#Someone definitely could have answered these questions better than me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kesujo · 2 months

Text

Unabashed Seduction

Tags: mommykink (...the rest of the tags are relatively vanilla, I think)

Warning: 17k words

The night was not turning out how I expected it to go.

I was dressed to kill, freshly washed, put on enough cologne to be noticeable but not too much as to be overbearing, spent probably close to half an hour styling my hair, even properly shaved my pubic hair and sprayed some ball toner for good measure too. I even scouted the bar before coming here; some friends had recommended this place as a great new spot to pick up chicks, but there hasn’t been one I’ve talked to that hasn’t been too wasted to feel good about taking back to my place.

“Sorry babe, I’d love to stay and chat some more but I gotta wake up early tomorrow.”

“Aaw, why?”

The girl I was currently talking to was hot, for sure, but I could pretty much smell the alcohol from her breath. “You make sure you get home safely, alrighty, princess?”

“Why don’t you take me home then?”

Her voice was filled with seductive intent, but I was long past the point of interest. “Sorry, sweetie. How about an Uber instead?”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” she continued with her low, sultry tone, but when I didn’t budge, she switched to a whinier tone, “Come on, I’m dying to get fucked.”

I could feel her tits pressing up against my arm, but tempting as they were, there was no way she had the capacity to consent in her current state. “Give me a sec, ok?”

It took a few more minutes to send her on her way back home, leaving me back inside the bar, eyeing the rest of the crowd. There was no shortage of girls, but none of them caught my eye.

Tonight’s not my night, I guess.

Deciding that I better head home before some other drunk-out-of-her-mind chick decides she wants to go home with me and isn’t as good about giving up as the previous one, I downed the rest of my drink. Before I set out to leave, another last-minute scan of the crowd stopped me dead in my tracks when my eyes landed on her.

At first, all my eyes told me about her was that she was a fine piece of ass; the way that spaghetti-strap white dress hugged and accentuated her curves was sublime, the fabric stretching perfectly over her tight, plump ass sitting prettily atop the bar stool that somehow didn’t even seem to crease under her weight. But when she turned to the side to talk to the person next to her, the more than ample amount of cleavage spilling out of the top told me she had curves upstairs too; sure, she wasn’t as big I usually liked them, but the confidence with which she bared them more than made up for that. The side profile or her face told me that it wasn’t just her body that was fire: her lips were full and red, her eyebrows well-manicured and clean, her skin a perfect milky white with thighs that looked as soft as marshmallows, everything even down to her plunging neckline was perfection.

But where have I seen her before?

Before I could fully find the answer to that question, she turned back around, facing away from me to talk to someone on her other side.

Was she famous? She definitely had the looks for it. Or maybe she just had one of those faces that everyone seemed to recognize.

Stumped, I ended up pulling out my phone to take a picture of her to save the query for later. There was no way I would be able to come up with an answer given how buzzed I was at the moment. In that moment, while I was steadying my phone on her, something that I probably shouldn’t have caught on camera happened.

While her left hand was covering the top of her drink, her fingers were slim enough to give way to tiny cracks that allowed for something to be slipped between. She might’ve been secure in thinking that they were small enough to adequately protect her drink, but evidently was mistaken: while she was turned away talking to the gal to her right, the bartender took a quick look around, pulled something out from his pocket, and slipped a small, white tablet into her drink.

What the fuck?!

The tablet dissolved in an instant, the fizzles from the tablet vanishing just as quickly as it was plopped into her beverage.

Seeing that sobered me up pretty quickly. Fortunately, I had the wherewithal to switch to video when I noticed the bartender taking one too many glances at her drink, and recorded the entire ordeal.

Was I seeing things correctly? Were they trying to use a date rape drug on her?

Watching the video over again, now that I was considerably less drunk, the identity of the woman came to me.

Oh shit, that’s Tiffany Young, isn’t it? That K-Pop girl who came to America to release a few English songs or something. They’re trying to pull this shit on a celebrity?

The more I replayed the few-seconds clip, the more certain I became. The amount of secrecy that the bartender employed, how abnormally quick his actions were for an innocent person, even the way the guy on Tiffany’s left seemed to share a knowing glance at the bartender before slipping in the mini-tablet.

However, when I looked up from my phone, to my horror, Tiffany had already placed the glass to her lips and downed the rest of the glass.

Laughter and cheers erupted from the group after she did so, Tiffany smiling along with them.

Maybe I saw seeing things incorrectly. Maybe I was just being paranoid.

The quick glance and smirk the bartender and the guy shared was all it took for me to stand up.

Now that I thought about it, all the guys who recommended me this place weren’t really ones to go to clubs much themselves. I had decided to overlook the rumors of this place’s reputation, of drunk girls often getting taken advantage of, in favor of listening to the recommendations of my friends, but having witnessed it with my own eyes, I now had no doubt those rumors were true. Which meant, if even the bartender was in on it, then calling for security was a gamble that I couldn’t afford to risk.

“Excuse me.”

I could barely hear myself over the overbearing music, and given how far I was from them, it was no wonder none of them reacted to me. From her actions to the way she was slightly slurring her words, I could tell she was already pretty drunk.

If she’s that drunk, then it probably won’t take long for those drugs to kick in.

My walk turned into a brisk pace, pushing and maneuvering through the crowd as I watched another shot disappearing down her gullet.

“Excuse me!”

This time, both my distance and volume were enough to get the attention of all four parties.

The guy sitting next to Tiffany was the one who responded first. “What’s up, dude?”

“What’s up is that you’re trying to fucking slip date rape drugs into this woman’s drinks, bitch.”

He stood up and, in an instant, was right in front of me, bumping his puffed-out chest against mine. Although he stood an inch or two above me, I stood my ground, unphased. “What did you say to me?”

“Exthuse me, wha…?”

“You heard me. Are you really so pathetic that you need to rely on drugs to get laid?”

He raised his arm with a balled fist, but I kept my eyes on him, unflinching. “You just jealous I get to talk to the hottest chick in the club? You trying to play white knight in a pathetic attempt to get into her pants?

“Ex—Excuse me!” The two of us stopped, our attention turning towards the slightly red-faced celebrity. “What did you thay--say? A … date wape—… dddate ww—rrrappe ddrrug?”

I nodded. “I have—”

“Come on Tiffany, are you really going to believe this desperate loser over me?”

“—as I was saying, I have video—”

“You’ve been talking to me all night—” Her eyes flickered back and forth between me and him, and I could tell that he was making good ground in convincing her otherwise. I needed to do something before I let these guys get away with it. “—and you’re suddenly going to trust this random guy who shows up? You’ve been fine so far, haven’t you?”

“Well … yeah, I hhavenn’t—” I shoved the screen with the playing video in front of her without another word. “—what’re—…” she quieted down as her eyes focused on the smartphone in my hands.

Very quickly, I could start to see the panic in the guy’s eyes. “What are you doing, showing her—” the guy swiped at my phone, causing it to fly out of my hands and over the bar counter.

“You saw enough though, right?”

The look she gave the guy was all the answer I need.

“What did—” from how much less she was slurring her words, I became hopeful it was a sign of sobering up after reaching the important part of the video, “—are you in on this with the bb—bartender?”

“What? The bar—no! What are you talking about?”

I couldn’t help but laugh at his stammering. “If you weren’t, then you wouldn’t have smacked my phone out of my hand, wouldn’t you?”

“That’s a load of bullshit, I just knocked the phone out of your hand because—” a pause, a nervous twitch of his eyes and a quick sideways glance at the bartender, who I could tell was very deliberately staying away from this side of the bar considering how closely he was hovering around it not minutes before, before continuing, “—for all I know, you could’ve been showing her some doctored video, or some inappropriate stuff.”

“Right, and you expect Tiffany to believe that?”

The two of us turned to her, who at this point was trying to get the attention of the bartender. “Exthuse--Excuse me, bartender!” Her sharp, loud voice cut through the blaring music like a hot knife through butter, but even then, he barely moved. “Excuse me!” The volume of her voice rose, but still the bartender didn’t budge. She leaned over, the woman on her right having evidently slipped away without my noticing. “Excuse me!”

This time, Tiffany’s voice drew even the attention of the other patrons of the club, who started to glance over. Probably realizing he couldn’t play dumb anymore, he walked over. “Yes, how may I help you, miss?”

“There thoud—” she furrowed her brows, slowing down her speaking rate while enunciating her words more carefully, “—shoould be a phhonne oon the grround sommewhherre near yyou, can you ppick it up?”

“A phone?” He angled his head down and did a quick sweep of the enclosed bartending area, just as quickly looking back up with a shrug. “I don’t see a phone.”

“There must be—” her eyes narrowed, and in the corner of my eye, I could see her pressing her legs together, as if tensing, “—there must be, I saw it get knocked over. Can you look again?” He did the sweep with his eyes again, probably about 0.1 seconds slower this time, but Tiffany didn’t let it slide. “No,” she said, the clear frustration on her face worsening the slurring of her speech, “I mean down look—I mean, get down and look.”

“I’m sorry—was it your phone?”

Tiffany shook her head. I quickly glanced at the other guy, whose face was growing redder by the second. I grinned; checkmate, you fucking rapist.

“No, it was this—” again, a slight stutter in her words, and another quick glance at her allowed me to notice the slightly quicker rate at which her chest was heaving, and the fact that it was heaving in the first place, “—this gentleman’s.”

“In that case, no can do.”

“What?”

“I noticed the commotion he was causing earlier, and while it’s not my place to take sides in bar-side squabbles—” yeah right, you were the one who slipped in the drug “—what I can do is think to myself, out loud, that him losing his phone is probably not the worst thing that can happen to a man like him.”

“Are you saying you—are you saying that because you were drink—” Tiffany furrowed her brows in annoyance, her speech speeding up in clear parallel with her frustration but simultaneously causing her to trip over her words more, “—you were the one who slipped that white—white thing into my drink?”

Hearing that sentence, as broken as it was, was probably one of the most satisfying things I’ve ever heard in my entire life. And that was coming from someone who has heard compliments from a porn actress that he fucks better than some of her coworkers.

“…Excuse me, what?”

“I saw the video,” she replied, still treading carefully over her words but still speaking with all the authority of a celebrity, “You slipped something between my fingers, into my drink, while I was looking away. I didn’t get to see the entire video because the phone was knocked onto the ground somewhere near you.” At this point, I could tell even the bartender was starting to have nervous sweats.

“I mean, if you let her watch the whole video, maybe she can have some good context as to what kind of a thing you slipped into her drink, right?”

“I’m—no, I’m sorry miss, it must’ve been a mistake. We’re a professional and well-known establishment—”

“Yeah, you’re certainly well-known alright,” I cut him off, poorly holding off a laugh, “well known for taking advantage of drunk women.”

“Bro, stop daydreaming. This is reality, you have to accept the fact that not every fucking woman in the world wants to sleep with you.”

“Yeah—”

“This white knight bullshit you’re doing is ridiculous, come on Tiffany, let’s—”

The man’s attempt to reach out to grab her wrist failed, Tiffany taking a hasty step back to dodge him, nearly stumbling into a backwards fall. Before I could reach out to catch her, her arm had shot out to the now unoccupied barstool behind her, setting herself back upright.

“No. I’m—” she quickly changed her standing stance, pushing her legs together again; this time, I couldn’t help but notice her face a little redder than before, but even more noticeable were the beads of sweat starting to form on her forehead. Was that the drug starting to kick in? “—I’m—I can’t—” she took another hasty step back, stumbling again. This time, I was ready, my hand shooting out to grab her arm before she could fall onto the ground.

“Let’s get you out of here, first, Tiffany. I’ll call an Uber for you.”

“What do you think—”

“I have that video saved on my cloud. Do anything, follow us, and I’ll send that video straight to the police. Got it?”

The threat caused the pair to freeze in their tracks.

“Tiffany, can you walk?”

She nodded, but a few steps told the completely opposite story. Fortunately, I was prepared to catch her. “Sorry…”

“Not a problem. Let’s go.” I threw her arm around my waist and secured hers with my own arm, pushing through the crowd towards the exit.

We barely made it a few steps before Tiffany pulled at my shirt. “Wait—…”

“Damian.”

“—Damian.”

This time, when I looked at her, I could tell her condition had worsened even more; she was panting pretty heavily now, her forehead almost glistening with sweat, her face beet-red and her legs pressed firmly together. So that’s why it was so hard to walk; why was she so adamant about doing that? Was the drug creating some type of pain there?

“What’s wrong? Do I need to call 911?”

She shook her head. “Let’s sit down for a second.”

I acquiesced against my better judgement, finding a vacated table as far away from the crowd as I could find. As soon as we reached it, Tiffany all but collapsed onto the leather-padded booth seats, pulling me into the seat right next to her. “How are you feeling? Do I need to call anyone?”

“With what phone?”

Shit, that’s right. My phone.

“Eh, it’s not the first time I’ve lost my phone. I can just get another one.”

For some reason, that seemed to pique her interest. “What? ‘First time’?”

I thought back to that incident, where I found out the morning after one of the wilder nights of sex I’ve ever had that she was crazier out of bed than in it. “Never mind that, what’s wrong?”

She turned towards me, a look that was all-too-familiar look on her face. “Me.” She uncrossed her legs, probably the first time she willingly parted her legs ever since the drugs seemed to kick in, slinging an arm across my torso while her leg did the same across my lap. In barely a second, the dark-haired woman was straddling my lap, her arms looped around my neck, and an intense gaze bearing down on me. “There’s something wrong with me.”

“What?”

My attempts at trying to establish eye contact with her failed, her eyes instead electing to stare directly at my lips. I could slowly feel her pressing herself more firmly against my slowly-growing erection. “I feel like … I need you. Now.”

Oh, fuck.

That desperate lust in her eyes, the way she was starting to grind against my hardening member, the fullness of her lips and the redness of her face and the neckline of her spaghetti-strap top slowly being pushed down and revealing more of her cleavage, it was all getting too overwhelming.

She’s drunk. I need to stop this.

“Tiffany—”

“Just a little bit.”

I took a deep breath, reigning in my raging hormones, everything in my body that was yelling at me to go! “No.”

“Please?”

Calm down.

“You’re drunk—”

“Just a little bit, I promise.”

I was so distracted by trying to gather the strength to push the out-of-control celebrity off my lap that I was almost too late in catching her trying to undo the fly in my pants.

“Stop—Tiffany—”

The burgeoning relief in her face was instantly replaced with a frustration as my hands wrapped firmly around hers, bringing them back to her sides. God, I feel like I could accidentally snap these wrists at any moment. “I need you so bad, please…” she whined, grinding harder against my crotch after another failed attempt at advancing her hand towards it. It might’ve just been my imagination, but I could’ve sworn I could feel her arousal leaking out of her and onto my pants in liquid form. “…it hurts so much…”

Jesus, what the fuck kind of drug did they feed her that got her like this?

“Tiffany, you need to go back to your house—”

“No!” Her legs wrapped more tightly around my waist as I tried to slide her off me, simultaneously pressing those bountiful tits against my chest and planting her face against my collarbone. “I don’t—I can’t, not without—”

I took in another deep breath. Control yourself, Damian. Not only is this woman drunk, but she’s influenced by an evidently pretty strong aphrodisiac. She is doubly in no state to properly consent.

“Let’s find you some sleeping pills, then—”

She shook her head against my neck. “No no no, I don’t need more drugs, I need—I need your cock.”

I could just about feel the skin on my palm breaking with how tightly I was clenching my free hand. “Listen, Tiffany, as much as I would love to, you—”

“Then fuck me.”

“Listen to me.” The words unintentionally came out as a growl, and when I realized that, my face morphed into one of horrified realization. “Sorry, I—” And, just as quickly, my face morphed into that of confusion. Why did she look even more turned on?

“Yeah, punish me daddy, I’ve been—”

“No, stop.” I mustered every last ounce of strength I had to capture both of her arms, settling them at her sides. “Tiffany, I don’t mean to be rude, but please don’t interrupt me.” I didn’t know if my frustration was leaking through or if she was going through with the roleplay she manufactured out of nowhere, but frankly, I didn’t care: I was just thankful she had finally decided to settle down. “You’re drunk. You were fed some drug that’s making you like this. That is two reasons you can’t consent when normally one would suffice. Do you understand?” She didn’t respond, unperturbed, as if the words went in one ear and out the other. I did tell her not to interrupt, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t even shake or nod her head. “Listen, you need to go home and get some sleep. Before something happens to you that can’t be undone.” Again, she didn’t respond, maintaining strong eye contact with a smile on her face. “Do you understand?” No response. Was she really intending to maliciously comply with my request for her to not interrupt me? “Answer me.”

“Hm? What?”

I sighed. The words really went in one ear and out the other, huh? Maybe I shouldn’t expect too much out of someone as obscenely drunk as her. “I said—”

“You talk too much.”

“Don’t inter—”

This time, it wasn’t Tiffany’s words that interrupted me, but her actions: namely, when she leaned forward and, with an amount of accuracy unbefitting a drunk person, promptly silenced me with her lips.

I couldn’t help but enjoy the soft, velvety texture of her plump lips for a second, which were every bit as amazing to kiss as they looked, before pulling away.

“Tiff—”

She manually silenced me again, with such accuracy I was beginning to wonder if she was actually drunk or not. But all I needed to do to answer that question was to taste the alcohol on her lips.

It took a second longer to shake her off again, but she was persistent. “Wait—”

With my hands busy holding her wrists in place, I could do nothing but try to dodge her assault. But, when I realized this scene, of a woman seemingly attempting to sexually assault a man, would only draw more attention, I stopped resisting as much. Tiffany, taking full advantage of the fact, leaned further into the kiss, wasting no time in involving her tongue.

And fuck me if it wasn’t the hottest make out session I’ve ever had, with probably the hottest chick I’ve ever kissed, but the ever-present aftertaste of alcohol ruined any attempt of mine at trying to get into the mood.

When my grip of her wrists vanished, her arms instantly came up, looping around my neck to pull me deeper into the kiss. But despite all the strength she was finally allowed to use, she was still no match for me. “Tiffany, bed.”

Those words were the only ones I could get out before I lost control of her again, but thankfully, she seemed to hear them over the blaring music of the club. “Oh, you’re finally ready?”

I smirked, which apparently was all the answer Tiffany need to climb off me.

And to think I almost retired early to avoid the clingy girls who couldn’t say no, only to end up with one anyway.

“There’s a hotel just down the block.”

Thankfully, this time, Tiffany didn’t protest, obediently following a few steps behind me as we exited the club and into the brisk early-autumn night. Obedient as she was, I could still tell how horny she was by how tightly she clung onto and how she had returned to the strange tight-legged walk, an action that I finally understood the meaning of: she was trying to contain her wetness, something that I confirmed had leaked onto my pants. Thankfully, they were dark enough so as to not be noticeable.

Although the walk was brief, I was thankful we weren’t stopped or even around many other people; the only delay was at the hotel counter, where I briefly considered what type of room I should get before quickly deciding to get the most expensive suite of the hotel. This was Tiffany Young after all, and with what almost happened to her, she probably needed it.

“Thank you for your patronage!”

The lady behind the counter bowed politely, but I could feel her gaze lingering on me as I dragged Tiffany onto the elevator, keycard in hand. I couldn’t blame her; with how heavy Tiffany’s panting has gotten, with how flushed her face had become, with how much she was pressing herself against me, it probably looked like I was the one who fed her that date-rape, aphrodisiac, whatever-it-was drug to her. At least Tiffany noticed too and was thankfully sound-minded enough to quell those suspicions, but even so, I could tell she figured something was off.

The doors to the elevator barely closed before Tiffany was all over me again, lips going straight to my nape while her arms and legs attempted to snake around my body.

“Damn it—” No, I’m pretending like I’m continuing this in the room “—at least wait until we get into the room.”

“Wait?”

“Someone might see.”

Tiffany paused for a second, shooting me a dangerously seductive smile. “Let them watch.”

Oh, fuck. I stopped to take a deep breath, again trying to reign in my raging hormones, stifling the image of Tiffany riding my cock in this elevator while the door opened to reveal a horrified yet turned on audience. This woman is drunk and affected by that bartender’s drugs. I can’t—

Out of the corner of my eyes, a glimpse of her cleavage caught my attention. Before I knew it, my eyes had fallen onto them, completely captivated.

It was only when the elevator dinged that I snapped out of it.

I can’t let myself lose control. Fuck, why is she doing this to me? Why do I feel like I can’t control myself when I’m around her?

“Tiff—” I had to almost lift Tiffany up and carry her out of the elevator with how little regard she gave to the fact that we had stopped ascending, “—Tiffany, we’re here.”

Getting to the suite and unlocking it with the keycard was already a decently hard task when a woman was wrapped around me, but even harder when that woman was Tiffany. Every time she pressed her tits against my arm, every time she planted another kiss on my jaw, every time her hands slid across my abs, I wanted to stop what I was doing, pin her against the door I was struggling with, rip that pretty little dress off her lecherous body and ravish her right then and there—but that wasn’t what I was here for.

As soon as the door closed behind me, I squatted down and picked Tiffany up in one fluid motion, a squeal erupting from the surprised celebrity. “Ooh, what’re you gonna do to me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Thankfully, the walk to the bed was short, so Tiffany didn’t have much more time to respond before I dumped her onto the soft mattress. The light of the half-moon streamed through the huge glass pane in the bedroom, illuminating Tiffany’s figure strewn haphazardly across the white blankets of the bed. In contrast to the beautiful sight was her beet-red face, the sizable mounds on her chest heaving hard enough to be noticeable, her hands already having disappeared under the bottom half of her dress that was barely clinging onto her well-shaped curves. It took me what felt like a full minute to bring my suddenly spiking hormones down to a controllable level.

“Dam-Damian?”

“Sorry, I need to use the bathroom first. I’ll be right back.”

I was going to regret this. Or maybe I wasn’t.

This once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to fuck such an irresistibly sexy and unforgivingly erotic woman, a globally-known singer, known by many, loved by many, and lusted over by many … when was it ever going to present itself to me?

No. I have to be content, knowing that, at least, I didn’t let Tiffany do anything she might regret.

… But fuck, if only she wasn’t drunk, if only she gave me any reason to believe she could consent, then—

“Wait! –you’re lying!”

—then I would— “What?”

“You didn’t even look like you were in a rush.” Her words were spoken slowly, still somewhat slurred, but I could still very clearly distinguish every syllable that was coming out of her mouth. “Are you trying to ditch me?”

Being able to figure that out means that she’s at least sober enough to use her brain enough to properly consent, right?

It didn’t take a second for me to be disgusted with myself for thinking that. With how obviously drunk she was a second ago, there was no way she was sober enough to properly consent—that aside, listening to her speak was already evidence enough for her lingering drunkenness. “No, I’m not ditching you. I’ll be right there, ok, Tiffany?”

“Don’t lie to me!”

It was so hard to continue resisting the urge to give in. It felt like everything was working against me: how horny Tiffany had made me, the feeling of regret for walking away from such a golden opportunity, picturing what Tiffany looked like naked and imagining what it would be like to fuck her, that escalating voice trying to convince me that it was ok, even Tiffany herself was trying to stop me.

Just keep walking, Damian.

“Don’t look down on me just because I’m a little drunk! Is that what you’re worried about?”

I scoffed, turning around. “Please, I fuck drunk girls all the time.”

Apparently, doing that was the wrong move. “See, you’re lying! It’s so obvious!”

Fuck, why did I have to be such a bad liar?

But the fact that she could tell that I was lying was yet another indication that she’s sober enough to consent, isn’t it?

“No, I—” I let out a frustrated sigh. “—I’m sorry Tiffany, have a good night—”

Before I could sprint off, her brows furrowed and she keeled over in pain.

I barely had time to consider if it was an act before I was already at her side, hand gently patting her back. “What’s wrong?”

“It hurts…”

“What? What does?” At least it doesn’t seem like she was acting, with how she hasn’t attacked me yet. “Do you need me to get you some medicine?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Then what…?”

“It hurts,” she repeated, and when my eyes followed where her arms were leading to, the realization hit the moment she said the clarifying words, “My pussy. It hurts so bad.”

Was that an actual thing? Did there exist such a drug that made a woman so horny, her pussy would start hurting?

“What are you—” I couldn’t even bring myself to accuse her of lying though. With how much she was sweating and how badly she was groaning—either she was one hell of an actress, or the drugs were really hurting her that badly.

See? Not only is she probably mentally sound enough to consent, but she actually needs you. It would be a disservice, both to myself and to her, to just walk away.

For the first time in my life, I conceded to my lust.

“I’ll help you.”

She turned her head towards me, looking at me weakly. “R-Really?”

I reached down and flung the shirt off my body. I could feel Tiffany’s gaze lasering in on my well-defined abs as I climbed onto the bed, one hand landing on her arm while the other on her stomach. “You better not regret asking for this.”

My hands went between her legs, but before they even reached their destination, I could feel the heat emanating from her privates. Holy shit, that drug is really something else…

“No—ah, fuck…” her protest was cut short when my hand found its target, the tips of my fingers instantly getting soaked upon pressing against her burning sex.

“Look at this, you’re so wet.”

“Damian—ah, ah, fuck!”

Her hands fell to her sides, her legs spreading further apart, her dress hitching up to her hips, bucking desperately into my fingers as they played with her soaking wet folds. Her eyes fluttered shut, her back arching slightly off the soft mattress, lips parted and head thrown back.

“It must’ve been hard, hiding all of this—” I withdrew my hand, showing Tiffany, whose eyes opened back up as soon as my hands left her, her slick clinging onto my digits, “—huh?”

“Please, Damian. It hurts…”

“It hurts?”

She nodded, her next sentence cut short with another shrill moan as I pushed three digits deep into her sex.

“Fuck, oh my—oh, oh, fuck—”

Her eyes slammed shut again as I pumped the three fingers inside her, curling them against her fleshy, sticky walls. “Does it still hurt?”

The only response Tiffany could give was the string of moans tumbling out of her mouth, squirming and legs tensing at the feeling of my fingers rubbing the fleshy interior of her vagina. The thumb, having nothing else to do, brushed over her labia, activating more of the nerves on the sensitive part of her nethers.

Tiffany communicated her pleasure well, but I could tell she wanted more. Her sighs and moans seemed to be coming out of her mouth in place of words she wanted to say, her hands were lightly placed at her stomach as if unsure if she should pull me further in or push me out, her eyes looked on at me with lust but also with the same desperation that initially drew me in.

“Dam—Damian, I can’t, I need—” she threw her head back again, letting out something between a squeal and a moan as my fingers curled inside her love canal.

Ah, so that’s her G-spot, huh?

“Oh fuck, right there—” she let loose another loud moan as I again curled my fingers into that spot inside her. That one action caused the idol to completely forget about the request she was about to make, her legs subconsciously spreading further as I continued to rub the sensitive spot inside her.

“What did you need?”

“More—fuck Damian, right there, yes!”

“You like that? When I put pressure right there?”

Tiffany’s only response was to scream out in pure ecstasy. I couldn’t help but grin at that, drinking in the delectable sight of Tiffany squirming on the bed, dress hanging onto her body for dear life, long eyelashes shut, full, red lips parted, every bit of her curvaceous body twisting and turning at my every move. Maybe this night wasn’t going as badly as I initially thought it was.

“Yes! More, please, more!”

To add onto the beautiful sight before me was the equally beautiful sound of her begging, her persistent moans, joined only by the occasional squeaking and shaking of the bed. I wondered if we were disturbing any of our neighbors who almost definitely were already asleep, but quickly realized I didn’t care in the slightest.

“I wonder how many times I must’ve saved the world in my previous life to get the chance to do this to such a beauty like you.”

It felt like barely any time had passed, but I could already feel the pussy of the Korean-American celebrity start tightening around my fingers, hear the increasingly erratic panting and moaning from her lips, the wild ferocity with which her legs thrashed and her toes curled: all the telltale signs of an impending orgasm. And while I would’ve loved to claim it was my immaculate skills with my fingers, nothing else but the interference of the drug could reasonably explain her state of near-climax so soon after I started.

“Oh fuck, I didn’t know fingers could feel so good inside me…”

Her voice was breathless, her forehead glistening with sweat, but this time, instead of a visage of pained frustration that she wore while in the club, her face was now etched with that of pure ecstasy.

“I’m close, a little more, please…”

The words came out almost as a breathless whisper, a final plead for release, the strain in her voice, and the lust pouring out from every square inch of Tiffany’s delectable body; seeing a woman squirm and twist as she succumbed to her orgasm was one of the reasons I became so practiced at using my fingers, but with Tiffany, that feeling turned up to eleven. I didn’t want to just see her cum, I wanted to see her completely lose herself. I wanted to see her become a mess, I wanted her to forget her own name as she squirted all over me, the bed, everything.

That was exactly why, in the final moments before her climax, I shoved my face between her legs, exposing her clit with my thumb, surrounded the sensitive nub with my lips, and gave it a firm suck.

The suite erupted with Tiffany’s ecstatic screams, a translucent jet of her ejaculate hitting me square in the jaw. I recovered quickly, lifting my head out from between her legs while letting her ride my fingers as the singer unleashed a beautiful melody of ecstasy and pleasure. I sat there and watched the beautifully erotic sight before me, of her voluptuous body violently shaking and her head pushed as far back into the pillow as it could go and her legs tensing and vibrating as jet after jet of her cum sprayed past my fingers and onto my arms and stomach.

After she pushed past that peak, her screams and moans turned into sighs and whimpers, the last bits of her cum dribbling out of her womanhood like a leaky faucet.

“Look at you, the famous Tiffany Young, well-renowned global superstar, reduced to a sexy mess. What millions of people wouldn’t give to see you squirting so hard, I wonder.” Her eyes landed on the shirt I was wearing, now shining from being drenched with her fluids. “Looks like you owe me two now: one, for that orgasm, and two, for this shirt.”

It took Tiffany a few seconds to recover, a slight shudder running up her body as I extracted my fingers from her soaking wet heat, but when she did, her demeanor changed on a dime. “I’m so sorry,” she answered with a noticeable pout on her lips, shifting into a sitting position and then into a crawl, facing me. “Let me pay you back for that, baby.”

What is going on?

Very clearly, Tiffany’s desperation vanished—or at least, simmered down—but her confident, very intentionally seductive gaze, her low crawl that gave me an eyeful of her ample cleavage and hints at her light-brown areola, her every movement and action oozed of a sex appeal that my erection roared back to life in response to.

“Poor baby, working so hard for mommy’s sake.” Ok, that was something I was … surprisingly fine with?

Fuck, why does this woman fuck with my head so much?

“Does my baby want a reward?”

“I’m—” it had to be my unfamiliarity with this territory, or maybe a better word was discomfort, that gave me a moment of hesitation. “—um, yes, please.”

“Yes please, what?”

I knew where this was going, but resisting seemed meaningless. Rather, resisting it seemed more painful than trying to change her mind. “Yes please, mommy.”

The word felt incredibly foreign on my tongue and was probably noticeable by how awkwardly it tumbled out of my mouth. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to faze Tiffany; whether it was she didn’t mind or because of how clearly lustful she still was, I wasn’t sure of.

“Good boy.”

I watched her from my seated position, legs splayed out towards her while leaning back on my arms that were planted on the slightly tussled blanket of the suite’s bed, as she prowled towards me like a hungry cheetah stalking its prey. Usually, I liked to be the cheetah, but with Tiffany, everything felt different. It just felt so natural to play the prey. Hell, I wanted her to hunt me down.

Wait.

I caught myself with that thought.

What the fuck? Why did I just think that?

It felt so incomprehensible to me, the supernatural phenomenon that was Tiffany’s sex appeal. The lustful gaze in her eyes, the seductive way she carried her sinfully sultry figure, the confidence in her husky voice, the sheer desire and aphrodisia in her every movement, her full, red lips, her large and striking eyes, her ample bust peeking through the ruffled top of her dress, the soft curves of her hips and the wider curve of her romp—was it one of these things, or a combination of all of them? Submitting went against everything I thought I knew about myself, but perhaps the more frightening thing was that I welcomed it.

She stopped while hovering a few inches above me, her eyes directed straight down at my crotch. So, it felt pretty fair to stare slightly down and forward, right into the more-than-eyeful of tits that her tousled top bared to me. I could very easily tell that she was probably a B-cup, but they were somehow infinitely more enchanting than the C-cups and D-cups I was used to.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe B-cups were great too. Or, maybe it was just Tiffany—maybe it was simply the fact that they were hers that drew my eyes towards them.

“Damian, baby, help me with this?”

I snapped out of the trance I was in, my eyes falling further down and falling on Tiffany, struggling with my belt.

“Sure thing.”

Her brows furrowed, her lips pulling into a pointed frown. “You mean, ‘yes, mommy’.”

“Um—” The reminder of my unfamiliarity with this type of roleplay hit me again, but the thought that this would only be a concern for tonight put my mind a little bit more at ease. “—yes, mommy.”

Shortly after my belt flew off, so too did my pants and boxers, leaving my hardened cock pointed straight at the ceiling of the luxurious hotel room. “Aww, poor baby, were you holding this in the entire time?”

I couldn’t get over the motherly sympathetic tone she was employing nor the slight pout on her lips, nor the strangest thing: how much it turned me on.

What the fuck? Am I secretly a sub?

“Um—” I stuttered, my mind slowly trying to piece together the ‘appropriate’ things to say in our current roleplay, “—y-yes, it hurts so much mommy.” Just saying those words, completely undirected, was so cringe-inducing that I nearly physically reacted to them, but seeing the reward in Tiffany’s face lighting up in reaction to them blew that embarrassment away.

“Does my baby want mommy to give the booboo a kiss?”

I nodded. “Please, mommy, it hurts so much.”

The words weren’t entirely false either; my penis was already pretty stiff from seeing Tiffany cum like that, but experiencing the reality-defying whirlwind of Tiffany’s lustful demeanor stiffened my dick even more, to the point of pain.

“Of course, sweetie.” She hardly waited for my nod in response before lowering her head to my crotch, holding her hair with her left hand while the other rested on my thigh to stabilize herself. My breath hitched as she stopped centimeters from my erect cock, the hot air puffing out from her lips hitting my hardened shaft. “Oh my, my baby has grown really big, hasn’t he?”

I grimaced, my legs tensing as her velvety lips brushed the sensitive tip of my dick. Instantly, a sliver of precum trickled out in response; and, just as quickly, Tiffany’s lips parted, her tongue darting out to collect the fluid. “We can’t be wasting any of that, can we?”

The smile she shot at me following, her lips pulled into an upward curve and her eyes disappearing into crescent moons curved the opposite direction, made me completely forget who I was or what I was doing for a second.

“You have such a beautiful smile.”

It took a few seconds to realize the words had come out of my mouth, but when I did, the realization came too late.

Shit, I forgot again.

I opened my mouth to correct myself, but Tiffany beat me to it. “You’re such a sweetie, Damian. Let mommy give you a reward.” Her left hand left the back of her head, her silky jet-black hair subsequently tumbling down the sides of her head, the fingers of her right hand gingerly wrapping themselves around the circumference of my cock. I let out a hiss as her slim digits enclosed it in a tight embrace, her soft palms caressing its length. And while the feeling of her fingers tightening around my dick was pleasurable in and of itself, the visual made it all the sexier: her strikingly flawless face centimeters away from the object of her adoration, her piercing eyes magnetized to it, her beautiful fingers pressed firmly against the now fully erect penis, her lips slowly parting and the gorgeous sheen of hair framing her face as she began to pump it.

“Fu—” This time, I was able to catch myself before I let loose the swear that was building up inside my throat. “—mommy, that feels so good.”

“I’m glad. Do you mind helping me hold my hair, baby?” I happily obliged, reaching around her to collect the amazingly soft curtain of black surrounding her face and pulling it into a ponytail behind her. “Thank you, baby.”

“You’re welcome, mommy.”

I barely noticed how fluidly the words came out of my mouth until after Tiffany resumed her handjob. But I didn’t have anything to worry about, it was just Tiffany that was making me like this. The pleasure and satisfaction I felt being the more dominant and controlling one with all the other women I’ve fucked was very real. I wasn’t a closet-sub, it was just Tiffany that was fucking with my head.

Right?

“My baby boy really has grown so big, mommy is very proud of you~”

“Thank you, mommy.”

My fists were clenched and my voice came out strained. The handjob she was giving me, in combination with the lascivious visual of her beautiful face placed so close to my dick and the amount of her tits that became visible from the low-cut of her dress hanging down from her position hovering over me, caused something that should’ve been just foreplay to bring me closer to the edge than I would’ve ever expected a simple handjob to be capable of.

“Did you enjoy mommy’s milk from before?”

“Milk?” My eyes again landed on her tits, her already-erect nipples all but visible with the angle she was at. “Oh!” She meant her cum, not from her boobs. It was a shame, too, because almost since I first laid my eyes on her and that more-than-ample cleavage, I was wondering what those puppies would feel like in my hands. And my mouth. “Yes, I did, mommy.”

The knowing grin Tiffany shot in return told me that she was privy to how much I was lusting after her milk jugs, replying, “Do you want more of mommy’s milkies?”

I nodded fervently. “Yes, please.” My haste stemming from impatience resulted in my blowing over my established role, something that didn’t by well with Tiffany. Her eyes furrowing was the catalyst for remembering, leading me to add, “—mommy.”

Her lips curled back up into a content smile. “Then, you’ll have to pay mommy back by giving her your milk too, ok?”

I nodded with equal fervor. “I’ll try my best, mommy.”

She shot me another heart-stopping eye smile. “Good boy.” Her hands left his penis and down to the hem of her dress, tugging at the spaghetti-strap top to no avail. Her smile turned into a frown, becoming more pronounced with each unsuccessful tug of her dress.

Damn it, she’s too drunk after all?

The sobering thought faded to the background when Tiffany decided to change tactics, her hands traveling up her body, her fingers looping around the top of her dress and pulling it down. Her boobs popped out, the bounce from the release of tension after being freed. I felt my eyes glazing over, gaze stopping at the plump, marshmallow-y mounds of flesh sitting on her chest, adorned with light-chocolate colored areola and darker, swollen nipples sitting atop the peaks.

Actually, you know what, B-cups are just as amazing as C-cups or D-cups. I’ve definitely been too picky in the past.

“Damian, help?”

There was something about the cute sight of her pouty visage contrasting with the erotic sight of her bare breasts sitting a few inches below those pouting lips that stirred something within me. The usage of cuteness in bed was something that always turned me off—women who employed it on me in the past have led me to stop everything on more than one occasion—but with Tiffany, it only turned me on more. At this point, I had grown tired of asking myself why this was happening. It was much easier to just accept it and let myself feel my arousal deepen one level still.

What I was shocked by was how long it had taken me to realize Tiffany needed help with her dress, and how I hadn’t offered to help already. “How rude of me—” Shit, that’s not how I’m supposed to be speaking. “—I mean, of course, mommy.”

I had been so distracted by her tits that I had completely disregarded her struggling, disregarded basic bedside manners, in favor of staring at her boobs. But honestly, I felt like I couldn’t even be blamed; even if they were on the smaller side, they were somehow just as sexy, if not more so. The fullness of its shape, the tautness of the skin, the plush appearance of its texture, the purity of its snowy-white color, the contrasting almond-colored areola and the even more contrastingly darker-brown teats standing up and away proudly from her body, how squeezable and bitable the enlarged buttons looked—remembering the roleplay Tiffany had casted us in was the only thing preventing me from jumping on her and ravishing them.

When the dress came off her body, I couldn’t help but find myself enamored with her legs next; they were on the slim side but had clear hints of muscles in her upper thighs, sloping upwards gracefully for what seemed like miles before curving out at her hips. The skin was just as unblemished, taut, and a perfect shade of pearly-white as the rest of her body, with slight hints of bruising on her knees that made my imagination go wild as their origins. Her legs were just as pleasant to touch as they were to look at; as my hands ran over her shins, up to her knees, and up to her thighs, I relished in the addictingly soft texture of her skin. “Your—mommy’s legs are so pretty.”

“Thank you, baby, but if you want mommy’s help, then you’ll have to be patient for a little bit longer.” I nodded, pushing myself back into a sitting position on the bed as Tiffany shifted into a kneeling position, tucking her legs under her thighs. “Come here,” she said, gently patting her lap. I obeyed immediately, turning around and resting my head on her soft thighs, face-up, with the rest of my body splayed out away from her, my legs dangling off the edge of the bed.

Part of me still felt weird obeying the commands of this mysteriously powerful woman, like some kind of needy puppy, but the bigger part of me didn’t care about dignity, shame, what I thought I knew of my own identity, any of it. Was it truly some kind of magnetic power she had, that drew in an dominated the will of any man she wanted, or was I just too lost in my own lust? Or, was there even a difference?

My obedience was rewarded when Tiffany, after seeing that I was sufficiently settled in her lap, leaned down and over me, presenting the object of my desire just moments ago inches away from my face. I craned my head up but was stopped by the woman whose lap my head was laying upon. “Before milkies, promise mommy that Damian will say when his milk is about to come out. Ok?”

“Yes, mommy,” I replied, nodding eagerly to her proposition.

“Good boy. Here you—ah!” Something between a moan and a squeal interrupted her as I took the erect nub into my mouth and rolled my tongue over it. My hands came around, all but sinking into the plush texture of her tits.

Fuck, they’re so soft…

I became so preoccupied with her boobs that I barely noticed Tiffany’s hands snaking down my torso, only aware of the fact when it stopped at the stubbles of my freshly shaven privates. Without warning, the dainty digits of her hand wrapped around my dick, the resulting surge of pleasure causing me to accidentally squeeze her boobs with an unintended amount of extra force.

“Do you like mommy’s boobs?”

I nodded, each pump of her hand sending a surge of pleasure throughout my body, my toes curling in response and my brain slowly but surely filtering out everything else but the feeling of her tits on my lips and hands and the feeling of her hand on my cock. It didn’t take long for her to pick up where she left off with, inching ever closer to the edge of the peak of the climax her hands were pushing me towards. Where her boobs lacked in surface area, she made up for in the quality of the skin and the softness of the mounds of fat. They gave way so easily to my hands and to my lips, but to also hear the slight moans and sighs that would escape from Tiffany’s lips as my tongue drew circles around her areola and rolled across her nipples and my teeth nibbled at the sensitive skin and the swollen teat.

The main source of my impending orgasm, as delectable her tits were, was her hand; they were tireless, barely stopping to rest, her hand pumping the shaft about twice the width of her hand while the other gently patted my head, as if comforting a nursing baby. Occasionally, she would stop to rest by readjusting her grip at the base and cupping my balls before resuming.

“These feel so heavy. Did you save it all up just for mommy?” I nodded again, hoping she didn’t need audial confirmation. Thankfully, she didn’t, resuming shortly after with a, “That makes mommy really happy. Don’t worry, baby, mommy will make sure to take in all of Damian’s hard work and patience.”

It wasn’t much longer after that when I notified Tiffany of my impending orgasm. To my dismay, Tiffany lifted her upper torso up, scooting to edge of the bed that my legs were dangling off of.

“Make sure to give it all to mommy, ok?” I nodded, fighting back the urge to push her head that was already closing in on my dick the rest of the way. “We don’t want to waste any of it, do we?”

“No, mommy.”

“Good boy.”

The moment my cock pierced her lips and sunk into her hot, tight mouth, I just about lost it right then and there. “Agh—” an incoherent mumble-moan escaped my lips, my fingers and toes curling even more than they were already. Inch by inch, the soft membrane of her lips advanced downwards along my shaft. Inch by inch, more of my penis entered the moist cavern of her mouth, and inch by inch, her tongue lined the surface area of my dick with her saliva. “Fuck—” Shit, forgot, no swearing— “—mommy, it feels so good…”

She tiled her head up, eyes shooting a quick smile at me. She barely got halfway down before she came back up for air, her right hand taking over in slathering the rest of the length with her saliva. “Naughty boy, no swearing. I’m afraid mommy will have to punish you later.”

“I’m sorry, mommy…”

In my peripheral vision, I could see her left hand reaching downwards, buried under her legs. However, visual confirmation wasn’t even necessary to know she was fingering herself; the wet sounds of her fingers pressing and pushing against her sex were evidence enough. And while I liked to think that it was the prospect of giving my dick a blowjob that brought her to such a state, the more realistic explanation was that the drug was still affecting her; after all, her face had taken upon a red hue again. However, the difference was that this time, she didn’t have a desperation on her face; this time, it was a deepened state of arousal.

Tiffany dribbled some more saliva onto my cock, proceeding to rub the slightly viscous fluid along the shaft while her red, succulent lips planted kisses along my length. After a while, satisfied with the amount of lubricant on my dick, her right hand reaching down to cup my balls while her tongue pressed against the long-side of my cock, starting from the base and sliding upwards and ending with a smooch at the tip. There was something immensely arousing about seeing her beautiful face in such close proximity to my dick that seemed to almost make her already small face even smaller and seeing the shimmering length of my cock occasionally accidentally tapping her slim jawline that created an impatience inside me. But it was her next words that transformed that impatience to something else. “It feels so big in my mouth, I wonder how I’ll fit this in my pussy…”

The words seemed to be her inner thoughts accidentally spoken out loud, or maybe a mumble that was spoken a notch too loud. Still, no matter how many times I had been told something similar, no matter how many other women had complimented my dick, hearing the words from Tiffany’s lips felt different. I could feel my chest swelling with pride and my lips stretching out into a satisfied smile—sure, it wasn’t the biggest one out there, but in that moment, it certainly felt that way.

Tiffany repeated the action a few more times before transitioning the smooch at the tip to deepthroating.

“Agh—” I stopped myself before I let out another swear, the suddenness of the action nearly causing me to peak right then and there. In one fell swoop, nearly three-quarters of my dick disappeared into her mouth, leaving me desperately clutching onto the thread that kept me from my orgasm. “Mommy—” words became difficult to form, my mind quickly being filled with nothing but the pleasure from the tight ring of her throat pressing against the circumference of my dick in coordination with the masterful work of her tongue dancing around it.

I wanted to revel in the sensation more. I wanted to continue feeling the immeasurably intense pleasure from feeling her lips now tightly pressed against the base of my shaft, from the tightness of her throat, from the wetness and warmth of her masterful tongue, but every passing second unraveled that thread line by line. When she started moving, her head bobbing up and down and her tongue gliding along the length of my shaft, gagging sounds filling the suite and tears cascading down her tightly closed eyes joined only by the increasingly louder moist sounds of her fingers against her slick, the thread I was so desperately clutching suddenly caught fire.

“—mommy—” The words were stuck in my throat, my mind too preoccupied with the Herculean task of holding back my orgasm to be able to form words properly. “—coming!”

The release of the buildup of tension inside my nethers, the release of the burden on my mind in trying to hold back—while both were cathartic, nothing felt better than the explosive release deep in her mouth, the powerful jet of my seed hitting the back of her throat like a water hose. Her cheeks bulged even more, a sound between a gag and a cough erupting from her throat, rapidly blinking away the tears in her eyes as stream after stream poured into her mouth, but not once did she let up. Her lips remained tightly sealed around my cock, her throat flexing impressively as it took on the assault.

When it ended, Tiffany pulled away, her left hand emerged from down south so that the backs of both hands could be used to wipe away the tears that had been collecting in her eyes. “I-I’m sorry, mommy…”

Her eyes blinked open. “What’s wrong?”

“I made mommy cry…”

I had to admit, Tiffany’s acting ability was top-notch. I was pretty good at acting myself, but the motherly concern that overtook her face in the face of my downtrodden, sorrowful expression made me almost believe it was sincere. “No! Aw baby,” she cooed, joining me on the bed and directing my head onto her bosom, “Those weren’t sad tears, those were happy tears! You really are spoiling your mommy so much, giving mommy so much of your tasty milk.”

“R-Really?”

She met my gaze with a happy nod. “Yes! But are you sure you gave mommy everything?”

I nodded. “I really tried my best, mommy.”

She separated herself from me, getting back on her knees at the edge of the bed. “Let’s see if Damian is telling the truth or not~” She slotted herself between my legs once again, and, with one boob in each hand, settled them on either side of my cock.

Even though I could feel the post-orgasm fatigue start to hit, seeing her surround my dick with her ample bust gave me a bit of concern. They weren’t large enough to smother the entirety of my size, but that didn’t stop the last two strands of cum to spill out onto her tits after squeezing them firmly against my cock with her hands, starting at the base and working her way out in a milking fashion.

“Oh, would you look at that.”

“I-I’m sorry, mommy!” The panic in my own voice caught me by surprise. Why was I so immersed in the roleplay? “I-I didn’t mean to! I’ll do better next time!”

Instead of reprimanding me, Tiffany looked up at me with a soft smile, scooping up the viscous bodily fluid and directing it into her mouth. Her luscious, red lips closed around her slim digits, disappearing into that dark cavern only to slide straight back out with a nearly audible pop! “It’s ok baby, as long as you keep your promise next time,” she said, her fingers running over the top of her bust again, making sure to direct every last droplet of my seed into her mouth.

I nodded eagerly. “I will!”

Tiffany smiled, licking her lips with an equal amount of eagerness and content. “Even though it wasn’t everything, it was a lot: feeling Damian’s thick, creamy load filling up my mouth and going down my throat was very nice. Thank you for the treat, baby.”

“It was only because mommy’s soft, pretty lips felt really good.”

“Oh, really?” I nodded. “Do you really like mommy’s soft, pretty lips?” I nodded again, letting her direct me back onto the bed, shifting so that I was properly aligned with it, my head all but sinking into the pillow of the luxurious suite. “Do you want more of mommy’s soft, pretty lips?”

“Can I?”

A giggle escaped from Tiffany, probably from the eagerness in my voice and the starstruck attitude I injected into it. Although, while I could definitively say I was acting, it was also true that my real feelings weren’t far from the character I was portraying. “Of course,” she replied, swinging her legs to the other side of my waist so that they were straddling it, hovering a few inches above me with hands flanking both sides of my head on the pillow. “Come here, baby.”

I didn’t know how it was possible, but her lips felt even better than how they looked or imagined. Impossibly soft, just the right amount of sweet, warm, slightly moist—even other things, like the heat from her face, the creamy texture of her palms caressing the sides of my head, her eyelashes brushing against my closed eyelids, the subtle curves of her voluptuous body pressing against mine, my mind had only the capacity to think and process Tiffany. The stillness of the room only interrupted by the sounds of our lips sensually pressing against and massaging each other, the subtle perfume she was wearing that had mixed slightly with a lingering scent of alcohol, the softness of not only her lips but her entire body firmly wrapped up and tangled in mine, the deep pants for air when she briefly disconnected our lips and the hot puffs of breath that tickled my face, the somehow simultaneously sweet yet seductive smile she shot at me before reconnecting our lips … if someone had asked me my own name in that moment, I probably wouldn’t have been able to answer.

It was after Tiffany’s second breath for air that she prodded my lips with her tongue, a request I readily complied with. While the kiss had already been getting hot and heavy, the action caused an instantaneous spike in its heatedness.

“Mmm…”

The beautiful noise emanating from Tiffany’s throat echoed in the hotel suite, tilting her head and leaning in, her velvety lips massaging mine, her tongue running against mine and brushing against my lips. We kissed—or rather, attempted to devour the other’s lips—with a wild abandon and desperate passion that might make one think our lives depended on it. In that moment, however, that was all that mattered: her curvaceous body shifting and squirming against mine, her lips pressing and moving in concert with mine, her tongue dancing expertly in perfect synchronization with mine. Everything else in the world fell away, even the bed beneath us.

When Tiffany next came up for breath, I could also see the wildness apparent in her actions in her eyes as well. However, it quickly was replaced with a laughter. “Oops, I accidentally gave you some of my lipstick.”

“I don’t mind.”

In the moment, I had become so preoccupied with Tiffany’s lips that I wasn’t aware how hard I had become until Tiffany herself pointed it out. “You’re hard again.”

“So I am.”

“Does baby want another kiss down there?”

She was the one who was asking, but I could tell she was all but ready to do the deed. After all, she had already shifted herself such that my dick was pointed straight at the entrance of her burning core. And, while normally, I might’ve teased the woman who was sharing the bed with me and made her beg, this was Tiffany. Even if the make-out session seemed to also make her forget about the roleplay we were doing for a few seconds, obeying her every command could only be described as second nature. I wanted—I needed—to appease her, to please her, even at the cost of my dignity and pride. “Can mommy do that?”

“Of course!”

“Even though mommy’s lips are up here?”

Tiffany smiled in response. The following question was one that I have been waiting for ever since I decided to play along; but, as eager as I was, I could tell Tiffany was doubly eager for it. “Do you want mommy to show you?”

“Yes!”

No matter how obvious it was that Tiffany was holding herself back, as I could surmise from the loud gasp that escaped her lips when, while her hand directed my penis to her slit, its head poked at it briefly and threatened to enter, she stayed true to her promise and removed it just as quickly. Biting back the grimace and the swear that threatened to fly out of my mouth quickly became the name of the game as her flopping wet vaginal lips pressed against my stiff cock, effectively ‘kissing’ it.

“Agh—”

“Hm? What’s wrong, honey?”

“Mommy…” Edging was a tactic I was very familiar with as I often employed it with the women I fucked, and the results were often amazing. Of course, when I was doing the teasing, I felt the impatience too, but the effort of holding myself back felt worth it in the end. After all, I wasn’t only after the great sex that followed: watching the woman squirm and beg beneath me was just as much of a desired result as the sex itself.

I wondered if these were the thoughts that were going through Tiffany’s head as she continued kissing my dick with her lips down south. “Does it feel good, sweetie?”

I nodded. “Mo-mommy’s lips feel really good…”

I always figured that the person on the receiving side of the edging had it worse, but I didn’t realize the impatience was this much worse. It felt like it was taking every ounce of strength and willpower to not grab her pillowy ass and shove all six-and-a-half inches inside her all at once. However, I could see the impatience on Tiffany’s face too: the same deep shade of red from back when she was trying to force herself onto me in the club overtook her face, her gasps and sighs gradually growing in volume as more and more of my cock became covered with her bodily fluids.

“Oh sweetheart, you feel so big and thick…”

The softness of her thighs that trapped my member, the rolling of her hips that caused her folds, sticky with her own precum, to slide along the length of my shaft, it was all doing wonders for the pleasure and lust that was quickly building with every passing moment. Even the hot puffs of air hitting my face and the pillowy sensation of her boobs pressed against my chest was aiding the process of deepening my arousal; but however much it made me want to slam her against the bed and fuck her into next Tuesday, I resisted. I could see her getting affected too, and it wasn’t before long when her patience, built up from when she first straddled my lap at the bar, finally broke.

“Fuck, mommy needs you so bad Damian…”

“What’s wrong, mommy?”

“Does my Damian want a baby brother or sister?”

Fuck.

Just the implication of the words made my dick twitch. Another rush of anticipation washed over my body, screaming at my muscles to move on the impulse.

Is she implying what I think she’s implying?

“Really?” I could only hope that the spike in my lust and impatience wasn’t present in my voice. “Yeah!”

“Then make sure to cum lots and lots inside mommy, ok?”

She barely gave me any time to respond before grabbing my cock and directing it straight into her pussy.

If it wasn’t abundantly clear how riled up Tiffany was before, the evidence was now screaming in my face—quite literally, in the form of Tiffany’s loud reaction to succumbing to an orgasm from the simple act of inserting barely half of my length inside her.

“Damian’s cock is stretching mommy’s tiny little pussy out so much! Ah, it feels so good, it feels so good!”

The orgasm seemed to only become more intense as it dragged on, the clenching of her vaginal walls against my shaft making it harder to advance. It seemed to suffice for her intents and purposes, riding out her climax with the upper four inches of my cock buried firmly inside her heat, letting loose a string of mewls and loud moans as she did so.

And, watching the spectacle, I couldn’t help but be entirely enraptured. Out of all the women I’ve seen ride out their orgasms on my cock, Tiffany had to be the most arousing, most beautiful woman of them all: even as she screamed, her lips appeared just as full and luscious; even as her face gave in to her lust, it still maintained its mystical beauty; even as her tits jiggled slight in response to her manic bouncing, they looked no less voluminous and perky; even as her legs tensed, the slight muscle definition to her thighs added to their appeal; even as her juices were splattering out of her pussy, the visual of her flopping folds deepened my arousal even more.

“Mom-mommy? Are you ok?” I wasn’t sure how I managed to stay in my ‘role’. Or, maybe, I did know but didn’t want to admit it.

“Sorry, honey,” she replied, her answer coming out as a gasp, her orgasm having finally subsided, “Mommy is fine. What do you think about mommy’s pussy?”

“It—It feels really good, mommy!”

She simply smiled in response, taking a deep breath before pushing the rest of my length inside her. Another slew of moans and sighs exploded from her lips, shuddering in tandem with me as my cock fully hilted her. When she was finally able to calm herself down, she opened her eyes, leaning forward and planting her hands on my chest. “Now’s time for that punishment.”

“Whaat?”

“Be a good boy and accept their punishment, ok? Mommy will give you a reward after.”

“Oh … ok, mommy,” I replied with a reluctantly obedient voice, a pouty voice I probably hadn’t used since I was twelve.

With that, Tiffany shifted her position such that her clit brushed against my groin. The contact alone caused her to gasp, which quickly turned into a moan as she pressed her sensitive nub onto the stubbles of my recently-shaven pubic hair.

“What a good boy, keeping yourself so clean…”

As if the suffocating tightness of her pussy wasn’t enough, as if its blistering heat and the wetness from having been brought to orgasm twice already wasn’t enough, as if the grinding motion she began doing wasn’t enough, the visual of her stimulating her clit by rubbing it against my crotch more than made up for the lack of any stimulation on me. The slight jiggling of her tits as she rocked back and forth, the way her Cupid’s bow lips parted as gasps and moans slipped out of her mouth, the swaying of her silky, jet-black hair in tandem with her movement, the pure and utter ecstasy that deepened with every passing moment etched onto her face … it was all too mesmerizing to notice the passage of time until her hands brushed up against mine, which were lazily laying on her legs.

“Do you mind helping mommy a little?”

The question snapped me back to reality. “Um, of—of course, mommy!”

She slowed down slightly, directing my hands to her bosom. “Damian said he really likes mommy’s boobs, right?” I nodded. “Then, here you go,” she said, placing each hand on one of her boobs, “you can play with them however you want.”

The urge to do so was an urge I was holding back the entire time, having only gotten worse after seeing them swaying so much mere inches from my face, but finally being granted permission to do so unlocked a fervor Tiffany was definitely not expecting.

“Thank you, mommy!”

I pressed my index finger and thumb into her areola, the rest of my fingers resting on the pillowy surface of her tits while they rubbed gentle circles around the sensitive skin. The squirming and moaning from Tiffany increased drastically, shifting one hand to the center of my chest while the other dove down south into the tight connection of her labia against the perimeter of my cock. It was the wet sounds of flesh rubbing against flesh that let me know that she was rubbing the widely spread-open pussy lips that were engulfing the base of my cock, something that turned me on even further.

“Damian…”

Somehow having withstood the temptation of pinching those delectable nipples that sat at the peak of her tits, the tauntingly squeezable nubs swaying to and fro inches from my face, instead electing to build up the suspense by continuing to rub and massage the sensitive skin around it.

“Oh, sweetie, your fingers feel so good…”

“Am I doing well?”

She nodded fervently. “Yes, you’re making mommy very happy, but…”

Tiffany interrupted herself with another moan, a sound that had been gradually turning more and more impatient. “Hm?” I replied innocently, as if I didn’t know the exact cause of her suffering.

“…but you’re also being a very naughty boy right now.”

I completely stopped. “What? What am I doing wrong, mommy?”

Tiffany opened her eyes, managing to shoot me a gentle smile. “Do you see mommy’s big, swollen nipples?”

I redirected my eyes to them, nodding. “Is—Is mommy going to punish me again for being naughty?”

“No, but only if you starting paying more attention to those too.”

“Oh. Ok!” Shortly following those words, both sets of index fingers and thumbs surrounded the engorged, light-brown buttons and squeezed them.

“Oh!” The electrified moan that jetted out her lips mirrored the shock that surged through her system in response, her arms and legs suddenly tensing and her eyes fluttering shut. “More!”

Just watching her succumb to pleasure was reward enough, but the feeling of the velvety, swollen nipple giving way to my fingers and just how enjoyable it was to squeeze them added onto that pleasure tenfold. That seemed the catalyst for everything intensifying: the vigor with which she grinded her clit against the stubbles of pubic hair on my groin, the volume and frequency of her moans, even the wet sounds of her fingers playing with her labia and rubbing the base of my cock that her labia was encircled around. Although the lack of stimulation for me might’ve ordinarily softened my penis, the sheer spectacle of the lascivious lady relishing in the ecstasy that was so clearly written on her face and in her body that I found myself getting more aroused with each passing moment.

Making sure to switch between kneading motions, rolling the erect nub in my fingers, and pinching them, it didn’t feel much longer until Tiffany finally announced her climax. “Oh, oh god, sweetheart, mommy’s cumming!”

This time, her orgasm came out in more gradual waves, like a boiling kettle with water leaking out the top. Tiffany’s mouth didn’t stop the entire time, letting out a noise between a moan, a scream, and a pant, riding out her climax vigorously, her entire body shaking as more and more of her sticky fluids washed over my cock, bits and slivers leaking out after coming down from that peak.

“Oh … oh fuck…”

The minute or so I spent watching her reveling in lust and ecstasy only made me harder, but was thankfully experienced enough to not let it control me, letting her take a few breathers with her head hanging over my chest and her hands planted on my abdomen.

In the minute or so it took for the Korean-American celebrity to recover, I simply watched her regain her bearings, shuddering every so often as a bit more of her juices trickled out of our hot connection. From watching her cum for the second time that night, I was certainly rearing to go again, and it definitely didn’t help that the fleshy, tight walls of Tiffany’s vagina was still squeezing my cock like it was trying to milk it. However much I managed to keep my lust in check, I could feel it slipping by the second.

“Wow … you have a really nice body…”

It was an out-of-character statement, or so the tone of her voice suggested, but I wasn’t about to let it slip away without my reward first. “Mommy, was I a good boy?”

Tiffany seamlessly slipped back into the role, smiling and nodding. “Yes, you were. Mommy promised you a reward if you were a good boy, didn’t she?” I nodded, eyes shining with anticipation. “Do you like mommy’s pussy?”

I nodded again. “It’s so tight, but it feels good.”

Tiffany giggled at that. “Anyone would feel this tight with how big my baby boy is.”

“Oh.”

“Would Damian like to feel better?” I let the excitement I bleed onto my lips. “Would Damian like to cum inside mommy’s pussy?”

This time, my excitement translated into a twitch of my dick. Oh fuck. Was she really letting me do that?

After what has basically amounted to soaking inside Tiffany for the better part of five, maybe ten, minutes, I was raring to have a go at fucking this pussy that has been strangling my cock this entire time. But the prospect of being able to cum inside? That was beyond any fantasy I usually allowed myself to have about my prospective woman for the night. “Yes!”

Tiffany smiled again. “Damian has been such a good boy, I think he deserves his reward.” She wasted no time in pleasantries, lifting her ass off my groin. A sharp breath blew past my teeth, the feeling of her moist vaginal walls gliding along my shaft sending a rolling wave of pleasure throughout my body. And, as quickly as she lifted herself off my dick, she slammed back down, the crisp sound of her plump ass slapping against my damp groin blending in with the groans and moans from both Tiffany and me.

“Ah—” she repeated the action, leaning forward a little more to give herself a better angle to ride me, “—you feel so big inside mommy, honey…”

It didn’t take me long to find her rhythm and match her riding motion with upward thrusts; my hands found themselves planted at her hips, my eyes wandering from watching the wanton expression on her face to watching the slight jiggle of her beautiful tits to watching the up-and-down motion of her labia along my dick, unsure which sight was a more sexually appealing spectacle.

“Shit … you feel so good…”

“Damian, language…” Tiffany’s weak protest fell on deaf ears, all our efforts now focused on the other’s reproductive organ.

Having become lost in my pleasure and watching Tiffany revel in hers, or maybe it was Tiffany fucking with my mind, I hadn’t even realized we had passed the limit of Tiffany’s physical capabilities until I began to notice the increased depth and frequency of her chest’s heaving.

But I wasn’t ready to slow down. Not by a long shot. Not when things were finally starting to heat up.

“Jellybean, I—what are you doing?” Tiffany’s arms buckled as my hands, now placed on her shoulders, pulled her body towards me. “Damian, you’re—” I didn’t listen, Tiffany cutting herself off with a squeal as I flipped our positions on the bed in an instant. From the sparkle in her eye, I could tell the display of physical dominance turned her on. “Damian, you’re being very naughty—”

Even her protest was weak, which only turned weaker as I began pounding her into the bed.

“But isn’t this easier, mommy?”

“Damian, listen to mommy…” the last vestiges of her attempt to maintain her role as the dominant rapidly dwindled to nothing, her own voice even betraying her as a slew of moans erupted from her throat. “Oh, oh god…” Seeing Tiffany start breaking down, especially with how staunchly her stance was in preserving the roleplay, caused a swell of pride and power to balloon inside my chest. The strict ‘mother’, now reduced to a moaning, mewling mess, at the whims of my cock violating every inch of her wanton pussy … in my many years of living and countless women I’ve bedded, few, if any, sights compared in sexiness and how great it felt to know that I was the cause of it.

“See? Isn’t this better?”

Tiffany shook her head slightly, her legs wrapping around my waist. “B-But I was supposed to b-be rewarding you.”

“You are.”

The suffocating tightness was only counteracted by the sheer wetness of her pussy, well-lubricated from her previous three orgasms. Added to that was an overwhelming heat that only added to the heat of our synchronized motion created a symphony of moans, damp skin slapping against each other, the squeaking of the luxurious hotel suite’s bed, and the panting that came between the moans.

“Damian, oh—oh, fuck!”

Tiffany’s moan turned into a high-pitched squeal as my fingers pushed aside her folds to lightly pinch the hardened nub north of our connection.

“You like that?”

“Yes, I—fuck!”

I pinched it again, with a bit more pressure, causing Tiffany’s back to arch well off the bed.

“Hmm, you’re so sexy, Tiff.”

I leaned forward, leaving my fingers at her clit while my lips found hers. While our previous kisses could be described as messy, it didn’t hold a candle to this kiss; it was as wild and sloppy as it was wet and loud, the constant smacking of our lips quickly joining the cacophony of sounds that were echoing throughout the suite.

“Mmm…”

A deep, guttural moan reverberated out from Tiffany’s throat, her lips unrelenting in their counter-assault on mine. The wet, velvety texture of her lips glided against mine, made more difficult by how the force of my thrusts were causing her body to shake, but they never separated for more than a second.

“So desperate…”

I could feel one hand tightly gripping the back of my head and the other, my neck, the tensing of her legs and the continual strings of muffled moans vibrating from her throat reaffirming the two words I managed to gasp out. However, as accusatory as the words were, the same could be said about me: but with how sweet her lips were, and how soft they felt against mine, and how expertly they caressed and rubbed against and massaged my lips, how could I not become so desperate? I was already kissing her, but I still needed more.

“So good…”

My tongue brushed against the entrance to her lips and instantly, was allowed access. Tilting my head for a better angle, I deepened the kiss, feeling the powerful pink muscle in her mouth coming out to meet my own. My nose was nearly poking her cheek, the hot puffs of air on mine telling me hers was in a similar position, the subtle aroma of her subtle perfume wafting into my nose.

Fuck, I’m going to go crazy.

I was thankful I was experienced enough to let my body go on auto-pilot, because I was beginning to feel dizzy with the overload of stimulation from all sources: from her silky legs wrapped around my wait, from her ample boobs pressed against my chest, from her scent being injected through my nostrils, from her vaginal walls gliding along my cock, from her luscious lips pressed firmly against mine, from her tongue dancing expertly around my tongue, from the squirming of her body as my finger continued to tease her clitoris—

I need a short break.

I pulled away, my hips slowing down considerably as I did so. “Sorry Tiff, I need—”

All my concerns for taking a break instantly vanished upon looking at her face: eyelids half-lidded, tongue now lolling out of her parted lips, chest heaving, the lower half of her body spasming at the orgasm that was currently wracking her body.

“I’m—fuck, I can’t—”

Damn, I knew I was good, but I’m not that good. That drug really is something else, huh?

It wasn’t intentional, but taking advantage of Tiffany in the state she was in felt wrong. Maybe Tiffany herself didn’t feel that way—maybe she was in as much ecstasy as she looked to be in—but having brought her to such a state not by my own efforts, but with the help of a drug, made it not as satisfying. I doubted she would’ve have gotten like this if she was with the man who fed her the drug, but knowing it wasn’t all me made me wonder how much of it was me.

“Ah, ah, fuck…”

The Korean-American celebrity gasped, her words breathy and her half-conscious state only marginally improving.

“Are you ok?”

Even after waiting a minute for her to calm down was evidently insufficient, as she continued to shake, albeit less violently. “Sorry, fuck…”

“Language, mommy.”

Tiffany grinned, the continual orgasms that had wracked her body and brought her to the half-conscious state she was in coming to a halt. “Sorry, baby.”

“Looks like you need a break too, with how many times you just came in a row.”

Tiffany’s eyes narrowed, biting the corner of her lower lip in reaction to the flash of lust that passed my eyes. “Not like you minded, you just continued fucking me like I was your personal fleshlight.”

“You’re saying that like you weren’t moaning up a storm, begging for more.”

“Oh, I never said I didn’t mind.”

Those words, the seductive voice she spoke with, and the sexy smirk that followed, nearly blew away all of the restraint I was employing.

Fuck, she’s dangerous.

“What made you stop?”

“Other than seeing your barely-conscious state?”

“Don’t kid yourself, I know it wasn’t me that caused you to stop. Otherwise, you would’ve stopped a long time ago.”

I almost laughed at that. “You almost sound proud of cumming so much.”

Tiffany shrugged. “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I was getting overwhelmed.”

Caught off guard, Tiffany’s eyebrows furrowed together. “Hm?”

“The answer to your question,” I responded, “I stopped because I was getting a little overwhelmed. Although it looked like you were a little more overwhelmed than me. Why didn’t you stop me?”

“No reason to. It felt amazing.” I found myself grinning and opened my mouth to reply, but was cut short by Tiffany, “But I couldn’t help but notice: you didn’t cum yet, did you?”

“Did you really want me to fill up your sore, tiny little pussy badly?”

“Don’t you?” I felt my dick twitch in response to that again. Fuck, why is so so— “I already told you, didn’t I? Cum lots and lots inside mommy~” Tiffany’s response, the cuter, higher-pitched tone she used while doing the roleplay, and the suggestive smirk on her face, acted as the final straw that broke my restraint.

My hands went under her thighs and lifted her legs up, a surprised squeal coming out of Tiffany’s lips as I pushed them upwards into a ‘V’ shape. “You asked for this, so don’t blame me for not stopping until I empty my load inside you, mommy.”

“Yeah, fuck!”

The words came out half as a moan and half as a scream, her back arching as I drilled into her from a downward angle. My knees planted firmly into the mattress and my hands tightly gripping her legs as her body shook with the force of my thrusts, I watched as her face quickly gave way to lust. It didn’t take long for her hands to creep onto her chest to start massaging her own breasts, rubbing and kneading the supple skin like playdoh; her lips her parted, eyes closed, head thrown back, every part of her being proudly displaying the ecstasy she was feeling from the strong, rapid thrusts of my cock in and out of her womanhood.

“How badly do you want this?”

“So badly, mommy needs it, mommy needs your cum—ah!” the last bit of her sentence was cut short by a louder moan when the force of my thrusts caused my groin to press up against her clit. I took advantage of the contact, a grin appearing on my face from the mewling mess Tiffany became upon rubbing the sensitive nub.

The telltale signs of her pussy tightening around my cock and the increasing frequency of her moans told me all I needed to know about her next impending orgasm. “You gonna cum again?”

“Yes, fuck, I’m sorry, I can’t help it, my clit, you’re rubbing it so much, and your cock, oh god—oh, god!”

The sexy sight before me only made me want to work harder, of her body violently conceding to the nth orgasm of the night.

“What a naughty mommy, cumming so many times when she was supposed to be giving a reward to her baby boy.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she panted, barely able to formulate complete sentences from the heavy panting that was disabling her articulatory functions.

I didn’t give her any time to recover from her orgasm, continuing at the same speed and ferocity as before. The squeaking of the poor bed returned, the suite soon filled yet again with the combined sounds of our moans, my balls slapping her wet labia, and that noise, amplified more this time by the additional strength the position allowed me to use.

“God, fuck, it’s too much—!”

It wasn’t so much of me letting her ride out her orgasm as much as it was me chasing after my own. The buildup after all this time, the anticipation from the first time I laid my eyes on her and reigniting when she came onto me strongly in the club, was all coming to a head in every thrust that smashed the tip of my cock against her cervix.

I had a pretty good imagination, but actually fucking her was a million times better than any fantasy I had. Her perfect, beautiful visage ruined by the tongue nearly lolling out of her mouth, her stunning eyes rolled to the back of her head, her flawless, pale skin dotted with beads of sweat, her silky, jet-black hair strewn all over the blanket, all in a lecherous display before me. That wasn’t even to mention her beautiful voice screaming out in ecstasy, her soaking wet yet simultaneously suffocatingly tight pussy massaging the length of my cock as it glided along its walls, every thrust causing a spurt of her juices to land on my growingly damp groin, even the silky-smooth feeling of her tensing thighs in my left hand that defeated the vision I had looking at her.

“You love my cock so much, don’t you?”

With how much of my penis I was withdrawing from her entrance, it was only a matter of time before it slipped out; when it did, I held her thighs with my elbow while directing the drenched rod back inside her, another moan erupting from Tiffany’s lips.

“Yes~” the force used to fully sheath myself back inside her caused the fat on her ass to reverberate, her body jerking upwards in reaction to my vigor, “I love it so much, fuck!”

I took advantage of my hand’s position to reach between her folds and pinched her clit, causing another string of high-pitched moans to echo throughout the bedroom. “Does mommy really want another baby?”

She nodded frantically, yet another impending orgasm causing her to twist and squirm around. “Yes! Please!”

I desperately held my climax back, wanting to indulge in this moment for as long as I could withstand it, but everything was working against me: the sight of Tiffany reveling in her pleasure, the feeling of her body intertwined within mine, the beautiful melodies of moans and screams that continually flew out her lips, even the smell of sex that was gradually taking over my nostrils. “You’re a really slutty mommy, wanting to feel her baby’s cum fill up every crevice of her naughty little pussy, aren’t you?”

“Ye—Yes—Yes!” Tiffany, barely able to formulate words at this point, could only scream out the one word in agreement, the climax that took over her body shortly after turning her into a moaning, screaming mess.

I barely had time to let out a warning yell before my own climax took over, giving her clit one last firm pinch before feeling the tension inside my nethers untangle all at once.

“Fuck, it’s so hot!”

“Here’s your baby you wanted to much, mommy.” My right hand quickly went back to her thighs, holding onto them with both hands for leverage, using her orgasming pussy to ride out my own orgasm, each thrust pushing in the torrent of the sticky substance deep inside the singer’s womb.

“More, please, more!”

The combined climaxes and the resulting creampie brewing inside her evidently extended her stay at her peak, her ability to stay still rendered completely inert by her pleasure sending tidal wave after tidal wave of ecstasy throughout her entire body.

“Ugh, shit,” I grunted, feeling the last few strands of my seed being milked out by the convulsing, fleshy walls of her baby canal.

The following minute was filled with nothing but the sounds of our deep pants, me taking a minute to rest before letting her legs fall back onto the bed.

“Damian…”

“Hm?”

I looked up to see Tiffany beckoning for me. I obediently leaned forward, letting her hands wrap around my head and pull me down into another kiss. A pleased moan vibrated inside my throat, the feeling of her lips rubbing and massaging mine and her ample bosom smooshed against my chest barely able to fight against the refractory period softening my penis still inside her. She let me go after a few seconds, a lazy smirk on her lips. “Thanks, that was amazing. But, you’re still hard?”

I definitely had the stamina to go another round or two, but just a glance at the drooping eyes of Tiffany told me all I needed about what kind of a person she was: in her heart of hearts, a people pleaser.

I shook my head, only to be met with an indignant, “Yes you are, I can still feel how hard you are inside me.”

“Tiff, I think it’s best that we stop.”

“Huh?”

For all the ways the existence of Tiffany fucked with my mind, I was glad this part of me remained unchanged. “Look, you’re struggling to stay awake.”

“No, I—”

“It’s ok, we can continue next morning if you’re up for it.”

She adamantly shook her head, her lips forming into a pout. “I’m fine, you can keep fucking me if I fall asleep.”

Being too exhausted to resist, I had little issue removing her legs that had wrapped around my waist and pulled out of her. A shudder ran up her spine that escaped out her mouth as I did so, a stream of fluids leaking out of her red and battered hole. “Let’s clean you up first, don’t want any UTIs or anything.”

Tiffany continued to pout but obliged, letting me carry her to the bathroom to wash her privates. “Do you have any Plan B pills with you?”

She nodded. “In my purse.”

After feeding the pills to her, I finished drying her up before plopping her back in bed, under the covers. However, before I could leave, I was stopped by her hand, shooting out from under the blanket and grabbing my wrist.

“Don’t go.”

I turned back around in shock, as it seemed like Tiffany’s eyes had already closed when I pulled the blanket over her.

“I’m only going to the bathroom.”

Ordinarily, I would’ve had no problem staying the night with her, but not when it came to celebrities. In those cases, I usually opted to slip out the same night, not wanting to cause a scene or any problematic news articles. Doing so has only backfired once, and even then, the model came to understand my intentions after explaining them to her.

“You already tried that on me, remember?”

Damn it. Why didn’t I turn around when I said that?

“It’s better if I leave now, isn’t it?”

She frowned pointedly at that. “Why?”

My brows furrowed, pursing my lips in confusion. “Well, because you’re a celebrity, and you don’t want to be caught leaving a hotel with a man?”

“We can just leave at different times.” There was no denying that, but still, I didn’t want to take any risks when I didn’t have to. “Plus, you promised me, didn’t you?”

“Hm?”

“That we’d continue tomorrow morning.”

I sighed, the twitching of my mostly-flaccid cock catching the attention of Tiffany, who giggled at the sight. “Are you going to insist that I stay?”

She nodded. “Please?”

As much of an admitted playboy I was, the pleading eyes of a beautiful woman was something I had little resistance to; and when that beautiful woman was Tiffany, the queen of being able to bend me to her will, that resistance all but crumbled.

“I really can’t win against you, can I?”

The smile on my face transferred to Tiffany, who opened the blanket covers, scooting over and patting the space she made for me. “Come to mommy~”

I obliged, slipping under the covers with her and letting her wrap her arms around mine, pulling them against her naked breasts, and resting her head against my bare shoulder. While I had no problems with her snuggling up to me like that, I couldn’t help but become a little concerned. “Is that comfortable?”

With her eyes still closed, she replied, “If I don’t do this, you’ll run away after I fall asleep, won’t you?”

I found myself smiling. It was an option I was holding onto in the back of my mind, but Tiffany seemed to be too thorough to let me do that. “Busted.”

She smiled back. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

By the time I repeated the words to her, she had already fallen asleep, and not too long after, so did I.

#snsd #kpop #soshi #kpop smut #snsd smut #smut #tiffany #tiffany young #male oc #mommy k!nk

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k00sblogger · 5 months

Text

Summary: When a movie night strikes up quite the interesting conversation, the night takes a turn that you definitely never expected.

Warnings: threesome, big dick jk, nipple play, pussy eating, dirty talk, detailed smut, sneaky behavior.

Pairing: Bsf!Jk x Fem!Reader x FemBsf!Mirae

A/n: put my own little spin on this request, hope the anon likes it.

🔗: m.list

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"Hurry the movies starting!" mirae shouts as you and jungkook rush to finish packing the snacks into little bowls. Jungkooks continuous laughter makes you smile as you grab three sodas and rush them out to the living room.

Mirae let's out a content sigh when she sees you both, gesturing to the movie starting on the screen.

Mirae and jungkook had been your friends since freshman year of high school, and you'd basically grown up together. Seeing them turn from nerdy teens to full blown adults felt bizzare.

Just like high school, the three of you still spent all your time together. Some may say people your age should be in relationships by now, but it had just never worked out that way for any of you.

Jungkook had the same girlfriend for years, but she'd cheated on him the second they parted ways for college. After that he just never seemed to bat his eyes at a girl the same way again.

Mirae on the other hand was never one for relationships. Usually she moved around to whoever caught her eye and embraced her singleness. She was an amazing person regardless, anyone who had her would be a fool to ever let her go.

Surprisingly, she changed her ways the past year and a half. She hadn't talked to any guys, and she seemed happy with it.

Oh and you? You had a few boyfriends here and there, but your love life recently had been pretty dry. You were too caught up in work & friends to bother looking for someone to spend the rest of your life with.

You didn't really know how you felt about marriage anyway.

"Pass me the popcorn." Mirae whispers, reaching over jungkooks lap to take the bowl from you before you can even think of an answer. You don't mind, grabbing a nearby blanket and throwing it over the three of you.

The sound of popcorn being chewed is the only thing heard amongsts the three of you as the movie plays, all eyes trained on the screen.

Jungkook does his best to ignore the fact that both of you were pressed tight against him, sandwiched between the two of you as your breasts sit right against both of his arms. His pants do get a little tight, and though he didn't have a crush on either of you- he was still a man..

A man with needs to be specific. So having two girls tits pressed against him was a bit of a bummer when he may not be getting any pussy by the end of this.

You had to admit the movie was much better than you thought it'd be, and you cursed yourself for enjoying it because you knew jungkooks teasing would come soon after.

He'd suggested the movie to the both of you earlier that day, and though mirae was on board- you were not. Initially you weren't one for romance movies, and honestly you still weren't. This one just happened to be different, and you were starting to like it a little too much.

Being that it's a romance movie, it's not long before three naked bodies take place on the screen- moaning and kissing as sensually as possible. (Watching this always makes you wonder how awkward it must've been to film it.)

You could never be an actor, because you'd laugh in your co stars face if you had to fake having sex together.

"Y'know- having a threesome doesn't seem bad." mirae's statement causes you and jungkooks heads to snap toward her, watching in amusement as she shovels more popcorn into her greedy mouth.

"Really?" jungkook says, pinching the bridge of his nose at her words. She shrugs at both of us, gesturing toward the sexual scene on the tv with her hand. "You guys wouldn't be down?" she questions.

You think about it for a moment, your not exactly opposed to it. To be honest the longer you dwell upon it, the more it intrigues you- maybe it would be sort of fun?

"I think it'd be pretty cool." a cheesy smile flashes over miraes face at your confession, and she reaches over jungkook again so she can playfully nudge your shoulder. "That's my girl!"

Her sudden enthusiasm about the subject makes you laugh, and you can't stop a blush from spreading across your cheeks. "Jungkook? What do you think?"

You'd almost forgot that he was there, being that he'd been so quiet. Mirae didn't even need to ask the question, you could tell he was interested by the way he was still watching the three of them fuck on your tv screen.

"Helloooo, earth to jungkook?" you say, waving your hand in front of his face. He shakes his head when you do, almost as if he was snapping out of some trance. Mirae lifts a hand as she nods in content. "Nevermind- you've answered my question."

He gives a awkward laugh, adjusting his position on the couch to more of a slouch. "I'm down." he mutters, and the way he bites his lip afterward lets you know he's already thinking about it.

"Oh yeah? I think you'd be too scared." mirae counters, and you roll your eyes when jungkook gives her a shocked look. Clearly her little comment had gotten him riled up.

"Scared? Hell no." he scoffs, sitting up properly as he looks at you to back him up. You do nothing but shrug playfully, you weren't helping him out on this one- preferring to sit back and watch them bicker.

"You don't have the balls." mirae tests him even further, cocking her eyebrow at him as she continues to eat the last of the now cold popcorn.

"Try me." he mutters, and you can tell he's annoyed. Mirae had a way of getting to people, even you sometimes. She found it hilarious, jungkook on the other hand did not.

"Okay then, kiss y/n." the challenge makes you sit up straight, furrowing your brows at her. Well shit, you weren't disgusted at the thought- just surprised that she'd even suggest that.

Your heart beats a little faster when jungkooks turns to face you, and the look on his face was more determined than ever. Was he really gonna do it? Kiss you just to prove a point? No way.. it wasn't even that serious, just a stupid joke.

Clearly it was not, because two seconds he pulls you up and his lips are pressed flesh against yours. His hand keeps a nice hold on your cheek as he tugs a little at your lower lip before pushing his tongue into your mouth.

Oh.

This wasn't just a flimsy kiss, he was making out with you.. and you liked it. You didn't really understand what was happening and why the kiss kept on for so long, but fuck were you enjoying it.

Best believe his point was proven.

You enjoyed everything about it. The way his hands slid down your to your waist, and then to grip a handful of your ass. The way he kept pressing his body into yours. He was more than a good kisser, he was a fucking god at it.

Kisses peppering the back of your neck cause you to peel your eyes open, and that's when you realize it's mirae standing behind you. You can feel her clothed tits on your back as she does so, her soft hands hovering over jungkooks that still sit on your waist.

The realization of what's happening causes you to move your lips away from jungkooks, but he simply kisses you again before you can bother to utter a word.

You didn't know why, but the kisses from both of them convinced you to take off your shirt. Along with your pants, and then your panties, until you were completely naked for both of their eyes to see.

For a split second you wonder why mirae was so quick to join in and kiss on you as well, but you shake off the thought as quickly as it bubbles in your mind.

"Holy.." jungkook mutters, eyes concentrated on your full breasts. He takes it upon himself to bring his hands up to your chest, smiling as he cups your boobs in his warm hands. The feeling of your cold nipples against his palm made his dick even harder.

He's quick to undress himself after you, moving hastily to release his growing boner. Your eyes widen on their own at his length, all those times he boasted about his dick size clearly wasn't a joke.

"Surprised?" he asked, smirking at your reacting to the sight. You can hear mirae's hoarse laugh in your ears as she places her left hand on your shoulder, and her right hand at the base of jungkooks dick.

Her clothed chest is still pressed to your bare back, wanting to touch him but be close to you all at the same time. You liked the view you had, squished right in the middle of both of them as she reaches around you to jerk him off.

You don't realize how you've went to fondle your own clit, the sight so hot that you could no longer sit here untouched. Wetness leaks onto your thighs, making them all wet and sticky just how you loved it.

"For fucks sake..." he babbles to himself, groaning at the pressure of mirae's hand wrapped tight against his hard cock. Your finger's aggressively rubbing against your sensitive bud, already wanting to reach a orgasm even though this has only just started.

Jungkook notices and quickly takes action, grabbing a hold of your wrist to move it away from the area. "Patience." is all he says, and you oblige though the last thing you wanted was to wait.

Not when you were naked between the both of them like this.

You swore you weren't crushing on your friends, but it'd be a downright lie to say they were ugly- because they weren't. In fact, they were some of the hottest people you'd met.

You even used to have a crush on mirae in the 5th grade, but you'd never let her know that. It didn't matter anyway, you guys weren't even friends back then. Shit she barely even knew your name.

Mirae's roaming hands pull you out of your thoughts when you feel them on your waist, pulling you even closer to her as she sits down on the couch behind her.

Your bodies are warm and snug against each other as you lie between her thick thighs. She can't help but to slide her hands right under your breasts and grip them just to tease you.

It pulls a long moan out of you, leaning your head against her shoulder as she massages the tender blobs. Every few seconds she swipes her thumb over you nipple, aiming to get them nice and hard to her own liking. (Which she succeeds in.)

"Mm, she likes that." you feel mirae's breath on your ear, and you nod though she's speaking to jungkook and not you.

Your eyes flutter open and closed, realizing how much you enjoy being teased and played with ever so gently. Everytime your eyes open you can see jungkook massaging the length of him, his tip touching his happy trail from how hard he is.

He needed to be inside of you, immediately.

So he gets straight to it, leaning down to pull your hips to the very edge of the couch. Mirae understands what he's trying to do, and traces little shapes on the undersides of your thighs before pulling them up and out of his way.

"Needy?" he asks.

His voice makes you wanna cum all over him, and he hasn't even placed a finger on your cunt yet. You nod frantically, letting him know you want everything he has to give you.

Your cunts like a pretty piece of art, on display for both of their eyes to see. Mirae removes a hand from your thigh just to dip her fingers down there and get a feel for how wet you are.

She moans when she feels your slick stick to her fingers. "Pussy soaked isn't it?" she questions you in a teasing voice, bringing the wet hand back up to grip your thigh.

"Want me to eat you out? Huh?" jungkook asks, slapping his pre cum cover tipped on your swollen clit. "Please.." you beg, hips thrusting up everytime he pushes his tip against your clit.

He chuckles at your greediness, continuing to slide his length up and down your entire cunt. He and mirae both bite their lips, obsessed with the way your wetness begins to cover his dick- soaking it more everytime he slides against you.

"Looks like she's ready to fuck already." mirae declares, grabbing your chin with her thumb and index finger to get you to look up at her smirking face. "That what you want? Want him to fuck you?" she says, and you appease her by giving multiple quiet yes's.

She nods to jungkook as a gesture, letting go of your chin to hold your thighs again. Her right grip ensures your not going anywhere (not that you wanted to in the first place.)

That first little thrust inside gives you the confirmation this is exactly where you need to be, letting out a mewl at the pressure. Jungkook moves his tattooed hand to press against your lower belly, licking his lip at your reaction.

"Your squeezing the fuck out of me.. loosen up pretty." he was being so dirty, but somehow his words comforted you enough to make you stop gripping the living shit out of him.

He doesn't bother to give you a break, pushing the entirety of him inside of you with one go. He refused to waste any time, wanting your pussy wrapped around him as soon as possible.

"Feels so good.." you finally gather the courage to say a few words, and hearing you makes mirae smile. Her eyes are focused on the way your cunt swallows his length, proud of the way your taking it like a champ.

She can't resist and brings her hands to your breasts again, playing with your already sore nipples. The pressure of her fingers makes you squirm, but jungkooks quick to press his body closer to yours to make it harder for you to move.

He grinds his hips into you ever so passionately, not to rough- but it damn sure wasn't soft. You can hear the smack of his hips against yours very clearly over all the moaning going on, and it turns you on even more.

"Should've fucked you like this a long time ago." he mumbles, thrusting into you even harder. Your juices are leaking all over him, down your thighs and all over his cock.

Mirae takes the chance to sneak her hand between both of your bodies and down to your tender clit, massaging the bundle of nerves with just her pointer and middle finger.

"Fuck! Too much-" you whine, the feeling of jungkook inside you and mirae touching you like that was all overwhelming. Your whole body was tingling, even more in the lower region.

"You can take it, your so fucking pretty-" mirae's gentle voice coos near your ear, encouraging you to take it until the very end. Just until jungkook reaches his orgasms and cums deep inside of you.

Your breasts bounced up and down each time he pushes into you, free to move wherever they wanted without the confines of your bra.

Jungkook loves that shit, leaning down to take one of your nipples into his wet mouth. He groans around the bud, still thrusting into you as he swirls his tongue around the nipple before finally popping it out of his mouth.

"Gonna nut in you- give you my babies." he speaks mindlessly, not realizing what he's saying. Regardless he would, be cumming inside of you today- nothing would stop him from it.

And so he does, letting out a deep sigh as ropes of cum paint your walls. You reach your orgasm at the same time, and mirae even has to grab your wrists so you'll stop pushing jungkooks hips away from yours.

She wanted you to feel every ounce of pleasure.

When you finally calm down, jungkook pulls out of you and heads off to the bathroom to grab a towel.

Mirae gives you soft praise, sweeping your hair out of your face as you breathe heavily. You didn't put much thought into the fact these were your best friends that you just did this with, and you honestly didn't want to.

You enjoyed it, and so did they- that's all that mattered.

◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•

A week passed, and you were utterly surprised that nothing had changed between your friend group. You all still talked every day, and even grew closer after the "situation."

Jungkook was at your place today matter of fact. He'd promised you days ago that he'd help you learn to cook his special pasta- & though he was a few days late, he kept his promise.

"This smells so good.." you say, taking a big inhale. Jungkok chuckles, stirring the alfredo sauce as he pours in a bit more cheese.

"Its almost done, patience." you nod, sitting down in the chair closest to the stove. He was so attractive while cooking, and you couldnt help but to stare at him as he moved around the kitchen.

This cooking lesson quickly turned from a lesson to a observation, but jungkook was okay with that. He was well aware that seeing that familiar smile on your face when eating his food was worth it even if he had to cook alone.

He rubs at his eyes as he switches the stove off, finally noticing your eyes on him when he turns to face you.

"What's wrong?" he asks, cocking his head as he walks up to your figure. The chair is tall enough for him to stand right between your thighs, face to face with you just how he liked it.

"Nothing, i just like looking at you." he grins at your corniness, your words making him feel all warm and happy inside.

He slides his cold hands up your thighs, a nice contrast to the warm air of the kitchen. "I want something." you whisper.

What a fucking tease, he thinks.

He was right obviously, you were being a tease. You added a little tinge of flirtiness to your voice in hopes that he'd get the hint. "Nope, No No No- the foods almost done."

Jungkook mentions, hurrying away from you in a fit of laughter before you can convince him to do anything. His reaction causes you to pout, hopping off of the chair and moving closer to him again.

"I didn't even do anything!" you protest, though you knew damn well what you wanted.

"I know what you want, your not getting it." he declares.

We'll see about that.

_________

Your empty plate sits to the side now as jungkook goes to work between your legs. His face is buried as far as possible into your cunt, nose nudging against your clit with every lick.

"Yes- just like that!" your voice is so needy, and it encourages him to press his tongue even farther into your hole. You prop a foot up onto the chair to give him more access, hand tangled in his fluffy hair to keep his head down there.

He looks up at your pleasured face for just a moment, pressing a gentle kiss against your belly and thigh before licking your folds again.

"Drippin' everywhere." he mutters, obsessed with the way your liquids leak down your thigh and cover his lips. You giggle at his commentary, butterflies growing in your tummy at his little dirty talk.

"Cmon, keep moaning for me- wanna hear it." he mumbles, and you can feel his lips on your pussy every time he utters w word. You like that though, obliging him and letting out quiet whimpers.

They weren't at all fake though, everything was a sincere reaction from the way he was eating your pussy like no tomorrow.

"I'm gonna cum!" right when you say that you feel his two slender fingers pushing into you- finger fucking you with no sign of stopping until you release.

"Cum on my fingers baby.. do it-" he's breathless from how he's had his face pressed between your thighs for the past ten minutes, eating you out as if his life depended on it.

He grunts when your cunt spasms around his fingers, cum leaking onto the chair as your orgasm washes over you. Your hips buck continuously, plastering a pleased smirk over jungkooks face.

"Come fuck me.." you say, still wishing for more even after you just came. You didn't care, you wanted him inside of you now- not later.

He nods, sitting up and quickly whipping his length out of sweats. You definitely notice that he's still soft, and even wonder if it was because of you.

Did eating you out not turn him on? You didn't know.

You watch quietly as he jerks himself off, trying to get himself hard on his own. Unfortunately it doesn't work, so you move to take his dick into your own hands.

You spend at least five minutes stroking him, and let out a disappointed sigh when he pulls your hands away from his dick. When he tucks himself back into his boxers, you take a hint and move away to slip your shirt back over your head.

"Y/n.." his voice trails off, and his face is more unreadable than ever. You shake your head, not wanting to get your feelings hurt by whatever he had to say.

You were sensitive, you could admit that. You'd rather go without an explanation than have him tell you to your face that you weren't turning him on.

(Though the way he was eating you out said different)

"It's just.. this doesn't feel right without mirae." he mutters, and your not sure what to say about that. Mirae happened to have work today, so she politely declined when you asked her to come over today as well.

Regardless neither of you were dating her, so why couldn't you do this without her? Yes, you all had a threesome- but you didn't think it was that serious.

"We're not dating.." you say with a little laugh, hoping to ease the awkwardness. To your demise, it only grows more awkward after you say that- jungkooks body language is a clear sign of how tense he felt.

"I think we should all have a talk." he says, sticking his hands into his pockets as he stares at you.

Well, you didn't know what that meant- but you sure didn't like the sound of it at all.

◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•

TWO HOURS LATER:

Mirae had agreed to come over after work after jungkook texted her, and after a long two hours she was finally here. Both of them sit on the couch across from you, hands crossed as they sit there without a word.

Obviously you had to be the first one to speak, whatever.

"So?" you say, raising your eyebrows as you wait for them to say something. Clearly they had something to confess, and it didn't seem like anything good by the way jungkook sounded earlier.

"Uh-" mirae stops as soon as she starts- looking at jungkook for some sort of confirmation. It was annoying quite frankly- why couldn't they spit it out?

Jungkook shakes his head when he notices how you roll your eyes, and finally decides to speak up. "Me and mirae are dating, y/n."

What the fuck? That's the only think you can think, your jaw dropped almost to the floor. For one, you felt like shit because he was just giving you head earlier. And two, you felt stupid and betrayed for not knowing.

"Why didn't you tell me..?" you question, looking between both of them with a disappointed glare. They both let out a sigh at the same exact time, the coincidence would've made you laugh if your weren't so upset at the situation.

You weren't jealous, just angry. Angry that they hadn't told you this before.

"We...how do i say this.." mirae mumbles, twiddling her fingers as she try's her best to figure out how to word what she's trying to say.

"Spit it the fuck out." you say, finally cursing out of pure frustration. Usually, you weren't the kind of person to get angry and curse anyone out- but the way they were acting was forcing you to act that way.

Finally, jungkook says it.

"Fuck we want you in the relationship- We've been wanting it for a while now." the confession makes your heart drop to your ass. How were you supposed to feel about that?

How did they expect you to feel? Happy? No way.

"Since when?" is all you say, and they're silent for a moment before giving you a answer. "January, of last year." mirae replies.

Fuck that, it's september now. They've had over a year to tell you this bullshit.

Last weeks situation flashes through your mind. "So, last week. Was that a coincidence?" There's a defeaning silence, both of them quiet as they stare at the ground. Too pussy to look you in the face after an entire year of hiding this from you.

"We planned it." he finally admits, and you want to cry on the spot. You knew it was weird how mirae was so quick to join in, but you were just too in the moment to even question it.

You felt like a stupid pawn for their enjoyment, why couldn't they have just told you? Maybe they could've got a better reaction from you but this? This was no way to handle it.

"So you knew.. as soon as you got to my house what was going happen?" you ask, wanting to be sure that you heard this all right.

Your heart just sinks a little more when they both nod.

You begin to think about exactly what happened that day. The way mirae challenged jungkook to kiss you, the movie choice, the way she got behind you so quickly.

They'd planned it all.

"Can you go?" you say, trying to blink back the tears building in your eyes. Maybe you were being dramatic, or maybe not- but you just felt more betrayed than ever.

"Y/n.." mirae says, her voice trailing off. You can tell she's saddened, but she had no right to be. Not after what they did.

"Just get out of my house." you say, and though they don't want to- they respect your wishes. It doesn't take them long to gather their things and leave, the door slamming behind them.

As soon as they're gone you break down into tears, not wanting to believe what they'd just told you.

You knew you'd have to have a real conversation with them about this later on, but today- they weren't getting that out of you.

(requested by anon)

#bts smut #bts fanfiction #bts oneshot #bts #bts fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook #bts jungkook

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rosewine-5 · 1 month

Text

Baby Come Over

Wolverine/Logan Howlett x black fem reader

gif made by blursbian

Summary: Wade is hellbent of getting you to meet his new roommate, but what is his motive? (Note: I am not the best writer, but I had motivation, and the title is definitely not taken from Virgo’s Groove)

Warning: drunken asshole, Wade Wilson, cursing, unprotected piv smut (wrap it before you tap it) fingering, riding, soft!dom Logan MDNI 18+

Word Count: 4.2

Wade encouraged you to meet the new man in his life, not knowing if it was a new friend, a boyfriend, or someone he wanted to pursue romantically. Knowing him, it was probably both, but you agreed anyway. "Come on, sugar. I'm a vigilante, you're a fine-as-wine vigilante, and he's an old but good-looking mutant who needs some TLC— he'll love you immediately," Wade insisted, bringing it up again as you two talked over a late dinner while sitting on his couch.

Wade, I have to work all next week," you said, trying to get out of it. "Yeah, bartending is so hard. When was the last time you got laid? The pink vibrator doesn't count," he added for extra measure, almost making you slap him. "None of your business. Besides, I don't ask about your business even though we, unfortunately, share a wall. And why did you go through my drawer?!”

“My point being said, he needs friends, you need a new one, and if you won’t be with him I will! And besides, I'm Marvel Jesus, there's nothing I can’t do!” Wade insisted, emphasizing his statement with his hands and ignoring your question.

You knew better than to argue with him because he could go on for hours, so you agreed. You had pulled your braids into a ponytail and walked next door, where you saw the small get-together Wade had arranged. “Sweetie! You made it!” he cheered, answering the door, and dragging you in. He put you in front of him as he walked you to the back of the apartment, where Logan wasn’t facing you.

“He’s a bit grumpy today, but I’ll talk to him. Hey, three-pronged wolf!” Wade said, trying to get his attention.

He got it all right.

Before you could even introduce yourself you felt something pierce your arm, three things. You were met with the face of a man who looked like he was ready to knock someone out, it was Logan. His face quickly changed when he realized he hadn’t stabbed Wade, and immediately tried to cover the wound he made. “Ah, shit!” He cursed, looking you in the eyes.

“Now this is not how we greet potential lovers, gramps! Shame on you.” Wade scolded playfully, looking between you and Logan. “Well that’s a good icebreaker, or skin breaker I should say.” He said, looking at your already healing skin.

“Well, Logan, this is my best friend, she heals like us, curses like me. Sugar, this is Logan, the old good-looking man you should kiss for helping save the timeline. Do not fuck on my bed, and I don’t babysit.” He said, patting your cheek before walking away. You watched him leave and then leaned on the wall.

“Hell of an introduction, neighbor,” You said, trying to start a conversation. He didn’t respond but kept looking over your features as you did the same. Wade hit one thing on the mark: He was fine as hell. “How long have you known him?” Logan asked. “Ehhh, a couple of months, he’s good people, but he can be annoying as fuck some.” You said, that you two agreed.

It turns out that you both had something in common, besides the healing factor. Both of you were no strangers to drinks, and pain was a familiar feeling for both of you.

And that was how the foundation of the friendship was built. You didn’t talk much, mostly just passing each other in the hallway, a short greeting when you left for work and coming back home. That was until he found the bar you worked in. It was 5 minutes before closing, and you heard the man sit down. “What’ll it be buddy?” You asked, still wiping down the table with your back towards him.

“Whatever’s left.” Logan’s voice said, cutting through the faint sound of Sade’s voice coming through the jukebox. Your head snapped around at the familiar tone of the voice. “Wade mentioned you worked in a bar, been wondering which one it was,” Logan said, sitting down at the bar. “You didn’t think to look at the closest bar which is only a 15-minute walk from here?” You asked, leaning on the bar, a laugh leaving your lips.

He reached over, grabbed a bottle of beer, and shrugged, “Good point.” He said while taking a drink, a long one. “Let me guess. Roommate annoyance?” You asked, seeing him set down the bottle, and bringing him another one. “Yep. He made me leave the place today.” Logan explained. “Any reason for him kicking you out?” You joked, meeting his ever-so-serious eyes.

“He said either I try and make friends, or he walks around naked until I leave.” He said, almost making you cringe, “No one wants to see that.” Logan let out a short hum, before downing the beer before putting it down. As

You reached for the bottle your hand brushed his, and your eyes met in an awkward look. “Sorry-.” “My bad.” You both said at the same time. Logan then held your hand, moving it completely taking it off the bottle, and set it down behind the bar for you with his other hand.

“There. Less confusion.” He said, sitting back down. You nodded and looked at your still joined hands, noticing how his completely covered yours. You allowed yourself one more look before slowly sliding it out of his hands. As you finished cleaning up and locking up the bar, Logan stayed. As you walked back to the apartments, he walked beside you, in total silence, and both of you did.

That’s how it continued for almost a whopping 2 months. He’d show up for the last call, talk until closing, and walk you home in silence.

Until one night Logan walked in 1 hour earlier than his normal time. “You’re here early.” You pointed out, looking at the clock above the door. “Well, Wade mentioned something about you hating thunderstorms, thought you might want a familiar face around.” You never froze so fast in your life. “Oh? He told you that?” You asked, passing him a beer, Logan nodding in response.

“What if I told you he lied?” You asked, seeing him stop mid-drink to look at you, eyes with confusion. “I’m gonna strangle him,” Logan said. “He’d probably like it,” then you thought for a moment, “No, he’d love that.” He dropped the beer just in time for you to see a chuckle leave his lips with the taste of a smile, and your heart jumped. You already found him attractive, but that smile could’ve made an entire country swoon and sigh.

You looked away just in time for him to not catch you staring. “So, what do you do other than work?” Logan asked. “Vigilantism.” You replied, holding up another beer, switching up his empty bottle for a new cold one. “What did you do in your universe?” You asked. “Was a part of a team, had a suit and everything,” Logan explained. “Did they have abilities like you?” You asked, cleaning up some glasses while he talked. “Better. Way better than these claws in my skin.” He said, looking down at the counter harder than he should've.

You heard a little bit of how he was “the worst Wolverine” from Wade, and given how he was acting right now, he might have told the truth. “You remind me of one of them too. You don't look like her, but your mannerism reminds me of her.” Logan added. You took a chance and put a hand over his, “I won't pry, but if you ever want to talk, let me know.” He looked up at you with a greatful gaze, nodding his head and letting his hand hold yours.

You then looked at the clock and took your hand away from his “Closing time. Imma lock up real quick.” You said, wiping down the tables. As you were about to lock up, one man stumbled in. “We’re closed man. Go home.” You yelled. “One beer, sweetheart, it’s all I ask.” The random drunk asked, now grabbing onto your sleeve. “Were closed. Let go.” You said in a harsher tone. Trying to get your sleeve free.

“Come on sugar, just one drink.” He asked, eyes looking you up and down. “Dude. Let go!” You yelled, now trying to get his hand off you, but he had a strong grip on your wrist. Before he could respond Logan grabbed his arm, freeing you and walking him out. “Hey man what are you-.” Before he could finish Logan put his claws under the man’s neck. “The lady asked you 3 times to leave. I’m giving you 3 seconds to bounce before these find a home in your neck.”

The man stumbled back before slipping out the door. “You alright?” He asked, looking at your torn sleeve. “I’m alright.” You sighed, putting your jacket on. He walked next to you that night, almost arm and arm with you while you both made small talk. “I could’ve handled that asshole you know?” You asked him, bringing up the drunken man again. “I know, just wanted to do it.” He said, lighting a cigar, smirking, making you chuckle. “There she is.” He said, looking down at you. “What there? You asked, now across the street from the apartment. “That smile.” He said, still smoking the cigar.

As you opened the door to the building, you missed the faint blush on his cheeks. But you didn’t miss that look in his eyes and the way he looked over your body. But as he tried to open the door to his shared apartment, it was locked. “Are you fucking serious?” Logan said, now banging on the door. “Wade! Open the door!” he yelled.

Wade locked me out, and he’s not waking up.” He said, looking over at you. “I’ll try and call him.” You said, pulling out your phone and trying to call him, only for it to go straight to voicemail. “This son of a bitch.” you sighed, and put your phone away. You could tell what Logan was about to ask, so you beat him to it.

“I got a couch,” you said, unlocking your door. “I don't want to-.” “Logan, come over,” you interrupted, moving. so he could get in. You could tell he wanted to protest, but he knew he didn’t have a choice or another place to sleep. He gave the space a once-over and nodded. “Nice place,” Logan said.“I'm gonna take a quick shower, and I’ll be right out,” You said, he nodded in acknowledgment.

You turned on your heel, went down the hallway, and hopped in the bathroom. After 15 minutes you put on an oversized shirt and sleep short and walked to your close. You grabbed an extra pillow and top sheet for him.

“Here I got-.” Before you could finish you saw Logan with his shirt off looking you up and down. It was then you remembered you had gotten out of the shower, only wearing an oversized shirt and your shorts, that barely covered your thighs.

You saw his eyes staring at your legs, and then back up at you. His eyes were hungry with desire, and it was safe to say yours were too. His and was clenching and unclenching by his side. “Honey,” he breathed, “go to bed before I make a mistake.” You didn’t move, you didn’t dare. You moved closer, setting the blanket and pillow on the couch, your eyes never leaving his. “Please, walk away,” Logan said, licking his lips. “Why? When we both want the same thing?” You asked.

You swear you saw his breathing stop.

That was all he needed. He surged forward, claiming your lips with his. You could still taste the beer on his lips. His hand found your waist and then your thighs, lifting you, and groaned, looking up at you with a wolfish grin. Before he could say anything, you kissed him, your nails running through his hair as your tongue fought for control against his. His hands mapped out your skin, going over every contour and gripping your ass as he rolled his hips into yours.

A shiver ran through your veins, your thin shorts doing little to hide how much you wanted him, and he knew it. “Already? We’ve barely even started and you’re soaked?” He teased, one of his hands leaving your hips and dipping under the fabric. His fingers ran over your folds, his lips forming into a smirk as he sucked another mark into your neck. A soft moan left your lips as you felt two of his fingers dip into your cunt, “Oh fuck.”

“That’s it, honey, let me hear you,” Logan whispered. You let out a loud moan when his fingers hit your G-spot, your nails digging into his skin, emitting a groan from his lips. “Sorry.” You whispered, looking at him, only to see a feral smile on his lips. “You have no idea how much I loved that.” Logan groaned, his fingers working another finger in, making you bite down on his shoulder to muffle your moans.

“I wish you would.” He grunted, grabbed a handful of your braids, and pulled your head back, assaulting your neck with bites and kisses. “Logan!” You squealed, feeling his thumb find your clit. “Cum for me baby, let me hear it,” Logan whispered. Your hands made crescent marks on his back as you came undone, feeling his lips soothe you down from your climax.

You felt his fingers slowly come to a halt before Logan pulled his fingers out of you, his other hand letting go of your braids. “Still there, honey?” He asked, peppering kisses across your neck. You couldn’t even speak, your brain was still fogged from the orgasm you just went through. “Holy shit,” You breathed out. You finally cracked your eyes open, meeting Logan’s hungry eyes and seeing his fingers disappear in his mouth.

His tongue swirled around his digits, his eyes trained on yours. “Taste like heaven.” He said, licking his lips before claiming your lips in another kiss. You snapped out of the trance you were in as the taste of your juices hit your tongue.

You need him. You needed him now.

Your hand went to his pants, slipping under his jeans and finding his cock. He was rock-hard. He shuddered under your touch, a deep moan leaving his lips. Logan helped you get his jeans on the floor, his cock springing free and hitting his chest. “Goddamn. Someone’s blessed.” You whispered. “Is that someone you?” Logan asked, his hands slipping under the waistband of your underwear.

“Hold still for me baby,” he sighed and your arms framed his shoulders. You heard his claws come out and slice your bottoms off. “Someone’s done that before.” You teased, watching as his hand threw the fabric on the floor. Logan didn’t respond as he started to pick you up, but you held him firmly on the couch. “Nope, stay right there.” You breathed you, stroking his cock a few times.

He watched your hand pump him before positioning yourself above him. Logan’s eyes were trained on your pussy as you eased onto him. As you finally bottomed out, Logan let out a loud moan, and it almost made you cum on the spot. “Goddamn, you trying to kill me?” He asked, his hands going back to your hips. You didn’t respond as you started to move up and down, riding his cock.

Logan did little to stop the moans that were leaving his lips. “Fuck, honey. You’re squeezing me like a goddamn vice,” Logan sighed, letting you set the pace. You kissed his neck and sucked marks into his neck, not giving a damn that they wouldn’t be there tomorrow. As you bit one spot closer to his collarbone, he let out a whine. You focused on that spot and bounced on his cock a little faster.

He suddenly gripped your hips as a broken moan left his lips, “Fuck, wait.” He sighed, holding you still on his cock. “Why’d you make me stop?” You asked, looking at his screwed-shut eyes. Logan suddenly grabbed you and picked you up, still keeping you on his cock. “Which one is your room?” He asked. “Down the hall to the left,” You said. Logan walked down the hallway and you thanked god you left the door open.

He laid you and climbed over you, kneeling on the bed and pulling you closer, his cock moving between your thighs to rest on top of your belly button. You leaned up and rested on your forearms, and looked back down at his cock. “To answer your question from earlier,” Logan said, leaning down and tilting your chin up to look at him, “I stopped you because there’s more room on a bed than a couch.”

He looked down at you and licked his lips before catching your lips in a passionate kiss. Your hand cupped his cheek as you returned it, your tongue finding its way into his mouth.

You were so caught up in his kisses you didn’t register the head of his cock tapping your clit until you felt it slam into you, a scream falling out of your lips. Logan laid you back in your sheets and let his hand that wasn’t holding your thigh trail in between your chest and down your stomach as he fucked you. “Keep those eyes open for me, ya hear?” He asked, you nodding in response.

He didn’t waste a second after. Logan’s cock began to thrust in and out of you, sliding almost all the way out of you to only slam back in, emitting a moan from you every time. You writhed under him, looking up at his wild and feral expression. His mouth was open, looking down at your fucked out one, moaning loudly as you held the pillow behind you.

You could hear the sound of your headboard hitting the wall, the grunts coming out of his mouth, and you didn’t give a damn if anyone heard. All you cared about was the amount of pleasure he was giving you. As he hit that one spot that cut your breath off, you bit the pillow and screwed your eyes shut.

Immediately you felt Logan stop and he grabbed your wrist with one hand and pinned it beside your head, his own hovering over yours. “I said eyes open, darling. And don’t even think of hiding those pretty fucking moans from me.” He whispered. He then dropped his hand from your thigh and put it over his.

He now used one hand to wipe the sweat off your forehead, “You still here honey?” He asked, you nodded in response and opened your eyes. Logan was grinning down at you, taking in your tired face, “There’s my girl.” He softly kisses your lips before picking up his bruising pace, making you scream again, “Logan!” Your nails found their way to his back, making marks on his skin. “That’s right honey, let everyone on this goddamn floor who’s fucking you,” Logan grunted, using his free hand to hold your hip, his fingers digging into your skin.

The bed was creaking more as his thrust picked up, one of his hands starting to play with your clit. You instinctively let out a high-pitched whine and you swore he growled for a moment. “Logan, I’m gonna-, oh fuck!” You moaned, your hips bucking into his as you writhed your bed. “Yeah that’s it, let me see you come.” Logan cooed, His hand working your clit faster.

It didn’t take long for a long moan to erupt out of your mouth, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. Your walls squeezed him like a vice as his free thumb caressed your chin. “Now that’s a sight I need to see more of.” Logan moaned with a smile on his face. You felt his hips pick up the pace and his moans getting louder as he was on the verge of his orgasm, both of his hands now holding your legs open.

“Tell me where honey,” Logan asked, looking down at you. Your legs only pulled him closer, and that was all the confirmation he needed. A sinful whimper left his lips as he spilled into you, his eyes screwing shut. Logan held himself up and let the waves of the orgasm wear off before he moved, flopping down in your bed next to you. “Goddamn.” He sighed, catching his breath.

You nodded, looking up at the ceiling. “For a 200-plus-year-old, you fuck like you’re 30.” You said, looking over at him only to meet his gaze, “I don’t hear you complaining.” Logan teased, pulling a chuckle from you. “After the two orgasms you gave me, I’d be a goddamn fool too.” You said with a laugh. A yawn soon came from your mouth as you turned on your side, “Wore you out that much?” Logan asked, leaning over and looking down at you with an amused smirk on his face.

“Yeah, and I’m, once again, not complaining,” you said, feeling yourself drifting off to sleep. That night was one of the best you ever had, followed by one of the best mornings. You awoke to the sound of someone breathing in your ear and an arm around your waist.

Logan slept in your bed last night, and you slept in his arms. As looked down, his hand was rubbing your hip through the sheets. “You’re awake?” You asked, turning around and meeting his eyes, “I’ve been up for a while.” You felt his thumb caress your cheek, a tender touch matching the emotion in his eyes. “I know this is probably a stupid to ask, given the circumstances, but would you like to grab a drink with me? Ya know, outside of work,” Logan asked.

You only leaned up and kissed his lips before pulling back and looking at him, “I’d love to.” Logan broke out into a grin that could rival the sun and returned the kiss. After a quick shower and getting dressed, you were about to make breakfast when a loud knock hit your door. “Who is it?” Logan asked, coming out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. You couldn't stop your eyes from wandering down his chest, but you refocused, “I don't know, I didn't answer it.

The person knocked harder a second time, almost startling you. Logan walked forward and opened the door, only to find no one there. You peeped out the hallway, saw Wade’s door open, and heard music coming from it. “I think I know who it was.” You recognized the song coming from inside too: Sexual Healing. As you walked in, Wade was singing along before he saw you walk in and popped a confetti cannon.

“Congratulations!” he yelled, and Blind Al popped hers as well. “I guess Christmas came early because I know you did last night,” Wade then looked over your shoulder, and nodded, “Both of you did.” Logan was standing behind you and closed the door, only in the towel. “What the hell is all of this?” Logan asked. “A small celebration for you finally getting laid. All part of my plan last night.” Wade explained. Logan immediately walked past you, “What the hell does that mean?”

“Well come on man, I knew it was bound to happen when you took more than 15 minutes to get back, you think I locked you out by accident?” Wade grinned, and it all clicked. “You knew I would let him crash?” You asked, seeing the shit-eating grin grow on his face. “Oh I knew you would let him do more than that, sugar, besides that's what you both fucked on wasn't it?”

You and Logan shared a look, confused about how we knew. “First of all, neither of you tried to be quiet, at all, especially you Donna Summer,” Wade said, pointing at you. “Two, I could hear the headboard hitting the wall thanks to tall strong big dick vintage-rine over here,” he continued. “And three, someone with claws made a little hole in the wall, and trust me, I heard it all.”

Logan’s mouth was open while you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. Wade then went to the fridge and pulled out a cake and got candles. “Happy first fuckiversary, my friends,” Wade said, putting the candle in the middle, above a gel doodle of two stick figures. One of them had boobs and was on her back with her legs in the air while the other with claws was in front of her. “Made this little doodle last night,” Wade said as he lit the candle, “go ahead, blow it, you’ll be doing a lot of that later.”

You didn't miss the wink he gave Logan as you blew out the candle. You took the cake and looked at Wade. “Thanks for the cake,” You said, hugging him, “and thanks for locking the door.” You took the cake and then left, Logan shutting the door behind him as you both went back to your apartment. “He’s never gonna let that go is he?” Logan asked, you shaking your head in response. “Nope, now go back over there and get dressed.”

He had a quick, confused look on his face. "Why?" you explained, throwing him his pants and shirt. "You made a damn hole in my wall, you're helping me fix it." "Yes, ma'am," he chuckled, walking back over to his and Wade's apartment.

You never thought you would see the day you would thank Wade for bringing you a man, but I guess Marvel Jesus works in mysterious ways.

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miley1442111 · 2 months

Text

safe- a.hotchner

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summary: aaron had to make sure you're safe, can he get to you in time?

pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny! girlfriend! fem! reader

warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive mentions, angsty for a moment (I think that's it?)

not entirely proofread

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Aaron ran through the crowd, the only thing on his mind was you. Were you hurt? Were you dead? Were you even in there? Could he help you? Could he get to you?

Was he too late?

He could hear Derek shouting for him, pleading with him to slow down. He didn’t understand, none of them would ever understand. You had to be ok. You were his everything. He should’ve never fallen in love with you, it wasn’t right. You were Jack’s nanny. You’d been with them since Haley died. You’d supported them since Haley died. Then you turned into someone whoAaron loved being around, someone he trusted with his son’s life, and his own. Then he waited up for you on his nights off, when you had your nights off. Then you waited for him on late work nights.

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The door opening startled you, as it always did, but you just glanced to the hall and saw Aaron hanging his coat.

“Evening,” you called to him. “Or should I say morning?”

He sighed. “Shouldn’t you be out? Isn’t Jack at a sleepover?” He smirked.

“Not all young people only want to party,” you rolled your eyes, finishing up washing a dish and turning to him. “Hungry?”

“I can’t ask you to make me food-”

The nightly battle of getting him to eat something with nutritious value rather than old cereal while he looked over reports. “Nonsense. I have leftovers from Jack’s dinner, it’ll take me 10 minutes-”

His hand on your waist stopped you from moving. “You’re here to take care of Jack, not me.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing his hand off. “I know, remembering that would be a lot easier if you could take care of yourself,” you huffed, moving to start cooking something for him.

He sighed. “Y/n,” he scolded.

You didn’t answer, and just continued.

His hands circled your waist and you stilled. You felt his hot breath on your neck, and swallowed as the air became heavier, as the moment held more weight.

“Aaron,” you whispered, slow and steady as it came out of your mouth.

“No one ever takes care of you,” he said, a wolf-ish smirk on his face, one that you could definitely get used to.

“You do,” you shrugged, trying to get back to the task at hand.

“How? How would you like me to take care of you?” Aaron Hotchner was a man of iron-solid resolve, a man that couldn’t break under too much pressure, that wouldn’t break under too much pressure. But you? You were his undoing, you guided him through everything, knowing he was keeping you and Jack safe everyday made his days less unbearable.

You chuckled lightly and turned around to face him. Then you pressed your lips to his.

He could’ve sworn you tasted like heaven. Your hands running through his hair, his hands on your waist, his lips on yours. Nothing could’ve felt better.

He pulled back and smiled.

You smiled too.

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“Hotch!” Derek shouted, finally getting a hand on him. “Jack is out of there, he’s safe!”

Aaron turned to him briefly. “Y/n isn’t out, she’s not here, is she Derek?”

“Who’s Y/n?” He cursed several times under his breath.

“His girlfriend,” you answered. You were banged up pretty badly, bruises and bleeding and dirt, but you were standing there. In front of him, you were real, you were alive. He opened his arms and you slumped into them.

“I tried my best to keep Jack out of it, I don’t know where he is, I just told him to run-” you spoke quickly, but he quieted you with a kiss to your head.

“He’s safe,” he promised. “You're safe too.”

You nodded, and buried your head in the crook of his neck as the team watched on in shock.

Aaron wasn’t planning on answering any of their questions, all he wanted was to have you and Jack home and safe. Where he could protect you.

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criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #bau team #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds fandom #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fluff #thomas gibson x reader #thomas gibson #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction

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leaawrites · 2 months

Text

Read to me

Percy Jackson x fem!reader

Summary: in a world full of monsters, Percy just wants to protect his girlfriend.

Warnings: mentions of rainstorms, mentions of threats, self doubt, angst, fluff

Wordcount: 0.8k

Masterlist

The night started off with soft rain falling from the sky on the top of the beach house. Montauk. It started quiet and not threatening. Being the Son of Poseidon it shouldn’t make him lay away at night in fear of the storm outside, right? He shouldn’t fear it. But since the dreams got heavier and he finally had something - someone to lose, it felt all a bit more threatening. His life was now not only weighting him down - threatening him - but also her. The girl in his arms that was unaware of everything that happened during summer.

He felt bad for not spending the holiday with her, but she also couldn’t accompany him. Being left to wonder what he was doing there. She knew Grover already and she listened to Percy talk about his friends there - like Annabeth, a girl he mentioned one time too much in her opinion (but she would never actually say that to him) or Tyson. She knew about the lake that was there and capture the flag, but everything else was a mystery to her.

“Why are you still awake?” Y/n asked, waking up in the middle of the night from her boyfriend shaking in fear of a lightning and thunder.

It wasn’t the first time they have slept in the same bed, often doing sleepovers on the weekends. And it definitely wasn’t the first time she woke up because of him. But when she asked for the reason it was always the same.

“Just a bad dream,” Percy muttered, rubbing her arm gently to assure her that it was all fine.

“Percy,” she said, pushing him further than before. Mostly she would just let it go, nod and give him a kiss before snuggling back into his side and fall asleep again. Assuring him that he was safe was her. But he feared that she wasn’t safe with him.

“What are you dreaming about?”

The questioned lingered on her mind for longer already but she finally spoke the words. She needed answers. Not just lame excuses as to why he had scratches down his skin or why he always carried a pen with him when he never even used it.

She needed answers and he knew that, but could he give them to her so easily without putting her in danger? He couldn’t, so what would he give her? What could he give her?

“You,” he answered. Y/n looked at him confused, leaning on her arms to look at him properly. Her fingers moving through his hair. “It’s always you and it never ends good. I don’t want whatever happens in my mind happen in reality too.”

“It won’t,” she assured him, laying her head in the crook of his neck, planting small kisses on his skin.

“What if it will?” He couldn’t keep the possibility of it all away from his mind. He couldn’t block out the pictures he saw when closing his eyes.

“They’re just dreams, Percy,” she said again.

“Maybe they’re not,” he argued back.

“Dreams can’t hurt you.” She took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “I’m here. I’m fine. And as long as I’m with you I will be.”

Silence filled the room. She was right, partially. As long as she was with him nothing would happen to her. He was able to protect her, fight whatever would threaten her.

“Can you read to me?”

Y/n looked at him surprised but nodded nonetheless. Climbing out from under the covers to grab the book, which she would be reading to him whenever he asked, from her bag. The Odyssey. She was confused and taken back when he asked her the first time, taking the book from her shelve and telling her about his interest for Greek Mythology. That was the first night he stayed over at hers. Listening to her read the words written on the pages for him to better understand them.

Saving herself from the cold again by laying back down next to him, Percy rested his head on her chest like he always did. Her hand found it’s way into his hair and gently playing with a few strands. Percy would ask some questions about who was who again sometimes, making her giggle in embarrassment when she didn’t know herself and then they would try and recite which characters they still knew had which part in the story.

The thunder still followed the bright streak of light closely behind but it got less and when she felt him finally relax against her fully and she turned off the light all which was left was soft rain. Kissing the top of his head, she closed her own eyes, falling back into a deep slumber surrounded with her own dreams of him.

#pjo #percy jackson imagine #percy pjo #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy series #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x you #pjo imagine #pjo fanfic #pjo series #pjo fandom #percy jackson x fem!reader

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aquasoftware · 2 months

Text

Big dick neighbor. ୨❤︎‬୧

wc : 666/fic type: Drabble || cw : neighbor! Toji x f!reader, backshots, creampie, cheating, dirty talk, (Good girl/Doll used once), whiney! reader, Toji’s egotistical as hell, pwp, Mdni. Lmk if I missed sum + RB 2 support

Every time Toji was giving you backshots, it felt like someone was knocking the lights out of you. Blaring whimpers were echoing throughout the room as you tried your best to hold up, stumbling on all fours, your red nails nearly piercing through the sheets while taking in all thick seven inches.

He could feel your poor needy pussy tightly hugging his cock for dear life, forcing him to hold back harsh grunts, "Fuck... Toji, you're fucking me so gooddd." A dragged whine slips out of your mouth as the deafening thwapping sounds attempted to compete with your loud moans.

"Yeah? Better than how your man fucks you?" Toji smirked, chuckling to himself, raising an eyebrow deeply curious, heisting his robust leg on the bed, pounding deeper into your squelching pussy.

"Y—yes, sooo much better, Toji.." Stammering at how difficult it was to answer, especially while having your insides rearranged.

Unfortunately, your husband was never home and worked long shifts, so he could never give your cunt enough attention. Even when the two of you did have sex, it was so impossible to not yawn.

Which of course you got your neighbor to fill in that awful blank; he was doing an amazing job at it too. Your words, alongside those pretty mewls, were only feeding Toji's already rotund ego as well, causing him to form a demonic speed.

"Shit, Y/n that's what I like to hear."

His hand had an unholy grip on your braids, tugging it, faintly messing up your hair, except you couldn't care because with the way his tip deliciously kissed every single sweet spot, you were definitely close.

And your neighbor clearly knew that, the way his hips slammed back and forth into those slippery velvet walls as you began to rub your sensitive clit in tender circles, gasping when his massive hand spanked the fat of your round ass; it was almost pitiful that it stung so satisfyingly.

"Toji I'm," You paused for a moment seeking to compose yourself; unluckily for you, it was too late because your delicate pussy was spasming around what appeared to be splitting you open, provoking your sore arms to fall limp on the pearl-white sheets, where your plump lips left a bit of drool on.

"You comin'? That's a good girl." His raspy voice murmured, almost choking on his breath at the feeling of you orgasming around him.

One last striking thrust was enough to put you in a trance, making your eyes roll to the top of your skull. The only thing you could see was stars; the next thing you knew, your cunt coated Toji's dick all over the shaft was gobs of milky arousal.

"Goddd Y/n." His breathing became ragged, eyeing down the mess you made on his length only turning him on more. It wasn't long before his pace began to get sloppy balls tightening up, sensing them slap your against pussy as his heartbeat increased faster than a pendulum, on the chase for his own climax.

"Fuck, can I cum inside you, doll?" He questioned, firmly gripping the sides of your hips, before you could give him a small "Mhmm.." Eyes currently droopy from the climax you had; face smashed towards the silky grey pillows alongside your expensive makeup tainting it.

Now that he had the green light from you that he needed, a string of curses splashed out of his scarred-lips, the grip Toji had on you grew even more tense as his hips gave a final few thrusts, shooting his warm, hefty load into you.

Once he pulled out within a few seconds, out escaped mounds of cum from your used hole onto the soaked sheets, giving a light smile as if he were an artist staring at his work.

The next few minutes would be hell for you since both of you were too in the moment to hear the old wooden door creak open paired up with an appalled gasp.

8/1/24 12:19 pm masterlist.

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submalevolentgrace · 2 years

Note

Hi! I'm very interested in attempting to write a disabled character (not for this blog, I assure, for an book I'm writing) in which the story doesn't fetishize/objectify her prosthetic limb. I'm in many writing circles and have been for a long while, but I've never seen this issue brought to light which I realise is a very important one. I have much to change in my thought process, and thank you for bringing this issue to attention.

I'm curious, and I apologise if this has been asked before, but what sort of design could you see for a functional prosthetic that doesn't go for a plainly aesthetic appearance, or is soully to please others? I do note that you said prosthetics are generally... not that helpful. So is there a way that it could be? Or do you think it would always generally be better to not use a prosthetic, as its mostly for aesthetic purposes, as you said?

I apologise if this ask is too outright or anything, and I don't mean to intrude. Thank you for your time and have a beautiful day!

okay, i want to answer this as in depth as possible, because whenever i talk about having a prosthesis, someone will always tag some variation of "#writing reference" and i do wonder what message they're taking away, and i want to get as much of my experience out as possible to maybe help shape how this is all portrayed in the future. and yeah… this is gonna be one of those rambly smg posts that the expand feature was invented for, so i'll start with the very abridged TL;DR:

if you're writing a character with an upper limb prosthesis; don't. arm amputees are unicorn level rare even compared to leg amputees, and i've never interacted with or even heard of an upper limb amputee that regularly uses a prosthesis, let alone relies on one. fiction has lied to you for the sake of cool aesthetics, don't repeat the cycle. more in depth writing advice including nuance and "but i waaaant to" will follow.

that said, grab your donning parachute and let's get started...

context for everyone involved: i am an upper limb amputee that rants a lot about how prostheses suck, i lost my right hand roughly five years ago at roughly the age of 30 after a very rough decline in health… it was pretty rough. this question is being asked in the context of a previous rant post of mine, and i checked that the ask is about an upper limb prosthesis in particular.

the situation regarding the usefulness of lower limb prostheses is totally different; i am definitely no expert, but by all accounts, prosthetic legs are incredibly useful for many people. getting a good leg can be absolutely life changing and more or less necessary for day to day life for some; mostly because infrastructure and society is just so fucking hostile to wheelchair users. being able to walk - at the cost of pressure sores and rashes and increased residual limb pain - is a preferable option to many people than being unable to fit through a doorway or in a bathroom stall or find out that the key to unlock the only elevator is in the admin office up three flights of stairs (true story).

but upper limb prostheses… see, the thing is, hands are incredibly complex organs that rely on a lot of immediate haptic feedback to work at all. hand dexterity is all about control, you need fine granular movements of the digits yes, but you also need the subtle sensations of pressure and proprioception in order to adjust your movements on the fly. i speak from experience, in the years leading up to the full loss of my hand, i was slowly losing function of it, usually swinging between numbness that made it clumsy at best, or screaming overstimulation from moving it at all resulting in unpredictable spasms… and let me tell you, a half working hand is infuriating to try and deal with. you can never know if you have a good grip on something or if it's slipping because of the wrong amount of pressure, and there's only so many smashed bottles of pickles on the floor before you give up using it all together… so amputation wasn't a great loss there, i had time to adapt.

a prosthetic hand of any kind has all of those issues and more. they're heavy and bulky, the cosmetic faux fingers or gripping claw have crude movement at best, and there's zero feedback (put a pin in this). 100% of the time you're using a prosthetic hand you have to keep your eyes on the grip and visually guesstimate whether or not the thing you're carrying is held tight enough but not too tight, that is if your "heavy duty" prosthesis can even support the weight without the servos disengaging or the wrist attachment socket just busting loose. i dropped a whippersnipper on my foot last week when my socket couldn't take the weight and i think that was the final straw in me desperately trying to prove to myself that there is a single task my prosthesis actually helps with.

this is usually where fully two handed people start talking about bleeding edge DARPA tech, and how we just need to invest more,research more, develop more. better tech, more tech, neural integration, more more more. okay i promise the writing advice is coming! for starters on tech, my experience is already with a mid-to-high end ottobock terminal device: i've got a myoelectric nerve-signal operated proportional control heavy duty greifer; about the only upgrade left for me to get would be a rotating wrist joint if i could coflex. it's not military, it's not "rockclimber that owns a prosthetic company", but it's quality tech. it still fucking sucks. secondly, that high level military tech exists primary for PR purposes so they can say they treat their discarded casualties well, "we can rebuild him, we have the technology" style. every war vet i've read about or heard from that's been gifted that high level tech also abandons it for the same reasons; it's imprecise, there's no feedback (or the haptic interface has to be fully recalibrated every time they put it on), but mostly they're more capable without one.

okay, the transhumanist ableds say (i should know, i used to be one), what if we did more ~research and development~ and got that neural feedback working? then we could have fireproof superhumanly strong robot arms to fix up everyone! here's where i take out that pin we put up before and i tell you that a class of prosthetic arms/hands already exists that has perfect proportional control, fine motor control, and physics perfect pressure feedback piped directly into the patients' existing sensory systems! they're called body-powered prostheses, and they were invented in like the 1600s. you strap a whole bunch of stuff to your arm and shoulders shoulders, and control the operation of the terminal device and elbow through cable tension by flexing your shoulders. they do take a considerable amount of training to operate - though hell i spent 18 months training to use my myo - but based on everything i've read, body-powered prostheses are the best option if you're an upper limb amputee and absolutely need a second hand for some reason.

but they don't look cool and futuristic, and according to my prosthetist, most people give up on using them too. we all give up on our prostheses, no matter the type. my rehab OT was impressed i lasted the 18 months of my training. towards the end, they even asked if the clinic director could drop in to one of my sessions to see my progress; he expressed genuine amazement at me casually using my bulky robot claw to use a brush and dustpan, and made an offhanded (hah) comment about what someone can achieve "if they stick it out to the end", implying it was somewhat of a rarity for me to have done so. several years on, and yesterday i wedged the dustpan between my ankles to sweep up into it, awkward but exponentially less effort than putting my dusty robot arm on. which, by the way, is a whole thing. look up some videos, they're all awful to don. i don't actually know the official technical name of what my clinic calls a "parachute" but it's a bitch to use! have you ever tried to pull back with your arm whilst also pushing it forwards at the same time, and simultaneously lean in to and away from an external force pulling on you? that's how you get a myo socket on.

bare with me, i promise writing advice is coming, and i promise it's more than the tl;dr. but. remember when i said a half working hand is infuriating to deal with? any prosthesis, from fancy myo tech to pirate-era body powered, will only ever be half as good as a working hand, and being juuuust within capability to do something but not quite able to is maddening! but you know what works way better than a half working hand? no hand at all. using whatever residual/vestigial limb you have - whatever "stump" you have, i hate that word - is pretty much always better than trying to use a prosthesis. i can use the inside of my elbow to grip and carry things, i can use the nub of my arm to apply pressure to hold things, open doors, use a computer mouse, turn on taps and lights, if i put a glove over it i can use it to prep for cooking. i have full proprioception and pressure feedback with skin contact, i don't think i've ever dropped and broken anything from my elbow, unlike countless things slipped from my greifer - which, by the way, absolutely will start clenching as tight as it can if i get even slightly too sweaty around the electrodes, which has both broken things i'm holding and also injured me, because surprise surprise but servo operated robot claws have pinch points on them right near the "emergency disengage" lever for some reason!

but i am exponentially more capable without it on than with it. no, i'm not fully independent, i rely on housemates and loved ones to help me out with some tasks that simply just need two handed dexterity, but none of those tasks are things a prosthesis makes me able to do anyway. i used to imagine my prosthesis would be like a bra; a bit awkward and uncomfortable, but i'd wear it throughout the day because it's helpful and take it off in the evening to decompress. in reality it's actually exactly like a bra: an absolute bitch to put on one handed, unbearably uncomfortable because it never sits right, ugly af unless you're a millionaire, and absolutely useless except for the fact that i get gawked at and judged by strangers if i leave the house without it on.

and if you really want to discover how far "no hand is better than a half working hand" goes, brace yourself, and look up the patient's stories (not medical system stories) of people that have had hand transplants. the first man to receive one hated it, he was promised a return to normal function, and what he got was a nightmare worse than being one handed; he wanted it removed again but the doctors refused because it would undermine their grand achievement of the first hand transplant. the doctors and society wanted him to be fixed, they wanted him to be normal, they wanted him to be abled. they failed. they made him less able to do things, denied his autonomy, and left him with someone else's hand slowly rotting on him, prioritising the idea of "scientific progress" and "two hands good" over the physical health, mental health, and ability to function of this man.

he's not alone; every story from the patients' perspective about hand transplants that i've read goes this way, including a woman who was born quad limb different and was promised hands would improve her life, pressured into a double hand transplant, only to find herself after the surgery essentially experiencing disability for the first time ever, because she had lived her whole life getting by just fine with her 'underdeveloped' limbs, but half working hands are worse than useless. you can try to find these stories yourself, but i'm not going looking for sources on any of these cases, because if you look back through enough of my posts you'll get a glimpse of the horrors and abuses that i too was put through by doctors who prioritised trying to "fix" me at any cost, rather than providing me the best quality of life, and in turn traumatised me and left me more broken than any loss of limb on its own could. dear goddess, i promise the writing advice is coming.

so. why do upper limb prostheses exist at all? if they're so terrible and useless, what is their function? i want to borrow something someone else left in the tags of a previous rant here, from someone who i believe works in prosthetics and/or rehab, cleaned up and anonymised at their request:

"upper limb functions are wildly more complex than: 1) bear weight static, and 2) bear weight moving. but every single upper limb amputee i know has a fancy expensive prosthetic just gathering dust in the closet because there is literally nothing it can do like a few years of adjustment and if needed non-dominant hand retraining can't do. the existence of forquarter prosthetics to begin with is just kind of silly and useless and entirely to make OTHER people feel comfortable, especially considering they universally are UNcomfortable for the amputee. i hate the notion that as soon as you get the amputation the prosthetic is The Thing That Will Fix You And Make You Feel Normal again because it universally isn't! but every forequarter person i know had like this ideal of Being Fixed By Magic Prosthetic that they were then obviously wildly disappointed by and had to do yet another grieving process with, versus if the dominant narrative were just one of: yeah. it'll take time, there is no magic fix."

and i think that really nails down what the actual purpose of upper limb prostheses is: they're not for the user, they're for the sake of other people. and not just their comfort when looking at our bodies, although based on the pressure for both amputees and people born limb different to get functionless cosmetic plastic hands, there is a lot of that. but it's not just that.

i fully believe that the reason prosthetic hands exists is to comfort the fears of the two handed. "don't worry", they say, "we can fix you again. you don't have to fear becoming Disabled, you don't have to worry about adapting or your life changing. we can make you Normal™ again."

you would not believe the number of people that have approached me to shower me with pity, to tell me how horrific my life is, how they can't imagine it. people have told me, apropos of nothing, that they'd kill themselves if they lost a hand. indirectly, that my life isn't worth living. unless, of course, i happen to be wearing my cool as fuck looking robot prosthesis! then they tell me how wonderful it is, how lucky i am, how glad they are that we have the technology to fix me. that's what a prosthetic hand says, what all the happy fishing photos on limbs4life posters at the rehab clinic say: don't worry, we can fix you. that's what the bleeding edge DARPA flexi-whatever fully articulated neuro-feedback hands say: don't worry if you get IED'd while hunting civilians for us to drone bomb, if you get hurt, we will fix you, we will fix the fuck out of you, we will motherfucking adam jensen you into a cool as fuck cyborg that your son will idolise; come on boys, don't you wanna enlist just for the chance at being as cool as this? join the bomb squad for a ticket to the upgrade lottery.

and so we arrive at fiction. as much as his dialogue options protest, adam jensen loves his robot arms, they punch through walls, turn into fucking swords! they make him the most special man in the world. what would he do without them? learn to cope? grieve? practice acceptance? take up poetry? just, be disabled? there's no power fantasy for ableds in that.

in fact, can you think of a single fictional character that's an upper limb amputee that's, well, just an amputee? they all have robot arms. not realistic prostheses, not medical devices; robot arms. sleek or bulky, top of the line or broken down self built, steampunk or nanomachines or magitech automail; they're never without them. never just an amputee. never born limb different either! there's always that element of tragedy to overcome, always suffering and misery porn, always focus on the pain and the helplessness without the absolutely vital robot arm that makes them Normal and Whole. the closest amputee example i can think of is furiosa from mad max, who iirc fucking punches max in the face with her residual limb like a motherfucking badass! i can barely lean on mine wrong and she punches a guy! but she still apparently needs a dieselpunk robot hand to drive a truck, something you can do one handed so easily most drivers don't even notice they're doing it! please don't, by the way

and so many disabled fans love to point to robot armed characters as disability representation; the winter soldier, luke skywalker, edward elric, misty knight, that genderswapped furry girl from ratchet and clank, jet cowboybebop, finn the human, and yes, adam jensen…. these are all characters that someone disabled i know has told me they love because they "represent disabled bodies"…. and i know nobody wants to hear this, because i've been screamed at for saying it before, but… they do not. they are not disabled, functionally or within fiction. they are either perfectly able bodied Normal people with chrome paint on an arm, or tortured misery porn we are supposed to pity and feel lucky we're not them. sometimes both!

also you ever notice how it's basically always arms? lower limb amputations are orders of magnitude more common than upper, my prosthetist said i was probably only the 4th or 5th upper limb she'd worked with in her career, with literally hundreds of lower limb fits. but fiction doesn't seem to reflect that, huh? or any other part of the reality of disability. it's always cool as fuck robot arms, never cool as fuck wheelchairs or crutches or dialysis machines or colostomy bags. a fair few "i was blind but now i can see with Robot Eyes and also infrared and xray" around, which again, plays into that "we can fix you and make you cooler" propaganda.

by the way, up above when i was describing body powered arms, if you wondered to yourself why i went with a myoelectric one instead when i clearly believe body powered is better… yeah. i am not immune to propaganda! i too wanted to be cool as fuck. i spent years with deteriorating function in my hand for reasons that are still unknown, was misdiagnosed and medically neglected to the point that removing my hand seemed to be the only option left to offer some relief, and even that was a clusterfuck that left me worse than ever… of course i wanted to believe in the power and prestige of a cool robot arm that fiction promised me.

but fiction promises fantastical lies. and so.

we get to the writing advice portion of the novella that is this post. you asked for advice on how to write a disabled character with an upper limb prosthesis. you've read the tl;dr, you've read everything above i assume, you know i don't want you to do it. the obvious twist is that it's been writing advice all along, me trying to share my perspective on what it's like being an amp with a robot arm and how shitty it is, implying how almost any fully realised and realistic character that's missing an upper limb would give up on a prosthesis at all. you can already tell that every value judgement in me says "don't give her a prosthesis, no matter how functional or cool you make it. don't try to make the tech better to justify it, just let her be one armed, one handed. just let her be disabled, but not helpless. let her show off her elbow or underarm carry strength. let her love interest appreciate how soft and squishy her residual limb is in a moment of tenderness. let her natural disabled body be respected and valued."

but that's a personal value judgement from me, and you are the author of your own work. i know it's trite to say, but you are! even the act of deferring to someone with lived experience in the hope of doing a better job at representation is a value judgement, a good choice in my opinion, but one you needn't necessarily take. maybe you do want to write a character that has a cool as fuck unrealistic robot arm as a power fantasy, or a comfort blanket… i did.

i've been slowly writing my own probably terrible scifi epic for over a decade now, and when my arm was giving me hell back then, i'd take great comfort in this fantasy of my protagonist with her chunky robot arm, the terrible traumatic suffering of her loss, overcoming, the power and ability her advanced prosthesis gives her over others, that she alone has access to, because others are not willing to make the sacrifices required. inspiration porn. awful stuff to me now, but empowering to me then. as i grew and gained direct experience, i slowly reimagined her, rewrote her, ship of theseus'd her into an entirely new character; a reflection of me now, bitter at the whole thing, spiteful that her natural flesh arm evokes fear and distrust, but unwilling to suffer the pain and frustration of her unnatural prosthesis just to make others comfortable and respect her as "whole", however artificial that whole is. and as with the ship of theseus being two ships, once i realised the transformation, i re-added the old protagonist back in whole cloth as a separate character; proud of her robot arm and its power, but in new context, as a foil and antagonist, an in-universe military prosthesis propaganda figure to reflect how i now feel characters like her exist to us, the readers.

i'm not just sharing that as egotistical self promotion, but to highlight that, even if i sit here begging you all up and down not to write characters with robot arms for how bad and unrealistic they are; there's still something genuine and true that their inclusion can say. the great thing about the story that you're writing is that only you can write it, as they say. but i whole heartedly believe that to write to your best, you have to be aware of what you're writing and why. as tempting as it is to feel these characters form naturally in us and therefore we're averse to changing traits about them that feel organic and self evident; as authors we have omnipotent control over the text, every trait and detail is a reflection on us, so we'd sure as hell better understand why we're choosing to write a character with this trait. because anything you write without being aware of intent will take on its own meaning in the space between.

and on that note, if i don't say this, i'm leaving it to be inferred: i definitely don't want to appear to come down on the side of saying "you cannot write an amputee unless you are one", because we are rarer than single young bisexual unicorns! and it would be a tragedy if anyone read through all this and then turned away in fear, deciding to never write an amputee character (with or without robot arm) because they feel they can't do it justice… believe me, no matter what anyone says, some hack writer somewhere is going to keep writing adam jensens and winter soldiers. don't let them be the only voices in fiction! just try to do your best.

so my ultimate advice on the topic of writing a character with a prosthetic limb is to ask yourself one question in two different frameworks, and meditate on what you feel the answer is:

why does she have a prosthesis?

from a doylelist perspective as the kids say, as an author with omnipotent control, why are you choosing to write about this topic? why are you choosing to give this trait to this character? what does it say about how you view ability and disability, what makes a person normal, and what our society values? will you let her be in her natural body? or will you give her a prosthesis, force her to wear it by authorial fiat, or author her a meaningful reason to choose to? if yes, be sure you know; why did you give her a prosthesis?

and from a wastonian perspective, diegetically, inside the story, why does she choose to wear a prosthesis? what does it say about her inner character, and how she interacts with the world? how does she feel about doing it, is she prideful and loves the attention she gets, or does she resent whatever necessitates its use? how do people in this world view ability and disability, what does this society value? and above all, whatever the answer to these questions, whether or not she uses a prosthesis or is badass without one, how does she deal with the eternal freezing cold that every amputee ever feels constantly in their residual limb and why does nobody make a heat pack that fits over a nub without drafty gaps???

i can't outright tell you how to write a good upper limb amputee, but if you at least know why you're writing one and for what purpose, you're on track to write the best character that you can. that's the best advice i can give… other than, like, this whole rambly mess.

and, as a reward for reading this far, please have a very blurry cryptid photo of my cat doing his old man sit:

#prosthesis #prosthetic #disability #ableism

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capslocked · 11 months

Text

KINKVEMBER DAY: 8

[prompt: phone sex]

male reader x shin ryujin

16k words

The phone rings one too many times, and Ryujin is in the middle of scrunching up the paper slip that Chaeryeong handed her earlier that afternoon when she hears your voice.

The sounds of her scrambling for the receiver and her head smacking against the headboard come through in pretty good quality.

That never gets old.

"Stimulating conversations," you offer smoothly, like it isn't a euphemism and instead some high-brow intellectual pursuit. "How can I help you?"

Ryujin is speechless for an unbearable five, ten seconds until she lets out the kind of low chuckle that probably sounds better than it looks. "Hi," she says, "hello, I, uh- I don't know how all of this works."

"Why don't we start with who you're looking to speak with tonight?" you ask.

Ryujin sighs. She runs a hand through her hair, looking at the messy tangle of clothes on her bedroom floor with mild resentment. She’ll take her chances, figuring a direct approach is the best route when she doesn't really know where any of the lines get drawn or who is allowed to say what and who isn't.

"Um. Okay. Who you got?"

"We have a large variety of operators to suit any taste," you explain kindly. She appreciates that. "Do you have someone specific in mind? A gender perhaps, to start?"

"Well," Ryujin starts, running her tongue along the edges of her teeth. Lia has this thing she constantly says, that there's always a thousand and one reasons not to do something, and Ryujin is the first person to make fun of her for it - but here she is, finally putting that adage to use.

"I was actually calling to, um," she exhales loudly. "A guy? I mean look - girls. Girls are great, but if you - mmm." She clears her throat. Because she knows how she wants to do this, and it's most definitely: "A man."

You wait for a second before replying, and Ryujin allows the stillness to expand over and fill out every corner of her bedroom before a bright, "Alrighty, well," comes filtering out her phone, tinny but as enticing as ever. "That would be me."

"Oh."

"Yeah," you reply, easy and unhurried. You sound exactly like the kind of person whose company people pay handsomely to be around; the professionalism is undeniable, but there's something to be said for your tone. The softness to the vowels, the almost imperceptible upward lilt to the words - Ryujin gets that, maybe.

You're pretty confident in the answer, but you ask anyway, "have you ever done anything like this?"

Ryujin opens her mouth and hesitates for a brief moment.

"Well," she muses. She's tried porn, she's tried her own fantasies, she's tried cranking up the hot water and touching herself with the head of the shower aimed somewhere she's told by other girls: it's there, free of charge. "I haven't."

"But you have a boyfriend," you state. "You have a man, who you enjoy things with?"

Ryujin laughs nervously. "It's...it's been a little while. Not recently. Sorry. I know you don't-"

"No, no, not at all, you're doing fine, it's just that you sound very attractive over the phone. Excuse the assumption."

Ryujin laughs and rakes her fingers through her fringe. She knows it's a line, but she laughs anyway. She could - if she was looking for the deranged fulfillment of it - pore through a billion comments on instagram, on twitter that call her a lot of things: gorgeous, beautiful, hot. The last comment she read before almost deleting her app entirely was someone who decided to textually imitate a dog barking to a picture Yeji had taken of her in a coffee shop. There's a novelty, she thinks, in being charmed by someone who has no idea who she is.

"You have good ears then," she says, smirking into the receiver. "So do you normally do, what, ask questions? I have no idea."

"Yeah, it helps me build a profile," you reply, "but if you had something else in mind-"

"No, please, shoot." She grabs the pillow from behind her back and flops against the mattress, staring up into the ceiling fan.

"Do you feel comfortable sharing your age with me?"

"Twenty," she answers without missing a beat, even though that isn't right. It's weirdly important to her, keeping it private, and she isn't sure why - but then you say something pleasant and complimentary about college and new experiences that she's unable to register, and you ask her for her name so quick she just blurts it out:

"Ryujin."

"Pretty."

"Fuck," Ryujin grins, immediately chewing on her knuckle to bite back a gasp. "Sorry. The name is cute or, whatever. Whatever. Sorry for the curse. God, I don't really have a filter - what about you? Do you have a name, Mr. Operator?"

"I do."

Ryujin lifts a leg up and puts it down again. She doesn't know if she should already have taken off her pajamas or if that's weird. Or if the fact that it doesn't bother her means this is more or less wholesome. She turns over onto her stomach, humming into the phone and now she doesn't know why she's thinking about your face. You could be- well, fuck, you could be anyone, but there's this gnawing compulsion to put something together.

You tell her your name and she scoffs for a second, before quieting down and returning you a, "pretty."

"Ryujin, tell me." There's probably a slightly too long pause from your end of the line before you get on with asking her, "when was your last orgasm?"

She drops the phone right in her face. It bounces off the bridge of her nose before landing in bedsheets beside her and her eyes are welling with tears while she scrambles blindly across her bed, cursing into the receiver and squirming. She pulls the phone to her ear and catches the last couple seconds of you reassuring her that it's okay, that it's completely fine if she's hung up or gone.

"Actually, I have," and she curls her fingers into a fist, "never came in my whole life."

You clear your throat to keep a less than professional sound from coming out. A quiet space she feels necessary to fill: “Not even once.”

"Really?"

"I know. And I've only recently realized that's, uh - er- a pretty un-normal thing." Ryujin makes a waving motion with her hand even though you can't see it, trailing off into silence and blushing furiously. "Sorry," she apologizes. She doesn't know what she’s apologizing for, but she does it again. "Sorry about that."

"I should be the one feeling sorry for you," you rib.

"Fucking tell me about it."

"Hey, this reminds me, would you be averse to the idea of touching yourself?"

The question stutters Ryujin in her tracks, and she doesn't even say no but a drawn-out "nngh" leaks out before she can stumble into something more intelligible. "Isn't that, like, what you're supposed to do on these calls?"

"Every call is different, Ryujin."

She chews on her lower lip, rolling it under her front teeth. You say her name like you know her, and it's throwing her for a loop. The comfort you have with the whole situation - asking her a million questions and not demanding answers, taking cues and reassurances in stride and turning everything into some sort of ploy for getting her naked. Fuck, she'll take a bit of a plunge:

"Should I be touching myself?"

"It's not my place to say."

"Okay, well that's kind of a frustrating answer."

"So you're saying you like being told what to do," you tell her, and you hear the sharp inhale in reply.

"If I knew what I liked, you think I'd be calling a sex hotline and hoping some stranger might take pity on me?"

You laugh out loud, and her response is the quickest, the cutest little, "seriously!" before she chuckles too.

"Ryujin?" you ask.

"Yeah?"

"Are you straight?"

She nearly chokes - because it's like you're able to just read her mind - and if you can do that then there's nothing you can't do, maybe. And here, excitement feels a lot like apprehension. She twists and curls in on herself, thighs rubbing together, the flat of her hand traveling across her stomach.

"I'm-"

"Because no one should have to pretend that they're interested in guys," you interrupt her and, god, for as much time as she's spent dwelling on that, she wishes it were that simple.

It would be a hell of a lot easier if she knew why she wanted to get her face between Yeji's thighs and drag her tongue all over her clit until that prettier-than-perfect face of hers cinches up in a pleasure that comes with just the right amount of agony - or if she knew why she didn't feel anything like remorse or guilt or envy when her boyfriend came around instead of wanting, you know, to get on her knees with her mouth around his cock too -

Fuck, it's all very complicated.

"Straight," she answers. She likes cock, as much as anyone realistically can, and she knows the body on a man can get her dripping and easy in all the right ways. So, she just swallows. Says, "straight enough."

"If you were to touch yourself, right now, and someone - say, a man - were telling you exactly what to do: what would spring to mind, if anything."

"Mmm. Is this you asking me to touch myself?"

"Again. That's up to you."

Your voice is light. Very pleasant. Very male, Ryujin realizes. She gulps.

"Can you, I mean," she says, running a hand down the length of her thigh, pressing down at the hollow.

"Ryujin,” you say, letting her mull over how it sounds in your mouth. “Take a breath for me, please."

Her exhale leaves her with a heavy push and she tries not to laugh. Nervous tic. She's getting goosebumps, but she feels warmer than before.

"We could say this isn't the first time, you and me, in some very broad and abstract sense. How does that make you feel?"

"Strange." She touches her outer thighs again and arches her back. "Kind of horny," she admits. And it is odd - your words, the things you say - and maybe it's her nerves because the experience is new, and so are you, and so are her feelings, all wrapped in one.

"Do you want to do something about that?"

There's silence between you for what seems like a very long time, your breathing quiet but apparent - a signal you haven't abandoned her in some state of vulnerability. Ryujin inhales deeply. She's shaking in her fingertips. The tension has her taut and waiting, and that's funny, really, because it's what she's been doing for years. The rubbing. The touching.

Her hips rock forward gently and she answers the unasked question with a sweetly husked, "uh-huh."

"What are you wearing?"

"Ah, really?" Ryujin laughs. Her fingers pause at her waistline. "That old, bad porn trope."

"I like hearing about people's clothes, is all," you excuse yourself lightly. "Helps me get a sense of things."

"Yeah, alright. Sweats. Baggy ones." Her lips fall apart. "Shirt."

"Is that all? Nothing sexy."

"What's sexy?"

"Sexy is…"

She listens to you mull it over, listening for a ruffling or two. "For a girl with a nice body - some body - some curves," you continue, and Ryujin has to drop another finger to the hot line of her thigh, her lower belly. "You need lace. Silk. You've gotta leave the best bits a little hidden, at least for a while longer."

"Wow. You sound a hell of a lot like you'd enjoy taking someone's pants off," she half-teases. "Do you make all your calls like this? One sordid fantasy at a time, huh?"

"Something like that," you reply. And then, as if reading her mind, "are you doing anything, right now?"

"I'm touching myself," she exhales. "Are you?"

"Ryujin, not yet. Please be patient."

She makes a face even though you can't see it or taunt her. That's an unfair request - you have an unfair request.

"Just, wait," you tell her. She's drawing lazy, winding circles across her thigh. "Let me show you something, will you do that for me?"

"But, what."

"Tell me everything. All the things you're thinking. Things you want to do."

"Everything?"

"Yes."

She blinks away her initial disbelief and reaches around for her lamp to switch it off. Until it's just the hallway light peeking in through the crack between her door and the door jamb and you, a stranger who won't be seeing her face or hearing her say anything stupid. She shakes out a few more breaths, shuffles against the sheets, and glides her fingertips past her belly button.

Her hand rises up her stomach in one decisive movement, until her fingers curl beneath the bottoms of her bra, trapped in its underwire. "I'm thinking - unh - about, ah. My friend?"

You're quiet and let the silence linger, until she seems like she might not find her way; so you repeat, "Go ahead."

"And a guy she used to like, fuck, she'd show up here, drunk on, ah. A weeknight. Somewhere, fuck, around midnight. Walk past me into the kitchen where we had the - the light. God." Her hips stutter and she grits out the rest through her teeth. "In the refrigerator. Ah, yeah, a midnight snack. Always looked way too fucking good for, um, oh, for a casual booty-call."

"Does your friend have a name?"

"Yuna," she practically pants, and immediately realizes she shouldn't have said that either.

"Did you always know what was going on? Between Yuna and her-"

"Boy-toy, yes - it was so obvious, I always knew, yeah," she said, clumsily grabbing the sheets with one hand as she drifts further between the peaks. "Just - fuck - he'd be picking at, ah, something with chopsticks."

"In your kitchen?"

"My, uh, table. And I'd be working up the nerve to ask."

You sigh over the phone, "ask him what?"

"What it was, like, I knew she was only- shit." She keens high in her throat. "What it was like, fucking taking that cock of his, and bending Yuna's tight little, ah, ass over and, mm, railing her on the side of her fucking bed - and just pumping her full of cum just like that until- Jesus, she would walk around after and sometimes-"

You groan softly. This encouraging little sound.

"-fuck - sorry, I mean. Yeah, he, sometimes he'd make her walk around with his, ah, stuff inside. Down her fucking pants and, it's like, fucking disgusting, I swear-"

"And?" You breathe a heavy edged noise over the line.

Actually okay, so maybe this was more than she bargained for, maybe she bit off more than she can chew - maybe, she feels like her insides are collapsing; all the fire pooling around in her stomach and gathering into a melting sort of weightlessness.

"And it makes me feel fucking-"

"Fucking what."

"Why am I talking about this, why-"

"Talking to me? Fucking wet, Ryujin, answer the question."

She pants down at her phone and then turns her face into her forearm, rubbing and making sounds. She thinks about, oh, fucking Yuna and how she showed up to hang out once, with cum leaking down the crease of her inner thigh, smearing against her skin and down between her legs.

"Wet." She swallows. "How do I-"

"Say that you wish it was you," you tell her. "That you wanted that, to be fucked. To feel a cock inside."

Her head falls back. "That," she manages, "fucking, that."

You drawl so that the question might roll off, easy: "Is that the kind of girl you are? Told not to curse, not supposed to let anyone else play with you - you just need it, don't you? Do you need someone's cum? Just tell me."

"I think so, ah," and she stops moving her hand. "I think I'm gonna go now. This is fucking embarrassing, like. Okay, sorry."

"Don't hang up," you tell her, and the soft edge to it is one she really wants to indulge. "Don't," you repeat, a little louder.

You start talking, about the same sorts of things she's imagined herself: the sex and the sounds and what he can do to her. You build a slow and aching heat between her thighs that has her dripping through her underwear and grinding against her fingers. Telling her how she's the one that needs to be filled, needs a man who can wrap her legs around his waist, get to the deepest parts of her, the parts untouched and willing.

Ryujin gets that - she wonders, half out of it and stroking faster than she usually would be, how much of it has anything to do with who the voice is on the other end of the receiver, and how it could be what a desperate, pathetic, tired part of her has always wanted.

"Are you?" she asks, panting over the phone.

"Am I what?" you whisper back to her.

"Are you," and you hear how she inhales sharply through her nose, a desperate gasp leaving her lips on the exhale, "going to, um. Are you touching yourself right now?"

Your reply is immediate, and her eyes flutter and close the second you tell her exactly what she wants to hear:

"God, yes."

She drags her hand up the center of her body, runs her fingertips over her jaw and presses the heel of her wrist to her neck to feel her pulse slamming hard.

"I'm fucking throbbing, Ryujin; you sound gorgeous like this, like nothing I've ever heard, I'm stroking my cock just picturing you, please-"

"Tell me." She's mouthing into the center of her palm, saying the words, tasting salt and musk. "Fuck, ah," she babbles, "tell me what you would do with me."

"I'd get you on your knees," you tell her without hesitating for a beat.

"Fuck."

"I'd come up behind you and tell you not to be scared, baby. I wouldn't hurt you, I'd just touch you real gentle. Push my fingers past your tongue, slide a little down your throat."

"Uh huh," she moans, her head falling back and rolling, rocking against the mattress.

"Want you sucking on my fingers. Need your hands around my cock, or better, my balls, play with them. You're going to take those fingers - every finger I got, all five, yeah?- all ten of them," you joke, "and open up your tight cunt - like you are now, like such a good fucking girl-"

The girl fucking yelps. Just this honest sound of depravity; it's what she's paying you for. It's a silly line of bullshit, but it makes her bite hard and ache a little around her own knuckles and moan in her palm and dig her nails hard into her flesh. Her thumb fumbles across the top edge of her underwear and you pant again into her ear as if on cue, giving her a small bit of guidance that has her jolting in pleasure. She didn't know that was there, fuck, fuck-

"Like that, Ryujin. Breathe," and she does.

"Please," she whines, trying to find somewhere for her arm to settle, resting finally in her hair - setting the phone to speaker in a foolish moment of lapsed-judgment, just before it nearly clatters off the side of her bed.

Keep going - she's telling you over and over - keep going, and you’re picturing her there: eyes closed, legs spread wide, bent knees quivering and toes curling into the sheets. It doesn’t sound fake - you've heard a million of them, you've learned them in their different tones and accents and you can spot a faker a mile away. And the girl on the phone right now isn't pretending or thinking about whatever's happening somewhere else.

(You don't join in for everyone. You can't. It's an asinine consideration that you'd be rubbing your fist up and down your cock while it's sore and wanting - aching from the neglect or lack of rhythm. You have to remind yourself it's just a job, that the logistics just can't support such selflessness.

But then there's the very fucking premise.

That the girl on the other end of the line is inches from the goalposts, fingering her cunt and sighing into the throes of her first orgasm - first ever, because you did this, you brought her this far - you're the fucking culprit, and no matter how many girls, or boys-pretending-to-be-girls, how many people have gotten off with the help of your voice, your instruction, this one sets a different fucking precedent.

You're not lying when you say, "I'm rock fucking hard, Ryujin," or "there's precum all over my knuckles, baby."

Because there is, and the poor thing chokes out another desperate sound when you tell her.)

"I'm right there, ah, fuck, keep going-"

"I've got my hand around my shaft, just enough that I can fuck it, can't I? The head is getting slick - baby - and my palm is gliding nice and easy. Are you cumming, Ryujin? You better be, you better be cumming right now."

There's a heaving gasp and she calls out for you, babbling curses and "please" and "fuck" in alternating succession, with enough punctuation for you to have to let your lip slip under the hard bite of your front teeth. "Don't stop," she tells you, voice thready.

"You need this so bad."

"Yes," she gasps. "How would you-"

"How would I fuck you?" you finish her thought.

She waits a moment, sucking in shallow breaths and then replying weakly, "I really like... I like doggy."

"On your knees?"

"Yeah," she stammers, "I like when, like- ah, like, pulling my hair."

"Fuck, I love that," you say into her mewling. "Splayed out with your tits against a pillow and getting your pretty, little pussy pounded? I bet that'd feel so good, huh? Hands so rough on your hips, on your throat, squeezing your neck so you'll turn pink. Just to see you smile, I'd probably fucking let you take whatever you want."

You're met with a broken moan, a long string of syllables ending on a note that has your shoulders clenching and cock jumping in your grip.

Tense over the things you can't see: Ryujin biting down into the side of her hand, the other knocking painfully against the wooden side rail on her mattress, her thighs tightening and screaming and clamping around her wrist as she pulls weaker, wilder whimpers out of her chest each time her fingers drag across her slit and the sensitive curve of her swollen clit. She's dying, she thinks, she's going to fucking die - the in and out of her soaked pussy, through all that sticky, satiny skin, slick fingers diving in, twisting until there's nowhere for them to go.

No other recourse than to fuck in, fuck, fuck, like that, fucking god.

There's heavy silence on the line for god knows how long - well, you have to check the log. But for her, it feels like fucking forever. That was - that was it. It's so fucking mind-wracking how good it was, she can't quite wrap her brain around it. Nowhere near. She thinks she'll have a better idea after two rounds, definitely by four. She'll buy something, use the discount, go shopping - an orgasm just to make sure she's not bullshitting herself.

You clear your throat.

She moves sluggishly, away from the side and against the headboard - the heat still unbearably oppressive, her t-shirt clinging and sticking. "That," she stumbles through the afterglow.

"Do I need to apologize to you?" you ask lightly.

"What? Oh god, no - no way. No way. I just."

"Yes?"

"Like I didn't know it was this-"

"Did you just cum, Ryujin?"

She's laying there with the phone pressed to her brow. A hand palmed over her own racing pulse. The faint smell of her own cunt lingering around her face.

"I don't know," she tells you, and promptly hangs up.

The darkness in Ryujin's bedroom is punctuated only by the faint, hazy light streaming in from the hall, and her bedroom fan making its creaking little circles, as she waits in her post-nut-high for her breathing to normalize. Her mind is buzzing, and out of all this, she has a hell of a bill and a couple conclusions:

She's a coward and a pervert, but definitely, definitely bisexual.

Or, like. She's in some weird gray area between not liking whenever anyone buys her drinks, but also the girls at least let her dance a little close. That's a strange thing, isn't it? For how often her mouth does stupid shit - you think at least someone would figure it out for her.

But you, oh fuck. You-

She's fucking shaken up, for sure.

(It's a home office set-up, actually.

Your desk isn't organized; you're sure the photos on the wall are askew and the paint looks slightly worse for wear if you were to turn the lights on - which you never really do. There's an aging lamp tucked into the back corner, a bottle of scotch next to your handset that's closer to halfway empty than halfway full, and you can't stop imagining it.

Promise, This never happens.

You've got the name stuck to the roof of your mouth even though you know it's fake. Stuck with something so painfully abstract. Imagining this girl that is probably as brash and bawdy as her voice, or more exciting than either - maybe her hair is long enough to brush along her breasts. Or maybe it hangs just over her shoulders. God knows just how that would frame her features.

You can see it, really. You pump a handful of coconut oil into your palm and the details solidify so easily in your head: her pretty mouth, nose, the dimples in her cheeks - eyes glazed and sultry and gazing at you.

Smelling sweet, all the places you need, skin hot, clit swollen-

Just- fuck. Fuck.

Ryujin, huh, imagine that.

Ryujin.

And you jerk off right into the soft embrace of a tissue.)

A little more than a week later:

Ryujin's all wrapped up on the couch, with an arm cushioning her head and watching TV when there's a sudden commotion from the front door. Yuna - her friend, her very nice, very male friend who never shows up after midnight unless there's a promise of sex - comes bumbling into the room.

He has no regard for boundaries.

So,

Yuna starts to say, smug, from where the hallway becomes the living room, "Ryujin - look at us. Stuck on a Friday night. You gotta boyfriend or something?"

She's completely unfazed by this interaction. She's pretty sure he has his own key, so like, he should be used to it by now too.

"Kind of." She shuts off the TV to turn her attention towards the topic at hand. "Why?"

Yuna runs a hand through all her long, silky hair and gestures her cock-du-jour on over to the door of her room. "Waiting for a call, maybe." She waggles her eyebrows. "Are you any good, I mean, you never seem to..."

Annoying brat.

Ryujin smacks the back of her neck and interrupts, "you gonna fuck him? Go ahead and fuck him, Yuna." She checks the lock. The kitchen. Gets up and tries to ignore the heat flaring behind her ears.

"We could pretend," Yuna muses, tugging the waistband of Ryujin's shorts around her fingers before she's out of arm's reach. The elastic flips back into her waist with a dull snap.

"Dumb idea. That's a dumb, dumb idea," she reasons, because she knows Yuna has no self control. None, and it's showing; the second her shoulders sag forward and her eyes dart, craving, Ryujin steps back in. "Don't be stupid."

Yuna's lips are tilted, playful. Ryujin wants to smack that look right off her face. Like she fucking deserves any kind of victory just because she found out she can fuck anyone she wants while lacking the self-awareness to somehow be contented with anyone. She's not going to call her a slut - out of a matter of principle - but god, does she fucking want to.

"Gotta get ready, is what you should do," Ryujin mumbles under her breath.

"Fine." Yuna shrugs and pecks an annoying kiss to Ryujin's temple on her way to the shower, waving a hand over her head with a casual, "If you want something, you've only got a half-hour."

Ryujin pushes her hair out of her face and does what she does best: overanalyze and overthink the situation.

Whatever. Yuna won't give it up regardless, not in any way she'd actually be able to enjoy. Her cheeks go a little redder while she pretends to not be considering it.

God, a threesome in total functional harmony however: her working her mouth on Yeji (Ryujin doesn't know why she's thinking about Yeji, but she is), Yeji working her mouth on her boyfriend, her boyfriend working his mouth on her -

That'd be something, she thinks. Like one of those Escher diagrams, but one where everyone cums at the end.

The thought makes Ryujin wet enough to squeeze her thighs together and stand up a little straighter.

Then she hears the showerhead turn on, and she wonders just why, exactly, Yuna is such a spoiled asshole.

Turns out,

The universe just has this habit of providing Ryujin with what she wants right alongside everything she doesn't.

She’s stretched out in her sweats, sat up at the top of her bed again and touching herself beneath the sheet in a pointless attempt to contain the mess. Fucking horny - it's honestly unbelievable - and her left hand's making lecherous, slick noises until it's absolutely gross. Until Ryujin's gasping and panting and sweating from the nape of her neck and the back of her knees.

All because Yuna's the loudest little-fucking-whore of a roommate anyone has ever heard.

She's moaning like she's getting fucking plowed into the next life. And apparently, the cock she's got in her cunt is fucking huge if those little murmuring whimpers are anything to go on. She keeps begging the guy, coy, for a kiss while she's probably folded up like a lawn chair in there, getting railed, and the fact that the boy keeps obliging is as admirable as it is kind of insulting.

"Goddamn," she thinks out loud, because the walls are paper-fucking-thin. The apartments in the area are built in an earthquake-safe way, which in reality, means they can either withstand a magnitude 6.0 and come out without any severe structural damages - or that it's so cheaply constructed the building will go down like a matchbox house before it stands a chance against a tremor of any significance.

They're easier to replace that way she’s told. And Ryujin's apartment is definitely of the latter; she can hear everything.

The skin on skin, their bodies sliding together in the slippery sheets. Her mouth smacking wet around his tongue as he bucks forward and asks her to do a hundred filthy things, asking her where it feels best - that sort of thing, which gets her wound and agitated and frustrated, and fucking horny as fuck. Ryujin's bent-inward and panting when he really gets to work - the creaks and groans, their mingled pants and the constant thudding and swaying of the headboard smacking into the wall.

She doesn't even need to put her ear to the partition like she's sixteen years old all over again, hoping to catch her old brother going at it while her mom was out. Trying to figure out this whole sex thing - what all the fuss was about.

Just the way Ryujin sighs is nothing short of despondent. Slightly pitiful.

And every tight circle she's running over clit feels so fucking good, until she realizes the room goes real quiet for a bit. The stillness - no slapping, no movement, just wet, panted-breaths and muffled speech. She nearly asks aloud what's wrong - but she hears it: Yuna's hushed but totally undeniable,

"Been so long- don't, don't- hold up," she croons in these high, sing-song little huffs. "That - uhn, ah - that's my - that's my good spot, there, keep - yes, harder!"

Ryujin slams her eyes closed, dropping down onto the mattress and wishing she'd slipped her hands into her sweats sooner. Fuck. And as Yuna's back starts banging against the wall - so rhythmic and fucking thorough - Ryujin can feel the heat curling behind the backs of her knees, radiating along her calf and reaching into the smalls of her feet. Fuck. Fuck, she doesn't even get to watch.

Right there. So good, please, so fucking good, is what Ryujin can’t not hear coming right through the drywall.

She’s three knuckles deep in her pussy, all stretched out, and she's practically drooling - "spread me, baby. Hold the, fuck, spread my lips open. See me- unh. Ah - see me? Please, do it-" - the boy groaning about it as he fucks her, and then, Yuna, needling him with a quiet, breathy, "harder, can't you?"

The answer seems to make Yuna squirm and scream.

And Ryujin's nearly rolling - rocking, fucking humping her own fingers because it's starting to ache a little, a cramping in her wrist and arm and jaw that she's trying really hard to ignore, rubbing and fingering and fucking herself closer, the heels of her feet sinking hard against the sheets, throbbing and aching around the flicks of her knuckles, harder, faster - faster -

"Fucking hell-" she seethes and stops moving all at once - because god, Yuna is un-fucking-believable.

The absolute bitch, she's doing it again: squealing and cursing and calling his name into her orgasm and just basking, it sounds like, right in it. Because she always does this, every single fucking time, she acts like it's the best feeling in the fucking world and she fucking loves everything, and that shit just - Ryujin grits her teeth and grimaces and pulls her slick fingers from her body - that just ruins it.

All that build-up and for what?

Fuck, Yuna really has the nerve to go there too. She's talking about sucking her own damn cunt or some bullshit-

Yeah, it's not fucking fair, Ryujin concedes.

Or maybe she's being punished. She could live with that, but god. The unfairness of it all. She tries, for a half a minute, to let her throbbing stop being a goddamn nuisance. But the noises coming from the other room are making her crankier, more angry, more irate - and definitely hornier than she ever really intended, even though she knows Yuna is thoroughly distracted in there.

Ryujin sits up a little straighter. Squares her shoulders, steadies herself and fishes around in her pockets with her uncoordinated, cum-coated hands until she finds her wallet, a credit card, her cell -

And there's an aching, a sore pulse of neglect between her legs; that's all too much. A quick peek down confirms that, yep, she's practically dripped right out of her shorts and even gotten a dark spot in the front of them. How great is that.

Yuna is over there, all, "thank you - ah - can you please do me a favor and fuck my mouth with your big, big, huge, fucking cock-" and this guy, he sounds so patient, telling her how he wants to do exactly that, but he wants to fill her tiny pussy up first, fuck her here, fuck her there, fuck a baby right into her. Wants to get his cum all over her face, smear her mouth and her throat and her cheeks -

Ryujin inhales through her nose and holds, eyes falling closed in something between misery and anguish.

He's telling her, yeah, of course he'll fill up her throat - give her so much it's leaking out of her fucking nose - and Yuna sounds like she's moaning and garbling an objection to that last part - but it doesn't actually fucking matter.

"Geez," is Ryujin's quiet, little gasped-out response. He just fucking pounds her right back into place; her next orgasm. Fuck-

And there it is: the slew of moans that start back up and just keep on keeping on.

Shin Ryujin is going to lose her fucking mind.

Ryujin only lasts a handful more days before she calls again.

It’s another Wednesday night, if only to increase the odds that you’re working. Yeah, she could go with another guy, but another guy might not do everything you did, talking quietly and calmly - so composed while Ryujin was losing some part of her sanity to the thumb she pressed on her clit.

No, it has to be you.

That's what Ryujin makes herself say when the operator apologizes and explains you're busy.

"Will he be working much longer? Please, I, um-"

"If you give me your number," the operator tells her, "I can add him as a preferred associate. You'll get him next time instead of going to the line."

Ryujin pauses, finger held to her chin. Will he know that? There's all this implication isn't there, that maybe he won't. Maybe you're popular - are you? It's a lot like texting someone for the very first time. And if you did - know, she means - would she be acting like a stalker? It would feel weird, probably, but no worse than some people do it already.

Oh god, this is kind of fucked up.

Maybe a little. Maybe.

Ryujin pauses, finger to her chin. Will he know that? There's all this implication, isn't there, or maybe he won't. Maybe you're popular - are you? It's a lot like texting someone you like-like for the very first time. And if you did - know, she means - would she be acting like a stalker? It would feel weird, probably, but no worse than some of things other people are undoubtedly doing with this service, Ryujin decides, and rattles off the digits so fast the operator asks for clarification.

"If your schedule doesn't open," the line says, "call back and leave a message with when."

Ryujin shrugs and says, "yeah, okay."

You make Ryujin sit through forty-five-fucking minutes of on-hold music - this barely audible synthetic noise that signals a connection is still there, truly a genre for no one - all before she just cuts the fucking line and lays down on the couch.

Okay.

Okay, fine.

Whatever.

(You are… going through the motions.

Some girl on the other line is barely holding it together; you can hear her thighs making slick noises. God. She sounds desperate, she's holding the phone all tight and saying your name. She's fucking babbling; it's not attractive, not while you're tilted back as far as your office chair will go and staring up in the ceiling.

You're bored, mostly.

"Please, please, I'm-"

"Going to cum, I know, princess." She asked you to call her that. "Mouth all open? Can't help it? Just need to lick it nice and fast?"

The answer comes all choppy: "I can't, ah, a-ah-nymore, no, I, can't, need-"

"Do you have any idea? How hard I'm fucking stroking my cock right now? Sitting right in my lap. Jerking it right for you," you say, and then she makes an embarrassingly wet noise, gasping through a choked whine, "so I'm ready to give you what you really fucking need."

"Yes," she chokes. "There - um, please, I just-"

"The biggest fucking load," you tell her. She has no idea, really, that you've got one hand on the receiver, the other just pinching the bridge of your nose - neither of which are you jerking the cum out of your cock and balls like a fucking hydrant as you’d described. What she doesn't know won't hurt her, and you keep your face turned to the side as she starts screaming. As it starts running into one noise that lasts forever - so unbearable that, this time, you consider going out to the bathroom to grab a glass of water and a handful of painkillers. "Need it deep. Let me pour it in, yeah?"

"Yes," she gasps again, heard on this distant frequency because, yes, yes, you've plugged your ear with a finger.

"That'll satisfy you. C'mon, now, princess - give it right up," you tell her, but your eyes are a little dull when her moan turns out all-gagging and twitchy and spasming through it, until finally:

"Ugh."

You wait a moment for the gasping and hitching to finish.

"Good girl," is your distant reply, followed by a polite, perfunctory, "call back anytime.")

Ryujin feels like she's in grade eleven again as she stares at her phone. Boys. Drama. Girls. The drama.

The overanalyzing, the wondering, the hesitating. Fuck. She wishes she knew a way to change this, because she doesn't feel particularly mature and is somehow reduced to this girl, this idiot sitting here all embarrassed and staring and moping about a thousand different calamities at once.

She's looking right at the lock screen: the wallpaper of her and Yeji and Chaeryeong out getting coffee on a random Sunday, all bundled up. Winter. Like three, four years ago, maybe.

Ryujin looks like shit, it's funny.

But Yeji -

How she can make the winter pallor look good is beyond Ryujin's understanding. It's unfair. All the things are. Her brain is back and forth and spinning, spinning like the hands on the old clock hung up on the wall in the kitchen. So stuck on what's not quite normal. Stuck on what doesn't fucking matter - who even fucking cares who the fuck she's attracted to?

She feels it between her legs.

Has been for like a month, or longer, without an outlet. Without anything to give her the hint that maybe she can get back to it - the right it.

She doesn't need to call, she tells herself. She's not some weirdo who's sitting on this for days just in the hopes that her boyfriend is having a bad week with work or whatever. It's only Wednesday, technically. Still way early. Just another few days, she reasons, another few hours - what does it matter?

Wednesday. She can feel the word settle inside of her.

Though only once her bottom lip is chewed to hell, does she pick up her phone and decide she will.

(You're in your bedroom this time around, finishing up your own weekday workout - on the bike, fifteen-second sprints - when your phone goes off. A simple dinging. Very unassuming.

The operator comes in with a cool, level, "line two, callback."

Then there's nothing but silence for a few beats.

You towel some of the sweat off your face. It's warm - your skin, flushed. Bouncing your phone in your palm. The same feeling that's been tugging at your throat for the past two weeks starts to flare and swell.

Not quite a hope, not quite expectation: just something close.

"Are they still there?"

The operator confirms. "Shall I put them through?")

Ryujin fumbles in her own rush of bravado, hands pressing against the fronts of her thighs in an unflattering, nervous little gesture as the connection clicks and picks up.

"This is him," comes your voice, a little husky and raspy from all the day-to-day talk, but even and easygoing and maybe - just maybe - something she can hang on to. Ryujin gives an acknowledging "Mmmn," like the phone call isn't causing her major inner-turmoil.

"Right, ah." You sound kind of, dare she say, nervous yourself. You clear your throat into the line and ask, "what brings you here, stranger?"

Ryujin pauses at this; the red in her ears reaches her fucking jaw. Stranger. Jesus christ, okay, okay-

She laughs. Stops immediately at how self-conscious she sounds. Clears her throat and tucks some of her hair back - settles herself into it like her life hangs in the balance. "I'm here to get my rocks off."

"It's not usually my place to say," you begin in earnest, "but if you're anything like me, and this is gonna sound completely off-the-cusp, but those two weeks really seem to build up, don't they?"

God.

She pulls her sock off her ankle. There's eczema on her heel, and it's the kind of thing she can imagine Yeji telling her to not scratch - that she's going to fuck up her skin. It's funny the stupid fucking things she can remember and all the things she forgets. Like just now, with your voice in her ear, a little unsure in a way that says you've got other, much more important things you should be doing. But you're here with her.

With Ryujin.

God. She might hate herself a little.

"Um," is how she finds her bearings. "Actually."

"It's a joke. Not that- I mean." She hears some rustling - assumes it's coming through the ear piece. There's an abrupt slamming on her side of the line and it seems like the worst kind of deja-fucking-vu. Her neighbors. She forgets it's even this late into the evening. That other people don't have to work so hard in their free-time.

"Maybe this isn't a good night," she says, not so much as thinking the words.

"What?" you ask. Then it dawns on you. "No, no. If you're there, I'm here." You clear your throat. "Besides, there's nobody I'd rather hear from than a woman so desperate she's signed onto my frequent flier's club."

She stops chewing the insides of her cheeks long enough to give you a tired, irritated sound. "Whatever."

And you nearly choke trying not to laugh.

"I don't, um-"

"What, do I have a nice voice?" You laugh quietly.

Under normal circumstances, that wry edge, the bit of try-hard-humor would have her rolling her fucking eyes clean out of their sockets. So when instead she opens her mouth and a fatal-fucked-flirty-feminine, stop, comes out, the vowel pulled long like a plea or a request - well, Ryujin's forehead drops against her bedspread in immediate regret.

You seem startled by it too, going quiet for a second.

"I-I'm-"

"Cute," you decide.

Her ears are red-hot and her cheeks have to be pinking and god, she hates this. That she's hearing this so soon, and it's making her brain hazy and soft and stuttering through, um's and yeah, well, um's. A part of her can't believe she's paying for this, and then, at the same time, she can't believe she's not actually putting cash down for more right this second.

Because it feels -

Like maybe -

Her shoulders rise. She wants this to be quick; she hates this feeling of embarrassment creeping its way in and grabbing onto her with both hands, like this weird, pseudo-affection. She's a grown fucking woman and here she is, letting all her guard down for someone she doesn't even fucking know.

You can feel the tension, hear it. Your lips purse. You try for something easy.

"Go on and give me the details, Ryujin."

Before you'd even picked up, she'd already half-undone her shirt, the flaps of the collar hanging loose with her hands gently petting her ribcage - so easily giving and pliant that there's a good portion of her, in spite of the doubt, in spite of what seems completely illogical about all this, that has her realizing maybe she wants this more than she can possibly understand.

God, she feels like a fucking fool.

"It's pretty boring."

"Not to me. I've spent the last few weeks talking to a bunch of assholes who don't appreciate what they got in the first place," you reply. She imagines you're a little playful about it. Wonders, momentarily, how good that smirk looks - if your eyebrows are lifting like you've been teasing her since day one. Fuck.

“Your operator is a total asshole too, by the way."

"Don't say that," is Ryujin's shy reply, practically moaned out. "You sound like someone I'd absolutely fucking hate, jesus, stop that."

"Just because you don't get on with someone, doesn't mean they can't get you off."

"Smooth, or something."

"I'm taking a break, relaxing a little, enjoying an overrated TV show or whatever this is - not really minding my business," you say, but your smile is so audible it's fucking offensive. And she's - she's maybe, definitely into that. Like the fucking embarrassment in this is turning her on. Ryujin puts the tip of her finger in the waist of her shorts, experimentally, gently, this small brush and press to her sensitive lower stomach. And it's true. All she hears is her own breathing in the receiver, a bit labored over the slightest, least indecent touch. It's amazing, how much her body can want even when her head can't seem to catch up.

"What do you like?" she asks. “You’re a person, working bits and all, something’s gotta get you all worked up and flustered, no?”

"Will you believe me if I tell you this is my absolute favorite?"

"Do you always dodge the question?"

"It's just like a courtesy," you clarify, "it's not personal."

"Now I sound like a desperate pervert."

"On the contrary," is your warm, buttery reply, and it is fucking aggravating just how well this works on her. "I think there are much better things people can say about you."

God, that - the thought, the possibility of something about her that has nothing to do with how 'thick' or 'thin' her thighs are, or the silhouette of her ass in safety shorts, or how her voice makes guys want to ask if they can take her home and fuck the answers from her, or any of that; it's kind of liberating, just a tiny bit. That it can be a good thing for some reason. God.

Ryujin rubs herself. "Yeah, well."

She wants it all the same and says nothing, shifting a little until her hips tilt slightly upwards, letting her pull at the drawstring of her shorts, loosening the grip. She's already kind of feeling woozy in all the best ways, soft and feminine in how she slides her hand underneath her shorts. Over panties first, with no clear idea if you can tell and honestly, too distracted to wonder about that, if she should care or not, too caught up with her fingertips over the raised seam in her underwear - where the fabric's wet from her.

A shush comes into the line when Ryujin swallows.

The ache between her legs grows louder.

"You still there, Ryujin?"

"Of course," and then, she finds a little more reassured finality: "fuck, yeah, fuck. Please, I..."

"Ryujin," you say with all the calm and control in the world, "talk to me."

(So - truthfully, honestly, factually - you are a total wreck.

You're sitting there in a heap of bedsheets and a cold sweat when Ryujin finally mutters into the silence, "thanks, for that, I, uh- that felt really good, exactly what I needed," and hangs up before you can ask about her day or comment on the weather or suggest calling back tomorrow.

She is just perfect, the way she lets a small "I..." slip when she's close. Perfect, how she groans her little broken, satisfied sigh of a yes, her last, fleeting exhale just a sweet, high, barely there please, her body tensing with every little shudder and moan and pant. How the pace goes fast and then slow - like she's gotta think it out a second, her own fingers bringing her closer and closer until there's nothing but a flurry of movement and ragged breaths - an enthusiastic little mmph noise - followed by Ryujin's wet and slick little laugh that sounds like relief.

Like you did something to help, like she needed you and wanted you.

There's cum sticking all up your torso and along your wrist, the inside of your thigh - everywhere you could manage, frankly - and, shit, it's not fair, you realize:

She can find you, whenever she needs you.

And you -

You're just sitting here. Nowhere near sure she'll even call again.)

There's a sizable difference between being lonely and being alone, Ryujin thinks, running the cloth under the stream of the shower and then pressing it damp against her throat, wiping at the backs of her knees.

Lonely means that something's missing - it's something she feels when she catches a glance at the handsome arm reached around Chaeryeong's waist, the way she dances so close to someone she just met, or whenever she tells her that she's thinking about, maybe, probably, definitely, absolutely going home with him if her friends don't stop her from leaving. God, her smile is always so cute when he's near. When someone's calling her over for drinks - hips sashaying like she doesn't know the whole bar is staring at the creases where her thighs flare into her ass - because he gave her a look from across the room, and she's swaying from drink to drink.

Like, of course, they're fucking; it's a known, unsaid thing.

She knows it, he knows it. Chaeryeong fucking owns it.

Alone however, is just what it says on the tin.

That's something else Ryujin has yet to learn - that everyone loves differently, cares for different things. Yuna is still single after all, and she can never shake the feeling that it's simply to spite her for some perceived slight or another; Yuna can't live without company, no matter how brief or short or meaningless, so perhaps it's better she never catches on or finds anyone worth keeping around.

And Yeji?

Ryujin sighs, rakes the comb through her wet hair.

The showerhead is running hot between Ryujin's fingers, and the water coming off of her skin turns to steam instantly, filling the bathroom with a permanent cloud, stuck in flux - rising towards the ceiling. She passes her fingers under it, watches the flow, a quiet hm escaping the back of her throat - and she considers the way it feels beating against her throat and chest.

Down the concave curve of her stomach. How it burns red right over her thighs. The pressure slips and sinks low, lower - and when she puts a palm out for a little stability, her left leg can't help but buckle just so, lifting itself out and off to the side. So she stands, toes pointing against the shower floor, face first into her arm against the cool tile.

Ryujin sees where the rivulets of water have gathered above her clavicle - feels them trail down over the tightness in her breasts and between. A couple images pass through her mind at once - thoughts of fingers trailing a line back up the center of her body and a gentle tap against her chin, turning her face to some perfect all-consuming kiss - a hand squeezing at her calf, rubbing her muscles gently - Yeji smiling into the crook of her neck, the grasp on her hip, wrist flexing. Her back bowed and fingers, broad and experienced -

"Don't need you," Ryujin quietly says to nobody, which -

You're doing so well, Ryujin hears back in her imagination, you're so beautiful, you can keep this up, I know you can. I bet it feels good, doesn't it? Just let go and I'll...

Ryujin whimpers out. She can feel that line deep inside her going taut, buckling in her core, the reverberations down to her wrists and fingertips and toes. If she didn't have the wall in front of her, she knows she'd be on her knees - kneeling to the hot water pulsing around the knots of nerves right behind her clit. The pressure hitting her like the crack of a whip.

"Fuck me," she says to no one, gasping in that way you only can when no one is listening.

Yeji's smile is what's gotten her this close so many times, the smell of the ends of her hair tickling Ryujin's nose. Hell, she can't stop thinking about the way her nose crinkles or her dimples flare just when she finds Ryujin's name in her mouth.

It's not fair.

She's so close to cumming and letting whatever happens happen. The slick of her release pouring right out into the drain of the shower, washed away with the excess. So when her whole hand shifts and catches in just the right, delicious, frustrating way, Ryujin inhales so deep through the end of the sentence that, as a result, her knees wobble.

She feels like fucking crying.

It's that sweet little lilt in Yeji's voice, saying things like: "It's alright. I promise you can keep this up a little longer." And "Oh, god, baby." And, at worst, the way her voice shakes with a "come here, honey. Let me-"

Ryujin has to catch herself when her footing slips a little from under her. Then, your voice, coming in distant at first, grows louder, clearer. Into something catastrophic, right against her throat, like it knows the very inside-and-out of her, "go on. Fuck, please, cum all over me, baby - show me a face no one else gets to see."

And for the first time,

Ryujin gets herself off. Alone.

She moans and sighs out. Gasps, "there you go-" and whispers an, "ah, jesus." She manages the most silent, the least decipherable, fuck, as it leaves her mouth like a prayer. Her left knee twitches, body curling into itself, and her hand moves - fingers closing and her eyes clenched shut, a wave, cresting - she just-

Collapses.

Wanting: Yeji, sure - and she came - but the only thing she can really wrap her head around is the truth that she's so, utterly fucked.

"Are you sure there's no one you can bring?" Yeji asks in the middle of slapping the ever-loving shit out of a coffee maker that has, for as far as anyone can remember, never worked.

"Uh," is Ryujin's inconvenienced reaction, the tips of her fingers idly sorting through her credit card statements, which a more-sober, less-horny version of herself is a little out of sorts over. "I'm not sure there's anyone I'd want to bring."

"Uh huh," Yeji replies.

She pauses and rests the bottom edge of the coffee maker on the edge of the kitchen counter, stopping herself mid-smack - leaning away to try and give the stupid thing a once-over.

"Who the hell says it's got to be someone you wanna make babies with? Maybe it's just someone you'd think would look good beside you, smiling at the cameras with. Or."

"Or."

Yeji's lips tilt. "Or someone you wouldn't mind screwing in the bathroom."

Ryujin spins the pen in her fingers and gives Yeji a look that says back off and can you chill out already, in the sort of way it takes years to ferment - the silent understandings, the good-natured naggings, the good-fucking-luck-with-that-buddy's. Yeji knows she's getting on Ryujin's nerves. Knows that has never stopped her before.

"In my defense," Yeji clarifies, "I can count at least a hundred people that would crawl over broken glass to sleep with you and, uh-" She knocks the coffee maker off of its stand and holds it gingerly to her chest like some child, motherly. "-I don't wanna take a bullet for your unintentional chastity, Shin Ryujin."

"First of all, don’t pretend you’re doing me a favor here," she replies. "Second-"

"Can't hurt just asking, right? I could set you up, you know, someone you've never even met - no pre-burnt bridges to maneuver."

There’s a world, and Ryujin imagines it for all of a second, where she stands up and grabs hold of Yeji by her cute little ponytail - if nothing else, just to stop the way it bounces every time she steps - and maybe, she also kisses her on the mouth so hard she stumbles. Or perhaps she could pull that ribbon free of its holdings and unravel it down against Yeji's jaw. Pull a whimper, a tiny little ah that says this was inevitable. Maybe they crash onto her bed. Maybe she gets her fingers sticky with how soaked through the cotton of Yeji's shorts have gotten in those short, heated moments - what a world that would be.

"One of what's-his-name's friends? I’m assuming."

Yeji looks annoyed and proud and beautiful; all at once.

"Yes, and what's-his-name's pillow talk is exceedingly whiny about how my best friend is so incredibly standoffish and abrasive and-"

"Okay. I'll go." Anything to stop the image of Yeji with the comforter pulled up to her tits and hair splayed all over the place; red and flushed. Her lips curling with the curve of the sheets and god -

"Just for an hour?" Ryujin asks.

Yeji finally places the coffee maker back onto its stand.

"I mean, nothing much happens an hour into a birthday party," Yeji reassures. "It'll be fun."

"Uh-huh."

"Trust me."

Ryujin wonders just how far Yeji could go - if she knows that she can snap her fingers together, and Ryujin will be there: ready to do anything.

Ryujin is trying to go to sleep, is how she'll explain it if anyone asks. Though she prays to god no one ever will.

She tries books. And she tries scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. And there's this one guy she kinda-sorta-dated's updates: photos of a vacation to Boracay, which seems nice; his chest is a little more defined, more chiseled than when she was seventeen and kind of fumbling her way around a college boy and his stupid fucking preoccupation with who should be paying for drinks at whatever run down establishment was his pick of the night. Ryujin makes a face at the screen, pursing her lips; there's a girl in the photo - she looks too young for how her ass is falling out the one-piece. To the extent that she makes sure to send an unsolicited meme she's tagged herself in - like "here is my past and here are his balls", and gets a block and a report as a thank you.

It makes her feel good. That's what's most important.

And then, with little other distraction and a decent lack of luck, she picks up the phone.

It rings for a while before the operator comes in and says, "You're at number nine."

"What?"

"The queue. This call has you at number nine."

Ryujin slowly leans up from the pillows and squints into her bedroom.

"Huh."

"Would you still like to be connected, miss?

Ryujin thinks it over for a moment. Of course you're popular, a part of her mind comments, because you've got a voice like gravel-slung honey-gold. She's imagining eight other girls just like her, laying in their bed, panties on their ankles and thumbs covered with spit. All desperate for you. All curled up - one right after the other - with no fucking idea.

"Miss," the operator comes back with.

The line goes quiet - a few beats, but not too uncomfortable a silence. Then she gets a soft little exhale out, saying, "can I leave a callback number?"

"If you like." The operator considers the idea. "I can’t promise whether he’ll call you.”

“No, yeah.” Ryujin curls an arm under her chest and plays a finger against the swell of her breast through her night shirt. Gets lost in her own consideration. “Don't think he would anyway."

A new day is defined by new possibilities, or something or another you read once stitched into a frame; Something you muse over the rim of your coffee, nose-deep in the laptop at the kitchen counter top.

Last night ended a bit unexpectedly - this not considering the couple's awkward fight which took up two-thirds of the evening. Or the girlfriend-slash-fiancée of that guy, which somehow led you to wonder just how old was too old. But as you were logging your final client session of the night a ping came through the employee portal and let you know that someone had left their number with the operator in the hopes you'd call.

You swig back the rest of your coffee, roll your shoulders and shrug. Oh, there are at least a million reasons not to call a number that randomly, offhandedly arrives in the middle of the night and gets patched through a phonesex hot line under the cover of darkness.

The same number could be out there, defacing the wall of a truck stop bathroom, or inked into the skin of a squat prison convict who's got a brow like the horizon. Maybe, it belongs to that married business man that took your personal phone number as his private line and spent all the time bragging how he was going to quit his wife and make a run for it with you - just you - even though you'd rather stab him with a fork than be involved with that kind of psychopathy and are honestly just looking for that extra bump in commissions every time his wife calls to ask the exact same thing.

Your clients call. You talk.

You take the cash.

The point is: there's more fucking deviants out there than there are stars in the sky. You would know; you talk to a new handful every goddamn day.

Yet it doesn't really matter. You're gonna do it. Because you're feeling restless. Because - and it sounds insane - there's at least some probability, no matter how remote, that you will pick up that receiver and punch in a number and the line will connect with the girl who's been on your mind almost constantly for the better half of two months. That you might listen to the dial tone turn into her answering with a genuinely indifferent, "this is Ryujin," or whatever her name actually is -

You're living in a pipe dream. You're probably reaching, actually. And all you know about this woman, is, what? What does it really, factually, truly amount to, the amount you feel you've come to know about her.

You know more about how she prefers to methodically, meticulously begin, then draw out, and finally end a blowjob to someone that ain't you than you do about any detail in her life story, frankly. You're reaching, and you know it.

You pick up the phone and dial.

(It goes straight to voicemail, and get this: that’s her real fucking name.)

Yuna has the audacity to ask, as she slides into the booth, "who do you keep texting?"

Ryujin's eyebrow arches.

The younger girl nods towards where Ryujin's thumbs are practically flying over the keyboard.

"No one." Ryujin puts the phone on her lap and crosses her arms over her chest. Then the words seem to echo through the inside of her skull, so she shakes her head a little, in emphasis. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."

She's right though - and maybe that's the problem. Maybe that's why it's hard to answer.

Chaeryeong washes the shot of whisky down with a swallow of lemon-lime. Her eyes slide open to Ryujin as she wipes at her bottom lip. Then she spikes a finger into Ryujin's ribs.

"Spill."

It's a dangerous order, and she doesn't realize it at first. Chaeryeong's bad ideas have an annoying habit of flinging themselves on Ryujin, like a bomb dropped at low altitude - sudden, quick, and more than enough to shake everything up. Chaeryeong will make Ryujin go out dancing - and then she'll lose her clutch purse. Chaeryeong will remember she started the evening with a scarf - so they need to walk out a whole block or two to find it.

More importantly: Chaeryeong is not a great drunk.

So, of course she spills. She relays her findings, carefully and as deliberately as she can muster.

"Does he have a nice voice?" Chaeryeong asks.

"It's kind of deep?”

Chaeryeong snorts. Apologizes immediately.

"Not... deep. Sultry. I guess. Smooth, easy to hear." Ryujin tells the two across the table.

Yuna whistles low. "Romantic as shit."

“Fuck, I don’t know. In, like a sexy sort of way." Ryujin raises both palms in a vague gesture. She clears her throat at the two pairs of eyes staring back at her as though the words coming out of her mouth belonged to a foreign language. "Uh. Sort of raspy, or something, sometimes, like he's... on the phone a lot, and you know," Ryujin flushes, suddenly caught and wondering where all the confidence went, "yeah."

Yuna's leaning forward, chin in her palm. "I'm having a hard time believing texting is a sort of standard operating procedure."

"Well try a little harder," Ryujin snaps, eyes finding Yuna's and making herself fucking clear.

Chaeryeong has this look about her, she's trying to keep it all in, but then there's her eyes, cinched at the corners and dead-fucking-giveaways. She puts an arm against the table and points at Ryujin with an up-reaching thumb. "This is the cutest shit, like ever, and you two are texting like actual lovers instead of two, apparently rando-stranger fuck buddies, or whatever."

Yuna - for whatever reason - feels at liberty to throw gasoline on the fire. "Does that mean you think he's going to get jealous if you bring some dude along to Lia's birthday?"

Ryujin sucks in a breath; the fact that he'd never - well.

"Ryujin's in love," Yuna adds for dramatic effect, for the sake of being the worst fucking person. She can be so fucking petty. It's a side of her no one ever sees, because she's just so sweet all the time. Like right now, she's doing that smile-smirk thing that gets Chaeryeong giggling against her hand and then coughing into it a second later.

"Jesus christ," Ryujin starts gathering her jacket and purse. "He's- not- this is- God, I'm done." She slips her shoulder under the strap. "Thanks for listening to me sound like a teenager."

"Isn't that just normal for you," Yuna quips back, pulling at her straw until there's only air rushing through the bend of it. "Where are you going?"

"I can't stay here," Ryujin says as if it's obvious, as well as her point, the argument she's trying to make. "Besides, Yeji is gonna want me to get my dress and shit all sorted out."

"Don't fall in love with one of the robot voices at the cross-walk on your way home, or anything!" Yuna laughs out, giving a flippant wave goodbye.

Ryujin lets her eyes roll because sometimes, she hates her friends.

It still throws you for a loop whenever Ryujin pings your phone with a text that says something like:

have you jerked yourself off to exhaustion or is there one more in you for someone like me?

Or,

my roommate is getting pounded through the springs of her mattress, wanna see if you can hear it?

Or,

are you free? I really fucking need to cum. bad.

Each text is something you tuck into yourself. Save and mark and spend all your time in those long-form responses imagining how her face looked when her brain typed out the words for you. You wonder if she's sighing through her fingers or hiding her lips behind a pillow while the heat coils in the pits of her hips.

As time goes by, Ryujin slips a little more. From one text about whatever book or series she was rereading last and another about the sadism of politicians and how people are more likely to agree with what they've heard someone else say than the facts of a given subject, to texts with a few scattered thoughts to strings of sexting that has you cumming into the palm of your hand and through your sheets and in the middle of a dream in which there's no clothes and a pretty fucking filthy proposition.

"How have you been lately," you decide, and consider, briefly, the very strong likelihood this call is gonna send her right through the goddamn roof.

When Ryujin eventually finds herself able to get out: "fine," there's a tell-tale pause, then an even longer pause, that implies she'd definitely rather say anything else. Then she kind of stutters a, "pretty good. Not too bad. All that stuff, I suppose."

And not to say any part of this has felt like routine. Both of you breathing into the end of a telephone and letting your eyes clench tight while you cum all over yourself - imagining everything she told you she wanted you to do to her, how it'd all go: "fucking with my arms grappled behind my back," she'd hum, "head pushed into the bedsheets, you're smothering me, ah- I'd let you cum wherever the fuck you like, but please-" or maybe a bit simpler: "so my thighs are straddling your face?" is about the gist.

A second goes by, another, a third.

"Hang on," you end up having to tell her sometimes, "I need a fucking towel-"

"You really are, huh, jerking off with me- I get you that hot, is what you're telling me? Or is just too much imagining how you'd fuck your way right into my guts through my pretty little pussy? Ah, jesus," the cadence of her voice climbs high before ending up back where it belongs, "Jesus, fuck."

"Can you imagine," is how it'd start, "how good it'd feel? My pussy, or- anywhere, everywhere. I think you'd ruin me for anyone else - you- with how, god-"

You can hear Ryujin shift on the sheets, licking at her bottom lip. Silently cumming. Cumming for you.

"Okay."

"Okay what," Ryujin quietly says back.

The gears turning.

You press your hand into the side of your neck. "Fuck me. Now, in a second. Tell me the last fucking thing in the world you want me to be or do and-"

"Wait."

There's this half-breath. This hmm that almost trips off Ryujin's tongue. Her eyes squinting open to a new thought. You think she's about to be sly. About to surprise you with an offhand fuck yes I'd ride that face like a bus seat; that she might come back with, yes I'll put you right in the middle of the best part of me, god you'll love it, and I promise not to make you cum if you're nice enough not to let your hands wander. But.

It's funny how things are -

"I have a confession," she says, matter-of-factly.

That's not entirely unusual. You've had more of those come through your line in a year than a confessional grate might get in a lifetime. So it doesn't sound like something special to you; Ryujin and you are in this candid don't-ask-don't-tell in regards to payments and the exchange of goods and services, but here you are, still using lines and bits. Practiced.

"In the name of the father, and of the son, and-"

"Funny." Ryujin gets the hint to backtrack. "Uhm, I mean. Remember the roommate I was telling you about?"

You hum a, "maybe."

"Uh," and now the hushed voice from her throat sounds distant, suddenly out of the scope of the receiver, "can I be totally, honestly- just really, extremely honest here, are you- or?"

You stop thinking about the ebbs and flows of her voice, how it dips down then arches up a little. Because now her voice has become something that is nervous, bordering on uneasy. So you stop, take stock and hold on. You weren't expecting a voice of worry or tension, or not at least while she wasn't thrown back into her bed and rubbing furiously at the ache between her legs.

"Yeah, of course," you offer her up.

"This is so embarrassing," she's saying, and some part of you feels ready to sink - you haven't the faintest idea for what, but there is something. Your chest clenches.

You can't help the worry and reply: "Okay, um. I mean- yeah. Me too, I can admit I feel a bit- and you can, y'know, be a little-"

"I'm not straight," she says finally, with a little quiver of her voice right at the tail end.

A blink comes, another - there's nothing coming out of you and you have no idea why that should be at all difficult, so the silence grows long. A new sort of awkward; the kind that you find out isn't just the rush of cum cooling in a pair of sweat-damp underwear. No - this is embarrassment, the kind that taints you.

"What?" You exhale a strained laugh, almost too-bright. "Are you- is this some sort of-?"

"Nope, no, this is crazy, sorry." She laughs. "Sorry."

"You certainly had me fooled." You sit up straighter in your bed, resting elbows on your knees. The moon is filtering through the windowsill and bathing the room in blue - casting light all the wrong ways. Making your own heart beat just a little too fast. "Fuck, um. Can I ask a personal question?"

"Sure." Her voice sounds uncharacteristically soft.

"What are you into?" and you as soon as you ask, you're laughing - because you've heard Ryujin wax lyrical for weeks, pontificate about every manner and way she'd take a cock between her hands, lips, fingers. Every. Single. Place, she wants one in - and now you can't believe this is what you went with: "I mean, like girls?"

"It's probably safe to assume I have some, y'know- degree of- yeah."

You chuckle a bit. The stiffness in your shoulders settling out.

"I've been in love, I realize - boy, with my roommate - for a while."

It's said with a sad laugh - as if this were a little shameful. Some deep, dark secret no one could ever be privy to; some stain on her soul that might wash out only after one final scrubbing with dish detergent and the cruelest bristles. A thing that keeps her up at night -

“Not the roommate, by the way, who we listen to get fucking railed like she’s on-demand pornography every weekend. Just to be clear."

"Good, jesus, that'd be fucking something."

Ryujin sounds more cheerful when her voice comes back through the line, "right?"

You wipe the perspiration of your top lip. You laugh nervously at this girl admitting to being in love over the phone - a stranger, truly, in all ways - to some fucked up audio-fetish sex line personality. And now - the fuck's wrong with you?

"Are you mad?" she asks, and some part of you is wrung. A small string of tension twisting so hard inside your gut, you're losing touch.

"No," you let her know. "No, not at all."

And that is honest. This is honest. There's this itching little scratch all over the insides of your skin that seems intent on driving a fucking wedge. Right at the center of your chest, tearing you apart. It feels as you've lost - not an object, not a material. Not an idea, nor a concept - but a feeling, that for once, was distinctly, overwhelmingly yours, without your wanting, or permission, or comprehension.

Ryujin sighs, this elongated relief coming in. She sinks back against the headboard.

She tells you everything. How Yeji smiles, and it's like the whole fucking room has gone up in lights, just from her and her alone. How there is nothing that she'd rather spend all her days around. She talks and you sit there, silent and listening. She talks about her. Her name and everything Yeji does and everything she wants.

The more you listen, you realize it's all real; she's not confused, or mistaken, or out to play a game or convince herself of something she believes is inherently untrue. She's not frustrated, or longing. She doesn't have this stomach-rolling pit of anxiety digging a cavern at her center because she just can't go through the rest of her life, living a life like everyone else. Not ever.

Because, all you really notice is-

She loves Yeji. The quiet kind. And she's sitting there, legs curled under her ass, crying. Not sad, or frightened, or wounded, just this beautiful sort of awed: it's the kind that only someone who is too inexperienced at crying should have. Where you just-

Look away.

"I'm not taking my phone into the bath with me," is the last thing she says to you, tears flooding out in her last couple words, before you can only offer her a meek: "anytime, Ryujin, I'm here."

(Four, five weeks go by in the blink of an eye. A month where you figure it's best to let her text or call or make it clear she wants your voice.

She never does.)

Lia is taking her sweet time to apply concealer over the cut Ryujin earned herself trying to get a stupid thing off a shelf - that's how low and unreasonable her tolerance for anything mildly inconvenient is.

"That fucking hurts," Ryujin tells her, wincing.

Lia ignores her.

She keeps on dabbing at the spot on her temple with the makeup brush until there isn't any trace of bruising, or where the jagged scar of a cut ends and skin begins, not anymore. At this point, she has gotten better, has developed a kind of surgeon's eye: zeroing in and unblinking, until every inch of damage is looking like Ryujin did when she was brought into this world -

(which is not perfect, but what it ought to look like, all things considered.)

Lia holds her hands in place on either side of Ryujin's head. "Stay."

It takes less than five minutes, and during those, Yuna just offers from around the bathroom door, "Ryujin, sweetheart, you’re looking hot tonight."

There's nothing more Ryujin wants to do than set the girl straight - the girl can't not keep a chirp to herself, for once in her fucking life. Because this flimsy slip of a dress around her middle feels too tight, the air choked out of her lungs if she shifts her weight onto the wrong foot. The hem rides way too fucking high up her thighs. So, if anyone didn't want a good long look at her ass tonight, they better come up with a plan B if she has to so much as approach a staircase.

"Have I ever not," she bites.

Yuna snorts.

And luckily for Ryujin, Lia feels the same way:

"Yuna, would it kill you to find something productive to do with your time?"

Yuna opens her mouth like she has something to say (she usually does) before retreating further away, the edge of her hair disappearing around the doorway. Then Ryujin's grinning - eyes taking in how Lia glowers a bit back, silently judging the stupidity in Ryujin's expression and also, admiring how good the girl looks. "Not bad, though, really."

Lia tells her with an underhanded wave of the brush and a wink: "historically, you do always get laid on my birthday, remember?"

Ryujin jerks a little, and the scar above her eye throbs into Lia's thumb. "Thanks?"

The party is miserable, but it's not Lia's fault. It's not really Yeji's fault either. They tried, that's really all she can say for them - her and her permanent-plus-one whose face Ryujin wants to both claw at and kiss until it’s swollen-

What she really can't wrap her mind around, though, is the guy sitting right fucking beside her. The idiot.

"Really, I'm telling you," her date - who is about 3.5 out of five stars at best and not so much handsome or hot as he is 'okay in a pinch' - grins up at her with the smarmiest of smiles, "if you'd just have taken me up on dinner, I would've spent all our time talking about you. We’d figure out how to enjoy ourselves."

"Likely story."

This fuckwad has the absolute goddamn gall to look wounded when his arm starts circling its way around the space where her dress is suffocating her at the waist, and Ryujin starts to shimmy her way out of hot water - again. God, she thinks, god save me-

"I think," she manages with a stilted grin, "I'm going to make myself useful- drinks, no?"

When he leans forward to grab her hand, it's only so she doesn't leave.

"You're not going to ask for my order?" he presses. The only reason Ryujin hasn't knocked out a couple of his front teeth is because Lia would be the one hearing Yeji whine about cleaning up the fucking mess.

"Just scotch. Neat."

Ryujin's a natural when it comes to smiling fake; it's part of her goddamned job. "Of course," she says, like she's not absolutely loathing him.

"Try the oakier, single-barrel variety, alright," he explains, because what's hotter than a man who's an expert in alcohol and being an insufferable tool? Nothing of course. She hopes he knocks back a few too many and his liver explodes - the painless way out. If god would ever fucking allow it.

She barely manages a half-strangled laugh over the blare of the music before he finally releases her wrist.

The absolute fucking prick.

Here's something Ryujin never thought she'd come to appreciate:

Being alone.

It's just her and the breeze through the open doors of the rooftop garden, which is something every bit as refreshing as it is teeth-chatteringly cold. The wind picks up in gusts and billows, until it starts nipping up the fabric around her knees, like it's any one of the drunk, stumbling guests milling about and looking for a noncommittal lay.

Her left foot slips a step outwards, the uncomfortably tall heel bouncing on the edge of her toe and tapping a tune against the brick. Ryujin slouches on the railing that encapsulates the entire terrace, arms pressed over it, hands folded one-over the other - letting the night sky caress her bare shoulders with its wind-brushed kisses. This, is okay. It's better.

Maybe not ideal, but better.

And all it really took was a few fucking moments where she isn't smiling with pursed, stressed lips; where the pressure in her jaw finally settles out enough for the knot in the back of her teeth to fall loose and for her mouth to actually feel, y'know - good.

Not forced, is what. Not fake, or not real, or whatever-

Ryujin almost fishes her phone from her clutch. Almost. Almost texts to tell you that: this fucking night, like all the others in the past month or two or year, has left her feeling particularly done for, and yeah, no, it isn't helping that she'd take whatever would be the alternative if it meant a face like yours came in handy to lean against, or your shoulder or thigh to use. Like some pillow - that's all.

And you are, like. An option. But not, she sighs out, exactly the right one.

An errant chill shudders through her and down her spine.

"Shin Ryujin."

She'd recognize the tilt of that voice anywhere; even if her ears were pounding and her head filled with static and noise, she'd be able to place Yeji at the end of the world. The truth is easy to see, if only Yeji knew where to look: the corners of Ryujin's eyes screw up tight for a second, an immeasurably long time, in order to not do what they wanted. What it would mean.

She does anyway. "I'd hug you," Ryujin throws behind her with an airy sigh, "but I know where you've been."

Yeji's jaw has set at this point; a twist is still in her lip and she lets out this dry, half-laugh, half-not sound - which is the thing that drives Ryujin a little crazy. Yeji turns her attention from the concrete ground, to Ryujin's profile, her body leaning forward, toes tipping in: "sometimes I wonder if my partner in crime can breathe without saying something incendiary."

"Nope." Ryujin offers no further response or follow-up. Instead, the quiet gush of air makes itself the center of attention and a victim of silence.

"Sorry about-"

"Don't be. Don't give it a second thought." Ryujin stretches, leaning a little over the railing. Her fingers arch before her. Her words sounding the slightest bit cold, "can't win 'em all, right?"

Yeji's eyebrows pull together. "That's not how this was supposed-"

"God, Yeji." Ryujin smiles. Yeji hates that she never knows what that means. "I'm trying, really, I am, but you know - I really, I have tried my best, so can we just lay it to rest?"

Yeji leans over the railing - the fucking moon reflecting in these lustrous pools where her eyes go darker than night - and doesn't say anything for the longest moment. Ryujin chews her tongue, and tries to look as interested in the void of stars and night clouds as possible.

"Fuck's going on with you, lately?"

Ryujin just laughs back.

"Really," and the last word dips in a groan. It's almost childishly tragic how petulantly she insists, "talk to me."

But Ryujin has nothing else to say - no witty, scathing remarks. No deadpan observations or funny asides, not even a morose comment to throw back. There are times and moments and fucking periods of her day where she'd happily chew glass if it meant that Yeji would sit there a second longer, be beside her for a while and smile, just smile at only her, once - for once.

Her only response is the worst kind of lie, this soft: "really nothing."

The moment where it slips and hangs between them, when it lingers the longest -

She could reach out, a hand on her thigh, the small of her back, if she could only reach. And Yeji, she'd listen to her, for once. She'd really, genuinely hear what Ryujin says; like she can see it, plain as day, everything there's in Ryujin's eyes, the thoughts inside her head, written on her goddamn face and across the open night air in neon:

I love you. I'm in love with you, you're too close to me.

The seconds pass. They tick, they stretch and grow thin. Yeji looks at Ryujin expectantly, and Ryujin knows. It is something like being put on the spot and called in. Something like a long, pained whimper caught somewhere in her throat.

She is very much still, unmoving, and feeling nothing at all.

Maybe she can blame the alcohol, the dark, the series of events that saw her hiding away behind a bunch of decorative trees and fighting for breath where the wind blows a little cooler. She can pretend like the stars aren't absent above her, and it doesn't hurt a goddamn bit.

“Yeji, I-” She licks at her lip, ready, willing-

Ryujin grabs at her waist with a hand. Her knuckles white around the black of the railing. And with no further fanfare, she spits it out like venom, with no small measure of shame or guilt or worry for how Yeji will take it - or worse: how she herself would react in the wake of admitting it aloud -

“I love you,” Ryujin says, and it pops out of her mouth as neatly as it had the first thousand times practicing alone in her car.

A blink, and another. The look on Yeji's face is hard and blank, as if she'd understood every syllable, but didn't hear it at all - maybe. Her gaze drops, it trails a path along the long line of Ryujin's pale neck. Of the two ways it could ever go in her head, stuck on loop for as long as she can remember, Ryujin had never considered that Yeji might turn this still and vacant. A sudden feeling, a pull or a grip, starts in the lowest part of Ryujin's guts.

"And not-," she hears her own voice falter, "like-"

Then - it's on the back of Ryujin's head and in her hair, a hand curled at the base of her skull and pulling her head a little downward and her, until their foreheads meet. And before she has a chance to walk it back - to stuff it down where it came from and seal the bottle tight - before she can clench her eyes, shake her head, and spit out anything else like the fact that there was not much that had to change, between them -

Yeji just says plainly: "Yeah, hun. Love you too."

And it's shockingly, the most painful thing - that she just squeezes her hand and pats her back like it's all they could ever be. Without even the wherewithal to reject her properly; to tell her something like "don't ever say that again, god," or "oh shit- Ryujin. Sorry. So, no," or at least to spit back with a scathing laugh: "welcome to the fucking party," like what she always does.

"Yeah." Yeji clears her throat quietly and starts retreating back from the brink - with no apparent aim but to pull away as she draws herself away from the warmth of Ryujin's space, "uh, don't forget to say hello to some of the staffers before they go home, okay?"

Ryujin is left with nothing but the air that follows Yeji's outline; left with her heart sinking into the depths of the night; left trying to make sense of the bitter sting ripping her chest in two.

Left with her own hopelessness - the pining - when Yeji walks away.

To be lonely, to be alone; neither are the same.

And she hates knowing she is so incredibly both.

The worst part is she knows how it looks.

Her pace just on the verge of unsteady, the way her feet come up from the ground: Left foot, the right. The other. Back and back and forth again, faster and then slower and- fuck.

A damsel, severely distressed.

She sits down on the curb. She wants to cry, but even just the way she looks, carrying her heels and struggling with this fucking dress she wishes she'd never bothered with at all - oh, the tabloids would be sure every detail gets pinned under all the wrong lights. A breakdown would only serve to confirm all the right things; it would paint a story for anyone who cares enough to glean from her crestfallen posture and red cheeks that she is yes, a little broken, and that everyone wants to be loved and she's no different - and -

She sucks a breath. This time, when her tears fall, it's a quick, perfunctory action, no show in it.

Her palms rub her face - and she wipes, and wipes, and wipes - smearing at the foundation under her eyes before she takes a long drag of night air. Deep from her core, filling up her lungs until she can't hold anymore. Until it hurts and stings the backs of her ribs - it's enough for a single, fleeting moment. The street is mostly empty; an occasional car will speed by every now and then and it's those few and far between intervals that hurt most, that nearly shatter her: if she can barely do this, alone, how can she possibly be enough for anyone?

Ryujin’s smiling only to hold back her tears, and it fucking stings. She flicks hurriedly past the lock screen of her phone and swipes through the message stream with blurry eyes - there’s a whole host of people that want to know where the fuck she went, if she's safe, why she up and vanished the moment Yeji couldn't keep an eye on her. And well. The girl sighs.

Finds your name in her contacts and puts her thumb right beside it.

It rings exactly three times, and she hates the number. She hates how many things can be associated with that number in those seconds alone.

Four, the pause where you must have had the opportunity, but didn't decide to pick up - just leave it be. Then five - Ryujin is definitely no longer looking forward to any of this.

Six: it stops.

There's this crackle, and through the night -

"Just what brings you here, stranger?"

For an indistinct amount of time, Ryujin drifts in the whirlpool current of that question; it sinks her deeper, into the currents of your voice and the tone and what it's suggesting and demanding from her. All the things your voice is giving her permission to ask of and with and-

Until finally she answers back: "do you ever just, like, wish," a shallow pause for the hitch in her breath, "something, someone was a little more for you- or to- with you-"

The swell of a smile through the receiver; and you can't help your laugh, soft.

"Sometimes," is what you say, "that's just human, don't you think?"

She doesn't understand how something like love or life or desire should be a universal trait.

"Uh, maybe," she shrugs out, and thinks.

"It's pretty normal," you tell her.

Quiet, as if you were right in front of her.

"Look," you start, and you can hear how she sniffs her nose and swipes the pad of her hand right along the side of it, to catch anything stupid and stupid sounding leaking down to her upper lip. "You don't have to. Let's just hang out. Tell me anything."

And for once, she does.

She talks.

(The whole story.

From the first time Ryujin realizes the world is never going to be fair - that she shouldn't have to look at herself like she's unlovable because she's seen her friends be held as though they are - or at Yeji like she's completely unattainable or somehow, unlovable, and that someone as amazing as Yeji should have been loved from the moment she was born.

The rest comes through as fragments: the truth of her career. Yeji.

The balcony, the breeze, the bitter-fucking-disappointment.

And what came of that -

When Ryujin isn't a million and one words per minute, it feels, almost, it feels - she'd swear there was less noise in her own head: this thrumming in her brain has settled out; the walls around her and the echo coming off of them - the booming and pulsing - it's, gone.

Because even though there was an indistinct shape for where she had landed, in the aftermath, and nothing much had changed - all that did. You listen, and that alone makes it so you're both exactly where you’re supposed to be, even if this, tonight - you are unsure, if it will actually fix anything - if anything needs fixing at all.)

#ryujin smut #itzy smut #itzy ryujin smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember

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