondering if this was some sort of bizarre dream. But the weight of her gaze and the earnest expression on her face told you she wasn’t joking.

“Alexia,” you said slowly, rubbing a hand over your face in an attempt to wake yourself up fully. “It’s the middle of the night. You woke me up to ask if I’d still love you if you were… a worm?”

She nodded again, clearly not understanding why you weren’t taking this as seriously as she was. “It’s important,” she insisted. “I need to know.”

You let out a heavy sigh, your head falling back against the pillow. “Why,” you started, pausing to choose your words carefully, “are we talking about this right now?”

Her lips twitched, almost like she wanted to smile, but her expression stayed serious. “Because I was thinking,” she began, her accent thickening slightly as she spoke. “If something happened to me, if I was not�� like this anymore, would you still love me?”

The softness in her voice made your irritation melt away, and you felt a pang of guilt for not taking her seriously earlier. You reached up, brushing a strand of blonde hair away from her face. “Ale, you could be a worm, a bird, a rock… I’d still love you.”

Her face lit up, a small smile breaking through her serious demeanor. “De verdad?” she asked, her voice hopeful.

“Yes,” you replied, your tone softer now. “De verdad. But you’d be a very cute worm, just for the record.”

She laughed then, the sound light and airy, and it was worth every second of lost sleep just to hear it.

“Okay,” she said, finally settling back down against your chest. “Good. Now I can sleep.”

“Glad we sorted that out,” you murmured, a smile tugging at your lips as you wrapped your arms around her.

And as her breathing evened out, you realized that even in the most ridiculous moments, loving Alexia was the easiest thing you’d ever done.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @wileys-russo @mead-iocre @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐝—𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘣𝘪𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot

Synopsis: You and Changbin have a deal that everytime the both of you want to get off some steam, you know who to call. The rules were simple. No strings attached. Only fucking. And damn, that was perfect...

Warnings: Mention of academic validation. Smut🔞 Friends with benefits (to lovers at the end), unprotected, rough sex, Bin's cock too big, size kink(?), praising, dirty talk, pet names (doll, baby, princess), name calling (slut. But only once), oral (f. receiving), fingering, overtsim(?), squirting, creampie, cum play(?).

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: Academic validation is my best friend but also my worst enemy. With the stress I'm going through because of college, I felt like writing this. I'd like a rough fuck as a distraction ngl.

And this is probably the filthiest one shots I've written so far— LMFAO.

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 3.5k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You stared at your test paper as if it had personally insulted you, which it kinda did, the big red circle with a "C-" looking right back at you cruelly.

You had put weeks, as in WEEKS of hard work for this test only for you to get a grade that felt like a slap in the face.

The dull ache behind your eyes only intensified as you crumpled the test paper in your fist, a confirmation that no matter how much effort you put in, it never seemed to be enough.

Dragging your bag over your shoulder, you walked briskly out of the lecture hall, dodging classmates who threw each other pitying or triumphant glances. They didn’t get it. They couldn’t.

You had been running yourself ragged with late-night study sessions, caffeine-fueled breakdowns, and an endless loop of second-guessing. All of it for this.

Once you were back at your apartment, you tossed your bag onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. The air felt heavy, suffocating almost.

You needed release, a distraction—something, anything, to snap you out of the vortex of self-doubt threatening to pull you under.

As if he could hear your thoughts, the need for a distraction, your phone buzzed with a notification.

Bin: Wanna fuck?

You playfully scoffed at the screen. His message straightforward as always. You both had been friends for a very long time and you made a deal one night after being dared to kiss during a party, that if in need of blowing off some steam, you knew who to call.

The kiss had your knees weak that you initiated this idea to Changbin—as a joke—but he agreed to it without a second thought. And since that day, whenever either of you needed a quick distraction or are super horny, you were there for eachother.

What an awesome agreement right?

Me: Sure. my place or yours? Bin: Mine. Be here in 30? Me: See you soon.

~

Thirty minutes later, You arrived at his place wearing a hoodie and leggings, the picture of casual. You rang the bell and the moment Changbin opened the door, the tension in the air was palpable.

His eyes scanned you briefly, his lips curving into that familiar smirk that sent a shiver down your spine.

Changbin opened the door wider to let you in, he was wearing a tank top and grey sweatpants. Closing the door, he sunk back into his large plush sofa, exhaling sharply.

"Bad day?" You asked curiously.

"Yeah. Accidentally deleted a file that contained a comeback track. Chan's not pissed but I'm disappointed." He said, cracking his knuckles.

You frowned, stepping inside and kicking off your sneakers. “Damn, Bin, that sucks. Did you try recovering it?”

He shook his head, running a hand through his dark hair. “I did, but it’s gone for good."

You made your way over to him, plopping down beside him. "I'm sorry," you said softly, placing your hand on his shoulder.

"You're tense." He murmured looking at you, his voice low, soothing, recognizing the slight difference from your usual voice.

Your throat tightened as you wanted to shrug it off, to bury yourself in the comfort of this arrangement without delving into the emotions clawing at your chest. But Changbin wasn’t letting you hide tonight.

“Talk to me,” he urged, his fingers falling ever so slightly on your waist.

“It’s just…” Your voice cracked, and you looked away, shame flooding your chest. “I’m so tired, Bin. I worked so hard, and I still couldn't get a good grade. It never feels like enough. It’s like no matter what I do, I can’t catch a break.”

His expression softened, his brow furrowing as he cupped your face gently, forcing you to look at him. “Hey,” he said softly, “A red ink on paper doesn't define who you are. Don't be so hard on yourself.”

You blinked up at him, stunned by the sincerity in his voice. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You were here for distraction, for release, not to be seen so deeply. But Changbin had a way of disarming you without even trying.

You nodded wordlessly, and something in his gaze shifted. The heat was still there, smouldering just beneath the surface, but it was wrapped in a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“We both had a bad day today I guess,” you said, attempting to brush away the tingling sensation.

“True that,” Bin scoffed, turning away from you for a second.

“Wanna get that frustration out?” you asked, your tone shifting to something more suggestive.

Changbin’s smirk returned, this time sharper, darker. “You offering, princess?”

You leaned closer, your fingers trailing higher up his thigh. “Always.”

In a flash, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you into his lap. You gasped, straddling him as his hands gripped your hips firmly, his touch possessive. His dark eyes bore into yours, his frustration melting into something far more primal.

“You’re too good to me,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “Let me return the favour.”

Before you could respond, his lips crashed into yours, the kiss rough and hungry. His hands slid under your hoodie, pulling it up and over your head in one swift motion.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his eyes raking over your exposed skin. “You’re gorgeous.”

You barely had time to feel flustered before he claimed your lips again, his hands roaming your body, leaving trails of fire as he unclasped your bra, revealing your breasts to the cool air.

“Stand up,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. Normally you'd fight back, but today you obeyed, feeling your own arousal taking over so fast.

You really needed this distraction.

You stood before him as he tugged your leggings and underwear down in one motion, leaving you completely bare.

Changbin leaned back, his eyes darkening as he took you in. Already fucking you in his head as his gaze never left your pretty pussy.

"What a sight," he said, his voice rough like distant thunder. “Now, come here.”

You climbed back into his lap, your bare skin against his clothed body sending shivers through you. Before he even let you breathe, his mouth closed around your tipping nipple and sucked it, your head fell back gripping on his shoulders.

He played with your breasts, sucking and kneading them with his big hands, making your needy core grind against his clothed bulge. He released the bud with a pop, and pulled you down, crushing his mouth on yours again, slower this time.

“Feel that?” he growled against your lips. “That’s what you do to me.”

You whimpered, rolling your hips against him, the friction making you ache for more. “Bin, please…”

He chuckled darkly, his hands moving to cup your ass, guiding your movements. “What do you need, princess? Tell me.”

“Fuck me.” You gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair.

Changbin swifted you instantly, pressing your back against the sofa as he removed his tank top and slid off his pants. Your eyes trailed every detail of his muscular body, strong biceps and soft torso, the hint of dark hair going further down towards his…

Holy shit.

His huge cock jutted up, hard, leaking pre cum. And THICK. So thick, that it was impossible to take him without prep.

Changbin smirked at the look on your face as your gaze stayed glued to his shaft. His confidence was palpable, a devilish grin playing on his lips as he leaned down over you, caging you beneath his frame, making you swallow hard with anticipation.

His hands slid between your thighs, spreading you open, and a soft gasp escaped your lips when his fingers pressed against your slick heat. He chuckled darkly.

“Already so wet for me.”

“Changbin,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He positioned above you, aligning himself at your entrance. The blunt head of his cock nudged against your folds, and your body tensed. You bucked your hips upwards but Changbin wasn't gonna let you have him that fast.

He knew your body, how it strained to take his girth. And damn he's going to have dessert first. A sweet treat for the bad day right?

Instead of pushing himself inside your aching, needy pussy, he trailed downwards, making a path of hot, wet, open mouth kisses down your body, sucking on your breasts and leaving purplish red marks behind.

Your fingers went through his hair guiding him to give you more. When he reached your core, glistening and clenching around nothing, his warm breath fanned over your velvet folds, making you shiver.

"Relax for me, doll." Bin murmured, his voice low and soothing.

He placed a kitten kiss on your clit—gosh, always so respectful—his tongue swiped through your folds, slow and deliberate, as he pushed two fingers.

Your walls clenched him instantly, the sensation was overwhelming, making you arch your back. The heat of his mouth and the stretch of his fingers combining to ignite every nerve in your body.

“Fuck, Bin,” you gasped, your hips jerking involuntarily as his tongue circled your clit with precision.

He hummed against you, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight through you. “That’s it,” he said, pulling back briefly to look up at you. His dark eyes were molten, his lips glistening with your slick juices.

“Let me hear you, baby. Don’t hold back.”

Your head fell back as his mouth latched onto you again, his fingers curling inside to hit that spot that made you cry out. His free hand slid up your body, gripping your waist firmly, keeping you anchored as you writhed beneath him. He was basically making out with your sloppy cunt.

So sweet and dripping so much just for him, Changbin's forehead beaded with sweat as he focused on your needy pearl, sucking and swirling and finger fucking you till you were whimpering.

Your hands found their way into his hair, tugging them as the pressure built inside you. “Changbin, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he cut you off, his voice commanding. His tongue ruthlessly circled and sucked on your clit that made you squirm and tear erratic moans out of your throat.

The coil in your stomach tightened further as his fingers sped up, his mouth relentless against your pulsing bud. The pleasure crested like a tidal wave, and when it crashed over you, it left you trembling and gasping his name.

Bin didn’t stop right away. His movements slowed to guide you through the aftershocks until your body went limp beneath him. He let you calm down after the high of your first orgasm, your pussy so wet, tight and perfect, he couldn't wait till it wrapped around him.

When his fingers left you, you whimpered at the loss, but the sight of him stroking his cock with your slick arousal, made your breath catch.

Bin smirked mischievously, his chin and lips glistening with your essence, your eyes glassy with need, both your minds fogged and consumed with lust.

“Think you’re ready for me now?” he asked, his voice rough with desire as he leaned over you, his face inches from yours. He slapped the angry tip of his cock against your nub, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

You squirmed and nodded beneath him, biting your lip as the anticipation built.

"Will you let me stretch this tight pussy, doll?" he murmured, his tone dark and teasing, his lips brushing against your ear.

Your cheeks burned, but the desperation in your voice betrayed your need. "Please, Bin… I need you.”

“Yeah?” he taunted, his cock sliding through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. “You want me to fill you up? This little cunt can take all of me right?”

You whimpered, your hips bucking up to meet him. “I can. Please.”

He groaned, his grip on your hips tightening. “Such a greedy little thing,” he growled, positioning himself at your entrance. “Want me to wreck you till you can’t think straight, right doll?”

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice trembling. “I need it, Bin. I need you.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, a wicked smile curling on his lips.

Your legs wrapped around his waist as he began to push in. The stretch was intense, his thick velvet shaft sinking into you inch by inch, forcing your walls to adjust to his size.

“Fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his head falling forward as he buried himself deeper. “You’re so fucking tight, baby. Squeezing me like you were made for me.”

Your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you moaned. “You’re so big,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with both pleasure and the overwhelming sensation of fullness.

“Damn right I am,” he rasped, pausing to let you adjust before pulling out slightly and pressing back in, each movement slow and deliberate. “And I’m gonna make you feel every inch of me.”

His hips began to pick up a rhythm, the pace rough but controlled, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. “Look at you,” he groaned, his eyes locking on yours. “Such a good girl for me.”

“Yes,” you gasped, your back arching off the sofa.

He began to move a bit, you moaned softly, rolling your hips to test the way he felt inside you. The movement made him curse under his breath, his control slipping as his grip on you tightened.

“Patience, baby,” he growled, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in with deliberate force. The sudden fullness made you cry out, your nails digging into his biceps.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he said, his thrusts picking up pace. The way his length appeared and disappeared back inside you, the way you writhed beneath him, it made Bin feel like he was in heaven. Literally in heaven.

When the stretchy discomfort was replaced with intense pleasure, he began pounding into you in a bruising force that did feel like he was going to wreck you apart into two.

Your mouth fell open, breasts bouncing with each hard thrust, Bin struggling to keep his balance on the sofa as he hammered into you, making you climb higher and higher in the throes of pleasure.

“You deserve an A-plus for taking my cock so well, doll,” he growled, his voice thick with lust as he leaned over you. His lips brushed against your ear, his hot breath making you shiver beneath him.

You moaned LOUDLY, your walls fluttering around him as you tried to adjust to the punishing rhythm he set. “Bin… you’re too much,” you choked out, your nails scraping down his back in desperation.

He chuckled darkly, slowing his thrusts just enough to pull almost all the way out, teasing you with the head of his cock before plunging back in with a force that made your breath hitch. “You can take it,” he said, his tone low and possessive.

“You’ve done it before and you’ll do it again.” He rasped harshly.

He leaned back slightly and pressed your legs against your chest, sinking deeper into you.

Your moan broke into a cry as he thrust deeper, his words a mix of praise and sinful promises. “Look at you,” he growled, his gaze locking on yours. “Letting me stretch this perfect little pussy like it’s mine.”

You couldn't form any words. The way he kept hitting all the spots, the way he kept calling you his, made you see stars.

The knot in your stomach was close to snapping and you needed release, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, groans and whimpers echoing off the walls of his living room.

“Bin, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he urged, his pace unrelenting.

His words were your undoing, and the orgasm tore through you like a storm. You writhed, body shaking uncontrollably, the thread snapping and you were unable to register the depth of your ecstasy as he pulled out, making you squirt, long and hard, shooting clear streams around him.

You made a huge mess between you two, back arching and squealing moans that drove Changbin out of his goddamn mind.

“Holy fuck," Changbin groaned, his hips stuttering as he felt the wetness that spasmed out of you coat his thighs and the sofa beneath you. His eyes darkened as he looked down at the mess you made.

“Didn’t know you could be this filthy,” his thumb brushing over your sensitive, swollen clit, making you jolt.

“Squirting all over me like a good little slut.”

The mixture of praise and degradation sent you reeling, your head falling back against the cushions as he rubbed your clit and pushed back in, picking up his pace, his cock sliding in and out of you with wet, obscene sounds.

His own release wasn't so far as he followed after you, the way your walls continued to clench around him, sent him spiralling. With a guttural moan, he buried himself deep inside you, his seed spilling into you in hot, thick spurts.

His dick throbbed uncontrollably and slowly pulled out, his cum pouring out of your hole and you squirted again. You were FILLED.

His chest heaved as he admired the sight before him, his substances sliding out of your cunt like golden nectar slipping from a comb.

“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair. “Look at you, baby. Completely ruined.”

Your legs trembled as you tried to catch your breath, your body still buzzing (literally) from the aftershocks. His hands found your thighs, spreading you wider, exposing just how thoroughly he had claimed you.

He smirked, holding the base of his length, swiping the tip through the thick white mess painting your swollen pussy, pressing it back inside. You gasped at the sudden intrusion, your body arching into his touch.

“Don’t think you’re done yet, princess,” he murmured, his tone low and teasing. “I’m not letting any of this go to waste. Gotta make sure you keep every drop of me inside.”

“Too much,” you whimpered, but your body betrayed, hips rolling against him as he worked himself into you, pushing deeper. Sticky strings attaching from you to him as he fucked his cum back inside you.

“Too much?” he echoed with a dark chuckle. “You will take it, won't you?”

“Yeah, yeah…” You nodded gasping then your head lolled back, another moan escaping your lips when he leaned down, his mouth brushing against the swell of your breast, hand circling your puffy, cum filled pussy and your body trembling with overstimulation.

His voice softened, a hint of tenderness breaking through his rough words.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous like this, baby. Beautifully wrecked, and,” he nipped your sensitive skin, “Professor Bin grades you an A-plus.”

A breathless laugh escaped your lips at his teasing, he knew how much you love getting the perfect grade, though it quickly turned into a soft gasp as Changbin pressed another kiss on your skin.

His warm breath fanned over you, sending shivers up your spine despite the heat radiating between your sweaty bodies.

The weight of his gaze made your chest tighten, the intimacy in his eyes almost overwhelming. For a moment, the rough edges of your deal blurred, replaced by something raw and more vulnerable.

He reached closer, his thumb brushing over your cheek, wiping the streaks of tears that had rolled down your face.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" he asked, his voice low and earnest. The contrast to his earlier teasing tone made clenched your heart.

You nodded, swallowing hard as you placed your hand over his. "I'm okay. Just...a little overwhelmed. And stretched maybe," you admitted chuckling.

“I didn’t mean to push too hard, I'm sorry,” he murmured, brushing away a strand of hair from your face and leaning down brushing his lips against your temple. “I just got caught up in you. You’re…everything.”

His words sent a new kind of warmth through you, one that made you feel loved rather than overwhelmed. You smiled up at him, your hand slipping from his to cup his cheek. “I wanted it, Bin. All of it. I promise.”

Changbin leaned forward, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss that seemed to melt the tension from your body. "I’ve always got you, baby," he murmured against your mouth.

The words hung in the air, their meaning lingering even as he pulled back, going into the bathroom to be back with a warm cloth.

He gently wiped you, opposite from the man who wrecked you into oblivion a few moments before, his hands moving to guide your legs around his waist. He shifted, settling beside you on the sofa, pulling you into his arms as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.

The two of you lay there in silence for a while, the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek grounding you. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine, soothing in a way that felt achingly intimate.

"Bin," you whispered after a long pause, tilting your head to look up at him.

"Yeah?" His voice was soft, his eyes searching yours.

"What...what are we doing?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly as you voiced the question that had been gnawing at the back of your mind.

For a moment, he didn't answer, his gaze dropping to where his fingers rested against your skin. Then he let out a quiet sigh, his hand coming up to cup your face. "I don't know," he admitted, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“But I think we both know that this is more than just…casual.”

Your breath hitched, the sincerity in his voice making your chest ache. "I think so too." you said slowly.

Changbin's lips curved into a small smile. "Then let’s figure it out," he said, his forehead resting against yours. "No more rules. It's just you and me now. Okay?”

Slight tears pricked your eyes, but this time they were tears of relief, of something that felt dangerously close to happiness.

"Okay," you murmured, a bright smile blooming on your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck, savouring his warmth, who hugged you back cherishing you in his embrace.

Rules are meant to be broken. And some lines are meant to be crossed.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Enjoyed this one shot? Consider checking my masterlist for more. Requests? Check 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 (& 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜)

Thank you for reading!

xx,Ivyy

[sunlitmcgee]

Hiii. Adding a bit as a transguy who has spent the better part of this year in recovery from a deeply traumatized ordeal involving a former dnd table I played in: when cishet perisex men do these little "tests" to transmen who Are open about being out, it is 9 times out of 10 their strange way of fueling their own bigotries by getting validation through these jokes and remarks. For the entire time I played in this group and was openly a transman, they'd look at me anytime they cracked these jokes, with this awful Needly glint, because they knew they were The Real Strong Men who outnumbered and outsized me. And they knew that I was young and desperate for community and was too anxious to ever talk out. It wasn't so much a nonstop thing that happened, but stuff that's fully come back to me now that I'm gone from there and have a free clean mind to reflect on the damage it caused. Those vile men Used me to fuel their bigotry and preyed on my loneliness and vulnerable self as a young transman who was desperate for community, validation, and approval.

So if a transman Is somehow invited into the sacred girl hating club??

He is there as a testing doll for their cruelty. He is easy pickings, vulnerable prey, and to imply that he reeps anything but terror and trauma from it is a bold face cruel lie.

I'm this close to just sending that trans inclusive radical misogynist post, the one about how there's loads of guys who'll go "oh, you're a man now, great, come shit talk women with us" to every blog insisting that trans men can't have male privilege and it's transandrophobia to say they do. Not every trans man has this experience but it's actually pretty common even for out trans men to be seen as, if not "real" men depending on who you ask, certainly non-women, and encouraged to perform misogyny as part of their social transition.

[planetpedri]

Silver soul — Pedri González.

Pairing: Pedri González x Fem!Reader

Summary: When banter leads to an interesting chain of events.

Word count: 1.6k

Disclaimer/s: banter + fluff + light angst

A/N: i unfortunately did change the initial summary + plot but i’m too lazy to change the name

Annoyance seeped through your expression as your head turned to face Pedri’s. The two of you had been the last ones left outside when your friends has moved inside to do various things. You were expecting Pedri to leave along with them, wanting your moment of peace. Unfortunately, he was not going anywhere.

“You couldn’t possibly let me have any peace, could you?” Your eyes narrowed into slits as you shuffled in your seat, bringing your knees to your chest.

The fireplace casted a warm glow across the Tenerife man, making his face adorn a warm color that enunciated his features. You hated how good he looked, it make him so much harder to hate.

Pedri’s mouth forms a lazy grin. “What? You don’t appreciate my company?” He knew what to say to set you off, loving the way your face scrunched in annoyance.

“Not even in the slightest.”

His low chuckle made you even more agitated. He was so likable and charming that it pissed you off, not to mention how easy conversations seemed to flow with him. Every time you spoke, hours would pass without you even realizing.

Pedri leaned back in his chair, head tilted to the side as he looked at your stoic face as you watched the flames dance. “Ay, guapa.” His words catch your attention, your head snapping in his direction. [beautiful]

“Ay, cabezón.” You shoot back, refusing to give into his flirtatious compliment. [big head]

The raven haired man laughed, his head falling forward, shaking slightly. “Okay, I was being nice and you just want to hurt me.”

Your shoulders move up and down, shrugging. “When will you realize you flirting isn’t going to make me dislike you any less?” You tug at the corners of your blanket to lift them over your shoulders to grow more comfortable.

“You know what I think?” Pedri asks, his eyes never leaving you, not even when you give him a hard, challenging glare. “I think you secretly like it.”

A laugh of disbelief leaves your lips, “and what makes you think that?”

Grinning wider, Pedri leans over in his chair. His elbows prop up on the armrest and he holds his head up with his palms. “You may not realize it, but your lips twitch every time I do.”

“Do you ever shut up?”

Pedri shakes his head, “no…” He was about to get real risky with what he says next, “but you can try and make me.”

Oh! Right, right. Funny.

Your lips pull into a thin line, eyes darting around his face. Is he being serious right now? But Pedri doesn’t look like he’s joking, his stupid smirk was gone, a serious look overtaking his face. He was.

“And how do you suppose I do that?” You nervously—wait. Nervous? Why were you nervous? Your knee had began to bounce, something that you did whenever you got anxious and, or nervous.

You were not anxious right now.

Your breathing slowed when Pedri’s gaze fell to your lips. He doesn’t say anything, just hums. He knew exactly what he was doing and you shake your head.

“Yeah, no.” You cough, turning away from him to look at the fire again. Your face was burning and it wasn’t because of the heat from the fire.

Pedri cracked up, finding it ever so amusing how flustered you’d gotten. He never realized how easy it would be to get you riled up like that.

And just like that, you’d stopped talking to Pedri. Completely. And every second of it was hell. All you could think about was his beautiful brown eyes that had a strong orange hue, the way his hair fell so softly on his head, the way he smiled with his teeth. It was so frustrating.

Pedri felt your absence the first time you didn’t show up to a gathering. Even when you didn’t come to a home game. Even when you said you hated him, you showed up periodically every three games.

He texted you, you didn’t respond. He asked your friends about you, they simply gave a, ‘she’s busy’ in response, but he noticed the slight questioning in their tone—like they didn’t believe what they were saying.

So, at his whits end, he stood outside your door in the rain. Pounding on the oak wood door, he progressingly got harsher and harsher until you finally swung it open.

“What—oh.” You falter, stepping back in surprise. “Pedri.”

“Yeah, Pedri. The guy you’ve avoided like I had a disease or something?” He snapped tightly, his hands moving as he spoke in frustration. “Tell me what I did wrong!”

You were taken aback, to say the least. You didn’t think your absence would affect him this much. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” You answer quietly. “Are you cold?”

Pedri was befuddled. Cold? Was this your way of avoiding conversation? He was, of course. “What do you think? I’m drenched.”

“Come inside.” You step out of the way, motioning for him to come inside of your house.

Pedri’s mouth clamps shut. He strides inside and shrugs off his hoodie, leaving him clad in a white tee shirt that was still damp from the water that seeped through.

He’d never been to your house. It was exactly like he pictured. Neat, pops of color, random paraphernalia of the things you liked—yet subtle enough that nobody would know unless they liked those things or knew you well enough. It was all so.. you. He smiled a little.

“I can get you a blanket, coffee, tea? I don’t want you to get sick.” You were already moving toward the couch a few feet away, reaching for one.

Shaking his head, Pedri grips your arm, stopping you effectively. You glance back at him with furrowed eyebrows. “No. Stop stalling. Talk to me.”

Your eyes drift to his hand, ignoring the way his touch sent a bolt of electricity up your arm. “I have been busy. Not really feeling all the socializing. It’s not you.”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me it isn’t true.” Pedri demands, dropping his hand to give you the stage. His arms cross and he cocks his head to the side with a hard stare.

You play with the hem of your sleeve, reluctantly looking at him. “It’s not you.”

Confusion flashes across his face. “Then what is it?”

“It’s me!” You exclaim, rubbing your face. “It’s my complete and utter lack of ability to get you out of my head! It’s the way I can’t stop thinking about you! It is—“ You turn around and take a breath. “My head makes it so difficult to be around you.”

Pedri listens intently, ignoring his urge to reach out and shut you up. His heart races and his head pounds and God he just wanted to kiss you!

He says your name, softly. But you weren’t finished.

“—Not to mention, I want to forget you so bad and I can’t! You have always been annoying but it’s reaching an insufferable level!”

“Are you done?”

“Yes.”

“If you think this is one sided, you are dead wrong.” And that was all he had to say. He wasn’t going to waste your time and ramble about how deeply he felt your absence, or how he couldn’t sleep because your face was the last thing he pictured when he closes his eyes and he didn’t want it to go away.

Your mouth parts, your breath hitching in your throat. Words fail your tongue. When you can’t get anything out, your shoulders slump. Okay. Okay! This was good. Right?

He says your name again, snapping his fingers in your face. Blinking, you take a long breath, a slightly confused smile overtaking your lips. “Wow. Alright. Oh. Now what.”

“Now, I ask if I can have that blanket because I’m pretty fucking cold.” He says through a breathy laugh.

Your head dips when you chuckle, “yeah, yeah. You can sit on the couch. I’ll make you tea, too. You’ll probably catch a cold.”

You were so caring, even when you pretended you couldn’t stand him. You were caring all the time, Pedri supposed that was what he loved so much about you.

When you were back with the blanket and tea in hand, you plop down beside him. “I haven’t been busy. I’ve been miserable.” You confess, leaning your head back against the couch cushion with a loose smile.

“I’ve been miserable too.” Pedri admits, setting the mug aside and leans back as well. When he’s facing you, he takes the moment of silence to scan your face. Every small feature, he took in. Burned it into his brain.

Your stomach hurt with his examination because with it came the softest, most endearing smile. “Are you always going to creepy-stare at me? Or will this end after tonight?”

“Always.” Pedri shrugs, lifting his hand to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing your soft skin. “Don’t do this to me again. Don’t make me have to get upset at you, I hated every second of it.”

You nod, your eyes fluttering shut to sink in his every touch. “Never again.”

“And—“

“Can I shut you up?”

The call back to the conversation that happened only weeks ago had Pedri laughing. “Yes.” Without another word, your lips pressed to his.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you want to be tagged in future pedri posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @sakashq @ar4ujos @joaoflms @gadriezmannsgirl @hrts4havertz @spidybaby @unx100to @st4rgirl-ellie

[lovelygirlwithablog]

୨ ⎯ headcanons . nicolas alexander chavez x f!reader

a/n: i started watching monsters and MAN, i get the HYPE. here is some cute and a little spicy headcanons for y'all!!!

━ spontaneous AF

Nic would totally be the guy to text you like, “Get ready, I’m picking you up in 20,” and then take you on some random adventure, like stargazing or getting ice cream at midnight. Literally boyfriend goals.

━ biggest hype man

He’s always like, “Babe, you’re AMAZING,” even when you’re just, like, doing homework or surviving Monday. He’d make you feel like a literal queen 24/7.

━ obsessed with your music taste

He’d always ask for song recs and then add them to a playlist called, like, Songs That Remind Me of Her (AND HE’D ACTUALLY LISTEN TO IT).

━ puppy love vibes

He’d 100% suggest adopting a dog together because “it’d be so cute, just like us,” and then post pics of you two with the dog, captioned, “My girls 🫶🏻.” Like, STOP.

━ always touchy

Nic would hold your hand everywhere. Like, even if you’re just walking around Target, he’d be holding it or wrapping an arm around you. People would literally gag at how cute you are.

━ so funny it hurts

He’d do dumb stuff like mimic your laugh or make up random nicknames for you, just to see you crack up. His goal in life is literally to make you laugh until you cry.

━ old school sweetheart

He’s SO that guy who shows up at your house with flowers “just because” or plans a cute dinner date with candles, even if it’s just takeout. ROMANCE IS ALIVE.

━ late night calls

He’d call you at like 11 PM and be like, “So what’s on your mind?” And then suddenly it’s 2 AM, and you’re talking about your childhood dreams or your favorite foods. LIKE WHO DOES THAT? Nic does.

━ intense eye contact

He’d have this thing where he just stares at you with those gorgeous eyes, like you’re the only person in the room. And you’d be like, “What?” and he’d smirk and go, “Nothing, you’re just distracting.” HELP.

━ that smirk game

He totally knows what he’s doing when he hits you with that crooked smile. Like, you’d be arguing over something dumb, and he’d smirk mid-sentence, making you forget what you were even mad about. It’s unfair, honestly.

━ hand placement expert

Whether it’s his hand on the small of your back when you’re walking, or casually brushing his fingers against yours before holding your hand, he’s SO smooth about it. Like, boy, do you know what you’re doing? (He does.)

━ jealous but chill

He’s not like, possessive, but if another guy’s flirting with you, he’ll slide up next to you, wrap an arm around your waist, and be like, “Hey babe, ready to go?” in this low, confident voice. Dead.

━ his hoodie

He’d totally give you his hoodie when you’re cold, but low-key, he thinks you look hotter in it than he does. And then he’d be like, “You’re keeping that, right? It looks better on you anyway.” STOP.

━ the way he kisses

Nic is a pull-you-in-by-the-waist-and-make-you-forget-your-name kind of kisser. Like, soft at first, but then when he gets serious? UGH. You’re blushing just thinking about it.

━ voice drop

He’d get all close to your ear to whisper something—like a joke, or even just “You’re so pretty”—and his voice would drop like 10 octaves. You’d be SHIVERING.

━ protective but subtle

He’d walk on the side of the street closest to traffic without saying a word or instinctively pull you closer in a crowded room. He wouldn’t make a big deal about it, but inside you’d be like, “I’m marrying this man.”

━ that lowkey dominance

He’d be the guy to put his arm around your chair at dinner or rest his hand on your thigh while driving. It’s not showy, just this quiet confidence that makes you melt.

━ post workout look

When he shows up all sweaty from the gym with his hair messed up and his shirt clinging to him just right? You’re DONE. And he knows it, too, because he’ll smirk and say, “What? See something you like?”

[dissapointu]

For all the arcane characters.

Their s/o stood from them with a distant look well our body seems.. tense as well from they're perspective we almost like a statue. "S/o? what's wrong, love?" They asked almost like they were gonna reach out to 'comforted' us.

"I can't do this, this is too much" their s/o muttered while leaning or even stepping away from them, we seem.. almost scared or maybe petrified as we cover our eyes. Peeking though our fingers locking eyes with them with a look of fear or terror.

Basically write how their reaction to their s/o seems standoffish towards them or even afraid to look at them without a terror look in their eyes 🙏😔 (something they did made us afraid of them-)

OKAY ANGST QUEENS (AND KINGS), WE’RE GOING IN. how the Arcane squad reacts when their s/o looks at them like they’re the villain in the story (even though they probably kinda are, let’s be real).

Jinx

“Wait. WAIT. Don’t do that.” Her voice wavers, panic setting in like a storm cloud. Jinx is jittery now, her hands twitching by her sides because she doesn’t know what to do. “I didn’t mean to scare you, okay?! I’m not—I’m not gonna hurt you.”

She tries to laugh it off, but it’s hollow, her eyes darting everywhere except at yours. “You’re messing with me, right? This is a joke?” But when you don’t laugh, she freezes, like all the gears in her brain just stopped turning. “Please don’t look at me like that…” Her voice cracks, soft and broken. She’s shrinking into herself, more scared of you leaving than she’s ever been of anything.

Vi

Vi stops mid-step, hands raised slightly like she’s trying not to spook you further. “Hey, hey, it’s me,” she says, her voice softer than you’ve ever heard. Her brow furrows, and she looks so lost. “What’s going on? What did I do?”

When you step back, her heart breaks a little more, but she doesn’t move closer. “I don’t get it—why are you acting like I’m gonna hurt you?” Her voice catches, and for a second, she looks like she might cry, but she quickly shakes it off. “Just… talk to me, alright? Whatever I did, I’ll fix it. Just don’t…” She swallows hard. “Don’t be scared of me.”

Sevika

Sevika’s expression hardens the moment she sees you flinch. Not because she’s mad at you, but because she’s furious with herself. “…What the hell did I do this time?” she mutters, more to herself than you.

She takes a step forward but stops when you lean away. “Alright, I get it,” she says, her voice rough but quieter than usual. “But don’t think for a second I wanted this.” There’s a flicker of something vulnerable in her eyes as she runs a hand through her hair, looking away. “You don’t have to be scared of me. I’d never—I mean, I can’t—” She exhales sharply, cutting herself off. “Just tell me how to fix it.”

Silco

Silco’s entire body goes still, his hand freezing mid-reach. “…Is that fear I see in your eyes?” he asks, his voice low and controlled, but there’s a sharp edge to it—like it hurts more than he’s willing to admit.

He straightens up, letting his hand fall to his side. “I see,” he murmurs, his tone almost cold, but his expression betrays him. There’s a flicker of something soft, almost regretful, in his gaze. “Whatever I’ve done to frighten you… I’ll correct it. But you must tell me what it is.” He steps back, giving you space, though it clearly pains him. “I won’t hurt you. Surely, you know that.”

Vander

Vander’s heart sinks the second he sees the look on your face. “Hey, now,” he says gently, his voice thick with worry. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

When you flinch away, he freezes, his hands hovering awkwardly. “…Did I do somethin’? Whatever it is, I didn’t mean to.” His voice cracks, and he looks so… sad. “You’re scared of me?” He takes a slow step back, running a hand down his face. “I never wanted this. Just tell me how to make it right.”

Ekko

Ekko’s face drops like a stone. “Wait, what? What did I do?” His voice is a mix of confusion and panic, and he steps back instinctively, his hands raised.

“C’mon, you know me. I wouldn’t—I couldn’t hurt you.” He’s practically begging now, his eyes wide and pleading. “Just tell me what’s wrong. Please. I’ll fix it, I swear. Just… don’t be scared of me like that.”

Jayce

Jayce’s entire face falls, his usual confidence crumbling in an instant. “What… What do you mean, you can’t do this?” he asks, his voice soft and shaky.

When you step away, his hands drop to his sides, and he looks like a lost puppy. “I don’t understand. What did I do?” He’s desperate for an answer, but he doesn’t want to push you further. “Whatever it is, I’ll fix it. Just don’t look at me like that, okay?”

Viktor

Viktor’s eyes widen, and he takes a cautious step back, his cane tapping softly on the floor. “Please… tell me what’s wrong,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

When you cover your eyes, he feels like he’s been stabbed in the chest. “If I’ve done something to frighten you, I assure you it was unintentional.” His words are careful, measured, but there’s a faint tremor in his voice. “I would never hurt you. Please, believe me.”

Caitlyn

Caitlyn’s breath catches in her throat, and she freezes mid-step. “…Darling?” she says softly, her tone full of worry. “What’s going on? What did I do?”

When you refuse to meet her eyes, she looks like she’s on the verge of tears. “You know I’d never hurt you, right?” Her voice wavers, and she steps back, giving you space. “Please, just tell me what I did wrong. I can’t fix this if I don’t know.”

Mel Medarda

Mel’s calm facade cracks immediately, her eyes widening in genuine surprise. “I see,” she says softly, stepping back to give you space. “You’re afraid of me.”

Her voice is steady, but there’s a hint of pain beneath her composed exterior. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I only want to protect you. But if I’ve overstepped…” She trails off, folding her hands tightly to keep herself from reaching for you. “I’ll make it right. Somehow.”

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa’s jaw tightens, and she lets out a sharp exhale. “So that’s how you see me now,” she says, her voice low and gruff.

But when she sees the terror in your eyes, her expression softens, and she takes a deliberate step back. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” she says, almost grumbling like it’s hard for her to admit. “But if I did, then I’ve failed you. Tell me what I can do to fix this.”

Cecil B. Heimerdinger

“Oh, my stars!” Heimerdinger exclaims, his ears drooping as he takes a step back. “Have I done something to upset you? Please, do tell me!”

He looks absolutely heartbroken, wringing his tiny hands together as he tries to figure out how to make things right. “I would never wish to cause you distress. Please, let me help!”

Salo

Salo frowns deeply, his usually cocky demeanor dropping instantly. “You’re scared of me?” he asks, his voice quiet and unsure.

He steps back, his hands clenched at his sides. “I didn’t mean to—whatever I did, I didn’t mean it. Just tell me how to fix it, okay?”

Scar

Scar looks stunned, his mouth opening and closing like he doesn’t know what to say. “Wait, hold up. What did I do?”

He looks genuinely hurt but tries to play it cool. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You know that, right?” his voice is quieter now, almost pleading.

Maddie Nolen

Maddie freezes, her smile dropping in an instant. “What? Babe, no—what’s wrong?”

She takes a cautious step back, her eyes full of worry. “Whatever it is, I didn’t mean it. Please, just talk to me.”

Lest

Lest’s expression doesn’t change much, but her eyes darken with concern. “I see I’ve frightened you,” she says softly, her voice measured.

She steps back, giving you space. “That was never my intention. Please, tell me what I’ve done.”

TL;DR: Everyone’s reactions are basically “PANIC MODE ACTIVATED,” but in their own unique ways.

[loveandleases]

Tormenting Chris and Jade submission for balance: I forgot to ask how they'd react to the poly route with Kara X Isaac. Chris's desire to love and support Kara in direct opposition to their desire to judge any dynamic with Isaac--

Love having some balance. (Called for a scenario so rest will be under the cut!)

Chris taps along their phone, their finger hovering just above the screen, caught between pressing and not pressing, between action and restraint. One name. One person their mind refuses to release. They can still see your face clearly; hear the way their name sounds when it leaves your lips. Their expression is taut, posture rigid as they scan the apartment around them—pristine, perfect, just like their life used to be. Until you came into it.

A scoff escapes their lips as they run a hand through their icy-blonde hair. How typical, they think, people stirring up trouble, thinking Chris cares what you do.... How did they even know? Is it in their face? In the way their thoughts creep in, reminding them of what was lost—or what, no, who, they tossed aside?

Jade’s voice rings in Chris’s ears, the memory of her words sharp and biting: “MC was always so hard to please, always unsatisfied despite everything our parents had given them. Since they couldn’t have you, they settled for Kara. Isaac was just the cherry on top—a person with a jaded past that they could take pity on. Along for the ride, because everyone knows the rumors about Isaac. Never staying with someone for too long unless they get bored.”

Their jaw tenses as their eyes linger on the photo laid out on the coffee table—your smile, a smile they hadn't seen in so long. You give it so freely, so easily. To Isaac and Kara of all people. One on either side of you, Kara’s lips close to your ear, whispering something while Isaac’s hand rests casually on your knee. Isaac was never good enough to be friends with Kara, not after everything Chris learned. They deserve to be with you even less. The number of times they’ve seen their hand roam on people’s bodies…they shouldn’t be touching you so freely. So openly. Where people can see, where Chris can see.

The photo cuts deeper than Chris anticipated, and before they can stop themselves, their fingers are already dialing Kara’s number. Their leg begins to shake with annoyance, the phone ringing louder than their pulse. Kara always picked up quickly—never more than three rings. So why isn’t she now? Was there always something there? Was there something going on behind the scenes?

Were the two of you… no, Kara wouldn’t do that to me. You wouldn’t do that to me.

Kara finally answers, her voice groggy with sleep. “Hello?”

Chris freezes. It’s four in the morning. They’d spent the whole night obsessing, thinking about the three of you—disgusting.

Chris opens their mouth to speak, but the sound of Isaac’s groan and your voice cuts through the silence. “Who is it?”

The question makes their blood run cold. You’re both there? Why are you with her?

“Chris?” Kara’s voice breaks through their thoughts, sharp and concerned.

“Tell me this is a joke.” Chris’ voice cracks, disbelief flooding their words. They force out a thin, bitter laugh. “This is a joke, isn’t it, Kara?”

“Chris, how di—”

“Let me talk to them.”

“Wh—who?”

“Let me talk to my fiancé.”

The line grows quiet, and Chris can’t help but imagine the look that passes over the three of you.

“Former fiancé,” Isaac adds, a cool edge to his voice, as Kara reluctantly hands you the phone.

“Why are you with them?” Chris’s voice is quieter now, rawer, the reality of it all begins to settle in.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Another scoff. Chris’s anger surges, bubbling up and threatening to spill over. “Of course it’s my business. You’re my f—” They stop themselves, letting the word die on their tongue.

A heavy sigh escapes them as they lean back against the couch. “You’re my ex-fiancé. Do you realize how this looks? Fucking my little sister and her friend. After everything, this is how you repay me?”

“This has nothing to do with you. Who I’m with is none of your concern, Chris. Kara might be your sister, but you don’t own her, or me, for that matter.” Your words are sharp, almost like a smack to the face.

Chris’s fingers twitch, plucking at the photo until the three of you are separated—tearing you apart. “And Isaac, what? You just had to bring the trash with you, Kara? It’s not bad enough you’re sharing a bed with my ex, but now you’ve got your friend, too?” Isaac was never good enough to be friends with Kara. Especially once Chris had their background looked into. No, they don’t deserve Kara and they deserve you even less.

“Stop it, Chris.”

Despite the tightness in her chest, the guilt she carries, Kara can’t bring herself to yell. Not yet. “Don’t talk about them, about us, like you know what’s going on. You don’t know anything about it. We’re happy. I’m happy.” Her voice cracks, and for a moment Chris feels a feeling in their gut. One they’re afraid to give a name, because why should Chris Clarke feel guilty? “Isn’t that enough?”

It should be. Chris knows that deep down, under all the anger, the pain, and the jealousy, they should be happy for Kara. She found people who love her. But that gnawing feeling inside them won’t let go. The more they try to bury it, the more it consumes them. They can’t shake the feeling that you’re slipping further away—both of you.

For a long moment, they just sit there, lost in their thoughts. Kara hangs up the phone, but it doesn't stop the storm inside them from raging. Their words tumble out, raw and desperate. “You deserve better than that. Better than them. Aren’t I enough?” They know who the questions are for, and the thought alone sickens them.

[bunni-v1]

hi! congratulations on 500 followers! could you make the full nsfw alphabet list with Idia please? (sorry for the bad English)

🍓I POSTED!!! I've had this sitting in the drafts for a week and I finally decided to post it (YAY!!!). I've also got Jade's qued up for later today, and I'll be working on Azul and Floyds in my free time (when I get free time that is). Sorry I took so long to post, life has been tough on me and I just didn't have the tools to deal with it. I'll be back and posting irregularly until December when I can actually take time and write again.

Idia NSFW Alphabet!

A = Aftercare: Idia Shroud is the WORST at aftercare, and I say this with so much love and kindness to the walking punching bag that calls himself a man. Genuinely though, sex overstimulates him so badly, so he cannot handle anything after the fact. He’s the kind to roll over off you (more like slide you off him) and fall asleep immediately. Of course, he mumbles out something about it feeling good and all that stuff, but 9 times out of 10 he’s out like a light.

B = Body part: He is a thigh man. He doesn’t care if it's thick and meaty, he just wants to rest his head on it. Maybe give it a nibble, if you’d let him of course (consent is key, even for a dirty Otaku like him). For him… he doesn’t like most things about himself, but if you seem to like something about him a lot, he grows to like it too. So if you like his hair, it’s probably his hair, if you like his lips or teeth it’s them. (What can I say, he’s weak for you).

C = Cum: SALTYYYYY! He doesn’t take care of himself what did you expect. It’s unpleasant to taste, and there’s A LOT of it to taste. It’s a pretty thick consistency and really sticky, fun to play with and watch dribble down your stomach and face. 

D = Dirty secret: He wants you to peg him. I wouldn’t say that’s much of a secret, but he thinks it is. 

E = Experience: NONE. Zip, zero, zilch. I make fun of Malleus for being a Virgin, but IDIA IS A VIRGIN. He’ll blush to hold your hand, it’s that bad. However, he does watch a LOT of Porn (Hentai specifically), so he has… an idea of what to do. He’s really nervous first time around, but once he gets comfortable with you he’s pretty good, just a little unrealistic in his expectations sometimes.

F = Favorite position: Doggy! Especially if you’re wearing cute little puppy or kitty ears! He likes watching the way your back arches, and he’s a big fan of pulling your hair or squeezing your hips. Other than that, he loves face-sitting. Surrounded by your thighs, oh that’s a good death for Idia Shroud.

G = Goofy: Initially, he is entirely on accident. He wants to be serious and cool about it, but he’s like a blushing schoolgirl and making a million mistakes. His line delivery is so… cringe and embarrassing you can’t help but laugh. It humiliates him, but eventually, he learns to just embrace it, and he becomes pretty goofy. He loves cracking jokes just to see you smile, cause the one thing he loves more than your thighs has to be your pretty little smile.

H = Hair: I know it’s blue flames too, I just know it. That shit is not tamed either. Like he trims, but honestly it’s hard to control something that's constantly shifting and changing. And, before you ask, yes it does flare up with his emotions like his hair does too. 

I = Intimacy: Depends… Idia isn’t someone I would ever describe as romantic, but he is a sweetie. He likes it hard and rough so it’s hard to say it’s very romantic, but he does like you close and he loves looking at you. You catch him smiling down at you like you’re some kind of goddess sometimes. You won’t catch him saying cheesy lines like how much he loves you or how pretty you are (cause it will actually kill him if he does).

J = Jack off: Mastrubating champ of NRC. He’s alone in his room 90% of the time with unlimited access to the internet and is also an Otaku. Sorry if you disagree, but you’re wrong. I know he gets off at least once a day, more if he has the time. 

K = Kink: Another biter, he just loves marking you up and sending you off with a pretty bruise for everyone to see. He’s a sadomasochist too, depending on whose topping. He wants you to push him around and hit him, make him feel helpless, it’s his favorite thing. Also into pet play, cosplay, roleplaying, and… any kind of play honestly. The weirder the better for him.

L = Location: His room and his room alone. Maybe yours, but he does not trust anyone in your dorm to respect your privacy. Besides, if he’s in his room he knows where everything is, and he can ensure no one will be getting in and seeing you that way.

M = Motivation: Most things, honestly. Be nice to him? He’s hard. Be mean to him? He’s hard. Beat him in his favorite game and act all smug (he let you win)? He’s hard. Lose and pout about it? He’s hard. He’s a sensitive guy, okay, and he thinks everything you do is super hot. Not his fault.

N = No: Share or let someone watch. Absolute nos from him. The idea of sharing you with someone and you like them more? Hah, he’d kill himself. He’s also not a fan of anyone seeing either of you in such a compromising position. He’s too nervous and possessive to let that out of the privacy of his room. Also, this might be controversial, but I can’t see him being into any kind of sibling shit. Too weird for him, he’d never want to think of his precious little brother like that, so why would he want to think of you like that?

O = Oral: He prefers receiving because watching the way you tease him with your sultry gaze as he sinks impossibly further down your throat is… heavenly. Though he isn’t bad at giving either. His tongue is long and boy can that thing move, it can reach places you didn’t even know were possible. Plus his teeth nipping at your most sensitive areas? Praise the seven, that’s good shit.

P = Pace: Fast and rough. He likes to just go at it, and he doesn’t like to stop for anything. Prepare to be pounded into next week with no stops!

Q = Quickie: He likes them, and they’re pretty common, but they’re not his favorite. When he has sex, he likes going for more than one round, and the whole point of quickies is that they’re quick so he doesn’t prefer them.

R = Risk: Yeah, he’s game to try some more risky things, but he’ll back out so fast if he’s uncomfortable for even a second. There are some things he wouldn’t consider, like bringing it out of his room. He’s a big fan of risky texts though. Like, a video of you fucking yourself in the bathroom while he’s in a meeting with the other housewardens? No one’s gonna know if he takes care of himself quickly. 

S = Stamina: He goes for multiple fast and quick rounds. He can usually do about four of them before he’s done for the night, but he’s willing to keep going if he doesn’t satisfy your needs along with his (sometimes).

T = Toys: He has a collection, actually, of really wild shit. Tentacles, ‘alien’ dicks, and even the infamous horse cock. He likes to put a bullet in you and control it from his room, watching you struggle to talk to your friends on the cameras he’s definitely allowed to have access to. 

U = Unfair: He likes to tease, but he forgets to sometimes lol. He gets so caught up in his own pleasure that, occasionally, he’ll just forget he wanted to tease you and make you all sensitive and whiny. He also likes to be teased, so please feel free to torture him when you’re topping <3

V = Volume: He tries very hard to be quiet, but bless his soul he is not. He’s so whiny and whimpery and pathetic, it’s very cute. He wants you to make as much noise as possible so that he can hide his shame, but he’ll still cry into your ear since he can’t contain himself.

W = Wild card: He sometimes prints out the pictures you send to him (with permission) and keeps them in his desk. There’s no real reason why, because he has all of them digitally, but something about having physical pictures is more thrilling to him.

X = X-ray: Hehehe, oh Idia. It is long and it is thick, bless his dad’s genetics. I’m talking like almost seven inches big, like… he’s big. It’s veiny, with one really prominent one on the top that runs from the base to just below his tip. Which, by the way, is blue like his lips. 

Y = Yearning: High, if that wasn’t made obvious before. He craves sex a lot, and it only seems to get worse after he gets with you. You’re just so pretty and perfect he can’t help it <3Z = Zzz: I said it at the start, but it’s near immediate. He gets tired easily after all that physical exertion, he just wants to nap and cuddle, you can clean up in the morning. Let him hold you :(

[kizzer55555]

Now I’m just imagining him taking the Joker.

Joker is in the middle of a scheme with the bats watching and maybe he’s doing pretty well. He’s got half the bats down with injuries, and he had just finished a magnificent monologue. And then suddenly this slow clapping fills the area. They look and see a figure leaning against the wall.

“impressive” He says.

The room is suddenly 30 degrees colder. Like worse than Dr Freeze cold, and a shiver runs down everyone’s spine. The person clapping is a glowing humanoid figure with white hair and piercing green eyes that glowed where they were obscured in shadow. And despite looking so young, it’s almost like his mere presence sucked the light out of everything. The shadows on the walls grew larger and even the surrounding colors seemed to dull.

Batman is the first to recover but it was a struggle to move. He questions who this person is and what he wants. The guy says that he’s here for his job. The bats get ready for a fight but the unsettling figure just ignores them and pulls out a glowing green list. “Jack Oswald White.” And everyone freezes, including the Joker who hadn’t heard his full name in decades. “You are herby under arrest for the senseless sloughter of over 5,907 human souls, the personal torturing of 565 of those souls, the second hand torturing of 1,524 of those souls, targeting the loved ones of 4,438 of those souls after death, as well as the desecration of their gravesites. You are also arrested for an accidental killing of an additional 4,729 souls and then forgetting their names. You are sentenced to over 500,000 years of imprisonment with the inclusion of torture, obsession denial after death, isolation, and stripped of the protection of the zone until your term ends.”

By now everyone was starring as the kid almost seemed to be reading through the list in a bored tone, yet the sheer power that radiated off of him had even the bats on edge. Of course, the Joker ignored the danger signs and just laughed it off as a Joke.

He tried shooting the kid and the bats lunged but were too far away. They needn’t have worried though as the bullet sailed straight through and the only reaction the teen gave was an annoyed eyebrow raise as he continued reading through his list, flipping through a few pages. Ignoring every attempt at harm the Joker tried. And trust me. He tried. Finally the guy finished and asked if the Joker had any questions before his arrest.

This just made the joker laugh harder. “You think you can arrest me?! I’m way above your pay grade kid. If the bats can’t do it, what makes you think you can?”

The teen just gave a tired sigh.

Then it’s like the shadows themselves reach out and grab the Joker, pulling him close until the kid had a firm grip on his collar before they released him.

Despite his situation, he continues to laugh. Saying that it won’t matter. arresting him won’t matter. He’ll just escape any jail he comes across. “That’s the problem with all you vigilante types. Can’t get the job done now can you? And when I gets out, I’ll find you, and I’ll make sure you scream.” His cackles filled the air. But the white haired guy just stares at him. Deadpan.

“I think you’re misunderstanding something.” The figure crouches down so that he’s on Joker’s level. “I’m not taking you to a human prison.”

The clown’s laughter doesn't stop. “Ooooh, trying something new I see? Well what’ll it be? High secure facility for metas? Maybe an alien spacecraft? Ooh! ooh! oooh! And I being held by Leprechauns? Well at least my hair‘ll fit right in!” He continued to cackle.

“I still don’t think you understand.” The figure says. And then suddenly the very air itself cracks. It’s as if the space is being warped and broken apart to reveal a swirling glowing portal that opens right behind the glowing human. Casting his face in shadow, all except those eyes, filled with complete disregard for the one before him.

That unsettling presence just grew 100 fold and everyone present knew they were not looking at something human. Every instinct in them screamed danger. This was a predator, and they were the prey.

“I am not a meta. I am not an alien. And I’m most certainly not a leprechaun.”

He leaned in close until his face was mere inches from the jokers, and the clown could clearly see his fangs.

“I’m the one the dead call to bring in those who break its laws. Those who break the balance, upset the fabrics of reality, cause dimensional rifts. I have hunted demons, gods, immortals, and things your puny brain can’t even imagine. Point is, you’ve made a lot of mistakes in life and the souls of your victims have cried out loud enough that the afterlife is going to do something about it. I’m here to collect.”

The joker gulps, starting to realize his situation. “Are you….are you the grim reaper?”

The teen laughs.

“Nah, I’m worse.” Then he smiled and clapped his hand. “Alright then! Let’s go to Hell!”

“No…no no no no no NO!”

“Yes… yes yes yes yes!” The creature mocked back.

Now Joker starts struggling for real. The boy just grabs him by the collar though and starts dragging him towards the glowing green portal, the cheerful grin still on his face. The clown couldn’t get loose no matter what he tried and started threatening the kid, then threatening his family, when that didn’t work he tried bargaining, willing to get anything, do anything, kill anyone, if the guy let him go. When that didn’t pan out he tried begging for his life.

“Wait! You arrest murderers right?! Then why aren’t you taking Red Hood?!” He points to the area where the bats still were. They hadn’t moved an inch, frozen by Danny’s intense presence. “That guys killed tons of people! In fact, I think he’s died before too but he came back! Isn’t that a ‘crime’?”

The figure froze and all the bats collectively felt their hearts drop. They could feel the power oozing from this guy and even more so from the portal. It took everything Batman had just to speak in its presence. How were they suppose to fight it? If that thing went after Jason…could they stop it? They watched in horror as the humanoid creature gave a gentle hum and pulled out its glowing list again, flipping through more pages before stopping at one.

“Nah, he’s good. Says here his paperwork was filed for him by a….Thomas and Martha Wayne? He’s got a permit.”

The batfamily has so many questions. Unfortunately Joker took the being’s moment of inattention and finally managed to break free from its grip. He made a mad dash for the road, grabbed a car, and drove down the street like his life depended on it, which it kinda did.

The teen just looked so affronted by the action. He sighed again and yelled at the speeding car “You’re just making this harder on yourself!” But the car didn’t stop. The figure looked at the bats as if saying, ‘can you believe that guy?’ When the bats didn’t give a response the teen just rolled his eyes. Then he put two fingers in his mouth and gave a loud whistle. Not 10 second later, another being rose up from the ground and revealed itself to be a gigantic dog about the size of a tank, with razor sharp teeth and glowing red eyes.

“Cujo. Fetch.”

Danny has to work off his Sentence

So! Danny isn't the King of the Infinite Realms. And he is not above the Law.

Sure, he has many friends in high places, and he did defeat the King in single combat, but that doesn't mean he is above the Law in the way The King would be.

And unfortunately for him, Walkers Laws do actually have some backing.

Not all of them. Some are just laws he placed over his Lair and surrounding Territory, which he is really nitpicky about, but the Big ones he touts are the Laws of the entire Zone set by the First King. Don't Tresspass on Lairs without an official challenge, don't End a Realms Being without permission, Don't bring Humans into the Zone without permission, etc.

And Danny has broken quite a few of them, meaning Walker is entirely in his rights to put him away for a few Thousand Years. Thankfully, there is an alternative.

Since Danny wasn't wanted for any major crimes, Walker offered a different path for him. Danny was still one of the Strongest Ghosts in the Zone, and as the Portal was technically his Grave he had full authority to use it however he liked, so if he ran a couple of errands for Walker, he could consider his Sentence served.

All he has to do was round up a few of the Trouble Makers that had escaped his grasp by virtue of being in the Living Realm, and he would forgive his previous crimes.

So, Danny took him up on the offer. It was better than being constantly hounded by Walkers Guards. The fact that he could beat them easily was moot, it was extremely annoying and he wanted it to stop.

So he was given his First list of targets, and went on his way.

Ra's "The Demons Head" Al Ghul, for Tresspassing on Ghost Zone Waste Dumping Grounds

Solomon Grundy, for continued use of copyrighted poem, requested by copyright holder post mortem

Vandal Savage, for failure to notify the proper authorities about his absence on the day of his intended death

Jack "The Joker" Napier, Special Request by 1000+ Ghosts for purposes of Vengeance, Torture, and general Catharsis.

...interesting list...maybe he should have this through a bit more...