#all good & believable lies have a bit of truth in them

[fellow-fandom-fruitifier]

Wukong is a good person who has made horrible mistakes. I think ppl just kinda forget that good ppl can do horrible things and bad ppl can do great things, life isn’t b&w bestie. SWK has done stupid and horrible shit but he’s also trying, which is a lot more than most ppl can say, also he never rlly did anything w/ a malicious intent? It was always 2 protect ppl or bcz he’s a stupid impulsive idiot

I’m not excusing his actions nor am I saying it should b a forget forgive kinda thing (I think it’s perfectly valid if the ppl he’s wronged don’t ever wanna forgive him) but I am saying he’s not a horrible person. He’s not a bad person, he’s a good person who’s done horrible shit, there’s a difference

[inhonoredglory]

Aziraphale’s Choice, the Job Connection, and Michael Sheen’s Morality

Update: Michael Sheen liked this post on Twitter, so I'm fairly certain there is a lot of validity to it.

I’ve had time to process Aziraphale’s choice at the end of Season 2. And I think only blaming the religious trauma misses something important in Aziraphale’s character. I think what happened was also Aziraphale’s own conscious choice––as a growth from his trauma, in fact. Hear me out.

Since November 2022 I’ve been haunted by something Michael Sheen said at the MCM London Comic Con. At the Q&A, someone asked him about which fantasy creature he enjoyed playing most and Michael (bless him, truly) veered on a tangent about angels and goodness and how, specifically,

We as a society tend to sort of undervalue goodness. It’s sort of seen as sort of somehow weak and a bit nimby and “oh it’s nice.” And I think to be good takes enormous reserves of courage and stamina. I mean, you have to look the dark in the face to be truly good and to be truly of the light…. The idea that goodness is somehow lesser and less interesting and not as kind of muscular and as passionate and as fierce as evil somehow and darkness, I think is nonsense. The idea of being able to portray an angel, a being of love. I love seeing the things people have put online about angels being ferocious creatures, and I love that. I think that’s a really good representation of what goodness can be, what it should be, I suppose.

I was looking forward to BAMF!Aziraphale all season long, and I think that’s what we got in the end. Remember Neil said that the Job minisode was important for Aziraphale’s story. Remember how Aziraphale sat on that rock and reconciled to himself that he MUST go to Hell, because he lied and thwarted the will of God. He believed that––truly, honestly, with the faith of a child, but the bravery of a soldier.

Aziraphale, a being of love with more goodness than all of Heaven combined, believed he needed to walk through the Gates of Hell because it was the Right Thing to do. (Like Job, he didn’t understand his sin but believed he needed to sacrifice his happiness to do the Right Thing.)

That’s why we saw Aziraphale as a soldier this season: the bookshop battle, the halo. But yes, the ending as well.

Because Aziraphale never wanted to go to Heaven, and he never wanted to go there without Crowley.

But it was Crowley who taught him that he could, even SHOULD, act when his moral heart told him something was wrong. While Crowley was willing to run away and let the world burn, it was Aziraphale (in that bandstand at the end of the world) who stood his ground and said No. We can make a difference. We can save everyone.

And Aziraphale knew he could not give up the ace up his sleeve (his position as an angel) to talk to God and make them see the truth in his heart.

I was messed up by Ineffable Bureaucracy (Boxfly) getting their happy ending when our Ineffable Husbands didn’t, but I see now that them running away served to prove something to Aziraphale. (And I am fully convinced that Gabriel and Beelzebub saw the example of the Ineffables at the Not-pocalypse and took inspiration from them for choosing to ditch their respective sides)

But my point is that Aziraphale saw them, and in some ways, they looked like him and Crowley. And he saw how Gabriel, the biggest bully in Heaven, was also like him in a way (a being capable of love) and also just a child when he wasn’t influenced by the poison of Heaven. Muriel, too, wasn’t a bad person. The Metatron also seemed to have grown more flexible with his morality (from Aziraphale's perspective). Like Earth, Heaven was shades of (light?) gray.

Aziraphale is too good an angel not to believe in hope. Or forgiveness (something he’s very good at it).

Aziraphale has been scarred by Heaven all his life. But with the cracks in Heaven’s armor (cracks he and Crowley helped create), Aziraphale is seeing something else. A chance to change them. They did terrible things to him, but he is better than them, and because of Crowley, he feels ready to face them.

(Will it work? Can Heaven change, institutionally? Probably not, but I can't blame Aziraphale for trying.)

At the cafe, the Metatron said something big was coming in the Great Plan. Aziraphale knows how trapped he had felt when he didn’t have God’s ear the first time something huge happened in the Big Plan. He can’t take a chance again to risk the world by not having a foot in the door of Heaven. That’s why we saw individual human deaths (or the threat of death) so much more this season: Elspeth, Wee Morag, Job’s children, the 1940s magician. Aziraphale almost killed a child when he couldn’t get through to God, and he’s not going through that again.

“We could make a difference.” We could save everyone.

Remember what Michael Sheen said about courage and doing good––and having to “look the dark in the face to be truly good.” That’s what happened when Aziraphale was willing to go to Hell for his actions. That’s what happened when he decided he had to go to Heaven, where he had been abused and belittled and made to feel small. He decided to willingly go into the Lion’s Den, to face his abusers and his anxiety, to make them better so that they would not try to destroy the world again.

Him, just one angel. He needed Crowley to be there with him, to help him be brave, to ask the questions that Heaven needed to hear, to tell them God was wrong. Crowley is the inspiration that drives Aziraphale’s change, Crowley is the engine that fuels Aziraphale’s courage.

But then Crowley tells him that going to Heaven is stupid. That they don’t need Heaven. And he’s right. Aziraphale knows he’s right.

Aziraphale doesn’t need Heaven; Heaven needs him. They just don’t know how much they need him, or how much humanity needs him there, too. (If everyone who ran for office was corrupt, how can the system change?)

Terry Pratchett (in the Discworld book, Small Gods) is scathing of God, organized religion, and the corrupt people religion empowers, but he is sympathetic to the individual who has real, pure faith and a good heart. In fact, the everyman protagonist of Small Gods is a better person than the god he serves, and in the end, he ends up changing the church to be better, more open-minded, and more humanist than god could ever do alone.

Aziraphale is willing to go to the darkest places to do the Right Thing, and Heaven is no exception. When Crowley says that Heaven is toxic, that’s exactly why Aziraphale knows he needs to go there. “You’re exactly is different from my exactly.”

____

In the aftermath of Trump's election in the US, Brexit happened in 2018. Michael Sheen felt compelled to figure out what was going on in his country after this shock. But he was living in Los Angeles with Sarah Silverman at the time, and she also wanted to become more politically active in the US.

Sheen: “I felt a responsibility to do something, but it [meant] coming back [to Britain] – which was difficult for us, because we were very important to each other. But we both acknowledge that each of us had to do what we needed to do.” In the end, they split up and Michael moved back to the UK.

Sometimes doing the Right Thing means sacrificing your own happiness. Sometimes it means going to Hell. Sometimes it means going to Heaven. Sometimes it means losing a relationship.

And that��s why what happened in the end was so difficult for Aziraphale. Because he loves Crowley desperately. He wants to be together. He wanted that kiss for thousands of years. He knows that taking command of Heaven means they would never again have to bow to the demands of a God they couldn’t understand, or run from a Hell who still came after them. They could change the rules of the game.

And he’s still going to do that. But it hurts him that he has to do that alone.

[daycourtofficial]

Azriel’s Girls

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 2.6k | warnings: none

Summary: you overhear a conversation between Azriel and his brothers that has you second guessing your boyfriend’s faithfulness. What will you find when you follow him out one night?

Author’s note: two fics one day! This is crack lmao I wrote this in a blur this afternoon from a silly convo with @milswrites @prythianpages and @ninthcircleofprythian lmao

You and Feyre came into the River House giggling over the amount of paint that covered the both of you. The two of you stop laughing long enough to look at each other, before devolving into fits of giggles once more. One of the boys in the studio had insisted on today’s topic being finger painting, which led to the children essentially dipping their hands into paint before smearing it over all of your clothes.

“Are you sure you don’t want to shower here?” Her voice is soft and kind, a slight rasp to it from talking to the kids all afternoon.

“Thanks Fey, but I’d rather shower at home so I can slip into my pajamas and go to sleep.” You look away from her, as if you could see him through the walls. “Maybe I can even convince Azriel to rub my back. I shouldn't have given some piggy back rides.”

Feyre hums, a soft ‘told you so’ on her tongue, but you give her a pointed look and she keeps it to herself.

“Well, I’m going to go wash up. Good luck finding the boys.”

Her voice floats down the hallway she takes, and you start thinking about where to look - the most obvious place being Rhys’s study. Your feet pad through the halls until you start to hear three loud laughs coming from the cracked study door.

You keep moving towards the source, ready to make your presence known, when you hear Cassian say, “when will you see them again?”

Your boyfriend responds with a soft, “tonight”, eliciting raucous laughter from his brothers. You still, pressing yourself towards the wall, tilting your head in contemplation.

Azriel had told you he had plans tonight, that he was doing something important for Rhys. Had he lied to you?

Cassian’s voice cuts through your train of thoughts, “I’m sure the girls at Rosehall have been missing you.”

Rosehall?

You scrunch your eyebrows, trying to remember if you had ever heard of Rosehall. Was it somewhere in Velaris? Was it a pleasure hall? Who were these girls Cassian spoke of?

Had your sweet Azriel been sneaking around, and his brothers were aware of it? Had they been condoning it?

“I haven’t been able to see them in a while, they’ll be glad for the company.”

“I’m sure they’ll be crawling all over you, brother.”

Their laughs were knives in your heart. Did everyone know? Were you nothing more than a fool to them? Nothing more than a mere joke to these males? Your mind was racing, not paying any mind to the rest of the conversation as you ran down the hall into the kitchens, getting yourself a glass of water. You chugged it, the cool liquid giving your racing thoughts something else to focus on. Like a plan to figure out the truth.

After a few minutes of allowing yourself to seethe and panic, you retraced your steps towards Rhys’s study with your plan in tow: get to Rosehall, find out who these girls are, and yell and scream at Azriel and his brothers for playing you for a fool. As you approach, the males within were now speaking of some sporting event you were not the slightest bit interested in. Azriel’s face brightens as you knock and enter, pushing the door that was slightly ajar. You hate the way your heart picks up a bit at seeing him, at seeing how his face lights up at your presence, your cheeks heating at his attention.

He’s a lying, backstabbing, good for nothing-

“How was painting with Feyre?”

The attention from all three of them pulls you from your thought spiral and you choke on your own spit, coughing a bit. Azriel’s smile turns into a look of concern as he watches you, but Cassian chuckles. “Did you eat the paint by accident?”

Rhysand’s low tone chimes in, “I believe she’s wearing half the paint in Feyre’s studio, and I’m sure my mate’s wearing the other half.”

You chuckle, “uh yeah, Feyre was heading to shower when I left her.”

Rhys dips his head, “that's my cue to leave. BRothers, always a pleasure until better things come along. I’ll see you all later.”

Cassian laughs as Rhys disappears in front of you all, “horny bastard.”

Azriel glares at his brother, “and the pot calls the kettle black.”

Cassian scoffs, flicking his wrist in the air, “pish posh, Azriel. The past is the past.”

“Your past was last week when everytime I came back to the House of Wind for two weeks I got front row seats to your ass.”

“Well, it's our house. And I have a fantastic ass.”

Cassian flexes his thighs, as if Azriel just had to see it to mitigate his annoyance.

“I live there too.”

Cassian shrugs, as if this was a matter of opinion to just accept differences over.

Azriel looks back to you, his eyes making you feel warm, just as they always did. But the warmth was quickly devolving into a ball of anger and sadness, warming your stomach with jealousy and annoyance.

You slap a smile onto your face as you look towards Az, taking in his lazy grin as Cassian slaps him on the back. “I’m off to see Nes. You kids have fun!”

Cassian walks toward the balcony, taking to the skies. Azriel turns toward you, offering his hand so the two of you could embark as well. You accept his hand in yours, a little part of your mind telling you this is the last time you’ll do this. You laugh, pushing the thoughts to the side as you allow Azriel to pick you up, the two of you shooting up into the air.

Azriel flies you back to your apartment, his wings expertly moving over the streets of Velaris. You can’t help the smile on your face as you two fly through the air, watching the people below you until he lands right in front of your home.

You open the door for the both of you, and he follows closely behind. He chuckles at your paint covered clothes, and you fidget slightly, wanting him to make the move to leave.

The clock in your living room chimes, and his gaze moves towards it. “It’s getting late, I have to go. Will you be okay?”

You nod, your arms tightening around yourself. He takes your nervous energy as your hatred for sleeping alone, not wanting to upset you further by making you speak about it.

“How long will you be gone?”

He ponders for a moment, “I should be back tomorrow or the day after.”

He turns toward the door, but you shoot out your hand to grab his wrist. “Can I have one of your shadows? To keep me company? I like having them around.”

One shadow in particular dances at your words, coming from behind Azriel, practically spinning in the air as it immediately rushes to you.

“I hope you like that one because I don’t think it’ll let a different one stay with you.”

You giggle as it weaves through your hair, picking it up into a ponytail before dropping it.

“Perfect, so I’ll have someone to be witness to my antics.”

You giggle, but his face is solemn as he looks at you, something feeling so off about your behavior.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

His words are so soft, and every part of you wants to tell him no, I’m not okay, because you are seeing other women who will be crawling all over you once you leave from here.

Instead you nod, making up an excuse about your eyes being tired from all the painting. He kisses your forehead, his lips soft and light against your skin before pulling away and stepping out of your door before winnowing away.

You count your breath for a few beats before turning to the shadow, “do you know where Rosehall is?”

-

Of all of your terrible ideas over the years, this one was perhaps the worst. You had asked the shadow where Rosehall was, expecting it to be somewhere in Velaris, likely in the parts of the city you were less familiar with. You did not expect the black wisp to wrap around your wrist and begin tugging you away from Velaris very forcefully.

You had started getting nervous when it kept pulling you towards the outskirts, but you were in it now, and you were going to see this ridiculous scheme through to the end.

The shadow had been pulling you for hours it seemed, across landscapes, your feet killing you as you walked, and somewhere several miles away from Velaris, the shadow’s hold loosened on your wrist, opting to move up and down your arm, as if telling you this was your destination.

“Are you sure this is right?”

The shadow danced all around you as if it were confirming your statement. You looked at the gated entrance, the estate so lush and green and not at all what you had expected, it took you by surprise.

This was where he brought women? To do scandalous things and have nights full of debauchery? Was this some beautiful and well-tended pleasure hall? Before you can debate going through the gate, the shadow moves forward, unlatching it and pushing it open for you.

You sigh, thinking to yourself no going back now.

You enter through the gate, preparing yourself to hear the sounds of females giggling, perhaps even moaning, but you are completely taken aback at the chorus of meows you hear, followed by a door opening, and Azriel’s soft voice calling out, “if you’re here for my mother, she has stepped out-”

His voice stops as he takes in the sight of you, the two of you standing before each other across the lush estate. His eyes swim with confusion, and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him at such a loss for words or the situation before. He continues to look at you, before realizing he’s carrying a tray of various raw meats and fish. He takes no notice of the dozen or so cats circling him, several trying to climb up his legs toward the food he carries.

“You- what are- how did you get here?”

You lift up the shadow that was entwined with your arm before it skitters off to join the other shadows playing games with the cats who weren’t paying attention to Azriel. You try not to wear the confusion on your face, hoping desperately to have some upper hand here.

“Is this Rosehall?”

Azriel sighs, setting down the food as one of the cats lunges to bite at his arm, missing and falling back into the pool of cats at Azriel’s feet.

“Yes.”

You puff up your chest, confusion seeping through your features as you ask, “and where are the females? The girls?”

“The girls?” His voice is incredulous, and you want to roll your eyes at it.

“Yes, the girls. The ones who wish to climb all over you because you haven’t been paying them attention.”

His long legs start to make their way across the front garden, the sea of cats at his feet parting as he makes his way through them. “The girls who climb over me?”

You sigh, exasperation evident, “must you repeat my words? Yes, okay fine. I overheard Cassian speaking of your plans this evening with ‘your girls’. Now why don’t you bring them out and show me to be a fool?”

A deep, belly laugh comes from his mouth, and you are utterly offended.

“Azriel, I came here to put you through the ringer for stepping out on me, and you find it funny?”

He steps forward, trying to put his arms around you but you step away from his embrace. His laughing continues as he asks, “you walked all the way here?”

“Yes.”

You stick out your chin, determined to look strong and confident.

“You walked all the way from Velaris to here, to find out I had cats?”

“Why yes, I did walk all the way here to find out-”

Your words die on your tongue as you look around, not seeing any other females anywhere. You picked up the scent of one, but the scent smelled so much like Azriel, they had to be related in some way.

He watches your nose twitch, separating out all the smells beneath the ever present smell of cat.

“My mother lives here.”

He coughs, the joyous look from his laughter gone, his hands moving behind his back. He rocks on his feet, and you found it quite endearing.

“With my cats.”

“Your cats?”

“Yes, but they’re not really mine. They just show up.”

“Your cats show up? What does that mean?”

“It means, if I spend any time in Illyria the cats seek me out. I’ve already fixed the stray cat problem in Velaris.”

He opens his arms wide.

“They’re all here. Problem solved, I suppose.”

You blink, slightly convinced Rhys had finally broken your mind and made up the most ridiculous scenario he could imagine. You feel one of the cats rub against your legs, and you bend slightly to nuzzle its face. It was pitch black with bright green eyes. It was so little, you couldn’t help but pick it up despite its verbal protests.

“You have cats.”

“Yes, and Rhys and Cassian despise the cats. Rhys says he’s allergic, but I think he’s just too worried about his damn furniture.”

“And Cassian?”

“Cats hate Cassian.”

He says this as if it’s an uncontested fact.

“How can all cats hate one person?”

“He likes to swing them by their tails.”

You nod, “okay, maybe all cats can hate one person.”

As the two of you spoke the shadows had lifted a cat up onto Azriel’s shoulders, where it stood meowing and pawing at the black wisps. You watched in bewilderment, unsure if the shadows were playing pranks or not, when the cat slid from his shoulder into the crook of his elbow, nuzzling into the warmth there.

You cross your arms, heat blooming in your cheeks at your rash decision making. “So there aren’t beautiful females here?”

“There’s one.”

“I knew i- oh. You meant me.”

You deflate once more, letting the adrenaline seep from your body. You were exhausted, well and truly. He nodded before putting the cat down, watching it scamper off into the grass. “I shouldn’t have lied about where I was going. Several dozen cats are just… a lot to spring on someone at once.”

You look to the ground, fingers scratching the ears of the kitten you were holding, “and maybe I got a little…. carried away.”

He quirked an eyebrow, “you picked the wrong shoes to hike out here from Velaris.”

You looked down at your sneakers, chuckling, “uh yeah, I definitely need to soak my feet for a bit.”

“Do you want to come inside?” He watches you hesitantly before asking, “Or I could take you home?”

You look toward the beautiful estate before peering back down at the wiggling kitten in your arms, before deciding that you did want to see Azriel’s mother’s home and to hopefully meet her. “Are you going to tell your mother about how I got here?”

He chuckles, slow and soft, “of course I am. She’d be endlessly amused.”

“Do you have any black felt? I’d love to make this little guy some wings.”

He chuckles, rolling his eyes as he puts an arm around your shoulder, leading you inside. “While you play arts and crafts, I can formally introduce you to all of the other cats.”

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @ninthcircleofprythian

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin

Thanks for reading ❣️

[sundrop-writes]

Stupid For You

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

Hey - tell me what you want me to say. You know I’m Stupid For You.

I’ll take what I can get.

The best is hard to grip when everybody wants you, and everybody wants you.

Summary:

Stiles tried to return your panties - he really did.

But he still has the contraband in his possession, and he accidentally drops the underwear in the locker room in front of the entire lacrosse team. To cover up the fact that he stole them, he lies and says that he got them from you after a hook-up. And surprisingly - you back up his story?

Only with the promise that he helps you turn his lie into the truth.

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Best Friend!Fem!Reader. Best Friends to Lovers. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 11,900

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Before you read this fic, be sure to read BRAINWASHED. This fic can be read as a standalone, but you get more Stiles goodness by reading both, and the context of this one will make more sense if you read the other fic first.

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; this fic DOES use Y/N; as with the previous fic - the reader is implied to be fat/plus-sized; also again - for argument's sake, even though the character's in this fic are in high school, everyone is at least 18 (and the fic was inspired by a 20 something actor, so imagine the characters to be whatever age you want); mentions of panty stealing (carried over from the previous fic - Stiles stole a pair of the reader's panties in that fic and still has them in his possession); mentions of Stiles masturbating, but not described in detail like last time; mentions of Stiles having sexual fantasies about the reader; the rest of the lacrosse team finds Stiles with the panties and mocks him for it - they mock him for potentially having the panties to wear them and call him a 'cross-dresser', so I guess the warning here is transphobia and transphobic ideas (which would be very typical of high school boys, especially around the time this show was made in 2011); mentions of other members of the lacrosse team finding the reader sexually attractive (it is implied that the reader is generally known as a hot, attractive girl); mention of the reader wearing a 'slutty' Halloween costume to a party (Stiles has a picture of it that he 'loves'); for the actual smut section - the reader is dominant and Stiles is submissive; size kink - Stiles likes being manhandled by the reader because he is thin and skinny; the reader imposes rules on Stiles as a dom and he follows them, but there is no safeword implemented or needed (as the writer, I say they don't need one because they will never be put in danger of using one) (because they are fictional characters and their hard 'nos' will never come into play and only things they want will happen); orgasm restriction - Stiles has to ask the reader in order for permission before cumming; bondage - the reader uses a scarf to tie Stiles's wrists to the bed; the reader gives Stiles a handjob; lots of dirty talk; orgasm denial/edging (towards Stiles); the reader calls Stiles: needy boy, good boy, babe, baby, sweetheart; undertones of humiliation kink; undertones of pain kink (nothing severe, but Stiles does like a bit of pain); begging (from Stiles, a lot); protected penis in vagina sex (they DO use a condom this time) (different, I know); Stiles sucks on the reader's tits; Stiles eats the reader's pussy; thigh riding - Stiles grinds against the reader's thigh to cum; praise kink - towards Stiles; the reader calls Stiles 'pretty'; undertones of dumbification kink; I believe that is finally it. I hope you all enjoy!!

A/N: So, I have some mixed feelings about releasing this fic. Currently, I am only rushing to edit and release it in order to get it off my plate, and I want to do so before the end of the year. I wrote this during the hiatus, when I was writing fics without editing them and I really enjoyed getting to write a fic and go onto the sequel without having to stop and think too much about it. But to me, the first fic feels naturally complete. And so I didn't really like people nagging and continually asking for a sequel to the other fic as if it's not a complete fic on its own. It's only recently that I found a way to put it into words. Whenever I release a fic and people only care about seeing a sequel or a second part (especially if it's a oneshot with an intentional ending and people ask for a sequel like it's something so urgent), it makes me feel like that fic is not good enough because people view that fic as incomplete on its own. I know people think it's a compliment or flattering to ask for a sequel, but to me, if you like my writing, ask for me to write more for those same characters or in that same fandom - but if you are constantly asking for a sequel to a specific fic, it makes me think that you think that fic is not good and it needs to be completed in some way. But anyway - I tried to remember why I had fun writing this fic in the first place, and if anybody starts asking for a 'part three', I will start swinging. (THERE WILL NOT BE A PART THREE.) Also, when I originally wrote this, I was watching Season 1 and I had not met Isaac yet, so for my own fun, as my own special treat, I added Isaac to the locker room scene. Because he is my baby. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fic!

...

A week later, Stiles still had not returned the stolen panties to you. 

It was something that he kept meaning to do. Honestly, he really did. 

But he just never got the chance to. 

Somehow, in that entire week, he had never been left alone in your room. Not for long enough to actually figure out what to do with the stolen goods. Should he leave them in your hamper and let you find them in the laundry? Should he slip them back into your drawer like nothing had happened since, technically, they were clean? He always ended up panicking and shoving them back into his bag whenever he heard you coming back down the hall. 

On other nights when the two of you had been studying together, it had been at his place instead of yours. And any time he had gone over to your house, you had been with him pretty much the whole time. 

And okay - maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Maybe you had taken bathroom breaks or left the room for a while because your mom wanted to talk to you. Or you ran downstairs to grab a pizza that you had ordered to share with him - but every time he opened his backpack to grab the panties in order to put them back, he felt some insane thing inside his head telling him that he just couldn’t do it. Part of him thought that it was fear over getting caught - the idea that you would walk back into the room just in time to see him with the evidence in hand. 

But deep down, he knew it was a possessiveness. The idea that these panties were now his. They belonged to him now and he didn’t want to put them back. Those panties were his prize - his special, secret little part of you. And he couldn’t give that up. Not yet. 

He hadn’t jacked off with them since that first time. Well, he hadn’t specifically put them around his cock and made a mess of them in the same way. But he held them in a clean hand and enjoyed the texture of the lace, enjoyed the thought of you wearing them - while he used his other lubed hand to make himself cum. And he had done that every single night, sometimes twice, since he had taken them. It was becoming a bit of a worrying habit. 

He was wondering if you had noticed them gone yet. 

Maybe, when he finally did get rid of them, he wouldn’t return them back to you - he would have to burn them or something, just to get rid of the evidence. And then he would have to go on believing that you either hadn’t noticed the specific pair gone or you went on thinking that you had simply just lost them. 

But he couldn’t dwell on that for too long - because he did actually have other things to do besides viciously jerking off to thoughts about you. Even though that activity alone took up way too much of his time these days. Surprisingly, he was doing a lot better in his classes thanks to studying with you (he actually managed to retain a lot more of the material when you explained it to him), and he had just made First Line of the lacrosse team due to a horrible outbreak of pink eye. So things in his life were really looking up. 

The team funneled into the locker room, sweaty and tired after their practice, but personally - Stiles was glowing. 

He felt like he had done particularly well that day, and you had shown up to watch his practice. Even if Coach kept getting his name wrong and you had almost stormed into the middle of the field to scream at him about it. Overall, it was a good day. And he had a study date with you planned after this, so he had nothing but excitement brewing in his stomach at the idea of getting to spend more time with you. 

But then - it happened. 

He had almost completely forgotten that the contraband stolen panties were even in his bag. The item had become such a normal part of his life now that he hadn’t even considered what might happen if someone else found them on his person. So he thought nothing of putting his bag on the bench in the middle of the room and rooting through it, wide open, looking for the fresh clothes he had brought with him. (Of course, the only reason he had even brought fresh clothes was because he knew he would be hanging out with you later, and he wanted to avoid another Mustard Stain Incident.) 

When he took out these fresh clothes and began dressing (fresh out of the showers, of course) - it was just a tiny blur in the corner of his eye. Just a little streak of purple falling to the floor. As he put his second foot into his jeans, he spotted them, right there, sitting in the middle of the locker room floor - and his heart stopped. 

Naturally - someone else spotted them too. 

And just as Stiles raced to pick them up, another hand snatched them out from under him. 

“Woah, Stiles.” Danny’s voice chuckled, rising back to his full height. “Are these yours?” 

Mockery was dripping in every inch of his words, and Stiles’s heart raced. He rushed to pull his pants up, not yet fastening his zipper, and he glared at Danny, entirely lost for words. He moved to snatch the purple lace panties where Danny was dangling them off one finger, partly disgusted, partly amused. 

Naturally, Danny dodged the move, still looking at Stiles with mockery written all over his face. 

“Ya know, this really isn’t your color - red would look much better on you.” Danny smirked. 

Wait - he thought that Stiles had them because he had been wearing them? 

This comment easily caught Jackson’s attention, who slammed his locker door shut and moved to see what his friend was talking about. 

“Oh my god,” He chuckled, looking at the item in Danny’s hand and then back to Stiles, amusement spreading into a horrible grin across his face. “You’re a cross-dresser! This is too good. I always knew you were a freak, but this just brings it to a whole new level.” 

Jackson’s loud voice caught the attention of the entire team, who all craned their necks to see what he spoke of - including Scott, who practically ran around the corner with his hair still soaking wet and some suds dripping off him, a towel hastily wrapped around his waist as he raced to see what Jackson meant. 

“What?” Scott balked, looking at Stiles entirely confused. 

“Look, they’re not mine!” 

Stiles barked, panic setting in as he realized how fast the rumor would spread. It would be incredibly juicy gossip, if it were true (and most people didn’t care if gossip was true or not, which would make it spread even faster) - so he rushed to stamp it out before that could happen. 

“They belong to Y/N!” 

With this harsh declaration, he reached out and snatched them back, and Danny was too shocked by these words to move away this time. 

The room fell deadly silent, save for the distant hum of the shower that Scott had left running in his haste to watch the confrontation unfold. Everyone was staring at Stiles unabashedly now, very clearly shocked by his words. 

Fuck. 

Stiles’s heartbeat ramped up again. He had been so quick to try and exonerate himself that he had walked into a whole new problem: 

Now everyone on the team would find out that he was a panty-stealing pervert. And he wasn’t sure which reputation was worse: that, or being assumed to be a secret cross-dresser. 

“Seriously?” Isaac asked, being the first one to speak up and break the silence. “Because if you of all people managed to hit that,” He let out a low whistle, let a train blowing out a hoot of steam. “I admire you. She is so fucking hot. Normally she doesn’t give guys at this school the time of day. How did you-?” 

“No, no fucking way, they’re not hers.” Jackson scoffed, cutting off Isaac’s congratulatory words, immediately in disbelief. His natural instinct was to think that Stiles would never be able to get with someone as hot as you. “She’s a ten and you’re a solid three. Maybe. In the dark. With a bag on your head. That so did not happen.” 

Stiles frowned at the insult, but he was relieved that nobody suspected that he had stolen the underwear. Nobody had seen through him to the much more likely truth. 

“Come on, he’s like a four.” Danny added on. “He could easily be a seven if he changed his hair.” 

Feeling suddenly self conscious, Stiles put a hand up to his head - and felt entirely confused about where this conversation was going. 

“You’re getting off topic,” Scott piped up, looking between Danny and Stiles, his face nothing but pure confusion. “You’re telling us that you finally, actually went for it?” 

He was shocked that you and Stiles had gotten together without him knowing it. And he was slightly disappointed that his best friend had gotten some action with his long-time crush without telling him about it. 

“Yeah, come on - give us some details.” Isaac added on with a grin.

“Yes, yes I did! I finally went for it.” Stiles replied, mocking confidence, puffing out his chest. “Y/N and I hooked up in my Jeep last week. And these are hers,” He added on, proudly holding up the underwear as his prize. 

If he was going to screw himself with a lie, he might as well make it a big one. 

“Really?” Jackson posed, clearly still not believing him. “So - how did it go down? Did you get to second base? Third?” 

“Uh… remind me of the bases again?” Stiles muttered. 

Isaac rolled his eyes, and Scott looked as though he was making calculations in his head. 

“What was it - handjob? Blowie? Did you finger her? When did you get those?” Jackson persisted. “Is she a screamer?” 

Stiles’s gut twisted. So he was going to need details for his fake story. 

“You are so utterly barbaric.” Danny muttered, turning back to his locker, clearly tuning out of the conversation now that it had gotten too ‘straight’ for him. 

“Gross!” Scott disrupted Stiles’s internal panic with a face of twisted disgust. “Can we not talk about one of my best friends like this? Please?” 

“Jesus, Scott, don’t ruin this for me,” Isaac whined, rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, McCall, shut it.” Jackson grunted, dismissing him. “I just wanna know if Stiles here is lying.” 

Scott simply rolled his eyes and retreated back to the shower. He was someone who truly believed Stiles at his word. Even if he had never smelled the pheromones of sex on him, he guessed that ‘hooked up’ meant something else to Stiles. 

Stiles hated that this left him alone with several pairs of eyes dissecting him - the guys on the team who were perverted and gossipy enough to want to know the details of his hook-up with you. 

“Well - I’m not lying.” Stiles hissed through his teeth. “She - we. Well - we made-out in the backseat. And then - she - she rode my dick. Hard.” He said, knowing that his tone didn’t sound the most confident. But he supposedly had proof right there in the form of your underwear. 

“Hmm, really?” Jackson replied, still not convinced. “You know what? Why don’t we just go and ask Y/N about this whole thing? She and Lydia are waiting outside, aren’t they?” 

Oh fuck. 

Stiles was screwed. So, so screwed. 

His stomach rose up into his throat and he couldn’t get words out, couldn’t scream out ‘no’, couldn’t do anything to stop Jackson (who was fully dressed and ready) as he snatched the underwear out of Stiles’s hand and marched out into the hallway. All Stiles could do was rush out into the hallway in pursuit, following Jackson and the group of gawking looky-loos that had followed who now seemed very interested in this piece of drama. 

Stiles didn’t even have time to pay attention to the fact that he wasn’t yet dressed himself - he didn’t have a shirt or shoes on and his pants weren’t even fastened. He couldn’t bring himself to mind because he was about to be outed as a thief and a pervert, and likely about to be violently jumped by the entire team for it. 

He wished that he still had his lacrosse pads on. 

You and Lydia were standing against a couple of random lockers, chatting idly, and you both looked utterly confused by the mob approaching. Lydia looked even more confused (with a hint of disgust) when she saw that Stiles was still half naked, and if Stiles wasn’t flooded with panic, he might have noticed you raking your eyes over his torso with a certain hunger and then licking your lips. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Jackson smiled at you trying to be charming. “These fell out of-” He held up the underwear to show you, and you immediately frowned. 

“Ew! Why do you have them?” You cut him off, snatching them back before he could finish his sentence. 

“Are those your underwear?” Lydia asked, looking between you and Jackson with anger brewing. “Jackson, why do you have another girl’s underwear?” She ground out sharply. 

“Well, as I was saying,” He said, clearly annoyed. “Those fell out of Stiles’s backpack. And he claims that he only has them because he hooked up with you, Y/N,” 

You and Lydia both looked at Stiles - you, with a certain content glow in your eyes, and Lydia, glaring at him while her lips curled in unhidden disgust. Jackson stood there with a smirk, as though waiting to be right, and there was a moment where nobody spoke that Stiles swore his heart swelled up and climbed out of his throat. 

Then, you let out a soft laugh and said: 

“Yeah. We did. Why is this such big news?” 

Jackson glared at you and Lydia’s expression of disgust became even more prominent. Stiles became dizzy with shock and he hoped that nobody noticed the way his chest flexed as he let out a breath of relief. 

Thank God - you were covering for him. 

Wait. Why were you covering for him? 

“He and I have been hooking up for months now. We didn’t want to parade it around the school as gossip and I made him promise that I wouldn’t become locker room talk,” You stressed these words, giving him a small glare. 

Behind Jackson, Isaac’s face became painted with guilt. 

“But it’s true.” You said, giving Stiles an oddly sultry look. He knew he was standing there with his mouth stupidly agape, but he just couldn’t find it in him to close his mouth. “The last time we hooked up, I gave him these panties in case he got lonely on nights I can’t visit.” 

You reached out, running a single finger along his bare torso from sternum right to the waistband of his underwear where they were sticking out of his jeans - and yup, his dick was definitely ballooning to life now. 

“I didn’t intend for everybody on the lacrosse team to put their grubby hands all over them.” You said this sharply, glaring at Jackson now. 

He simply rolled his eyes in reply. Clearly, he hated the idea that he had been wrong, and he was pouting in silence now. 

“Okay, this has been sufficiently gross.” Lydia announced, effectively ending the conversation. “Jackson, can you go get your stuff so we can leave? We have dinner with my mom at five, and-” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Jackson sighed, rolling his eyes again. 

“Stiles, you better hurry up too.” You told him. “I need to get that bra I left in the back of your Jeep.” 

And then - much to his shock, you leaned in and laid a kiss right on his lips. Firm, but fast. Laying a claim on him right in front of everyone. Owning up to the story materially as much as you had with your words. 

If it hadn’t been for Jackson slapping him on the shoulder, Stiles would have been frozen with shock long after you pulled away. But then, he was on autopilot, walking back to the locker room with Jackson and the other onlookers who were whispering in hushed tones about him ‘banging such a hot girl’. 

“I gotta tell you, Stilinski, I did not think that you had it in you.” Jackson told him, this being a compliment coming from him. “But I guess somehow, you ended up with a ten.” 

“I definitely want more details later.” Isaac told him in a low whisper before he returned back to his own locker. 

Somehow - Stiles had come out on top in this situation. 

In the hallway behind them, Lydia sighed and locked you in a judgemental gaze. 

“Really? Stiles?” She asked, harshness seeping through her voice. 

“What?” You shrugged. “He’s cute.” 

Lydia waited for further explanation, and you folded. 

“...And he’s easy to boss around. I like it when he gets flustered from simple instructions, but then does it anyway.” 

“Oh.” Lydia nodded. “So it’s a kink thing.” 

You laughed, shaking your head. You couldn’t entirely disagree with her. 

… 

It wasn’t until Stiles was nearly finished dressing, sitting on the bench tying his shoes that it truly hit him: 

He was still utterly screwed. 

Even if the guys on the team thought he was some high school hero for somehow managing to get into your pants (some of them high-fiving him and patting him on the shoulder in congratulations before they left the locker room). And even if, for some bizarre reason, you had chosen to cover for him in front of everyone (he put that on you being a loyal best friend and quite literally not wanting to air your dirty laundry in front of everyone) - you still knew the truth. You and Stiles might be the only people who knew, but both of you still knew the truth. 

For a minute there, he had been deluded enough to start believing his own bullshit story. But it was still complete bullshit. 

There hadn’t been some heat of the moment romp in the back of his Jeep that resulted in you naked for him, losing your underwear or giving them to him as a reward. He was still a pathetic virgin who had stolen them and had no right to have them in the first place. He still had to face you, likely knowing that this was the end of your friendship, because you were the only person who knew about the horrible thing that he had done. 

Stiles dreaded facing you, but he knew that he couldn’t hide out in the locker room forever. So he grabbed his gear and he braved his way into the parking lot, where you were now waiting by the Jeep since Lydia had left with Jackson. You were distracted, looking at something on your phone, and Stiles savored the few moments he had left to admire your beauty before you would declare that you hated him forever and never speak to him again. 

In all honesty, Stiles expected you to slap him, yell at him, and then leave. He expected you to, at the very least, tell him that the friendship was over and that he should never talk to you again. 

He was entirely surprised when he approached you and nothing of that nature happened. 

Instead, you gave him a cold, uninterested look before you said: 

“Door.” 

In the most deadpan voice ever, while motioning to the passenger’s side door - oh, of course. Obviously meaning for him to open the door for you. 

It was something he usually did upon instinct anyway (always bending over backwards to impress you) but today, the intense dread hanging over his head had caused him to forget. 

He rushed to get the door for you and you climbed into the passenger’s seat as you usually did, still not yet speaking to him. So then he busied himself with putting his gear in the back, still feeling anxiety curl in his gut at the conversation that would inevitably take place during the ride home. At least you still felt okay with riding with him. Perhaps the friendship wasn’t entirely ruined after all. 

He climbed into the driver’s seat and began fumbling with his keys in nervous, shaky hands, not yet ready to look you in the eye. You were staring at yourself in the flip-down mirror, fixing your hair, wiping off some lip gloss that had smeared. Usually this would be a moment he would absolutely drink in, loving to stare at you while you did such menial tasks. But today, after being caught doing such a horrible thing, he was absolutely drenched in guilt and he just couldn’t bring himself to face you. 

The two of you simmered in the silence for a few moments. He was waiting for you to bring it up - for you to scream, yell, hit him, do something. 

He was surprised by what came next. 

“You said your dad isn’t gonna be home tonight, right?” You posed, still looking in the mirror rather than at him. 

It was what he had told you at lunch, inviting you over to watch some horror movies that you had been bugging him to see. 

He had guessed those plans would be canceled, hinging on what had just happened. 

“Uh, yeah.” He said, confirming it once again. “He’s working the night shift.” 

“Good. We’ll go to your place then.” 

You thought he would start to drive at this confirmation, but he was still unsettled by anxiety. He was still waiting for you to acknowledge it, at least. 

“Ugh, okay… are you gonna yell at me?” He burst out, knowing that it was incredibly stupid, asking to be yelled at, but he truly didn’t know what else to do at this point. You gave him a strange look, almost confused, and ran his hands over his face in frustration. “Come on! We both know what happened!” 

“Stiles, my, my… what are you talking about?” 

Your voice was dripping with sarcasm and your eyes were filled with determined mischief, and he knew then and there - you wanted him to say it. You wanted him to blatantly confirm in his own words what he had done. 

Stiles let out a harsh sigh, leaning his head down and accidentally bumping his forehead against the steering wheel in a way that made the horn dully beep, the knot growing larger and tighter in his gut. 

“Come on, you know…” 

He trailed off, hoping that you wouldn’t actually force him to say it. He sat upright again, and you continued to look at him expectantly, patiently, and he swallowed around the terrible dryness in his throat before he forced himself to say it. 

“I - I stole your underwear and kept them in my bag.” 

You both knew that he was leaving out the part where he had masturbated with them. Even if you had no proof of that, it was starkly obvious to you. 

But you decided not to push him about that detail. (For now.) 

“Oh. That.” You said, continuing to sound utterly sarcastic in your cluelessness. 

Then your tone switched to something oddly genuine as you said something he never would have expected. 

“I’ve been waiting for like a week to see if you even had them. I kind of thought I was going crazy. I thought maybe my cat stole them because you weren’t fessing up and you didn’t try to bring them back,” You sighed. “I was worried my whole plan failed.” 

Something inside of Stiles snapped, and he thought it was the last branch on his tree of his sanity. He chose not to worry about it for now. 

“Y - your plan?” He stuttered out, barely grasping at the reality of what you had meant. 

You had wanted him to find your underwear? You wanted him to take them? You wanted him to-? 

You let out a bright, amused laugh. 

“Yes, dummy!” You said, reaching up and poking the side of his head while he stared at you in utter shock. “I left the panties there for you to take. You’re cute, but god - you’re really dense sometimes.” You let out a sigh. “Now drive, please. As long as the blood currently trapped in your dick isn’t gonna distract you too much.” 

He hated that he got a sick thrill from you mocking him and calling him ‘cute, but dense’. But he was glad that he was used to driving with boners that you had given him, because it didn’t distract him too horribly. Thoughts of what would happen when the two of you got there had him running a few stops signs, though. 

…

Stiles still wasn’t entirely sure how the heinous crime of stealing your panties had gotten him into this glorious position, but with the way things were going, he no longer cared to question it. 

The minute that the two of you got through his bedroom door, you grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him into a bruising kiss. He struggled to keep up, clumsy but entirely excited against the movement of your mouth, wondering if he had somehow gotten sucked into another heated daydream. 

But no, that couldn’t be true - because this was so much fucking better. 

The smell of your perfume in his nose, the little puffing breaths you let out against his cheek, the little moans that emanated from your throat. And holy hell, the feeling of your tongue shoving past his lips that caused him to let out a pathetic moan of his own as you seemed determined to filthily fuck his mouth with it. 

You were a lot more aggressive in real life than you were in his dreams. 

But he fucking loved it. He loved it so much. 

His cock was already throbbing in his pants, likely staining his boxers with copious amounts of precum as you walked him back toward the bed. You then used the hand you had in the middle of his chest to shove him roughly back onto it. 

“Oh my god.” 

He squeaked out the words at the feeling of being manhandled by you - given, he knew he didn’t weigh that much and he had made no effort to put up a fight, but it was still hot to know that you could shove him around so easily. Which was something he would have to mentally unpack with himself later. But for now, he would simply just enjoy it. 

While his dick continued to ache harder, he looked up at you in awe. You were standing at the foot of the bed with your lip gloss smeared, your chest heaving slightly with a wicked grin on your face. Stiles had never seen a more beautiful predator in all his life. The look in your eyes told him that he was about to be absolutely devoured by you - and he couldn’t fucking wait. 

“Y/N, please-” He was about to begin begging, but you cut him off sharply. 

“Shut up.” You barked, and he felt a beautiful wave of hormones crash over his body at this. You were much more aggressive than in his dreams. It was so perfect. “No more talking now.” 

You put a knee on the bed between where his thighs had naturally draped open and you leaned over his body, crowding tightly into his personal space. He hoped that the needy whine he couldn’t contain as you raked your nails across his scalp wouldn’t count as ‘talking’. He was desperate to follow your rules - so desperate to be a good boy for you. 

“You will do everything I tell you to.” You whispered against his lips, and he nearly began shaking as he resisted the urge to close the gap and kiss you again. “Unless you want me to tell all the boys on the team that you’re actually a filthy perv who stole my panties?” 

“Y-” He nearly gave a verbal confirmation of this, but then he remembered what you had said. 

No more talking. 

Instead, quickly picking up on following the rules, Stiles nodded his head aggressively. 

“From now on, you do not look at any other girl, you do not touch any other girl, you belong to me - do you understand?” 

He had no clue what ‘other girls’ you thought he might possibly be touching, or even talking to in a non-platonic way, but he got another tight thrill at being claimed as yours. He wanted so badly to be yours - to be your good boy. 

He nodded aggressively again - his tongue lolling out of his mouth, slick with want, practically drooling down his chin like a dog at this point, his eyes staring at you with a hypnotized kind of need. 

“When we are having sex, you do not speak unless prompted, you do not cum unless I give you permission, and from now on - you do not touch yourself unless I tell you to.” 

His cock throbbed weakly in protest at this. He swallowed thickly, his throat straining with complaints about your words. He knew it would be difficult to go from jerking off every morning and every night to likely not at all, but fuck - you, on top of him, you wanting to have sex with him - it was more than a fair price to pay. 

If someone had told him a week ago that he would be in this position, he would have given up anything for it. 

So naturally, he nodded again. 

“Do you understand?” 

He stayed silent, believing that he was following your rules. 

“Tell me that you understand.” 

“I understand.” Stiles breathed out in a rush, nodding again. 

“Good. Now take off your clothes.” 

You got off the bed again and he was momentarily distracted by watching you shuffle through your bag for something, but then he remembered the instruction. You wanted him to take off his clothes. You actually wanted to touch him. 

Stiles rushed to strip and he didn’t have time to be self conscious before you were kissing him again, drowning him in hot, open-mouthed kisses as he stepped out of his underwear and jeans where they were pooled around his ankles. You pushed him onto the bed again and this time followed him, straddling his waist while still fully clothed yourself. Wearing the shirt, skirt, and tights you had worn to school that day, making for an odd sensation as the fabric covering your hot cunt rubbed against his now bare, very hard dick. 

He didn’t think anything of it when you grabbed his hands and brought them above his head - but then there was fabric encircling his wrists, and he pulled himself away from your mouth to blink up dumbly, wondering what you were doing. 

You had gotten a scarf out of your bag, and you were tying him to the bedpost. 

“Remember what I said?” You grinned at him, tying a knot that was surprisingly secure. “Good boys get rewards, and bad boys get spanked.” 

He tugged experimentally on the hold, and it was pretty firm. Not tight enough to cut off his circulation - but he definitely didn’t see himself getting out of it without help. 

His stomach jumped as he wondered which you had deemed him as - good or bad. Especially because he was now tied up, completely at your mercy. He was splayed out on his back, so this wouldn’t be an optimal position to spank him in. But theoretically, you would do whatever else you wanted to him. And that thought sent an odd tingle through his body, causing a wonderful jolt through his cock.  

“I’m gonna give you a chance to earn a reward, Stiles.” You told him, delivering another messy kiss. “You gonna be a good boy for me?” 

“Yes.” He answered eagerly. “Fuck, yes - I wanna be good for you.” 

You grinned at this. 

He was more than eager to see what you were gonna do next. 

A sharp jolt of anxiety hit him when you sat up (leaning more of your weight on his cock, causing him to let out a pathetic moan) - he hated being separated from you already. He churned in anticipation as you took a moment to sit there and just admire him. 

Stiles was so pretty, tied up for you, ready to be devoured - his honey eyes glossed over with need and anticipation, his lips bitten pink and slightly swollen, parted in that beautifully dumb way as he heaved out shallow, desperate breaths. Yes, he was skinny - even playing lacrosse hadn’t managed to put much muscle tone on his body, but you did find a certain appeal in his lithe, thin form. You gained a certain thrill from knowing that you could so easily man-handle him, toss him down, and he really wasn’t strong enough to put up much of a fight in return. 

His cock, leaking frantically between your legs - was beautiful in its own way. A healthy six inches and nicely thick, his pubes dark, thick and untrimmed. Unkept because he definitely hadn’t been expecting anyone to see him without clothes anytime soon. Charming, in a sense. 

Just as Stiles was feeling smothered by the anticipation, by the heated gaze of your eyes running up and down his body, you then leaned to look in his bedside drawer. He wanted to scream for you not to do it, but he had a feeling that it would be breaking your rules; that it would be a ‘bad boy’ thing to do. And that would run the risk of you not touching him at all. 

You let out a laugh when you saw what was in the drawer. 

“You know, somehow I’m not surprised that this is almost empty.” You told him, bringing out the dwindling bottle of lube and placing it beside him. “You must like it really wet, huh?” 

The words were absolutely filthy coming off your lips, intentionally so on your part, but it sounded like a rhetorical question. He swallowed a whimper, but said nothing. 

“And this,” You picked up one of the many pictures he had of you in the drawer - one of you in your Halloween costume from last year. Lydia had dared you to wear something ‘slutty’, and you had shown up to her Halloween party in a black leather bra, a leather mini skirt, leather boots, and a pair of cat ears. Stiles had spent most of that night in the bathroom. “I have to say, I’m flattered.” 

You have another bright giggle before you put the picture back and then closed the drawer. 

“So - you think about me a lot, do you, Stiles?” You asked, scooting back on his thighs until you were sitting on his knees. 

Not a rhetorical question. 

He swallowed thickly, gathering himself to answer. 

“Yes.” He answered, his voice far too weak for his liking. “All the time.” 

You hummed thoughtfully at this. 

You reached to your waist, untucking your shirt from your skirt before you lifted it off completely over your head, revealing your blue lace bra to him. Dear god, you were so perfect. As you tossed your shirt off to the side, the bra strap slumped down your shoulder and he mourned over not having his hands free, wanting to gently lift it back up, or rip the whole thing off you, wanting to kiss along your shoulder-

“How often do you think about me?” You asked, reaching for the bottle of lube. 

Stiles felt a wave of shyness splash up inside of his gut. But he knew that it was useless to deny the truth now. He had already been caught, over and over again. You wouldn’t mock him now if he just admitted it. 

You cracked the top on the bottle, and the sound shook his insides - his dog-like mind so well trained to associate the sound with having his dick touched. He licked his lips, viciously trying to get his mouth to work in tandem with his brain. You had asked him to speak. He needed to speak. But that was growing more and more difficult while he stared down the ample cleavage coming out of your bra and shook with the anticipation of you about to touch his cock. 

“Every day.” He whimpered out. “All the time, I-” 

He let off a choked sound when you poured some lube into your hand and then finally, after years of him dreaming about it, you wrapped a loose, cool, wet grip around the base of his hard, leaking cock. His hips jumped up into your touch and he let out a choked sound from the back of his throat while you continued to look at him with an absolutely wicked grin. 

“Stiles,” You said his name in a firm tone, reminding him that he was supposed to be giving you an answer. 

“I can’t stop thinking about you!” He shouted, much louder than he had intended to. “All the time, I - I feel like I’m going insane. You’re too perfect, you’re too hot, I-I-I-”

“Hey, shh, baby.” You told him, running the other hand up his thigh in a way that made him gasp. 

You used that loose grip on his dick and began jerking him off, spreading the lube across him in the most leisurely way possible. It was a dull pleasure, but one so perfect because it was delivered by you. 

He had no clue how absolutely deliberate it was. But of course - everything you did with him was so deliberate, so well planned out to drive him entirely insane. 

“How often do you jerk off?” 

You asked, curiosity ripe within you as you imagined it: Stiles splayed out on this exact bed, pants around his ankles, his hand wet with lube and creating a sloppy blur on his cock as he jerked off as fast as possible, absolutely desperate to cum - his face twisted with pleasure, his thighs tensing, your name hot on his lips. 

You really wanted to know the kind of things he imagined, what made his kinky little mind tick. You wanted to know just how desperate he was to steal your panties in the first place. Did he think that he could get away without you noticing them gone or was he just too horny to care? 

You tightened your grip slightly, continuing to drag your hand up and down his dick in long, slow, deliberate strokes. You wanted him hard, throbbing, and desperate - even more so than he already was. You wanted him blinded with pleasure and begging. 

“A lot.” He breathed back, bucking his hips up to meet your touch, clearly already needy for more. 

You put a firm hand on his hip, pinning him to the bed. You tutted your tongue, scolding him. 

“Come on, Stiles.” You said, your tone somewhere between mocking and scolding. “You can be more specific than that.” 

You tightened your grip again, your hand now acting like a firm vice around his cock - something that made him moan deeply and close his eyes. You let him enjoy it for a few moments as you stroked him deeply, slowly - spreading the wetness over his cock in deep, pleasurably strokes. For the first time ever, delivering the pleasure of having a hand on his cock that wasn’t his own. 

Already, intense pleasure was knotting up in his stomach. Already - he was getting close to cumming. 

You could tell that from the way his breathing shallowed out, the way his stomach tensed. 

You pulled your hand back completely, leaving him to let out a confused sound and pop his eyes open at top speed, craning his neck up to look at you with utter disappointment while you continued to grin at him. 

“Tell me.” You instructed firmly. “How many times a week do you make yourself cum?” You continued your interrogation. When his face flashed with a streak of guilt, you changed the question. “How many times a day?” 

Stiles took a sharp breath. 

Again, he felt caught. 

“Twice.” He said it quietly, before gathering his courage. “Twice - twice a day. Usually… once in the morning and once at night.” 

You giggled. “Needy boy.” 

He was rewarded with your touch back on his cock. He let out a deep, satisfied moan as you started jerking him off again, wet and smooth, a bit faster this time. It created a lovely wet noise and he let out another moan when he heard it. 

“What do you think about when you touch yourself, Stiles?” You asked, your voice low and sultry - warm, inviting him to the possibilities. 

Perhaps, if he told you about the things he thought about, his most private and guarded thoughts, then you might make them come true. 

“You.” He moaned back almost instantly - trying to buck up into your touch again but being held down by you again. “I - I only think about you. I swear.” 

You licked your lips. 

It was something you loved to hear. But you yearned for more details. 

“Cute.” You sighed. “As flattering as that is, babe, I want specifics.” You pressed. “Specific fantasies. Come on, you must have kinks,” 

If he had to summarize it - his kink was you. 

And it was growing increasingly difficult to think with your hand pumping on his cock. 

“Your - your thighs!” Stiles blurted out frantically, saying the first thing that he thought of. 

Even now, feeling the heavy, warm fat of your thighs spread across his knees, had his cock jumping in your hand - had him buzzing and dizzy all over. It was one of his favourite parts about you, something that made him hard if your thighs brushed against him when the two of you sat too close together on the couch during a movie night. 

“Your thighs are so - so thick, and beautiful, and big, and-” He choked off into a moan when you moved your other hand to his balls, spreading some of the lube there and gently massaging them in a way that sent a jolt through his whole body, practically making him seize off the bed. 

You let out a giggle. 

“What else, baby?” 

His cock was hot and pulsing in your hand, and you knew he was close again. But you wanted him to get right to the edge before you cut him off this time. 

“I - I think about - about having your thighs wrapped around my head,” 

He choked out, stuttering as he began humping into your touch, so desperate to cum. He had pretty much forgotten about your earlier rules by now, had forgotten about asking for permission, and he just needed to cum into your touch. He needed it so badly. 

“I wanna eat you out so badly. I wanna taste you. I wanna eat your pussy. Please, please, please, please-!” 

This visceral begging tipped you off to the orgasmic delirium he was tipping into, and you squeezed your touch sharply around the base of his cock to keep him from cumming, even going so far as to give his balls a light tap in punishment. He let out a bitter gasp as his orgasm was sharply cut off, the feeling drowned bitterly in his stomach. It left his muscles so tight and left him flailing against his binds for a moment, squirming chaotically underneath you. 

“Bad boy.” You scolded him, your voice wicked and causing his dick to throb woefully in your unforgiving touch. “You didn’t ask if you could cum.” 

You leaned down and bit one of his nipples - pure teeth, unforgiving, and it made him cry out in a gargle of his own spit as his head became even dizzier. He didn’t even have the mental capacity to question why he liked the sharp spike of pain so much, especially not when his balls were throbbing so terribly, and he needed to cum so fucking badly. 

“Please?!” He cried out. “Please? Can I cum? I need it, I need-” 

“Shh, baby.” 

You hushed him again, taking your hand off his dick and leaving it to rest leaking against his stomach, running both your hands up his torso in a soothing touch as you leaned in and pressed a few sweet kisses on his open, whining mouth. 

“I’ll give you a chance to be good. Is that what you want?” 

“Please.” He replied, so desperate that he was on the verge of tears now. “I wanna be good for you, please.” 

“I’m gonna ride your pretty cock now. And if you wait to cum until I tell you,” You pressed these words hard, making sure he paid attention to this part. “Then I’ll let you eat my pussy. Does that sound like a good reward?” 

“Yes.” He replied, entirely breathy and excited. “Please, please. I’ll be good.” 

“Oh, baby. I know you will.” 

This spilled from your lips as an overly syrupy coo, and he couldn’t help but to yearn for more of that sound. 

You got off him, then, and he let out an utterly disappointed sound - instantly missing your weight and the heat of you above him. 

Stiles looked on with curiosity as you went back to your bag. His heart thumped with anticipation when you came back with a condom, and didn’t hesitate to open it and then roll it onto his still very stiff cock. (Just the few touches of you doing this had him warming with even more pleasure, and he worried that the touch of your pussy around him would cause him to cum instantly, disappointing you.) 

Then, he watched in awe as you stripped off. Your skirt, tights, and underwear, giving him a pang of disappointment that you left your bra on. You did this with intention, though, slightly worried that the sight of your bare tits would cause him to blow it too early. 

“Oh my god.” Stiles let out another whimper as you straddled him once again, putting a hand on his cock to line it up with your pussy. 

Fuck, holy fuck - this was really happening. He was really about to fuck you. He was about to fuck your perfect pussy. 

It was just as beautiful as he had imagined - covered in trimmed hair, which was glossy with your wetness. Fuck - he yearned to see that pussy spread out underneath him. He yearned to taste you. Even just feeling the heat coming off you as you lined up the tip, even through the condom - it was deadly. 

He was not going to survive this. 

He squeezed his eyes tight and held his breath, and you didn’t like that. You used your free hand to give him a light tap on the cheek - some small semblance of a slap, a grounding reminder that you were there, controlling him. 

“Hey, come on. Look at me.” 

Your words forced him to open his eyes, and he easily fell into a streak of obedience, eager to please you. His eyes snapped open and he looked right at you - absolutely enamored by your pretty face. 

“Good boy.” 

He let out another whimper at the praise. 

Then, you finally lowered yourself down onto his cock, sinking down in one smooth movement until you were fully seated - tightly wrapped around his dick and resting against his bony pelvis. 

He felt like the air had been punched out of him. That perfect, tight heat being wrapped around him - the wetness leaking out around his skin at the base of his dick, everything squeezing his cock like a vice, like you were made to fit him. It made him so dizzy, stole the air out of his lungs. It was all too perfect. 

“Oh. Oh. Oh god-” He gasped out, squirming underneath you, already intensely overwhelmed by the pleasure. 

You grabbed his jaw in one hand and held him still for another kiss, and he moaned hotly into your mouth, desperation growing inside of him. 

You started slowly grinding your hips into his pelvis, wanting to warm him up gently. As you pulled away from the kiss, he was panting frantically against your mouth, already overwhelmed. 

“Hey, shh.” You told him, smoothing your hands over his torso once again. “You gonna be good for me?” 

“Yes.” He quickly moaned in return, nodding his head eagerly. 

This was a side of Stiles that you had so quickly grown to love. You knew that you weren’t going to get enough of this - this beautiful soft obedience. Especially compared to usual sarcastic abrasiveness. 

This was your good boy. And you were going to have such a good time training him, having him learn the rules. You were heavily looking forward to shutting down his future quips on a dime with a simple threat of keeping future orgasms from him. 

You positioned your weight on your knees, then, and began lifting yourself off his cock halfway before you slammed your hips back down. You put your hands on either side of his head, between where his arms were stationed above him, still tangled up in the scarf and unable to move. After a moment, you built up a good, even pace - not quite gentle, but not entirely rough either. 

You were taking it easy on him for his first time. 

Stiles continued letting out shocked pants, sounding like a man drowning on dry land, hurriedly gasping for air. Soon, he began moaning as more wild pleasure was driven through his body from the feeling of your wet pussy gripping around his cock; from the feeling of you bouncing against his balls, from the sound of that perfect wet slap every single time you landed down on him. 

It caused a terrible need to brew in his stomach, and he knew it wouldn’t be long now. 

All too soon, he was going to cum. 

“Please!” He moaned out, trying to buck his hips up to meet yours - his muscles shaking so terribly that he couldn’t keep up with your pace and ended up just jostling wildly underneath you. “Please, please!” 

You grinned. 

You knew that you wouldn’t cum from this, but you were deeply enjoying yourself anyway. Stiles looked so pretty - so pathetic and pretty - gritting his teeth to try and hold back his sounds (which wasn’t working at all), tears rimming his eyes, a few even slipping out, his face tinging a lovely shade of pink from the exertion and the pure arousal. 

“Please ‘what’, baby?” 

You pressed, a slight edge of mocking on your voice that punched another harsh wave of arousal through his gut. It took everything he had in those moments not to cum - to hold it back. To be good for you. 

“Come on, sweetheart. You can say it. Just say the words-” 

“Please lemme cum,” He whined out, the words practically turning into a slur on his lips - mirroring exactly the way he had been begging to a fictional you as he had pumped his cock while sitting on this very bed not too long ago. “Please, please, please Y/N, please-” 

You leaned down to his ear then, whispering the words he so badly wanted to hear. 

“Cum for me, Stiles.” 

But this time it was so very real. 

With your permission given, his brain fired off, finally allowing himself to let it go. He let out a guttural, almost non-human sound as he humped his hips off the bed in harsh, fast strokes while you fucked down onto him tightly, roughly grinding into him to allow him to get the most out of it. Wanting him to have the most pressure from your hot cunt in those moments while his eyes rolled back into his head and he released a thick load into the condom. 

He was even pretty like this - his mouth wide open, his long lashes fluttering against his flushed cheeks, his chest heaving as he released a concert of beautiful, whorish sounds. 

When his hips stopped and his noises dissolved off into a more gentle panting, you leaned down to kiss him again. He most definitely deserved it. 

“Good boy.” You mumbled against his mouth, eager to praise him. “Such a good boy for me. You did so good.” 

This caused another sound from him, and you simply smiled as he began to kiss you back, eager and sloppy, smearing spit across your cheek while you reached up and began untying the knot in the scarf you had secured him with. 

“You want your reward now?” You asked him. 

You couldn’t lie, your cunt was thrumming at the idea of him getting between your thighs. You wondered if he would be able to make you cum. He seemed eager to please and so far, he was good at following instructions, so you could probably tell him exactly what to do to get you off. Even if he couldn’t, you would certainly enjoy the view. 

“Yes, yes, please.” He moaned against your cheek, that desperation thrashing back up inside of him. “Please, I’ve been good, please-”

“Yes, you have been.” You soothed him again. “Good boy.” 

You released him from the binds and then finally got off him, allowing his softening cock to pop free from your pussy - something that caused him to loudly moan. 

You took off the condom and tossed it into the waste basket that he had by his desk, the lube and cum seeping into the crumbled up, forgotten papers that he had there. When you came back to the bed, he was looking at you with wide, eager eyes, waiting for his next instruction. Such a good boy. You really loved how this was turning out. 

“I’m gonna lay down, and then you can get between my legs. Okay, baby?” 

He nodded eagerly again, and hopped off the bed to give you room, nearly tripping over his own feet in doing so. 

You fluffed up his pillow and then laid down, spreading your legs wide, and when you looked back to him, he was tracing every single inch of your body with a wide-eyed gaze. His mouth was agape once again, absolutely not hiding the fact that he was absolutely lustful for you, becoming utterly distracted by the sight of you (almost completely) naked in his bed, laid out just for him. 

“Stiles.” You called his name, garnering his attention once again. “Come on, baby.” 

You held out an arm, signaling for him to come over, and he eagerly climbed into the bed between your thighs. 

You thought for sure that he would make himself comfortable down between your thighs and get right to tasting you, as eagerly as he had begged for it before, but it was his turn to surprise you now. 

“Please, can you-?” He cut himself off shyly, tracing a single finger along the cup of the bra that you still wore, the last scrap of clothing hiding your body from him. “Can you take it off?” 

That sent a thrill through you. Rather than being demanding, he was still so trepidatious - wondering if he had tread too far by asking you to remove clothing, even after you had ridden his cock. 

Still, you couldn’t help but to want to tease him - just a little bit more. 

“You wanna see my tits?” You asked, running your hands up your body, teasing your fingers along the edges of the bra cups as if threatening to pull them down. “You wanna… play with my tits, Stiles?” 

“Yes.” Stiles breathed out, entirely eager. 

You could see his cock swelling back to life between his thighs already. 

“Do you think you’ve been a good enough boy for that?” You questioned, lustful eagerness in your voice. 

His answer would entirely dictate whether or not you took the bra off. 

He swallowed thickly, still nervous, his eyes flickering between your cleavage and your own eyes, as if looking for a hint at the answer. He waited a careful moment, and then finally spoke. 

“Yes.” He said, pausing for a moment as if waiting for you to argue the point before he continued. “Yes, please, I’ve been good.” 

“Hmm…” You said, pretending to think. “Alright.” 

You reached up behind you, unhooking your bra and tossing it away. When your naked breasts were finally revealed to him, his tongue lolled out of his mouth in an almost puppy-like way, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he stared hungrily at the roundness of your perfect flesh. 

This time, he didn’t even ask you before he made his next move - entirely fueled by his own eagerness and desire, he swept down and sucked one of your nipples into his mouth. Instantly, he let out a loud moan around your tit that told you just how much he was enjoying this, something that had your pussy getting wetter as you saw the way his eyes drifted closed with bliss while he sloppily laved his tongue over your skin. 

He was so fucking cute, so fucking pretty - so fucking perfect like this. 

He continued like this for a few moments before he trailed a line of sloppy kisses to the other tit and began sucking on that one, feeling the need to give both beautiful girls equal attention. He licked his tongue across the skin in a fat trail that had you tingling, that had your cunt clenching. You were glad he was enjoying himself, but it was making the space between your thighs feel rather neglected. 

“Stiles, baby,” You called out, starting to sound a bit breathy from need yourself. You raked your nails gently across his scalp again, causing him to let out another moan. “You said you were gonna eat my pussy, right? You don’t wanna disappoint me - do you, baby?” 

He popped off your tit immediately. 

“Not gonna disappoint you.” He said in a hurried tone, shaking his head. 

You pulled him in for another kiss, and when you released him, he rushed down to get comfortable between your legs, which you spread even more, dropping your foot off the bed on one side to give him more room. 

Your pussy was so gorgeous. 

So much better than he had dreamed of - wet, gleaming, smeared in your own juices and slightly gaped from his cock. A sight that absolutely thrilled him - seeing exactly where he had been, knowing that he had fucked you, he had been inside of you. 

The smell of your pretty cunt was something more unique than your sweat or perfume like he had originally thought. He leaned in eagerly and licked a fat, wide stripe from where you were fluttering and open all the way up to your mound, getting his first real taste of you - he let out a loud moan as it fully penetrated his senses, as everything that was you spread across his tongue for the first time. 

You were so fucking perfect. You tasted so fucking perfect. 

You let out a moan of your own when Stiles moaned against you again, the vibrations radiating through your sensitive core. This time, he latched into your clit, seemingly knowing that swollen bead was his ticket to success without you even having to tell him. He sucked harshly on it for a moment that made your thighs twitch and threaten to close around his head before he began digging his tongue against it, lapping at your cunt, trying to suck all the taste off it that he could. 

“Good boy,” You moaned, reaching out and cradling the back of his head (not having much hair to grab onto with the short buzzcut that he had) - keeping him tight against your pussy, not that he seemed intent to pull away any time soon. “Such a good boy. Good boy for me!” 

He wasn’t particularly skilled - it was obvious from a mile away that he didn’t have any experience, but fuck, he more than made up for it with his pure eagerness. He was eating your pussy like it was his last meal, moaning against you like he was getting more pleasure from this than you were - and hell, maybe he was. 

He didn’t back off or complain when you instinctively bucked your hips against his face. In fact, he seemed to take it in stride, downright enjoying the way your warm juices were smeared across his cheeks and chin, his eyes shut in bliss as he tongued openly across your cunt, his drool mixing with your wetness while he moaned against you. 

“Oh, fuck! Stiles!” 

He moaned harder at the sound of his own name on your lips, so beautifully pornographic, better than he had dreamed it would be - even when he had imagined it so many times over and over again. Somehow, even when you thought he might not get you there at all, his eager performance and the vibrations from his moans against your clit had you so close already. 

“Got me so close, baby,” You moaned, scratching the back of his head. “Such a good boy, so close-” 

He moaned in response and tongued more vigorously at your clit, and you worked your hips against him, practically riding his face in order to bring yourself over the edge. 

“Fuck! Stiles!” 

You let out a throaty moan as you came, beautiful pleasure surging through your body while your back arched against the bed. Inadvertently shoving your hips even closer to his face, making him even more beautifully messy while he sucked and licked you. He loved the feeling of your body twitching and seizing underneath him, he loved hearing your gorgeous moans, he loved knowing that he had made you cum. 

He lowered his face down and shoved his tongue inside you, determined to drink right from the source then, his nose bumping against your now orgasm-sensitive clit unintentionally, making you shout loudly. This further smothered him in your essence in a way that he loved, while he shoved his tongue inside of you as far as he possibly could, absolutely loving the way your pussy fluttered around him, the way your taste overwhelmed his senses, the pure heat smothering his face. 

“Baby, baby-” 

You gasped and struggled for air, knowing that he wasn’t overstimulating you on purpose - he was just eager. And that thought alone was so overwhelmingly hot to you that you almost let him continue. But your clit thrummed with an ache of protest, and you knew that you couldn’t spoil him this much, this soon. You couldn’t handle having a spoiled brat on your hands. 

“Baby, you have to come up now!” You ordered sharply, digging your nails into his shoulder as a warning, adding a tiny bite of pain to fully get his attention. 

Stiles let out a tiny whine of disappointment, but did as he was told, finally unlatching himself from your cunt. This move made a sinfully wet sound as he pushed himself up with his hands to sit between your thighs on his knees. Your eyes were immediately drawn to his once again hard, throbbing pink cock smearing precum against his stomach. 

You had a passing thought about telling him to grab another condom, but again - you didn’t need to spoil him so soon. 

You had another idea instead. 

“Oh baby,” You cooed, reaching out and loosely gripping his cock, causing him to let out a shuddering moan and buck into your hand furiously - which didn’t give him much sensation, only teased him more. “You got really excited from that, didn’t you?” 

He nodded vigorously, his mind completely mush at this point, too weak to form words. 

“Do you wanna get off against my thigh?” You purred, gently stroking your knuckles across his temple - feeling a wicked kind of joy in seeing his face smeared in your wetness, especially when paired with the dumb, glossy look in his eyes. 

He almost dared to ask for more - wanting to fuck you again, to put his cock between your tits and fuck them - but he had a feeling that you wouldn’t let him get away with it. And he wanted to be your good boy so badly. So he was willing to take whatever you had to give him. 

“Yes.” He croaked out, his voice slightly hoarse now from all the moaning. “Yes, please.” 

“Good boy.” You grinned at him. “Come on.” 

You moved your leg - already slightly stiff from how long he had been between them, stretched around his shoulders - and slotted your thigh between his. You raised it up slightly, gently propping the broadness of your flesh against his aching balls and his hard, leaking cock. 

“Wait, I want-” 

He looked around for a moment, and then grabbed up the bottle of lube where it had falling on the floor from the vigor of your fucking. He poured a good deal of it (almost emptying it) over his cock, letting it leak down over your thigh, before he capped it and threw it away again. 

You smiled. 

“You really do like it wet, don’t you?” 

He simply nodded, and began moving his hips. Instinctively, you reached out and grabbed him, taking a commanding hold on those narrow hips to guide him. He easily fell under your control, letting you guide his pace - which meant he moved in slow, languid, sloppy, wet (thanks to the lube) movements across your thigh - his cock dragging against your skin in a way that was delicious, but almost not enough at the same time. 

He began letting out whimpers, his face twisting with pleasure and the need for something more as his gut curled with a distinctive ache. As if sensing this, even unconsciously, you couldn’t help your mouth. 

“You look so pretty like this,” You told him, hot and breathy. 

Turns out - that was the something ‘more’ he so desperately needed. Hearing you call him ‘pretty’ would have been an insult on any other day, but today, it was downright delicious. Your voice curling around the word, directed at him - it felt like something he had been waiting to hear his whole life. 

“I love seeing you get off against my thigh, rubbing your pretty cock against me,” 

Stiles let out a moan and you felt him fighting to move faster, so you encouraged it, pushing and pulling his hips faster, causing more delicious friction on his cock. 

“Please, please-” He gasped. 

You knew it wouldn’t take much more. 

“You know, I’ve probably been waiting for this just as long as you have,” You whispered lowly in his ear, finally confessing your secret. “I’ve been watching you every single day, seeing how wonderful and dumb you are when you stare at me for hours, thinking I don’t notice. And I’ve just been waiting to pin you up against something and fuck your pretty little brains out-” 

Your words were cut off by him crying out, a wet splash against your thigh that had alerted you to him cumming. This was almost pathetic, just a few spurts of cum before it was over (you guessed that with how often he jerked off and from the fucking earlier, you had practically drained his balls). It made you curious if forcing him to abstain from masturbation for a few days would yield more impressive results. 

An experiment for later, you guessed. 

“Good boy.” 

You pulled him into another kiss, ultimately satisfied by the end result of your plan - leaving your panties on your bed as bait for Stiles to find as a way to gently tip him off to your attraction to him. It had worked out in the very best way. Even if you had to wait more than a week for the wheels to truly set in motion. 

… 

After a joint shower (which was filled with Stiles grinning at you, clearly soaking up the beauty of his luck in landing someone as gorgeous as you) - you changed the sheets on the bed while he made something to eat, and after the two of you ate together, you tucked him in to go to sleep. 

He was disappointed that you couldn’t stay the night, just as excited to do other non sexual things with you like wake up in your arms and hold your hand in the hallways at school - but you did have to get home before your curfew. Just as he was dosing off, you kissed him on the forehead, and you thought of something delightfully naughty for him to wake up to, even if you couldn’t be there. 

You took off the underwear that you were wearing - a pair of lacy blue ones, to match your bra - and you pinned them up on his corkboard for him to find in the morning. 

A perfect little present for your good boy.

… 

The next morning, Stiles woke up to a knock on his bedroom door. 

“Okay, rise n shine, kid, time for-” 

His father’s voice cut off abruptly, and Stiles didn’t have time to ponder why before-

“Dear god, what the hell is that?” 

Stiles shot up out of bed, practically falling on the floor, wondering what it could be - monster, werewolf, hunter, someone with a gun-

His eyes landed exactly where his dad was looking, and he was relieved not to find danger, and then terribly embarrassed to see your underwear from the day before pinned to his corkboard, spread out in plain view. Stiles immediately went into damage control mode. 

“Look, Dad, I can explain-” 

“You know what? I don’t wanna know.” His dad said firmly, making a motion with his hand that said he was brushing away the subject. “Just - get ready for school.” 

His dad moved to leave the room, and then he sighed and paused in the doorway, turning back to Stiles in a way that made his gut churn. 

“Just - did you use protection?” 

Stiles almost offered to show his father the used condom that was still sitting in the trash can - even if only as proof that the night before he had a real, living girl in his room. But he figured that would be going too far. 

“Yes.” He answered, calm and short. 

His dad nodded, and moved to leave again. He made it a bit further down the hallway this time before he turned around and appeared in the doorway again. 

“Son - you know, women aren’t objects, you can’t claim them like sexual conquests, and they deserve respect-” 

“Dad.” Stiles sharply cut off whatever speech his father was about to give, wanting his father to know that he hadn’t pinned the underwear to the corkboard himself. He wasn’t some fratboy who celebrated getting laid with a fucking trophy. 

“She - she gave them to me.” He said. “She did that.” He motioned to the underwear, and his father’s face shifted from anger to deep discomfort. 

“Oh.” He said simply. “Well - I - okay. I don’t wanna know any more.” He said firmly. “And for god’s sake, son, take them down.” 

Stiles nodded, rushing to do so. 

He was going to take them down - but he wasn’t rushing to give them back to you anytime soon.

...

Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot, and this has a distinct, intentional ending. There will NOT be a continuation or a 'Part 3'. If you enjoyed this fic, please consider reblogging it to show your appreciation, or commenting on this fic, or you can take a look at my Teen Wolf Masterlist for more of my fics from this fandom.

However, please do not comment on this fic asking for another sequel or asking for more - I generally consider that stressful and impolite. If you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written.

If you enjoyed this fic, please consider checking out my other fics about the criminally underrated character Isaac. Fics similar to this one are: Eager Little Puppy and Why Am I The One?

Or if you want more fics about subby boys, consider checking out Tongue Twister, Stop? (Baby, Don't Stop), or Lessons For A Genius.

Happy reading!! -Sunny <3

[blueberrymocha]

lying to them *ೃ༄

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ׂ╰┈➤ fluff/angst

➣ characters: gon, killua, kurapika, leorio, hisoka, illumi, chrollo

➣ word count: x

└──────────────────────┘

scenario:

“you’re home late, where’ve you been?”

———————————————————————————————————————

gon

- he doesn’t realize at all because even if he does, he’ll tell himself he’s got it wrong

- sees you as too good to lie to him

“you meant to say x right?“

- his absolute trust in you would compel you to come clean then and there

- part of him is upset that you’d lie, but he tries his best to remain calm

- if you’re willing to have a reasonable discussion about it, so is he

- but if you argue, play dumb, or act dismissive, it’d quickly turn into a full blown fight

- honesty is important to him, so while he appreciates your confession

- the fact that you lied in the first place would make him reconsider his boundaries and your relationship

killua

- he wouldn’t notice if it were a small detail

- besides he doesn’t feel like he needs to be on guard around you, analyzing every word

- he’d probably catch you in a lie after absentmindedly asking you a question later and noticing your answer changed

“did you see the limited edition chocolate robot while you were there?”

…

“i thought you said you were at the candy store?”

- he becomes a lot more assertive and firm as he questions you, a glare on his face if you brush it off

- whatever the reason was, he’ll distance himself from you for a day or so

- the idea of you hiding god knows what from him would totally piss him off

- he won’t be mad forever, but for now, it’s probably better you give him space

kurapika

- is inclined to believe you, but pays enough attention that if the story didn’t add up, he’d notice

- and he’d point out any inconsistencies, being upfront about it

“isn’t that friend out of town?

…

“you weren’t with them, were you?”

- his mind would probably fill with doubts and insecurities

- thoughts of infidelity springing to the front of his mind

- he would never be brash or demand answers, though

- if something did happen, his priority is fixing it

- he knows he can be unavailable, so would give you the opportunity to have a real talk with him

- are you unhappy with how things are? was it just a white lie?

- eventually, the problem would be resolved,

- but he makes it very clear he won’t tolerate lying in the future

leorio

- he wouldn’t notice, too tired from school to pay your words much mind

- it’d just be normal routine for you, and honestly, he might not ever find out

- even when he’s fully awake, he simply isn’t all that attentive

- if you decide to tell him, i think he’d be a lot calmer than you might expect

- of course, he’d still be mad, but the most he’d do is raise his voice and argue

- he’s also not the type to storm out, at least until he has clarity about the situation

- if the lie was innocent enough, he’ll be a bit ticked off for the rest of the night, but nothing more

- if it was something bigger, he’d ask for space, not wanting to let his rashness make him do something he’ll regret later

- he’d definitely try to mitigate his response because he does appreciate you coming clean to him

- even if it doesn’t absolve you of the consequences

hisoka

- he notices quickly, he’s an expert at lying after all

- if it’s a good attempt, he’d humor you; playing along, even asking follow up questions and pretending to be fooled

- he sees this all as a game after all

- but eventually, once he’s given the prospect of you lying a little more thought

- he’s a lot less playful, calling you out directly and demanding the truth

- it’s fun when he’s merely amused by your inability to lie

- but at heart, he’s possessive, and the idea that you’re trying to hide an affair irritates him more than he himself understands

- and if it truly was another person you were with, he’d 100% retaliate by killing them

- as for you? he’s content to let you off that hook at that point, warning you not to deceive him again

illumi

- as much of a mastermind he seems to be, social cues elude him completely

- in his eyes, you’re his partner, someone he’d never have reason to doubt

- if you never tell him, you’re free to go on with your day

- but make no mistake, he’s far from dumb

- if there’s a gaping inaccuracy in your words, he’ll immediately accuse you of lying

(e.g. saying you were with someone he himself was with)

- at that point, there’s nothing you can say to get out of this even if you correct yourself

- it’d start an argument, and in the end, he’d be more controlling

- your location? he’d track it at all times

- hanging out your friends? you’d have to ask him first

- and if they’re male, it’ll always be a ‘no’

chrollo

- so there’s no way to lie to him, he’ll catch on immediately

- he’s mastered every aspect of the social scene

- his typical patience is replaced by an eerie calmness as he questions whatever statement you made

- if you come clean at that point and explain yourself

- and he finds it valid enough, he’ll get over it; firmly telling you he won’t be so forgiving next time

- keep lying to him though, and he won’t hesitate to use manipulation tactics on you

- eg. ignoring you, threatening you or whoever he suspects you were with, guilt tripping..

- if you’d grown to see him as an understanding, misunderstood lover, his behavior would extinguish your perception quickly

- once you do confess, he’ll be more distant for the next day or so

- though if you asked him?

“i’m not mad, just disappointed.”

[starsofang]

Change of Heart

hitman!simon x f!reader / part 8

previous part

tw: alcohol use, angst, mentions of death

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

Waking up the next morning was the biggest slap in the face. It singed your skin with a burning sting, leaving you disoriented and lost. It was as if the brutal force of realization had hit you so hard, it knocked any form of thought right out of your mind except for pain. Irrepressible pain that caused you to feel numb.

Simon had left. All of your worried texts proved futile. What once showed as blue was now a sickening green that glared back at you. Your number was blocked, your messages unable to go through, and you were left an even shattered version than before. You were glass shards left to lay on the floor, you were a broken wind chime that could no longer provide a charming ambience.

You were broken and useless, tossed to the side like a damaged piece of scrap.

Simon had lived up to his name, and disappeared like a ghost. Drifting off into shadows of darkness, seeping into them and becoming one, never to be seen again.

You were hurt. Scratch that, that was a nice way of putting it – you were devastated. The walls you had so graciously taken down for him were now jagged pieces of debris with no mortar to glue them back together one by one. They were unrepairable, crumbling far too much to be saved.

Everything you ever learned about Simon felt like a lie, because that’s what he did – he lied. The glass was too foggy to tell the difference between what was a lie, and what wasn’t. If there were any parts of Simon that were truthful, you didn’t believe it. There was no grace of god to be there to lend a guiding hand to point you in the right direction. All you had was your gut, telling you deranged criticisms.

He lied to you, this was all a game, and you fell for it.

You should’ve known, really. A man like Simon was not one to love and be loved, not when he had an apparition named Ghost to steer him away from any attachment. After all, spirits could not grow devoted to a mere mortal woman who had nothing left to offer. You were stupid to think otherwise.

Graves was a bad enough person. He hurt you, tormented you, claimed you in order to assure your life was a living hell, with or without him. Now, the smallest part of you didn’t think he could be as cruel as Simon at this moment. It was a brainless thought, one you knew was far from true.

Simon never hurt you, nor did he treat you as bad as Graves.

But at least Graves didn’t have the gall to abandon you like an unwanted dog on the street.

Your mind was ping-ponging back and forth between truth and deception. You didn’t know what was real. It hazed over you, muting out every bit of you that was left inside and replacing it with nothing but cracked foundation.

Nothing was real. Nothing was worth it.

You didn’t leave the house for the entirety of the day, nor the next. You stayed in the confinement of your own home, feeling like a caged animal with no way out. You were slowly decaying away, losing the truest part of yourself, no longer able to see her in the reflection. She stared back at you with a ghostly image, whispering about how disappointed she was in you, how hateful she felt towards you.

She whispered about Simon, burdening you with reminders of what could’ve been if you were simply a little less broken. Bringing him up just to dig the knife in more, twisting it under your skin and basking in the bloodshed.

You were spiraling, just like you always did, because it was all you were good for. Simon was another excuse to crumble back into a deeply rooted self hatred. He was just a chess piece, a single card in a stack of dozens, while you picked it up and returned to your old game of reckless entertainment.

Day fourteen came before you know it. And you spent it completely by yourself, pondering why you ever made a deal with the devil in the first place.

It was easy to fall back into old habits when there was nothing there to offer recovery. Relapsing was what you did best, even when Simon was around, and you’d be damned if you didn’t do it again with him gone. It was a part of you, this endless cycle of self abuse, and it wasn’t going anywhere. It was simply on a temporary pause, now returning with more fiery persistence than before.

Alcohol was the only home you ever knew. It warmed you to the bone, engulfing you in a buzzing fervor. It welcomed you back with open arms, holding on to you with no intent of letting go. You were its lovely hostage, and you had grown Stockholm Syndrome.

Weeks passed by of tireless nights filled with the bitter taste that burned in your throat on repeat. Weeks were spent holed up in your apartment, nursing the only friend you had. This time around, you weren’t picky. You took whatever you could get, uncaring of the repercussions

And even in those weeks, Simon never left your mind. It was like a punishment for being good enough to fuck, but not good enough to stick around. It tortured your mind to the point of insanity.

The more alcohol you had, the more the memory of him became cloudy. It was exactly why you drowned yourself in it. You didn’t want to picture Simon’s face. Didn’t want to picture the way his eyes lit up when he saw you, or the way his smile was a bit crooked and off center. You didn’t want to picture him, and the future you grew too eager for, one that consisted of the two of you. Two puzzle pieces fitting together, only to be wretched apart and pressed down in separate corners.

You were completely losing yourself. All over a man who had broken you.

The cycle repeats. And repeats. You let it repeat, until hopefully one day, the alcohol would prove to be enough to give you the death you so greedily wanted.

It wasn’t until nearly four weeks in utter disarray that the cycle began to morph, railing off of the tracks that you worked so hard to have control over.

Deep into your daily routine of excessive drinking and wallowing in your own self-pity, the door knocked. You nearly missed it, brushing it off as your imagination. You didn’t have visitors, and the only one who cared to take that spot until leaving you was Simon.

Glancing around your apartment, you visibly winced at the disheveled sight of it. Bottles were thrown around carelessly, littering the kitchen counters and living room floor, where you were currently residing with a nameless show playing on the television. Hell had flown through your apartment, and it was your fault it had gotten this way again.

Old habits die hard. And you were always its unfortunate victim when those habits needed a host to leech on to once more.

Clambering up from where you sat on the floor, you somehow made your way to the door by the grace of god. It was late, and if you read right from the clock on the stove, it was past midnight. Anybody could be outside – a killer, an intruder, a thief. It was a mix between not caring about dying, and having enough logical sense to know nobody dangerous would knock first, that had you opening the door.

An unfamiliar man stood tall in the frame, bushy facial hair, sunken eyes that barely held a spark, almost as broad and stiff as Simon. But it wasn’t Simon, and this man was a mere stranger.

“Jesus,” the man muttered under his breath at the state of you. You frowned, feeling small and weak in comparison. After a moment, he cleared his throat, speaking again. “Need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

“I don’t even know who you are,” you muttered, narrowing your eyes.

“M’a friend of Simon’s,” he explained woefully. The sound of Simon’s name coming from somebody else’s lips and not yours had your heart clenching with a dull ache. It sent ice cold chills running through your veins. “The name’s John Price.”

You stared at him with a look of disdain. You never heard Simon mention him before. The more you thought about it, you never heard Simon mention anybody. He was an enigma that you fell into too easily without even knowing a lick of who he was outside of your temporary protector.

“If you’re looking for him, I don’t know where he is,” you replied dryly, gripping a hand on the door and beginning to close it. Before the hinge could click into place, John’s boot stopped it, wedging itself between the door and its frame. He gave you a tight smile, one that had you tensing.

“I know where he is, dove. I said that I need to talk to you.”

The two of you became trapped in a staredown, one that you were too exhausted to fight to be the champion of. Begrudgingly, you opened the door wide enough to allow him to slip in, shutting it behind him. You watched as he took in your apartment, surely judging the whirlwind of it. He wasn’t exactly the type to hide away his distaste, if his mockingly amused expression was any type of indication.

“What do you want?” you asked him, disregarding your own mess and instead focusing on him. He turned to look at you, flashing you another smile. It seemed trusting enough, kind even, but by this time, you knew better.

“Came to offer you a deal, of sorts,” he vocalized. “Might I sit?”

You glanced over at the living room, shame bubbling in you at the sight of the bottle you’d been indulging in before he came around. “Sure.”

You trailed behind him when he took his seat on the couch, letting out an exaggerated sigh, leaning back into it. His display of comfort made you feel uneasy. You made no effort to join him, opting to stand in the middle of the room.

“You were rather close with Simon, weren’t you?” he asked, causing you to scoff to yourself.

“Sure. What’s that got to do with anything?” you asked grimly.

Price hummed to himself, tapping his fingers against his knee. It caused a faint, muted sound of rough, calloused fingertips to chafe against the material of his pants. “Figured so. Allow me to ask you somethin’. You know of Simon’s occupation, right?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Silly me, that’s how you met, isn’t it?” He chuckled to himself. You weren’t sure what was so amusing. “Well, here’s the thing – his performance has been a bit… hindered as of late. I have a strong inkling that it’s because of you.”

The air in the room was tense, nearly suffocating you. Price had such a soft aura that was hiding menacing intentions. You could see through it.

“I need a favor from you, doll.”

“And that is?” you asked carefully.

He smiled at you, cocking his head. “I need you to reject him. Tell him you’re better off, that you don’t need him, whatever you can say to make him get his head back in the fuckin’ game. This job of ours isn’t a joke, you see. I can’t have him slackin’ off. That’s how he’ll end up caught and thrown in jail. Once it reaches that point, I can’t help him out of it. That’s why I need you to help me before that happens.”

Your eyes widened in bewilderment at the sheer nerve of Price. Asking you to tell Simon off, to lie and say you were happy without him? Fuck, the proof was in the pudding – you weren’t, and you could almost guarantee that Simon would know you were lying from one single word. Sure, you were mad at him – pissed – but you also wanted no part in this game Price was playing.

The more you sat on it, the more it became twisted. You were thrown in a tangled web of deception and betrayal, stuck to it like glue, fighting for your way out.

But how much of it was betrayal? How much of it was trickery?

Price’s words echoed in your mind on repeat. They formed together, creating a clear picture.

Price had been the one to have Simon toss you out. He was the reason for your harrowing spiral. He was why Simon had left you, treating you as if you didn’t exist. Just a pawn in his game, and you were too stupid to realize it all sooner.

“You did this?” you snapped. Price raised an eyebrow at you, but said nothing. “You�� you’re the reason for all of this, and now you’re asking me for help to lie to him? Are you insane?”

His expression twitched into a flash of annoyance before returning back to a mask. Alarms rang in your head. “I’m doin’ this for Simon. You’re a little bird he fell into when he shouldn’t have, and now I’m tryin’ to fix it before it’s too late.”

“Bullshit. You’re doing this to save your own ass.”

“I’d highly advise watchin’ yourself, doll,” Price muttered in warning, eyes narrowed and expression darkened. “You don’t know anythin’ about what we do. Don’t know how dangerous it is for you to be involved with Simon, and for Simon to be involved with you. I’m savin’ Simon’s ass from fuckin’ up one too many times.”

The atmosphere was even thicker than before. It was hard to breathe. It made you queasy, as if poisoned with a heavy gas that may just kill you if you inhaled it for too long.

Price and you stared at one another, both stubborn and pulled taut. His anger simmered to a low boil once the two of you took that silence to gather your thoughts, but it didn’t entirely vanish. You could still see a flicker of a flame in his eyes.

He was dangerous. Not somebody you wanted to get tangled up in, but you had no choice. You were too deep into this webbed mess, and it was only a matter of time before it came to bite back at you.

“What’s wrong with him?” you finally asked, voice quiet and solemn. You crossed your arms over your chest, turning your gaze away from him so you didn’t have to see his display of weak sympathy and mock judgment.

“He fell in love with you, that’s what’s wrong,” Price bit back, sneering. “Now he’s weak. Can’t do his job correctly, got his head in the fuckin’ clouds, snaps at everybody who tries to talk to him. He’s riskin’ himself, riskin’ us, and I can’t afford losin’ a brother over some girl.”

Price’s words were bitter and cruel. It only irritated you, pricking at your skin until it drove you mad. All calmness that had festered in your brief silence washed away, replaced with the old flame of your anger.

“Losing him?” You laughed bitterly, throwing your head back in disbelief. “Sounds to me like it’s your fault and not mine. Have you ever thought that maybe you’re the reason he’s all fucked up?”

Price stood from where he sat on the couch. There were no longer kind features adorning his face. It was replaced with twisted anger, morphing into something unrecognizable. When he stepped closer to you until you were nearly nose to nose, it was like looking into the eyes of a feral wolf, ready to tear you apart at any given second.

“Wise words comin’ from an alcoholic,” he muttered lowly. It was a hard pill to swallow. “I was tryin’ to be nice, doll. I was givin’ you an option. A choice. You’re just as fucked up as Simon. The difference is that you’re goin’ down a path nobody can save you from. I can save Simon.”

The words slapped you harsh in the face. It was brutal and cruel, and he showed no remorse for the damage he was doing. This was a man who got what he wanted, hurting everybody in the process so long as he achieved it. His goal was to save Simon from his impending doom, and he was willing to take you down to make it happen.

“If you really cared about Simon, you would’ve never let him get to this state in the first place,” you retorted back just as cruelly. “It’s not my fault, and I’m not going to sit here and let you blame me for it. Take a look in the mirror and you’ll get your answer on why he’s being this way.”

Silence. Aching, deafening silence. It tinged the air with a sour smell. The two of you were making no moves of backing down, and it was simply a recipe for disaster.

You didn’t know why you were defending Simon. After what he did, he didn’t deserve your care. He didn’t deserve to have you bandage over his name from the countless wounds he’d inflicted on it by leaving you behind after taking all of you in this very apartment.

However, with a missing puzzle piece being added to the pile, that being Price, you couldn’t help but offer your support from afar. It was clear he had no hand in this game. He was a pawn, just as much as you.

“I’m not helping you toy with his feelings,” you whispered. This time, you sounded defeated rather than angry. Broken, sad, dejected. “He doesn’t deserve that.”

Price sucked in a sharp breath, stepping away but keeping his gaze pointed to you. He said nothing for the first few moments, eyes flickering over the worn out lines on your face. Empty eyes, ones that were surely full of life at some point in your life. Perhaps even lit up with Simon around.

He had taken that away from you, and it was only then he was realizing how cruel he was being. All of it, for the sake of protecting his own, of protecting Simon. He was so consumed by the thought of keeping Simon out of trouble, that he only sought to create more for you. A civilian, one who simply got wrapped up in the wrong crowd.

No outsider had ever cared for Simon like Price, Gaz, and Soap did. They were all each other had, bound together by an unfortunate calling. Nobody was allowed in, or out.

Then you came along, and Ghost had quickly become Simon again.

“You’re not goin’ to make this easy for me, are you?” Price sighed, shoulders deflating, releasing its built up tension.

“No. I’m not,” you agreed grimly.

“Stubborn one, you are,” he hummed, and dare you say it, he sounded amused. “Can see why Simon likes you.”

You glanced up at him, noting the faintest of smiles on his face. It was barely visible, a ghost on his lips, but even through your hazed exhaustion, you could see it.

“Tell you what,” he began, crossing his arms to match your stance. “I’ll talk to him. See what I can do. M’not promisin’ anythin’. This isn’t the type of life I want you wrapped up in, but I can see that you’re only goin’ to wallow here until you drop dead. I don’t want that blood on my hands.”

“What are you saying?” you asked suspiciously.

“I’m sayin’, that I’ll try to see if it could work. Again, m’not promisin’ you anythin’, doll. But if you’re the reason Simon can get his head out of his ass and stop doin’ sloppy work, then I’ll see what I can do.”

It was no guarantee, but Price was trying. One moment, he was begging you to hurt Simon to the point he’d never think of crawling back to you. Now, the story had changed, and he was making a peace offering.

You weren’t sure whether or not to trust him. You shouldn’t. It was a bad idea.

But the thought of seeing Simon again, to mend the broken bond you had formed, caused you to agree.

Simon was fucked. He’d drowned himself in a world of pure guilt ever since he’d blocked your number and called it quits. He was miserable, more than he’d ever been.

He didn’t feel guilt. In fact, he wasn’t supposed to feel anything at all. He was Ghost, after all, and ghosts didn’t feel. Yet with you, the narrative had switched. It was as if the gates of heaven had opened up, offering him a chance at redemption. He felt everything all at once – love, care, affection, longing, heartache.

Everything felt right with you. It was like he had finally found his home, only to have it torn away from the grasp of his hands. No matter how much he tried holding on to it, it proved a fruitless effort. It was gone before he even resided.

Simon’s mind became a jumbled mess. He returned to the empty shell he was before when nothing mattered and he only saw the world through a red-colored lens. It was straining, it was harsh. It hurt to wake up everyday and see a colorless world waiting for him.

His shattered, frail mind affected everything he’d ever known. Work became a chore. He was messy, careless, and the darkest part of him wished he would be caught so he could force himself into punishment for hurting an angel sent from above that was placed in his life to nurture him.

It was what he deserved. Simon was a man who fell in love, and Ghost was the devil that reminded him that he was undeserving. Unworthy.

You deserved better than him. You deserved the world, and Simon was the one who would take from it with greedy hands caked in the blood of God’s creations.

Everyday burned with an itch to see you, to send you a text. He missed you, but he hated himself more. It stopped him from reaching out, caused him to pull back on the reins and pace himself. Nothing could scratch the burning itch except for the brutal reminder that you deserved better.

The weeks were hell without you. He’d grown agitated at everything around him, going as far as to snap at Gaz and Johnny when they attempted to console him, to snap at Price out of unfiltered rage at what he made him do. He was too far gone, and the only foundation he had left was beginning to crumble, all because of him.

Damn Price for taking you away, and damn you for making him fall in love.

Simon didn’t know how much more he could take. It was eating away at him, like a parasite feeding off of its host, draining him of all soul. Even now, as he sat in his own apartment, hidden on his balcony and smoking all of his worries away with hopes of succumbing to the nasty tar that threatened to rise in his throat every time, he was decaying. Withering away, like a fragile flower.

The night was dark. The stars didn’t shine as brightly as they did on your balcony. The air didn’t feel as pure without you to share it with him. The smoke didn’t wisp up into silly, little shapes, and instead, tainted the air with polluted illness.

It was positively suffocating.

As Simon nursed the cigarette to the very end, stubbing it out with his boot and carelessly leaving it littered with the rest of them on his balcony, he heard the faint knock on his door. He silently prayed it was death, here to take him away and rid him of his pain for good.

It wasn’t death, but it was damn near close.

“Price,” he grumbled at the sight of the older man. It was too late for him to make an appearance, so he wasn’t sure why he did. Maybe Price had truly given up on him and was here to offer mercy.

Price didn’t care for greetings, stepping past Simon and into his apartment. Simon followed after him with his gaze, mentally preparing himself for another lecture. It was bound to happen at this point, seeing as Price was fed up.

Simon knew he was putting their lives on the line by being reckless. He just didn’t have it in him to care.

Closing the door behind him, Simon kept his distance, not uttering a word until Price spoke first. The man in question lingered around his apartment, seeming to stall with time, too choked up for words.

“You need somethin’, sir?” Simon finally asked. Price lifted his eyes to look at Simon. For a moment, they were unreadable. Masking away his thoughts, tucking them far in the back of his mind.

Price let out a deep exhale through his nostrils. He stood there in silence for what felt like eternity. Simon could see the gears shifting in his mind, working overtime.

“Go and get your bird back, Simon,” Price sighed, but to Simon, it sounded like church bells ringing on a Sunday morning, beckoning him home.

so many of y'all thought the last part was the end, but i'm not that cruel ;( i promise

[writingbyshiloh]

Third Time's the Charm

Request: Hii,if your request are still open can i request something for Gen V?Can you write something where Jordan and fem reader are childhood best friends and Jordan had always been in love with her but they feel insecure because they don’t know if reader will like them in both forms romantically?So when,in ep 3,Jordan dad goes like “Y/n and Jordan will be husband and wife” reader goes “Maybe we will be wife and wife”because she loves Jordan just like they are?

AN: Reader wants to be the first supe president (just to explain why they’re at the gala), I changed the timeline of the ep a tiny bit. I have another request about meeting Jordan's parents but that one might be more angsty.

CW: fem!reader, kissing, no beta, Jordan's parents are just their warning. The start is all flashbacks so I may have slipped on the tense a few times, no beta

WC: 2.0K

Jordan Li was your first kiss. Twice. The first time was in kindergarten, when they tried to kiss you and you smacked them with your Queen Mauve lunch box. Your second first kiss (the one you consider your actual first kiss) was done by you while playing truth or dare at 14. After picking a dare, you were asked to kiss the best-looking guy in the group. You shrugged and picked your best friend - Jordan. 

At age six, they were there when you broke your ankle trying to see if you could fly (you couldn’t). When you did get powers, they were the first person you told.

When Jordan came out to you as bigender, you did an internet deep-dive, trying to understand as much as possible.

Jordan listened to every interaction you had with your high school crush while quietly dying inside, wanting you to be happy. When your high school boyfriend cheated on you and then dumped you for the girl he cheated with, Jordan was there, ready to sink hours into their Xbox to keep you distracted.

The worst week of your life was when you didn't speak to Jordan for 9 whole days. You got into a petty argument where you called them self-absorbed and they called you clingy. The fight snowballed into yelling arguments and ended with you receiving a cold shoulder from Jordan. 

When Jordan got their wisdom teeth removed, you camped out in their room, snuggled under their duvet with them to watch Property Brothers for two days straight. You even made sure they took their painkillers on time and used ice packs.

Every fight with their parents, you were outside in your car ready to pick up Jordan to stay with you. Once you showed up at their house at 6:03 am, eyes blurry with sleep and still in pyjamas. Jordan was crying, bob haircut looked messy from sleep. You drove them to Vought-A-Burger, still half asleep and ate greasy breakfast sandwiches in your car until Jordan stopped crying. 

Jordan was even your date to prom, taking photos with you in their masculine form to get their parents off their back. Once their parents were happy, you snuck them back to yours, where you stashed their prom dress. 

You both even applied to God U together. Too nervous to check your acceptance, Jordan checked yours and you checked theirs. Sitting across from each other on your bed you both log in before giving the laptops to each other.

“Okay, three, two, one…” you counted down, opening Jordan’s laptop. Your eyes scanned for any promising words like congratulations, or welcome. "Accepted" was the first word your eyes caught but you need to fuck with them.

“Jord… I’m so sorry.” You start. Their face falls, and you feel like a dick for doing this. But the opportunity is too good to pass up. “That you believed me! Because you got in!”

They lunged across your bed to see what the screen says. You saw Jordan's eyes scan the same letter you just read, picking out the same words. 

“You’re such an asshole!” they told you, rolling their eyes, gently hitting your arm with the back of their hand

You’ve never been shy about showering Jordan with compliments. Saved in screenshots never to see the light of day, Jordan has kept some of them. 

You: OMG!!! Jordan you’re so pretty. I’m so lucky to call you my friend. 

You: You’re so handsome!!! I love your hair slicked back! If she doesn’t agree you need to drop her. 

You: ur a solid 9/10. Lost a point for not giving me a sip of your drink yesterday lol

Jordan Li has been in love with you since age 16. Probably earlier, if they want to admit that to themselves. You’ve only ever expressed interest in men so they kept their feelings to themselves, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, figuring it was better to have you as a friend only than not at all. 

In your first year, you were even roommates. While Jordan flourished in crim, you bounced between majors before settling into politics.

Every time you brought some frat guy to your shared dorm, Jordan died inside. Trying to get over their long-standing crush, Jordan did the same.

When Jordan made number 2 on the top five, you celebrate with them. Maybe a bit too hard that night.

You were there when their ranking dropped after the death of Brink. A man you only met twice, but you would do anything for Jordan. Especially given how hard you fell for both versions of them last year.

“I’m going to try to tag team with your dad, get some points for you and keep him engaged, yeah?” You ask over your shocker. Jordan is behind you, ready to help with zipper duty for your dress.

“You don’t have to.”

You let out a small scoff. “Dude. I’m doing poli supe. Schmoozing with rich people is like half our courses. Zip me up please.”

“How long have you known Jordan? You seem to be a good couple.” The man you and Jordan's dad suckered into a conversation asks. He's sitting beside Jordan's parents, while you and Jordan are on the edge of some fancy pit or table. 

“Well, these two have known each other pretty well over the years. Jordan tried to kiss her when they were kids, and she hit him with her Black Noir lunch box.”

“It was a Queen Mauve lunch box, actually.” You say with a laugh.

“And she called him ‘Jojo’ for probably the next two years out of spite.” Kayla laughs. It's a special embarrassment when your parents tell stories about your childhood. All the stories are about you but it's been so long ago you can’t remember any of it. Jordan looks worse off, slouchy posture against the banister, while you sit next to him. Part of you wants to tell him to sit up straight, but you figure you can play the grief angle better this way. 

“Oh, and remember when Jordan got his wisdom teeth out? You guys were inseparable. I think I still have the photo of you two passed out watching TV!” Kayla gushes, reaching for her phone to find the photo.

“We all thought you two would be president and First Gentleman.” Dad insists. Your smile is fake and tight, knowing if Paul pulls out prom photos, you would have to quietly fling yourself out of a window. 

Maybe you drank a bit too much liquid courage. Maybe the tension between them and their parents was getting to you. To give Jordan some space, you took their parents for a tour of your classes, knowing they’ll be talking to your family when they go back to Rochester.

Jordan shifting doesn’t even cause you to raise an eyebrow, the subtle sound just blurs into the background.

“Or president and First Lady.” You blurt out, four pairs of eyes darting towards you. “First supes in the Whitehouse? It would be political dynamite.”

“You like this version of Jordan?” Dad asks with bewilderment.

“Of course. I like Jordan because of how smart and driven they are. I like Jordan because of their weird sense of humour. It doesn’t matter what they look like.” you say, trying to prove it to their parents, but also to them. You’ve picked up on their crush many times, too kind to say something that would embarrass them or hurt them. It’s only recently how much you found yourself staring at fem Jordan and wanting to kiss her too. 

“I’m going to go and mingle some more.” says the man, Brad or Rob maybe. You forgot his name right after you met him. His words are like a bucket of cold water was dumped over you. You don’t confess your feelings to Jordan just to Jordan, but in front of their judgy parents, and a possible donner. You need to go. 

You stand and straighten out your dress. 

“I’m going to go too. Other donors to talk to. Go Jordan!" You finish with an awkward laugh and even more cringy go team! gesture by yourself. 

You didn't lie to Jordan and their parents. You did go and talk to other donors but it twists your stomach every time you bring up how amazing their grades are, or how skillful they are at fighting. After donor number three gives you an answer that technically was “we’ll see” but heavily implied to be "yes for Jordan” you went to hide in the bathroom. You have enough battery left on your V-phone to keep it going for most of the night. Tomorrow you can talk to Jordan and hope you don’t fuck it all up. 

You barely look up when the door opens, already have done too much for the day to care who it is. 

‘Hey, can we talk?” You snap to attention at the voice. Of course, you know that voice. It's Jordan, still feminine presenting. 

“Fuck, Jord, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have spring that on you. I promise I’ll just go back and try to get you some votes, you’re going through a lot.” You say, in a rush to get the words out, desperate not to fuck up you’re friendship. The rim of the sink is hard against your back but you can’t help but shrink into it. 

“Did you mean it?” They ask, still keeping a distance from you.

“Yeah, of course, I don’t want to ruin this friendship.”

“No, what you said in front of my parents.” 

Oh right. Your confession. Fuck. It's already out there, might as well keep it going. 

“I may, uh-” you curse yourself for leaving your drink outside the bathroom, wanting something in your hands to stall. “-have a crush. On you. My best friend.” You twist your hands together, wishing Jordan didn’t look so pretty. If your heart beats any faster you may go into cardiac arrest. 

It's Jordan that indicates your third first kiss. It's gentle, and fast, like the second one. She pulls back quickly, but you run your fingers through her hair and pull her closer. The intensity from the first first kiss is still there, only this time you both share it. Her hand smooths up to your face, thumb stroking your cheek in a silent invitation to open your mouth. You comply, and tilt your head into her palm. Her tongue sweeps into your mouth and you can taste the champagne they were drinking. 

The sound of the door opening makes you both jump.

“Stall?” You ask, voice low and hushed. You squirm out from where she has you between the sink and her. You push the door open to the nicest-looking stall, desperate to keep kissing Jordan. They follow your lead eagerly, one hand wrapped around your shoulder to keep you near. 

Dipping their head, they softly kiss your jaw before moving onto your neck. You silently thank the other two women arguing in the bathroom so that your gasp goes unnoticed. Giving Jordan's hair a small tug, you pull them back up to you. The shit-eating grin they flash you makes you want to almost get caught again. 

Your free hand moves to their waist, trying to get as close to them as physically possible. 

You pull back slightly, wanting so desperately to get lost in the moment, but the commotion in the other stall is distracting. Plus you’re nosey.

Jordan frowns when you pull away, eyes scanning your face for something they did wrong. You shake your head and tip it over to the stall.

“The fuck?” They mouth to you, hand still around your shoulder.

You gently push Jordan against the door to give yourself space to squat down. You see two pairs of feet in the stall across the wall. You hear the voices quiet down, before the sound of someone peeing. You frown slightly, weird fetish to do at a memorial gala but you hear rumours about students into more fucked up shit. 

“We should get outta here.” You whisper to Jordan. 

“Weird place for our third first kiss.” Jordan whispers back. You reach around them to unlock the stall door. Third first kiss. You replay the words in your head, a warm feeling blooming in your chest. 

You gently push them out of the stall, trying to keep your laughs quiet as you both scurry past the other couple in the stall. 

[mcflymemes]

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD" PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

who else knows you're still alive?

don't tell me i'm the only one that knows.

i never should have believed their lies.

how could you keep this from me?

they lied to you. they knew it would break you if i died.

i staged it all.

there's no way this is happening.

i'm never letting you go.

i promised you i'd never leave you.

but i saw you die! this is impossible!

no. no. this isn't happening. this can't be real.

i watched it. i watched you die and now you're standing here.

how is this even possible?

they might have exaggerated just a bit.

we needed to make it look like i was dead.

you just let me spend all this time thinking you were dead?

did you tell anyone else?

this was your master plan? fake your death, see what happens?

i don't know whether to be pissed or be thrilled to see you again.

i've just seen a ghost.

you saw what they wanted you to see.

you're not real. i must be dreaming.

did you look for me?

funny. i don't remember falling asleep.

you just let us all believe you were dead?

it was the only way to do this. i'm sorry.

when were you going to tell me?

i watched the life leave your eyes...

you kept this from me.

oh my god... no. no no no. this can't be happening.

how did you... how did you even do this?

someone pinch me.

you look pretty good for someone that's supposed to be dead.

i watched you die in my arms.

they told me you died.

i promised you i'd come back.

they lied to me? all this time?

trust me, i wanted to tell you. i really did.

i think i need to sit down.

i'm gonna need some time to process this.

are you real? can i touch you?

what was all this about you dying?

you've kept the truth from me all this time.

had you just told me, i could have helped you.

i begged them to let me tell you, but they said it would ruin our plans.

the blood was fake. i'm all right.

yes, i'm alive! would you please come over here and give me a hug?

i didn't think i'd survive it, either.

i knew you'd come back for me.

we had to make it believable from the start.

there was no other way.

i should have told you.

i tried to get a message out to you.

they said you'd moved on, so i figured i should, too.

i wish i had all the answers for you.

i know you expect me to be okay with this, but things have changed since you died.

[name]... i thought you were dead.

will you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?

i'll never leave you again.

i swear on my life, this wasn't supposed to happen this way.

i take it you got my message.

everything got out of hand.

they didn't tell you?

glad you could make it.

i'm sorry i didn't reach out to you sooner.

all of a sudden, you come back into my life.

i'm back and better than ever.

i don't want to hear your excuses.

[seat-safety-switch]

"Ah, the digimals," I lied. "I know exactly what you are talking about."

It was the start of my tumultuous three-week employment at Google. Google, who was once the most powerful company on Earth, had in recent years become enmeshed with bullshit-generating text engines to the point where they could no longer tell truth from fiction. Perhaps the greatest evidence of this fact was that they hired me to head up the new Digital Transformation division. Remember, kids, don't get high on your own supply.

Here's a secret about California: cars don't rust there. It's real dry, and really nice, and you can even drive dented cars around without them instantly turning into a pile of iron filings and swear words. So of course I jumped on the job. I could not believe my luck that they had decided the resume I was required to make in order to pass Reintegration With Society 101 class was good enough to offer me an executive-level position.

Now, all of you are fully aware that the average Silicon Valley management job involves showing up for one to two hours a week, doing nothing except making everyone's job harder, and then buying two vintage Porsches off eBay while taking a shit in your private executive bathroom. We accept it because, well, starting a whole revolution about it sounds a little bit "too much," and we got bigger fish to fry. For instance, a whole lot of people at Google were very concerned about Digital Transformation, which sounds either good or bad (I never figured out which.)

When they finally came to my spacious skull-emblazoned office and canned me, it wasn't because I was incompetent. No, my absolute lack of attention to any of my subordinates had led to immense success in Digital Transformation (again, either for or against – if you know, write in.) What they were mad about was that Facilities had filed a complaint. You see, I had cottoned on in my first day of work that I didn't actually have to buy an expensive California house. Google's parking lots were copious enough that I could simply leave my dozens of vintage Porsches there, without fear of rust, and sleep in a different race car bed each night.

[worldsover]

Completeness ft. Yeseo, Mashiro

length ✦ 13.7k

genres ✧ gf!Mashiro, virgin!Yeseo

✦✧✦✧✦✧

There is exactly one axiom that matters. Mashiro is your loving girlfriend. All other truths are auxiliary. Yet, postulates exist that can carry weight to them and affect the system upon which this first and only truth is built. An example: Yeseo, Shiro's best friend, is something of a little sister to you both, and thus you make love to your girlfriend, and care for your girlfriend's friend as much as any guy should. For some reason, this unbreakable and absolute edict has been revised, softened, changed, and now truth itself is something that the two of them are… considering.

"Hey, what do you think of Yeseo?"

It's a Thursday night, and Mashiro's on top of you, her hand stroking your cock as she asks. It's not the kind of distraction you want while you're about to get off, but here you are.

"She's cute. Um, can be a bit of a handful sometimes."

"That's it?" Mashiro gives you a wry smile.

"What's with you? Why are you asking about her now of all times?"

Mashiro shrugs, but you don't believe it. She tugs down the neckline of her cropped top, showing off more of her breasts as they threaten to spill out of her bra. Between the sheen of sweat on her cleavage and the toned shape of her abs, that's a lot of skin and sexiness to swallow. Her fingers don't have to work long before you're fully erect.

"I mean, I'm just saying, she's gotten pretty hot lately."

You raise an eyebrow at her. "Hot? Since when?"

"Well, obviously now that she's an adult. And what, you think she's not hot, babe?"

You look away and groan. "I dunno, it's a bit weird." You're not even being political about your answer. That's just the truth.

Mashiro peels your eyes back to her when she takes your hand and brings it under her shirt. She's smiling like she's got a joke only she's privy to, even when you start pinching her nipples. At this point, she would usually start melting, and all clothes would be forgotten for at least another half-hour.

She doesn't.

Not that this is anywhere near Shiro's first time taking control of a situation, but the motive was always self-fulfillment, fucking out your orgasms to chase her own. Therefore, when Mashiro slaps your cock against her abs, you tense up in surprise and anticipation. She leans over to capture your shaft between her tits, inside the tight confines of her top. You thought that she thought that this shirt was too cute to ruin with stains of cum, but it seems like she's willing to sacrifice some clothes for whatever greater good. Her breasts are just big enough to make this possible, and while her skin is plenty soft and warm, she adds spit to the mix to make the passage nice and slippery.

"Ah, Shiro," you say.

Each time your tip pokes out of her shirt, Mashiro gives it extra attention—kissing, licking, suckling. The only reason you're not thrusting into her mouth is because she has your hips pinned to the bed. 

"So," she says, "Yeseo. Imagine her here."

"Wha..." You're dumbfounded, and it's not just by how Mashiro's mouth wraps around the head of your cock. That's nice though, and you could probably cum on her lips like this—you've done it before—but you're apparently in the middle of a conversation and it's very hard to reply when she's working you like this.

"Mm, tell me what you think of her. Be honest this time." Sure, Mashiro talks about her best friend a lot, but you never imagined that she'd be so cavalier about bringing any other person up while in bed. At the very least, you'd think she would broach this topic with a bit more tact, and a bit less tit-fucking.

Where to start is a dilemma, what with your brain functioning at half speed. "Uhhh. Purple hair." Gotta start somewhere. "She's… smart?" You're pretty sure that's it, right? That's everything there is to know about Yeseo. "She's like a sister."

Mashiro pulls back, relaxing the pressure on your dick, and you're both disappointed and relieved. "What if she were a little less like a sister?"

"Shiro, what do you want me to say?" You don't get to see her smile, since she's back to sucking on your tip, but you feel it.

"That you would dick down my bestie if that's what she needed?"

You open your mouth to deny it. "Well, I—" The next word should be a word, not a squeak. But that's what happens when she sucks on your dick while its length is stuffed into her tits. Her lips fit around your girth tight and they leave you with a parting lick. Makes your breath catch. You think about what she said. The fact that you're still hard says it all.

"It's okay, you can admit it. Yeseo's got such a pretty ass now, doesn't she?"

Your first thought is comparison: you want to believe that your girlfriend beats Yeseo in every department, and that's certainly true with the heft of her breasts as Yeseo's petite frame has a way to go before being able to swathe your member how Shiro currently is. Yet, you think about yesterday, how your eyes kept traveling to Yeseo's ass in her leggings and how that butt could be softer to the touch than your girlfriend's. Could be. Could be fluffier like a cloud, fuller like ripe fruit, rounder than a bubble ready to pop, and you don't want to admit you would pop it. Not really, so you're silent and tense, so what could be, isn't.

Mashiro notices, and pulls away from your cock. "Hah, thought so."

Shaking your head, clenching your jaw, you ask, "Why does it matter? Are you gonna be jealous?"

"Jealous? Of what, you ogling Yeseo? God no," Mashiro says, laughing, "she's so cute and tiny, I wouldn't blame you." She pauses, giving your length a few languid strokes up and down her tits. "If anything, I'm the opposite of jealous. Curious."

"Is that what opposite—"

She squeezes her tits together with an arm around her chest, your shaft in the most loving stranglehold. "I'm being serious. Just think about it. Okay?"

You sigh. "Fine, fine."

The conversation dies and gives way to the sound of wet slurps, soft moans, and the squelches of Mashiro's spit lubricating her titjob. Your toes curl as the pressure builds, and it's not long before you're close. And since her understanding of what close means to you is atomic-clock precise, she unsheathes your dick in the annoying nick of time. You can only laugh after all that—for all the times she's edged you, at least they were premeditated, or for a cause like a sudden visit from her parents.

"Fuck, babe, really?" You've had an infinite amount of patience for your lovely girl, so you're surprised at your own exasperation. You sit up, but then she pushes you back down to the bed with a hand to the chest. You take a deep breath, now grasping that this is all part of her plan, and that you should know better than to mistrust Mashiro for a second.

Mashiro leans over, your cock in her grip, the other hand slipping aside the wet white panties under her skirt. She doesn't bother getting them off properly, adjusting them to the side to reveal her trimmed mound and the swollen button peeking between pink lips. She lets your shaft rest against her pussy, then strokes the two together. Each pass of your cock along the underside of her clit has Mashiro breathing heavier, until she's panting like she's just finished a good work out. The wetness of her juices spreads on your shaft and her chest heaves in her cropped top while you need prison-grade handcuffs to keep from thrusting into her.

When the pressure's built enough, when your cock's about to burst, you're forced to watch your girlfriend rub herself to completion, your cock still in her grip. She cums before you, like an angel crying out for salvation, her blonde bangs sticking to the sweat of her forehead, though none of that stops Mashiro from jerking you off through your own orgasm. You moan her name as your hips buck and her thighs clench and her hand works in a blur.

The moments like this are where you realize your notions of Mashiro have been challenged, over and over. Loving is not so singular in meaning as you had thought, because when you first started having sex with your girlfriend, maybe a month after the first date, you honestly were making love. When you'd cum inside the condom while hugging her tight, that's when you two were done for the night.

But now loving means that you paint her abs in milky white, cum pooling into her belly button, spurts dribbling over her fingers, and then coat her pussy with the thick river flowing down her stomach. Plus, since you're still hard, might as well use that as lube for the ride of her life. You're not sure how you manage to keep up with Mashiro. Obviously, how she eats your cum from her fingers like it's candy, how her tits bounce now freed from her shirt and bra, and how her cum-creamed labia grips around your cock are all great incentive to push through your exhaustion. But in the recesses of your mind, the one part of your brain that isn't fixated on her, there is a small question. 

Small indeed. The same brand of small as your girlfriend. Five years younger.

Mashiro has gone and done it now. You're seeing the other girl in her face, the supposition, the thesis, your eyes blurring as Mashiro fucks down on you harder. Oh, damn, Yeseo really knows how to ride you well—wait, no. Your girlfriend's riding you well, her pussy milking your cock just right. Fuck. What the hell is wrong with you?

You groan, and you're not sure whether it's a cry of frustration or pleasure. Mashiro's face, Mashiro's tits, Mashiro's hips, Mashiro's tightening pussy, all of them are so nice and so warm and so tight and so wet and so every good that good can be. As if in that cute package of her body, your girlfriend has molded herself to be everything you need in a lover. She repeats the words for good measure: "I love you, I love you, oh, fuck, I love you!"

The same way loving used to mean something classic and rigid, taking her out to dinner or watching movies, loving now means that rigid takes on a different, more literal definition. That's Mashiro, growing as you grow, and in that way, you shouldn't be surprised that the topic of Yeseo—sweet, innocent Yeseo—isn't the end of it. Not even close.

Speaking of growing, the tension in your loins. Lewd, sloppy sounds intermix with a mess of Mashiro's cries while your hands squeeze too tightly the flesh of her breasts. 

You gasp and mindlessly call out "Shiro, Shiro, Yeseo, wait, I—" but you're cut off by Mashiro's tongue wrestling yours. Unbridled want, unmitigated desperation, she kisses you like a girl possessed, and there's no room to protest and figure out what the hell's happening. 

With no condom—it's been a long while since that—your load spills into Mashiro like she's an unwitting, impure bride, and by god, there's such a hellfire in your ears from her scream when the sin soaks through to her sinner womb. The pleasure blurs your minds, or more, her cunt does, and with the cum your dick oozes, the most you can offer when Shiro topples over you and collapses is a "Ah, mmh."

As your breathing calms, she lifts up her skirt and spreads her pussy, letting you see your second load ooze from her insides. 

"God, I needed that so bad," she says. Her voice is breathy, but there's a smile in it, and she crawls over to you and kisses you on the lips. Between the two of your bodies is a whole lot of sticky. You groan into her mouth, and then when she breaks off, she starts to pepper your lips and jaw with more kisses. "You wanted that too, huh?"

You wipe away a bead of sweat on her forehead. "Yeah. Of course. You're so fucking perfect, Mashiro." You run a hand through your hair. "Oh, fuck. Right, I'm... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said..."

"Shh. I think I've made it pretty clear that I don't mind, right? I love you, it's okay."

You nod, laughing to yourself in disbelief is not some fancy dream. "I love you too. I just wish I, I dunno, didn't call her name right then, you know?"

She grins as you begin your cuddle. "No, no. That was fucking hot, actually."

"It was?"

"Yes!"

"No, really that wasn't right, I'm..."

Mashiro insists. You deny. It's a circuitous route that continues onward from outside of this bedroom—at dinner, walking down the street, at a sweet little shopping date where you and Mashiro were buying decorations for the home and she just had to get this puppy plushie for her best friend—really any time that Yeseo is mentioned, this conversation bubbles up from the depths.

It's one of those oddities, those quirks, the little humps in a relationship that eventually dies off and...

No, whiplash fucking snaps your neck in half.

So now you're here, in a room with your girlfriend and your truth-breaker. Mashiro sits on your lap, her breath so close to yours that you can smell the strawberry lip balm. Pliant, warm, she straddles your thigh while her hand travels down your chest, to your crotch. You groan into her mouth when she squeezes your hardening member through the fabric of your slacks. All the while, Yeseo watches, hands also down her pants. Too embarrassed despite the unspoken permission—goading, really—Yeseo keeps her fingers pressed against her clit, not quite daring to move.

It was supposed to be a normal day. Yeseo wasn't even supposed to be here. But Mashiro invited her, and she didn't kick Yeseo out, (which you would've done yourself, but it's hard doing anything when Mashiro has her nails on your skin like claws), and Yeseo didn't leave, and now you're stuck here, having your girlfriend dry-hump you and make out with you while another girl's watching.

It's like this for a while, a holding pattern, a cold war. Days. The first shot across the bow is when Yeseo leaves, flushed, and you rail your pretty girlfriend into the sheets so that the girl can't escape the sounds outside the room. If later, you somehow find out she was slouched against your bedroom, fingering herself to completion, then you wouldn't be surprised. Here comes the next battle in the next day, where Yeseo steels herself to watch Mashiro ride you, your back to the headboard. Then she sends the follow-up, bombarding you with her every fantasy while you know that acting upon it is this landmine, or now it's a minefield, or now the trenches are dug and all that's left is to wait.

Mashiro shoots the farmer's pig when she speaks up over dinner.

"It's just a handjob."

You choke on your half-swallowed piece of meat and end up coughing.

Yeseo looks up from her phone, then freezes. "W-what."

Mashiro gives Yeseo a wry smile as she gets up, massaging her shoulder. "You want to, right? So you should. It's okay, Yeseo." Mashiro's voice is gentle, and Yeseo nods slowly. Mashiro presses a kiss to Yeseo's cheek before walking over to you. She doesn't have to ask if this is what you want.

This is what you want.

Mashiro takes Yeseo to the bedroom, and you finish dinner before tidying up. You wash the dishes, wipe the table. Put away the leftovers. Count down from twenty until you tell yourself there are no logical reasons to delay the inevitable further, not with the way your pulse is racing, not with the way you've tasted anticipation in the air.

Once you open your door, you find your girlfriend holding the shirt collar of a willing Yeseo who has already crawled into your bed. The two are kissing—this isn't the first time you've seen, though it's the first time you've seen them hold it longer than a cute peck. First time you've seen tongue. First time you've seen hands under clothes and on bare skin. Never seen Mashiro grabby with her spit-covered lips.

You are quiet on your feet. Any sound you make, the creaking of the door, or the harshness of your breath, it drowns in Mashiro and Yeseo's obscene make-out. Delicious wet sounds burrow into your ears, the two girls slicking over and around and with each other, Mashiro in an exploratory mood while Yeseo lets herself get familiar. She looks flushed, content. Happy.

Mashiro acknowledges you by the doorway with a coo. "Just giving a little lesson." She pats the space on the bed next to her, where she strips off your shorts, your semi-erection right there for Yeseo to behold.

Yeseo wipes her lips with her shirt. You see her white bra. You think you can feel heat coming off the bridge of her nose. She stares like your dick's looking back, like this is the first time she's seen a penis that wasn't in a textbook diagram. Mashiro pulls Yeseo closer, bringing her between your legs; the furtive girl reaches for your member, then stops before touching, eyes back-and-forth between your dick and her arm. Even half-hard, you're about as thick as Yeseo's slender wrist, nearly the length of her forearm. She mouths "how" as her fingers hover a centimeter, this warmth a ghost over your cock.

"Here," Mashiro says, kneeling beside Yeseo. Holding her hand over Yeseo's, she guides the girl to wrap those fingers around your shaft and stroke it up and down. In your life, you've had lots of handjobs—mainly either self-administered or Mashiro-administered—but nothing quite matches Mashiro having her fingers tangled with Yeseo's, the touch soft with a little squeeze from one of them, not quite meeting any spots that'll make you squirm. You think Mashiro wants it this way, wants Yeseo to get a feel for it, find out the heft and warmth of a man's cock. It is, however, enough to get you stiff and plumb and twitch-happy, which is where Mashiro lets go.

When Mashiro gives Yeseo a quick kiss, you swear Yeseo tries to chase her when Mashiro pulls away. Then, you receive Shiro's next kiss. "I wanna see my boyfriend and best friend enjoy themselves," she whispers, before sitting aside.

You look back down at Yeseo, and you've never had such a carte-blanche view of the girl's face. Her eyes are big, round, chocolate-brown, the same as your girlfriend, but in them, Yeseo has this super-cute, really obvious, nervous lust that keeps sending a twitch in your hips. Her cheeks are soft and flushed red as you stroke them, squeeze them, press your fingertips in just to see how fluffy she is. She has a bunny's teeth when she gasps and her thin lips part.

"Hi. Hi… hi, hi." She's caught in the headlights.

You say "Stroke," and her pupils shift down to your crotch, the word a command that's clearly Yeseo's first. This exhalation out of her mouth would be fog in the winter. "Like this," you tell her, gentler, as you start to stroke yourself with one hand. Yeseo bites her lip and reaches toward you again. Your precum oiling the way, Yeseo's digits meet yours. At first, you only hold hands and smile at each other and feel out the moment before starting tender, guiding strokes. You have a way of measuring one's nervousness by cupping her hand in yours and feeling how she touches back: the sweat of your palms, her pulse through yours, this heat that seeps through the cracks in her fingers as she trembles.

When she becomes less tense, you let Yeseo try on her own. She looks down, head full of those breaths and some little noises she doesn't know she's making. Yeseo wraps her tiny hand around the base of your cock. She stares at it, at her fingers that don't cover your girth, and you wonder how long it will take for her to get used to it. When you think about Mashiro, you realize the awe never quite goes away.

With one hand in a jerking motion, the other palm wrapping around your base to act as an extension of the first, you like what she's trying—go wild, cute thing. A low growl in your throat lets her know that you find some enjoyment in the attempt. You lean back, spreading your legs apart to give her more room, and you close your eyes to savor the moment. With your eyes closed, you're certain you could tell the two girls apart, your girlfriend naturally more experienced, less afraid of your cock.

"Am I doing good? Yeseo mutters.

You nod, eyes still tight.

"You're so big, Oppa," she says, voice filled with wonder. "It's so warm. And the veins, and the way it pulses… is this really happening?"

"Yeah, it's real." Your breath catches when Yeseo runs a finger along the underside of your cockhead.

Her breath warms your cock, and you can't help but open your eyes. Yeseo is concentrating on your dick like the test's answers are on it, and the only way to get them is to wring them out. Sure, you've given yourself much better handjobs too, but there's something about her furrowed brows, her lip giving way to her teeth, that makes it all worth it.

"Yeseo-yah, try using your other hand to twist around the tip," Mashiro says, and you hear a slick noise coming from outside your vision.

There's an eep as Yeseo uses a second tiny fist around your tip to do just that.

You moan softly, weighing into the mattress; it's a good thing you're already lying down, because the newfound intensity makes your toes curl, and you find yourself thrusting up into her hips.

"Wow, it's so big," Yeseo says. "How do you fit it in Shiro-unnie?"

You draw in a hiss. "Hah, takes some work."

Yeseo giggles. "I can imagine."

You groan as Yeseo strokes and jerks and twists faster. Pressure builds up in your balls, and when you turn your head to the sight of your girlfriend dipping fingers between her thighs, you're certain you'll cum in time to Mashiro. Diligent, your girlfriend sidles on closer, adding some spit to Yeseo's hands, to which Yeseo responds by stroking you even faster. Mashiro pours more and more saliva onto your member, insistent on looking you in the eyes, while Yeseo's strokes get wetter, slipperier. Your grunts and the wet sounds of impromptu lubricant mix with and Yeseo's quickened breaths and Mashiro's self induced moans, a filthy choir of angels. Your balls tighten; the edge tempting to knock you off-balance.

But before you can finish, Yeseo abruptly stops. You clench and whip your head toward her, and you realize instantly by the look on her face that she does not know how to handle this climax part. Thankfully, just in time, your girlfriend has her mouth ready, lips around the head of your cock, and the vibrations of her moans tips forth the chain reaction of bliss. In awe, Yeseo stares as you and Mashiro unravel, your balls pumping semen into your girlfriend's mouth, your hips bucking upward as her pussy pulsates, a thin river of lust pouring out of her.

Even with every line in the sand kicked away, you haven't put much of an effort into convincing yourself of the reality of the situation. You've known Yeseo too long, too well to conceive of anything further happening. This was an aberration, puppy's love, a one-time folly, or you might excuse it as such if there weren't more mistakes—well, calling them mistakes implies a lack of agency.

"Just a handjob," you murmur to yourself, and if they're mere mistakes, then there would no point in time in which you could stop Yeseo from jumping on you and making out with you; and you're helpless when Mashiro brings your face between the young woman's ample thighs; and Yeseo kneels over you like a dutiful maid, mouth ready, hands working, and this is the result of a long-standing debt that your family's been paying—nothing, nothing to do with you being unable to say no anymore.

Looking up from the wet, messy patchwork of muted purple and blonde hair, of thighs squishing together as they kneel and lick in tandem underneath you, you realize that Yeseo has mastered her oral techniques in addition to the manual under Mashiro's tutelage, which has shattered your final understanding of Yeseo. This picture of innocence is much like the other picture of innocence in your life, and thus you should've expected as much. When you and Mashiro first started having sex, it truly was love-making, slow, sweet, vanilla, candle-lit, adoration-for-adoration's sake sex, something you started out of gratitude for each other, and continued because every time was an affirmation of the beautiful relationship you cultivated. Over time, you learned two key things: all her dirty secrets, and the fact that she only took your cock that slow because it was too big for her to be able to do otherwise.

("No, babe, I swear, I meant the love stuff too," she said.

You replied, "Okay, fine.")

The difference here is the speed with which Mashiro—and you, admit it; you are no fucking saint—have corrupted Yeseo. You estimate it'll be a matter of weeks before Yeseo's ready to match your girlfriend's skills.

Yeseo is trying to prove as much. While Mashiro licks your shaft, she leaves Yeseo your balls; while Mashiro is busy letting your dick knock against the back of her throat, Yeseo makes sure your sack receives enough tender sucking. When they swap places, you feel a pulse through your cock, Yeseo's mouth being impressively warm and wet. The only place this tongue of Yeseo's has been wetter than the inside of her mouth must have been the insides of Mashiro's pussy—and you've watched the damnable act, how your girlfriend arches back, eyes shut in pleasure, as the eager teen tongues her dripping slit.

That's the same tongue Yeseo uses now to stroke alongside the bottom of your shaft, your cock in her mouth, nose inches from your pubis. Yeseo isn't quite as capable of taking to the root as her unnie is, but you have no complaints about watching her struggle to swallow you, and you figure she'll catch up soon enough. She hums on your cock, swirling around the tip before bobbing back down again, happy to gag and make a mess.

And the slope is slippery down from her throat to her tongue, making saliva strands from the corner of her lip down the veins of your shaft, onto the floor where your filthy fucking girlfriend—lord, when did she get this nasty, this depraved—licks it up clean for Yeseo. You watch, mind blank, as Mashiro's tongue goes from the floor up to Yeseo's hard nipples. Then she continues along her breasts, till it's Mashiro's lips meeting Yeseo's again, and your shaft is jammed between their mouths for good measure. When Yeseo takes surprising control of your dick, your eyes focus on the sweet face that's learned to hollow her cheeks and flicker her tongue over the soft ridge beneath your shaft head, one hand working on the inch she can't reach. The only thing stopping Yeseo from gulping down your seed is the very girl who's kissing your shaft where it's free, taking your cock when Yeseo leaves for a quick breath. With the competitive swallow-duel going back and forth, it's inevitable that your girlfriend wins.

"Ah, thanks for the lunch," Mashiro says.

"One day I'll win." Yeseo huffs, but you can tell she is not mad. For as much as she pretends, her thighs are wiggling in Mashiro's face moments later, and she can't hide her smile so wide whenever your girlfriend's nose brushes against her swollen clit. She smiles even wider when you invite her onto your thigh, pressing that needy pussy down and leaving a trail for Mashiro to lick up.

But for all you've done in the past few weeks, one topic has never been brought up: Yeseo's virginity. Well, never explicitly—Mashiro has asked teasingly about it before, and all Yeseo says is "a guy in school" while her body language reveals that's the lie that it sounded like. Plus, whenever she watches the two of you bang, it's as though she's putting a puzzle together—how excited she gets during afterglows or those pillow talk sessions when you explain something or other.

As you gain a better understanding of Yeseo's every mechanism, you realize it's the framing of the situation. Act in the frivolities for the appetizers all you want, but don't underestimate what makes sex a nutritious meal.

"Seriously," Mashiro says, "if you've had sex before, you wouldn't be this much of a blushing mess. What are you getting embarrassed about?"

How cruel of your girlfriend to tease. Because as Yeseo says "sorry," Mashiro pushes her finger all the way into Yeseo's core, causing her to cry out. "Ahh! It, it's just that, I've had the plug, inside, since yesterday night! God, it's b-been, too, too much… mmnh."

"You're so cute," you say, spanking the girl on all fours. The plug is simple, black, silicone, and a hell of a lot bigger than her dainty fingers that you've seen toy with her anal ring before. You had taken care to see to it that Yeseo was neither in pain nor undue stress when it came to accommodating it, with plenty of lubricant, though you warned her that she couldn't remove the anal plug until Mashiro or you came to retrieve it.

Now that you've come to collect, you bend to kiss the cheeks of the girl's small, round butt, which jiggles as it twitches. Your tongue reaches, swirls around the ring of the plug, while your hand traces between her thighs to bring forth her slick. All this while, Mashiro's finger buries between Yeseo's folds, her cunt squeezes greedily against it, and her body pushes down on the object buried in her ass.

"D-don't stare. It's, um, dirty."

"Oh? Is it?" you ask while your thumb strokes Yeseo's anal ring around the plug. You pull on it, a hair's length, playing with her, and the wetter she gets, the more Yeseo trembles—the more she tries to hide her face and her screams into a pillow—the more she inadvertently thrusts her ass back into you. Inching further until the plug is out, you lean forward and bring your tongue closer to her tightest hole. "Then why does it look so tasty?"

"I dunno! God, this is so, so embarra—"

Yeseo collects the air in front of her in a single harsh breath, your lips sealing against her back passage, which tightens considerably from your tongue's foray. Then, when Mashiro supplies the same treatment to her friend's pink folds, you feel your tongue may be trapped in her hole. Fine by you. Your hands cover Yeseo's asscheeks as you slobber with licks and kisses, tasting her asshole like it's a last request, until her whines devolve into long, indecisive moans of wanting more and asking to slow down. Yet, her hips move as if to beg for more themselves, how greedy the woman. You laugh before you let up, squeezing cool lube onto the black buttplug.

"Ahh, ahh, ahh," Yeseo pants, "I need, I need more."

You are happy to provide. In another hand, you hold a small buzzing device. You trace it along Yeseo's pussy lips, weakening her elbows and knees—jolting when the vibe makes contact with her firm nub—damn near collapsing her as Mashiro seals her lips to the toy, ensuring none of its strength escapes. You know, from experience, a combination like that is bound to make a girl pass out, so once her hips slow down their staccato jerking, you steal your girlfriend's lips for a kiss.

Though every man who's made it this far in life knows well that every hole is good to eat, every hole's different flavors are treasures and miracles unto themselves. The flavor on your girlfriend's tongue is Yeseo at her very core, salty, musky, addicting to you; when you sample Yeseo's ass once again, popping the plug back out, you get a metallic tang mixed with the sweetness of the lube; lower you return, and Yeseo's cunt is spongey and soaked and hot, slick and oozing and a veritable delight to munch on, as the taste from the source is second to none.

It's an all-out sensory assault as you pull the plug some, enough so that its widest girth is right at the clinging ring, only for you to push back inside with a pop and a delightful mewl. Fingers and toys and tongues and lips alike massage Yeseo everywhere and overwhelm all her senses, her nerves tensing into spams and jerks of utter ecstasy. She doesn't even get the courtesy of oneness in her condition: each time you work her up to the peak, Mashiro is hungry for the next, pulling out all the stops to keep Yeseo climbing higher. Mashiro and you kiss, lick, push, pinch, fondle, stimulate, and the best Yeseo can do is squirm pathetically around the devices in her holes, her mind fucked straight out of her body.

Yeseo slumps down, shaking as if her bones were wrung out. After four or five or however many consecutive orgasms, and each attempt to catch her breath ending in her wailing, her crotch is so wet that you and Mashiro might as well be making out with a pond.

"Plth, pleath, please, mnh. Th-that was, was a little, little much."

Mashiro pulls her sticky face back to pepper Yeseo's lower half with little kisses, while you lick the remainder of Yeseo's juice from your lips. Cleanup takes a while, especially as Yeseo is too much a drooling, weak mess to help out—you don't mind, knowing this is all for her. Mashiro grabs a spare towel and wipes Yeseo down; once she's stable enough, you give her a gallon jug of water from the bedside stand and instruct her to drink up.

In the throes of this arousal, still breathing like air has never quite reached her lungs properly, Yeseo lays back and fights against the delirium. You and Mashiro cuddle her sides, squishing her between, and plant kisses all over her face and neck. Yeseo embarks on the road back to normalcy, thanks to the warmth of the two bodies, the careful embrace of loving hands, and your soothing words. When she's returned in totality, Yeseo locks eyes with you, her gaze serious like you've never seen on such a delicate, pretty face.

"So," Yeseo whispers, tensing up. "I know you've been waiting. You know. For me to bring it up."

"Hmm?" You grin. "What's that?"

Mashiro grumbles and reaches over to tap your shoulder. "Hey, this isn't the time to play coy."

"Alright." You face Yeseo. "Hey. It's okay." Sincerity in your voice, you bring yourself so close that Yeseo can't possibly miss your eyes and the warmth in them, you hope. "Whatever you're comfortable with, Yeseo. I mean it."

"Yeseo-yah," Mashiro says, her arms wrapping tighter. "You don't have to rush into anything. Whatever feels right to you, okay?" She glides forward until their kindred faces are so close they might as well be kissing.

A giggle permeates through the cracks in the wall of tension she's built. "I had no idea you two were such softies. Is this what happens when you date for so long?"

"Us? Softies?" You chuckle and cup her cheek, making the skin soft and pink. You brush her hair behind her ear. "Did cumming make you forget the past hour or—"

Mashiro throws a pillow at you. "Don't talk like that to our baby!"

That only makes you laugh even more, and as Yeseo joins in the laughter, so too does Mashiro. It's a while before Yeseo sits up, takes a deep breath, slaps her thighs. "I'm fine. Seriously, I'm ready now." She looks at you, dead in the eyes. "Oppa. I… I have wanted to fuck you ever since… since…" Her voice gets lower. "A couple months ago."

You try not to choke on your own spit. "Yeseo, you just turned eighteen then."

"So?"

"Yeseo." Your voice is calm yet stern.

"Besides, lots of other girls in school already lost their virginity!"

"And so you haven't, I knew it!" Mashiro laughs from the sideline.

Yeseo sticks out her tongue, and then her face turns serious again. She holds her hands on top of yours, as though drawing the answers from her fingertips as she thumbs them. After a slight pause, you give her an encouraging rub on her shoulder. "I just don't, didn't want to disappoint you guys. And I know we've done so much together, but sex… it's different. Means more. Like, look at you two. You're such a sweet couple, and I feel like I'm just budging between—"

"Absolutely not!" Mashiro exclaims as she joins in massaging the flesh of Yeseo's shoulders.

"I swear to god," you say, "you're all that matters in the world to us, right, Shiro?"

She nods forcefully.

"If we didn't care about you, we would have never taken you here, would have never let you in on our lives and intimacy. You could never budge between me and Shiro. In fact, I think you've made us better as a couple in ways you couldn't imagine, like how much happier Shiro and I are now."

Mashiro turns to kiss your cheek before addressing Yeseo herself. "We love you so much. And the most important thing to us, the thing that makes me the happiest, is when you feel good. So please, whatever you're worried about, we can work it out, baby."

It's all the truth, new axioms being built from a foundation of old, with your affection for the other girl unquestionable—enough for a lifetime, you think, that every day the three of you spend time cuddling or watching a movie is a day in paradise. Yet when you ask about the color of your world with this new addition, it becomes obvious how incomplete that thought is, to what degree you were underestimating the effect of the past few weeks. Here was this naive girl, this sweet doll, to whom the world was a painting of only shades of soft vanilla white. Now, it is pink, candy sweet. Now, it is red, a fiery thing. Now it is the burning color of sunrise, on her cheeks, from her ears, in between her thighs, and shall the colors subside, you gladly will rise up tomorrow to bring more.

Here comes the clouds, their tears on Yeseo's face, but they're joy-filled, like rain while the sun shines hot on a summer day. As Yeseo rests on her knees, back against your chest, Mashiro draws upon Yeseo's face with a kiss.

"How about this," Mashiro says. She steals the girl from your lap, pulling her into her own lap and embracing her from behind. "You should go on a date with him. Remember where we went the first time?"

With Shiro gazing expectantly at you, you reply, "Yeah, the aquarium? I even got you a stuffed shark there, right? Then we ate crab and—"

"Yeah! Take Yeseo there, go on a cute date and make her melt. You two can make it official. And while you're out, I can work myself into a mess and we can have the best possible first time. How does that sound, Yeseo?"

The toothy smile says it all.

The night falls, then another, as time slows. Gravity has changed. The anticipation for that Friday drags on, and the days are slow, sweet, long, tortuous. The three of you aren't even fooling around anymore; hell, you and Mashiro haven't... well, you still fucked three times last week, and nothing rough, but that's easily half of the usual, if not less.

But this new dynamic is not unwelcome. It's reminiscent of when you first started dating, before things became intense and adventurous. You cuddle in your bed under blankets and the moonlight and start to touch, caress, and feel each other's warmth. Mashiro whispers sweet things to you like "I love you, you're the best boyfriend in the world, you're so good to me." You run your fingers through her hair and over her neck.

Naked bodies pressed together, skin-to-skin, you can feel the warmth emanating from each other. She grinds against your leg, her wetness leaving a slick trail on your skin, and you grip her ass as she thrusts against you. Your shaft is hard and heavy on her stomach as you roll over her, Mashiro on her back and you on top of her. With the blanket covering you two, it's like the space is a tent and you're intrepid explorers discovering new continents, remapping unknown boddies. Your gazes become those of lovers finding hidden moons and suns in each other's eyes.

Mashiro grabs your face and kisses you, hard, and you return the gesture with passion. She lets out a small squeak, and it's a tiny noise in the still room under the cramped covers. You suck her bottom lip, nipping on it, before your tongues intertwine, causing her to moan softly into your mouth.

You break the kiss, and Mashiro whimpers, "Don't stop, don't stop kissing me."

You lean back and say, "Shh, baby, I got you." Your finger goes to her mouth and you pull on her bottom lip, drawing it down. Then you take that finger and run it down her body, from her mouth to her neck, then down to her breasts. Mashiro has a beautiful set of tits, and you love to see them bounce, jiggle, and move, and you circle her breasts with your finger, drawing lazy circles around them, but the way you love and touch her now is more than arousing; it's intimate as you treat her body like an adoration to praise, worship, and cherish her.

She deserves you telling her as much, in as many words: "You are the most perfect, beautiful girl in the world. Your body, your love, you, your everything."

Mashiro blushes at your words and closes her eyes, arching into you as your lips trail down to her chest. Soft, wet kisses leave trails along her skin, causing her to whimper and writhe beneath your touch. As your lips continue their journey downward, so too does your hand. Her legs spread willingly for you as your fingers hover over her folds, teasing and tracing circles around her dripping pink pussy. Your thumb rubs against the thin skin of her inner thigh before playfully dipping towards her entrance.

She's soaking already, the sweet smell of her arousal filling your senses, and your pecks if like a map of the world plot a course down her body, her ribs and her hip bones like signposts. When your girlfriend squeals and tries to push your face away as you lower your head to its final destination, you grin—it's like old times when she used to get shy and flustered in your presence. Using one hand to keep her pink labia spread and the other to hold her thighs in place, you finally lower your head to its final destination. Your tongue darts in her, kissing, lapping, probing, and, most of all, worshipping the insides of the cunt.

And the noises she makes are the sweetest little things in the world, little breaths and hums and keens and croaks that are only audible under the soft cocoon of blankets surrounding the two of you. Even though you're alone in the room, she's hesitant to be too loud; it doesn't stop her from expressing her satisfaction. With one hand on her clit and the other gently caressing her backside, you delve deeper between her folds with your tongue, eliciting coos and sighs from Mashiro. You want every moment to be this moment—your woman lost in the isolated woods of her pleasure, no one else to hear the tree fall but you.

You yearn to look up at your lovely Shiro, to watch her unravel in bliss, but the blanket obstructs your view. Thankfully, she notices and removes it herself, possibly feeling overheated from being enclosed in such a small space. You're grateful, because now the view of your beloved girlfriend is even better: her hair tousled from squirming around in bed and covering herself with the blanket, her face flushed, mouth open in a small "o." Her hands roam over her breasts, alternating between gentle cupping them and rough pinching of her nipples. Your gaze settles on the aspect of the scene you most enjoy: the small bead of saliva escaping from the corner of her mouth, the shimmering trail it leaves as it rolls down her cheek.

Her eyes, how they sparkle in ecstasy from the love and affection you give her, filling your heart with a warmth that borders on painful. As much as you could stay here all night, then all day, until the moon rose again, Mashiro's eyes connect with yours, quietly and meekly pleading, and you know it is your duty to proceed, before she crumbles on her own.

Your tongue retracts and you leave a soft kiss on her mound. You scoop her body into your strong arms, positioning yourself above her with your cock pressing against her stomach. Her face is so close to yours that you can feel every breath she takes. She wraps an arm around your back and draws you closer with a tug, hooking a leg around your torso.

This is the closest two people can get without actually being inside each other, yet your lips remain just out of reach. Mashiro's gaze captures you, as it has since you first fell in love with her in college. There's a brief moment where something unspoken passes between you both, and then her eyes close and your noses brush against each other. In the darkness of the night, with only the light of the stars shining through the window, the crescent moon appears in her smile.

"Hello there, dear," Mashiro whispers.

Your heart is caught in your throat.

"I love you," she says.

"I love you too, babe."For a few moments, your noses are the only points of contact, stretching into what feels like eternity. Then you realize she's waiting for you.

"Kiss me," she whispers, repeating the words over and over again, and you give in. Then you two kiss—it's with an odd, powerful feeling, like you're trying to stuff the world into each other's mouths, breathing each other's air, and the timing is right and perfect and good for the next stuffing of your length into her welcoming heat. Her lips and her legs tighten around you as you ease yourself in inch-by-inch.

Doesn't take you long before you bottom out, her grippy thing sealed around the base. You wait a while before you begin moving, your hands beneath her head, on the nape of her neck. Watch how her face twists from pleasure, to frustration, to a longing. As though you're both star-crossed lovers meeting at night and on the fly, she mounts you in a rush of anticipation and love and heat and she clings onto your shoulders like a lifeline. Your girlfriend's more excited than she ever was, and her breath runs ragged, as though the weight of the world is upon her—or you upon her, pressing her into the bed.

You drink in her every little moan and squeal while she clenches your bicep in a firm grip and you're on top of her and her legs split open to frame your hips. Thrusts into her like pistons in a steam engine, driving with force and energy, and so much power that the entire bed shakes around you two. All the while, you're kissing everywhere your face can reach: neck, breasts, nipples, all over her flushed skin, all over her skin getting redder still—and Mashiro loves it all, from the deep passionate kisses to the gentle tickles that make her giggle uncontrollably.

It's all so clumsy, like you don't have the years between you to know how to work together; maybe it's the nerves—like you're teenagers in the back of your first car, almost getting caught; like you're in your dirty college dorm, finding where the screw in your frame breaks and the mattress falls and you're so horny you can't find enough grip on the uneven sheets to get a proper grip. Or maybe it's because it really is just like your first time: not the location, or the rhythm, or the surroundings, or even the way her breasts jiggle when you thrust with abandon, but the all-in desperation, of thanking the past for catching up, or thanking the future for promising to get even better.

Back then, the first time you slept with her, it was like learning an entirely new language—like you had to keep looking around as she pulled you in deeper, the walls of her snatch tugging on your cock, an alien sensation like a vacuum, her sex threatening to suck out your very soul despite the awkward inexperience.

Now, despite the awkward rhythm and the need to touch and kiss every which where, the way your bodies connect is smoother. More meaningful. Hotter.

She kisses your face and cups your cheeks and makes quiet promises under her breath, "I'm yours, I'm yours, oh, god, you're fucking me, you're—ahh—so good, so big," over and over. You love it, how much she tells you, her voice strained and high and keening and on the verge of tears. Your nails drag up the sides of her thighs and bring her into another embrace, arms around each other, tongues weaving. The more it goes, the less graceful you become, and the less coordinated you are, and the more you forget the sensations and rhythms, and your animal instincts go back to clawing and prodding and exploring and mating.

How many times have you done this? You've counted them at least, the things they do to your mind, the way your girlfriend looks at you in bed. Hundreds? Perhaps a little under a thousand, almost halfway through the past three years, each time more intimate and delicious than the last. You look into her dark- yes and become stunned in love, overcome with adoration, unable to bear it as her sweet pussy contracts on your throbbing length and you push her into the bed as you both slip over the edge of sweet release—you cum together, spurting into her wet embrace, gripping her closer than ever before, and still you hold her and hug her. She's yours, and she will forever be yours, and that is why you and she still make love three times a week like newlyweds, content with the lazy nature of time.

And just like that, maybe, you can pretend like what's coming up with Yeseo is a first encounter, an exploration in the same manner that sex with her unnie was, from some corner of her heart calling out desperately to be loved the same way as Mashiro had, to that young heart you both did your best to nurture and coax into blooming.

You're standing in front of fish, alive and vibrant. Yeseo's standing next to you, not even up to your shoulders, beaming up at you in a hoodie a bit too baggy for her small frame—it's yours—actually, it's Mashiro's now that you think of it, so long ago when your girlfriend pulled it from your closet and decided she was keeping it. It used to make her small figure positively miniscule, same way Yeseo makes it swim on her. Her short shorts, however, are all hers, all that asscheek squishing out from under it, and you want to make it the floor's instead.

Cute date. Cute date. You turn your attention back to fish, all these shimmering sea creatures swimming around in their tanks, the smell of saltwater pervasive. Lots and lots of little rainbow-colored fish behind big panes of glass and the vivid blue. You watch, and they don't glance in your direction, which is probably a good thing because they'd see how embarrassingly nervous you are for a date; you're certain you can't handle this mix of sexual anticipation and cuteness overload for another minute. The air is dense, so sticky that you're practically underwater yourself. You can tell Yeseo is thirsty, a touch uncomfortable, and so are you. Despite the wet air, your throat's dry, all your senses tingling, every nerve electrified like sharp edges of lightning arcing through the thick atmosphere.

After buying her a bottle of soda (as she says thank you in the smallest voice), you take a sip, and it's funny thinking that this is the closest you've been to kissing in a while. You sip, she sips, and this repeats back and forth until the bottle's spent. It's like you're making out, in public, no less. You want to take your hand but she's off to look at jellyfish.

This little nerd goes around oohing and ahhing at at every new species while you wonder when did she get this geeky, overtaking Mashiro of all people. You go into the penguin exhibit, and watching her shiver, you grab her slender hand and intertwine your fingers with hers before placing your two hands in your pocket for safe keeping. Yeseo tiptoes and presses her nose into your shoulder, sniffling.

"Are you cold?" you ask.

"No. Smells bad."

"Oh." You ruffle her hair with your free hand. The dye's losing its saturation, though her still a brilliant tinted gray. "Good point. Say, aren't you feeling hungry?"

Here's the answer.

You're sitting in front of fish. These ones are dead, and delicious. Yeseo's sitting in front of you, eating guilt-free, committing grand larceny from your hand, all with a big smile. Unable to prosecute and in fact a perpetrator yourself (one count of corruption), you feed her, leave fingerprints of some red sauce on the corner of her mouth, and you wouldn't mind licking her clean if there weren't so many people around. She tongues at it herself, and visions of her licking other things pop into your head.

The visions disappear when she grins once again, wide, flashing her teeth. This isn't the Yeseo you've built up to break down; this is the Yeseo you started with, a postulate, the unbendably true and innocent one, a girl who likes hugging you and her best friend, and nothing more, least of all getting involved with the filthy sex you two have.

The pendulum swings.

"You know you don't have to use condoms, by the way. I know you bought a whole bunch, but… I wouldn't mind raw… you know, I trust you." All that is said without missing a beat, and you miss a few: blinks, breaths, words, choking on some oyster, and as she kindly hands you a napkin, she turns her head bashfully like nothing happened. "Tonight's gonna be so special, I know it. I'm so glad we did this, Oppa, thank you."

You smile, as warm as you can while your lungs are recovering.

In a park nearby, she's the one who takes your hand, swinging it back and forth as the day's bleeding amber into her skin, as her sweater becomes a blanket for her and her happiness. The dark thoughts push against the bright light of the girl, still fighting as you carry your Yeseo up a hill to catch the day fading away. On top of that hill, you kiss Yeseo like it's the first time and tell her you love her, and you hope that's enough because she deserves every part of the world below this hill, and so above.

As above, so below. The night falls. If the nights then slowed, this one has halted completely. The stopped night falls and the curse of darkness is a biblical thing because it will return you to dust from which you were made, back to where you started. These are the end times.

You're making out with Mashiro in your lap, and she has indeed worked herself into an apocalyptic mess for you. Her legs are wrapped around you, between her thighs as a wet spot like the flood, her hands squeeze your nape where your hairs raise, and god, you missed her kissing like her next breath must be in your lungs.

Yeseo, judge of the soul, eyes you down in the periphery of your vision—back to where you started.

The night falls, and it's a biblical curse of darkness upon the land because no good can come of it. There is an unshakable heaviness in the bedroom, like gravity has suddenly intensified. You're sitting on the bed with Mashiro in your lap and Yeseo nearby, her posture a mix of alertness and contemplation. You kiss Mashiro passionately, caress her body, run your fingers through her hair, and grasp her hips tightly to make her feel desired and needed.

Then Yeseo slinks over and wraps her arms around you from behind, pressing her cheek against yours and biting her lip while emitting a small moan. It's clear that she's uncertain about how to act in this situation. She hesitates before leaning forward and gently kissing your neck, causing your whole body to shiver.

What a stark contrast—the intentions and their effects. Your body acts on its own accord while your mind struggles to make sense of the conflicting emotions. But your arm instinctively wraps around Yeseo, as if it knows what to do.

Mashiro finally pulls away, understanding the situation, and there's a diamond in her eyes. "Go for it," she whispers.

Yeseo and you are two parts of an incomplete whole, and you sum with your lips, and multiply in moans. The bed squeaks, the sheets shift, and that which does not move becomes stiller than ever. Yeseo starts to grind against you, matching your movements. From the corner of your eye, you see her squeezing her eyes shut, drooling slightly onto your shoulder. When she opens them, they flash between desire, fear, longing, and confusion as she looks to Mashiro for guidance.

Your hand gently strokes her hair to soothe her, while Mashiro leans closer and tenderly kisses Yeseo's forehead. "What do you want to do next, Yeseo-yah?" Mashiro asks.

"I... I don't know what I want. I just want him inside me."

You smile adoringly at Yeseo and brush her hair away from her face. "I can make that happen for you."

"R-really? Aren't we supposed to do more...things first? Like...you know..." Yeseo stammers. "I can suck you clean again, or we can…"

"I think you've waited long enough, princess," you say.

Yeseo shudders. "Oh. God... just fuck me."

Mashiro's lips brush against Yeseo's forehead with tender affection, the warmth of their embrace palpable. As she moves down to her lips, their kiss deepens and they both lose themselves in the moment. You move behind the pair, pulling Yeseo's jeans down; she squirms in your forceful grasp. Mashiro moves to the side of the bed as you lay Yeseo on her back. As you throw her pants to the corner of the room, you spread kisses where they must go—along the inside of her thigh to her knee, back to the joint of her torso and her hip, your tongue grazing the skin above her panties. She does nothing to hide her arousal, vocal, flushed, all-in-all unrefined perfection.

Your teeth clasp on the fabric of her soaked panties, and you pull the clothes down, her hips bucking in hurry. Without breaking eye contact, you discard her last items of clothing, and rest your face atop her dripping pussy. Yeseo cries out, arching up in the instant your mouth meets her pussy, bucking against you to bring you closer.

At first, you take it slow and gentle, savoring every delicate motion that sets Yeseo off into a frenzy. But as her begging becomes more urgent, you give into her desires and increase the intensity of your ministrations. Kang Yeseo is like a leaking faucet, spilling out her lust onto your tongue and down her thighs until even the sheets beneath them are moist.

With practiced ease, you add a few fingers into the mix, skillfully bringing Yeseo closer and closer to climax with each thrust. And when she finally reaches the peak of pleasure—marked by a simple count to ten and a swipe of the letter Y—she lets out a primal scream of pure bliss. Her body writhes against yours, her fingers clutching the pillow beneath her head as she surrenders fully to the overwhelming pleasure.

"O-oh, oh god... yes," she chokes out. "Oh god. Fuck, fuck."

Mashiro has gotten naked during this, has started fondling herself, excited at her friend's exhibition. Yeseo only has eyes for you, though, and takes your head between her hands to bring you over and mash your faces together again. She tastes her own lust on your lips, her own pussy juices evidence of your hard work, kissing you and begging you to make love to her.

Mashiro approaches, drawn to the scene before her. Is she motivated by genuine concern for Yeseo's well-being or is it a voyeuristic desire to witness your lovemaking? As she presses up against you, her delicate hands reaching for your throbbing shaft, it becomes evident that it is the latter.

With a flick of a switch in her mind, Mashiro sheds all inhibitions and eagerly guides your member inside Yeseo's waiting heat. Slip into Yeseo's tightness, every centimeter a kilometer. Her small but eager pussy lips tightly compress around your tip, sending shivers down your spine. You close your eyes and can almost feel Yeseo's own eyes shut in bliss, while you can only imagine the hungry gaze of Mashiro fixed upon you both.

Her weight barely registering on your body, Yeseo digs her fingertips into your shoulders as she pleads, "Please… be gentle." It takes you back to when you first started dating Mashiro, and you reward Yeseo's trust with long, slow strokes that gradually stretch her open. She lets out encouraging mewls mixed with a single tear rolling down her flushed cheek. With each thrust, her pain gives way to gratitude and pleasure. From behind you, Mashiro's eyes lock onto yours with a mischievous glint.

As expected, she revels in Yeseo's discomfort—perhaps with a touch of wicked empathy or even a hint of jealousy at not being able to experience this first time herself. It's clear that with Mashiro's provocations, this will be anything but romantic and sweet. Your lips meet hers in a heated kiss as you pull back slightly before thrusting into Yeseo again. "You're doing so good, Daddy," Mashiro whispers breathlessly. It's not often she calls you that, but right now it feels fitting. "How does she feel?"

You respond with another searing kiss before murmuring, "Just like you did. Maybe even wetter."

"Oh yeah? You should fuck her harder to prove it then." Mashiro's full lips curve upwards into a satisfied smile as she watches you, her focus shifting to the girl writhing beneath you. You can feel the change in Yeseo, her body language shifting and telling you that she is reaching her threshold for pain. But her desire for that elusive orgasm is still strong.

As your hips continue to thrust into her, filling her holes with your thick cock, you sense the pain radiating from her body. But Yeseo is too caught up in the pleasure to call it off or complain. Each time your hips collide against hers, she breathes out "oh fuck" in ragged gasps.

The pace quickens, the intensity of your movements increasing with each passing second. The bed creaks and groans under the weight of your bodies as you both crave more and more. Your grip tightens on Yeseo's hips as you lift her ass into the air, pushing her body to its limits.

In an instant, everything changes. Yeseo's screams now come not from pain, but from overwhelming pleasure as you reach deeper inside her. Tears cloud her eyes and she cries out for "Daddy," shocking even herself with the pet name that escapes her lips. But hearing her say it only adds to your arousal.

You feel Mashiro's hand move down to Yeseo's clit, aggressively rubbing and stimulating her even further. Her words only add fuel to the fire, driving you both towards pure ecstasy. "You like that," Mashiro taunts, "You like Daddy's cock? Like how his giant fucking cock feels buried so deep in your virgin pussy?"

Yeseo grits her teeth and nods, barely able to form words through her pleasure-filled haze. "I do… please."

"You're a slut for my man's cock," Mashiro continues, causing a primal growl to escape your own throat in response. Your body moves on instinct, driven by a primal desire for pleasure and dominance."Such a slut for Daddy's cock, aren't you?"

"Yeeees..."

"You're gonna get addicted to this, hooked on cock, fucking you, and you're going to wanna cum all the time, Daddy's naughty princess, aren't you?"

"Aaah, ahh... fuck, yes, I love your cock, love Daddy's fat cock, aahn, aaah, don't stop, fuck me, fucking fuck me, fuck me like you fuck Unnie."

You love watching Yeseo's face as she gets pounded. The way her mouth hangs open, tongue hanging out, panting like a dog, eyes rolling back, lids fluttering, all in such a adorable package. However, you've been craving something else: that pert ass of hers. You unsheathe Yeseo's pussy to a line of girl cum, then flip her and scoot her towards you until her round rear is against your pelvis, and resume fucking her pronebone.

Yeseo screams into the sheets, Mashiro's fingers buried in her mouth to show her the taste of her lust.

"You gonna be a good girl, aren't you?" Mashiro asks, earning Yeseo's moan in approval on her digits. "Good. That's my cock, mine, and the only way you're getting to feel it is by being a good girl and letting him cum inside you, let him coat your pussy with Daddy's cum. Make Daddy proud, you hear me?"

When Mashiro pulls back, Yeseo speaks: "Yes, yes, breed me, cum in my pussy, make me a woman, I wanna be a woman, a woman who cums on Daddy's cock, a woman who cums from getting fucked."

Her ass jiggles in the prettiest way. Whether through the excitement or fear of having a pregnant belly at only eighteen, her thighs are shaking. Her entrance clenches tightly around your girth and milks your orgasm from you, and it's like you've become her baby maker and nothing more.

You wrap your arms around her. "You sure you wanna get bred, princess? You want my seed, every drop, to make you mine? You want to be an adult, that what you want?"

She struggles under you, her wet pussy giving way to your penis. "Yes. Yes! Fuck me, please, Daddy. Please."

Those are your last words for a while, that plea. Her asscheeks give way to your  fingers, slipping to the puckered hole of her anus. You know she's been practicing with that hole, plunging dildos up her butt, training for Daddy's cock. Mashiro takes your hand, offering to lubricate, and before you know it her saliva seeps through your digits. With that, a pointer finger hooks inside Yeseo easily, earning a happy squeak, a bit of cock-drunk laughter at being doubly penetrated.

Anal wasn't something you and Mashiro tried during your first encounter, but you very well are familiar with the act, an intrinsic fact about Mashiro that few others know. Her ass has come to be both of your preferred mode of orgasmic expression, your cum leaving a filthy pool in her asshole. Now Yeseo's about to find out why. Her anus offers the final tightest barrier for your probing finger, slipping inside the dirty hole. In and out a half dozen times, Yeseo soon adapts, and Mashiro—being on the other side of Yeseo and facing you—makes a show of kissing her neck and palming her small breasts. Yeseo bucks back on your digit and cock, the clench of her two insides holding you tight and in love.

You're so lucky that your girlfriend holds no jealousy to speak of—at least not in her sex life—as Yeseo cums hard around your invading cock. Her body clenches at the multiple parts of her that you've stuffed, keeping you held firmly inside. Like a chain reaction, your orgasm is triggered, pulled in forcefully. One two pumps is all it takes, her virgin pussy a divine void, and after that first one you lose count of your inseminating shots. Her womb is full of you, thickened, and your finger pumps with equal force in her ass. Yeseo is mumbling into the mattress, a long nonsensical string of begging and pleading that only end once you're out of her, she can feel your seed inside of her, once the bliss of the last few minutes leave.

Yeseo is your fucking whore.

After cumming her brains out, the tired slut in her sleepily tumbles off. You're not done. Seeing that creampie leak out of her well-fucked cunt, nope, you're not nearly finished. Right now there's a much sluttier hole available to you.

Yeseo rests her head against Mashiro's soft chest, passing out as her friend embraces her.

"Shiro. Marshmellow. I'm really going to ask this with all my self-control, but is it okay if I fuck her ass. She's very tempting."

Your precious petal gives the brightest smile, you know, when she's so uninhibited like this, free to her own wicked whims. Mashiro kisses Yeseo's sleeping forehead, before looking back to you. "Aww, baby, but she looks so adorable sleeping yeah fucking do it. Fuck the shit out of her."

With a peck, you accept her permission. You spread the winking hole open with two fingers, then collect some of the leaking seed from Yeseo's pussy and wipe it on the entrance. Then, the lube: Mashiro with a diligent mouth, and soon a dew of her spit onto your cock for Yeseo's ass.

As you rest your wettened cockhead against Yeseo's anus, it spasms slightly, involuntarily, puckering further against your assault. Suddenly her eyes shoot open, her back arching.

"Good dream," she moans, and as you've learned, it is possible to fuck cutely. Because that's the Yeseo on Mashiro's chest now: cute. "I was... a bad girl, I let Daddy use all my holes, aahn."

"He's ready for more of you, Yeseo-yah." Mashiro whispers.

"Wha..." Yeseo is still in a stupor from her slumber, and so the shock is clearly visceral and uncomfortable as you enter her ass. Even lubed up it takes more effort to break her innermost seal as it stretches around your tip and clings to the millimeter she lets you go in. As she gets filled with your cock again, it doesn't matter how she had previously reacted to the rough pounding you gave her pussy. Your hand grabs her arm and keeps it in place as the half inch meets an end in the resistance of her anus' unwilling submission to your fucking. But she begins to thrust herself back on you slightly, and that helps, relaxing the walls that inveighed against your penetration. Soon you make another centimeter of progress, a centimeter closer to fully lodging your cock inside her.

The penetration is slow as time itself, but for a curious reason: in this single instance, both you and Yeseo want the process to take as long as possible, for this moment to stretch even beyond how fucking long you're taking to actually penetrating her. The lewdness is so beyond what the both of you are familiar with, your plunging cock filling her most intimate spot is perhaps the dirtiest deed imaginable, filthy and nasty and deliciously so.

Yet, she's still fucking cute—cutely fucking, when she looks back to you, meets your loving gaze, a pout on her lips, and a fluttering opening of her mouth. She eyes you with an innocence that has long since left her presence here and now. Of all the girls you've fucked before and this night, none have the spark of natural sexual goodness that Yeseo possesses. Before it was pretty fucking adorable, the eager virgin desperate for attention, desperate for an anal orgasm. Now it's not just arousing, it's something deeper: beautiful. And she wants you to share in her beauty.

"M-more." It's a scant whisper, her throat dry with anticipation. More than enough. You pull on Yeseo's hair and throw her head back, exposing more of her slim neck, to drive your cock with more force into her unbroken depths. Harder now, in: two more inches penetrate her, yet no outward journey is permitted, something else which you've prevented as you continue your rhythm. Your other hand trails down from her back to her ass, where your fingers lay, kneading the cheeks apart to admire your conquest. Yeseo is being taken, wholly owned. She's yours, belonging only to your pleasure and only to your pleasure alone, to feel the pleasure of this moment together.

You pull a fistful of her hair now, drawing her ear close enough to your mouth to bite gently on the lobe, to send a shock of exhilaration through her skinny frame. "You're a filthy fucking anal whore, Yeseo. I'm going to fuck the creampie out of this asshole. Just know I own you, and you need a real man inside of you. Say it."

Yeseo purrs. "Nnn, nngh. Nn, yesss, Daddy, you own my hole, you own all my holes, your slut, just want your cock always in me, fuck my fuck, oh, ohyes, godd, do it, please!"

Again you claim this sweet sin, and push on through to the end of her depths, till you're bottomed out in her ass. Yeseo wiggles ineffectively, fruitlessly, letting you work her anus on your girth.

"How does it feel, baby girl?" Mashiro asks, and you begin to draw your cock slowly. Yeseo howls and squeezes your member, her anus unable to take the stretch any more, yet unwilling to let it go. It takes the weight of a greater instinct for her to move her hips away from you. You help pull back, but it's equally mind-agonizing, mind-numbing, but eventually you come out cleanly.

Through gasping breaths, Yeseo says, "C-can I ride it instead? That, that was too much."

Mashiro giggles, nods. "Daddy can lie down for you, sweetie. Lay him out and sit your pretty little butt on him."

You lean against the headrest and spread out your legs, giving Yeseo free range to work your cock. Much quicker now she takes your cock inside, sinking down on the cock to an easy half. Then, Yeseo relaxes and soon her ass claps against your pelvis, earning a moan from you both.

"Wow, you're a natural." Mashiro says.

"Yeah, oh, fuck, I practiced, this position, oh, mmhm. On, haaa, on a toy. Wow."

"But, the real thing's better." When Mashiro starts touching Yeseo's clit, even more globs of semen leave her cunt.

Yeseo just nods to that, her eyes meeting the lord in her head, her mouth dangling open. "Mhmm, so big, s-so hard, and, umph, and, haahh."

You quickly ascertain that while Yeseo is certainly practiced in her riding, she is no match for Mashiro's experience. Here, you don't mind—the grip of her warm and willing walls wrapping around your cock, her pussy clamping at air in response. Your mouth, open and hungry, is captured by Mashiro, french-kissing you. She's a warm, comfortable presence beside you, watching you watch the pornographic scene of the inexperienced girl fucking herself like a needy anal whore. Yeseo, from her expression, is obviously getting the hang of it: her fucking is getting faster, the cock that enters her quickly leaving in rapid pace, her pleasure quickening in its growth. Yeseo bucks up, slips down, trying to give you as much pleasure as possible

Insofar as Yeseo can find purchase in her brain-melting daze, she's cumming so very quickly and so damn hard. Yeseo is so tightly gripped at your cock you can only imagine the spasms she must be going through. For your troubles, she sprays juice all over your abdomen. As if from the deepest part of her orgasm, her last shreds of coherence, an almost non-fathomable concept, give way to a smile, to a laugh. She collapses on top of you, her cheek against your chest.

"I'm... Daddy's..."

"Cum dump." You sit up, wrapping your arm around her back. "I'm not done with you, not until I've left my cum in your asshole."

She nods. "I'm your slut, Daddy."

You take Yeseo from the bed, and carry her over to the side, bending her over the nightstand, holding her neck and keeping her pressed against the wood. Her small hands reach behind her, taking hold of your shaft and guiding you into her anus. A single thrust is enough to seat her all the way to the hilt, and it doesn't take long before you're pistoning into her, her ass jiggling.

Mashiro's got her hand buried in Yeseo's hair, pushing her down harder against the wooden surface. She's a beautiful girl, your girlfriend, her pussy soaked from watching you use this other girl. "Make a mess for Daddy," she says. "Cum around his cock, milk that cum out like you deserve."

With Yeseo bent over like this, it's a tight fit for the both of you. But you rail the woman. No mercy. All the restraint you had when taking the virginity of either hole is gone now, nothing but raw need and animal instinct driving the motion. The wet smack of your balls against her pussy, the squeaks of her own need, the sounds of the room fill you, fill her, fill Mashiro, and there's no stopping you from taking Yeseo's ass like you mean it.

It's all Yeseo can do to hold onto the edge of the nightstand for dear life. For good measure, Mashiro spanks the slut. The slut loves it. She's basically humping the furniture now, trying to get any kind of friction on her clit, any kind of sensation to heighten her pleasure.

In this moment, the world could be falling apart around you, but you wouldn't care. You just want to keep pounding away at this beautiful woman's ass. Your hands grip her hips, and you thrust inside as far as you can.

Yeseo's breath catches as she feels her ass clench around the base of your cock. Her face is one of pure ecstasy, her mouth forming a perfect O shape.

"Oh fuck, oh god, aaaah," Yeseo cries out. "I'm gonna cum, fuck, Daddy, I'm cumming!"

You don't announce it as loudly, just a sharp groan, solid grip of her hips, pulling her down onto your cock where balls-deep you unload into her. Your second climax is no less powerful than the first, shooting rope after thick rope of hot cum into Yeseo's asshole. You can feel it twitching around you, like Yeseo's trying to milk every last drop out of your cock. She's gasping for air, her body shaking. Mashiro kisses her neck and shoulder to soothe her.

You pull out slowly, letting her feel the loss of your cock. A glob of semen slips out of her gaping asshole, a strand of cream down her lithe legs.

Finally, you're spent, the well of your lust and energy dry, the strength of your legs gone, the strength of your arms gone, the strength of your mind gone. The energy to do anything more than lay in bed is beyond you now.

Yeseo can't even do much of that, and you have to help carry her to the bed, where the three of you lie.

"Fuck. Is it... usually that much?" Yeseo asks, her fingers sliding between her thighs, feeling her sticky hole and slit.

Mashiro giggles. "No. Not by a long shot."

"You're so fucking tight Yeseo-yah, of course you'd get filled up so much."

"But, is this, like, how it is? Like, I'm gonna feel it for days?"

"It's not too bad, after a while. But yeah, you'll definitely be sore. I think I still am."

"Okay, Daddy." Yeseo leans into you, resting her head on your chest. On your other side, Mashiro joins in too. Yeseo sighs."It was really, really good. I... I knew it would be, but I had no idea. You were so gentle at first, and then so rough, like I needed it."

"Well, I'm glad," Mashiro says. "And don't worry. It gets better every time."

"Really?"

"Mhm. You've got a long way to go, Yeseo-yah, if you wanna get as good as Unnie."

"You're a good fuck," you tell Yeseo. "You've got talent, Yeseo-yah."

She giggles. "Thanks, Daddy."

Mashiro looks at you, smiling, and kisses your cheek. "So what do you think, Daddy? You okay with this being a regular thing?"

"I... yeah. I can deal."

"Good. Because next time, you're fucking us both. Together."

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AO3, AFF

[wandanatsgf]

Masterlist

WandaNat x Reader

Sugar, Sugar AU

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (ongoing)

summary: After losing your job, you are desperate to come up with some money. Your best friend Kate signs you up for a sugar baby app where you meet Wanda and Natasha, who eventually become your sugar mommies.

Wanda x Reader

Lovers, Vampires, Strangers Part 1 Part 2 (ongoing)

summary: this story starts in the year 1850. You and your girlfriend Wanda are happy together. You have everything you could ever want, until she secretly turns you into a vampire. After a horrible accident, you leave her and that life behind. Now 173 years later, she's come to ask you for help.

While You Were Sleeping

summary: You work for the transit authority as an attendant in NYC where you see glimpses of Natasha everyday as she waits for the subway. You slowly gain a crush on the woman and fantasize about crazy things like marrying her or being in love with her, but you know realistically that would never happen. It’s just a way for you to pass the time. One day while waiting for the subway Natasha is mugged and left unconscious, which leads to a case of mistaken identity at the hospital where they assume that you are Natasha’s fiancée. You become caught up in everything and become too scared to tell the truth. Pretty soon you're hanging out with Natasha's family, but the longer you hang out with them, the more you fall in love with them, and especially one person in particular.

Right Where You Left Me

summary: Wanda is your maid who you fall head over heels for. But like all good things, you knew it wouldn't last. You knew your life was already decided for you, but that didn't mean you couldn't enjoy your time with her while it lasts.

Why Won't You Love Me

summary: You can tell your relationship is falling apart, but maybe there's still some hope for it.

Pray and I Shall Answer Thee Part 1 Part 2 (complete)

summary: Night after night you pray to the goddess of love with no response. After years of doing so with no answer, you become an unbeliever. Only after you have forsaken her does she make you a believer again.

Family Lines

summary: Your relationship with your family has never been good, but after Wanda insists on going to see them you can't say no. You watch as she falls for their charm until their façade cracks.

Mommy's Milk

summary: Wanda tricks you into sucking on her boobs and you get a shocking surprise

Natasha x Reader

Scream

summary: After the gruesome murder of your fellow classmates, Jean and Charles, everyone is on high alert. The police tell everyone to stay inside, but your friends decide a party is just what you all need. It's not like the killer will be there, right?

If You're Gonna Lie

summary: you know she's cheating, but you'd rather hear her lies than leave her

Drunk and Needy

summary: after a night of drinking you cling to your girlfriend Natasha

Do You Like Me Baby?

summary: Natasha teases you after you lie and tell her you don’t like her

I Can Fix Her (No Really I Can)

summary: Your girlfriend catches you talking about how soft she has gotten in front of her gang members. She has a reputation to protect, so she’s determined to prove you wrong

Kate Bishop x Reader

Taking Care of Her

summary: Kate comes home after a rough mission and you take care of her

Just a Little Bit of Your Heart part 1 part 2 (complete)

summary: You know you're not her only lover, but as long as she stays with you you're content with ignoring her infidelity.

You Don’t Go To Parties Anymore

summary: Kate looks for you at her birthday party and then remembers she ruined the relationship the two of you once had

Yelena Belova x Reader

Mac and Cheese

summary: After eating mac and cheese for the past few nights, you get sick of it. Your girlfriend, however, does not.

Villanelle x Reader

Date Night & Murder

summary: What a date night between two assassins looks like

[daenysx]

I need Sirius and Remus’s reactions to finding out virgin!james & virgin!reader lost it to each other and have been constantly going at it

thank you for requesting, here's part 2 of this!! hope you enjoy this short, additional part ♡ requests are open!!

(sirius black is gonna be my baby forever and i stand by it.)

james potter x fem!reader, modern au

expectedly dramatic

"james, do you think this is a good idea?"

the truth is, james is sure this is a good idea. he nods at your question as he holds your hand and leads you to his room. the apartment he shares with sirius and remus is empty, it's quiet and secretive. he closes the door of his room once you're inside, he is quick to walk towards you, and cup your cheeks. "i missed you." he says.

you giggle, the sound that haunts his dreams. "it's only been three days."

he gives you a kiss on the cheek. "yeah, that's too much."

you lift your head to see his eyes. he looks at you like you're the only thing he sees behind his glasses and you love that look on him. you rise on your tiptoes to kiss him, he leans a little to meet you halfway, his lips brush yours like he's trying to play a game he's sure he'll lost.

"are you gonna kiss me or-"

he kisses you. the distance disappears and he really kisses you. you smile into the kiss, sucking his bottom lip gently. he smells addictive, you lean a little bit more. "you don't know how to be good and patient. do you, sweetheart?" he asks after he breaks the kiss.

"i'm not sure." you say, in the mood for a game. "maybe you should do something to teach me."

james gives you a perfect smile. "can you get on the bed for me?"

you nod, moving towards bed. "you are absolutely sure that we'll be alone until 6, right?"

he approaches you. "i'm sure sirius will do his usual dramatic act when he gets a new tattoo, and remus lost the bet so he has to stay with him." he gets on bed. "we have at least 2 hours."

you open your arms for him. "come here then."

james leaves himself to your inviting arms. you take off his glasses carefully and admire his face. he blinks, looks at you with hazy eyes. "you can see me, right?" you ask, smiling.

"yeah, baby, i can see you when you're this close." he says. "i can't believe you asked me a sirius question."

"it was a serious question, jamie." now you're giggling. james shakes his head as he smiles. he starts tickling you, playful fingers on your belly. you squirm under him, laughing loudly. you feel like a bubble of sunshine when you're around james, you are free to be yourself. he kisses your entire face as he plays with you, you laugh so hard, neither of you hear the door of the apartment opening.

"prongs!" someone yells. "where the hell are you?"

james freezes, he stops moving. "fuck."

your mouth opens as you look at him with huge eyes. "fuck?"

james tries to be quick to lift himself off of you, but sirius is quicker. "you should've been there instead of moony, he tried to-" sirius stops talking as he opens the door and sees both of you on the bed.

you would be laughing at sirius's face if you weren't caught so unguard, because he looks shocked and he looks funny. his mouth opens, his mind processes the fact that a pair of his best friends lies on bed literally glued to each other. "oh. my. god."

james moves away a little bit, his hand protective on your thigh. "pads, no-"

"OH. MY. GOD." sirius says, louder. "moony! moony you lost another bet, fuck, this is the best day of my life!"

"sirius, wha-" you try to say, but sirius keeps calling remus to the room.

"moony, come here!" he finally manages to pull remus inside. "come, look at this amazing view. you lost, i won, i'm perfect!"

remus doesn't look so shocked but he smiles at the two of you. "yeah, fine." he says, calmly. "i mean, i'm not sad that i lost-"

"can someone explain-"

"i'm happy for them, pads, i was just messing with you anyway-"

"what the hell do you mean by losing a bet-"

"i knew it, they were giving each other those lovesick looks all the time-"

"oh, come on." you whisper quietly, enjoying the show of incomplete sentences. james's hand strokes your thigh as he tries to join the conversation. he is obviously having fun even though words fly in the air at the same time.

"you see, moony here," sirius begins. "didn't believe that one of you would take a step to end those torturously sweet looks you give each other without noticing and finally be together."

"yeah, i thought they'd never end. you were hopeless, for real, sorry." remus says. "but pads insisted that the 'chemistry' between you would lead you to bed, and-"

"okay!" james laughs nervously. "yes, that's a bit much. both of you are clearly invading our privacy."

"invading your privacy?" sirius asks. "prongs, you are a traitor. how could you not tell us about this?"

james takes a breath. "we were waiting for the right time?" he says coolly.

"yeah, fine, the right time." sirius scoffs. "when i already decided the names of your kids."

"sirius, oh my god." you say. "what?"

"what sirius really means," remus says. "is that we are really happy for both of you for finding the special someones you've been waiting for."

"this is so sweet, i'm gonna cry." sirius fakes a crying sound.

"you are unbelievable." you say, smiling. "i thought you were out to get a new tattoo."

remus takes a deep breath and leaves the room, shaking his head. you hear he murmurs something. "yeah, well. i couldn't decide what to get for like an hour and moony got a bit mad. we'll go back later."

you laugh, turn to james and reach his hand. "you should have guessed that."

"i wasn't thinking, sweetheart. do you know how you look on my bed?"

sirius lifts his hands, "please keep the rest of this conversation to yourselves, i'll go try to convince remus to come with me once more while you-" he points the bed with his hand. "keep doing what you've been doing- god, it feels like i've caught my parents in bed now, okay, bye."

he leaves, closing the door behind him. james looks at you, his cheeks flushed. "i'm sorry, you asked me and i told you we'll be alone." he says, kissing the back of your hand. "i really didn't think, angel."

you give him a reassuring smile. "it's okay, jamie. they are our best friends, it's like a miracle we kept this secret for this long."

"i just-" he says. "i know we haven't really talked about it, but would you-"

"would i what?" your heart beats so fast, you can feel it in your entire being.

"would you like to be my girlfriend?" he asks, sweetly.

"james, i-" you whisper, his words feel like the comfort you've been seeking all along. "yes, of course, jamie." you smile, your lips forming a lovely curve that james adores.

he gives you a bright smile and reaches for your lips, kissing you impatiently. "finally." he says, kissing you again. "i've been mad for you."

"i know the feeling." you say. "come closer?"

he obeys, covers your body on bed with himself. he kisses your neck, it feels better than ever. you stroke his hair, he is your boyfriend now, and you feel so lucky that he shares your feelings, that this is not only sex between you. you kiss him until your lips turn bright red, you can see that the lights of the day nearly disappear with the sun.

"can you believe they made a bet about us?" you ask after a while. james's head stays on your chest, he looks like he'll fall asleep.

"i honestly can't believe moony loses all the bets." he answers. "that's like- not possible, you know?"

you laugh. "are they right about the looks we give each other? i was trying to be discreet all the time."

"my baby." james whispers. "everyone except you could easily say that i'm worshipping the ground you walk on."

"i'd like to believe that i wasn't so oblivious." you say. "i guess i was, a little bit. i'm really happy that you are the first for me, jamie."

james kisses your chest before he loses the battle against sleep. "waiting for you to be my first was the best thing i've ever done."

[alotofpockets]

Rough shift | Caitlin Foord x Doctor!Reader

Where Caitlin comforts you after you lose one of your patients

Warnings: surgery, blood, cpr, patient death

Woso masterlist | Words: 2.5k

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“Good morning, how is my favourite little Champ doing?” You ask as you walk into Maya’s hospital room, followed by four of your interns. “I’m doing good.” She answered, but the smile didn’t fully reach her eyes, a tell tale that she wasn’t telling the truth.

You had met Maya last year, when you moved back home to work at the hospital you worked at before. It had been hard leaving London, moving away from your girlfriend and your friends, but there was a shortage of pediatric surgeons at your former place of employment, and they reached out to you. You talked about it a lot with your girlfriend, Caitlin, who was very understanding of why you felt like you needed to go.

The two of you have been doing long distance for the duration of it. While it was hard at times, the two of you made it work. You were already excited to see her later today, since she and the rest of the Matilda’s would be arriving for their training camp.

Maya had been one of your first patients when you got back. She had been in for many surgeries before you had met her, and have been there for plenty after. She was a tough kid, that besides all of the medical treatment remained positive. 

“Alright,” You continued, ignoring the fact that she lied about her well-being. She was here for another surgery because her bowels were acting up again. Sadly no one had been able to find a permanent solution for her illness yet, and repeated surgeries were only short term solutions. “Doctor Taylor, can you present, please?” 

He stepped up with Maya’s chart, and started presenting her case. “Thank you Doctor Taylor.” You said after he perfectly shared all the necessary information. To teach the interns, you asked them a couple questions about the surgery, and made sure that they answered in a kid friendly way to make Maya feel at ease.

“Do you have any more questions for us, Maya?” You turned to the young girl on the bed. “Will you be there when I wake up?” Her eyes filled with hope, “Of course, I always am.” And you had. After every surgery you had been with her in the recovery room, always making sure to give your patients that extra bit of comfort that they needed. 

While your interns walk out of the room, you take a moment to speak to Maya’s parents. While they were used to the surgeries by now, every parent was nervous about their child getting operated on. Surgery on the bowels was always risky.

“How long do you think this fix will last?” You felt for Maya and the family and were gutted for them that there still wasn't a permanent fix. “Our best hope is another few months.” They knew that was the answer they were going to get, yet they still hoped that this time would be different. 

When you walked back into the hall you overheard Taylor brag about being the best in their class, and not needing the hours on peds because he won’t be choosing that specialty anyways. You listen for a bit longer and cannot believe the words you hear coming out of his mouth.

“Why do we keep going with these hopeless cases? It’s not like she’s ever going to get better. We’re just delaying the inevitable.” His words hit you like a punch in the gut, but you quickly gather yourself and step forwards. “Doctor Taylor,” The sharpness of your voice quickly grabbed the attention from everyone around you. “With me, now. All of you.”

You didn’t say a word until you had all of them in an empty hospital room. “These aren’t just cases, they are human lives; children’s lives. You are talking about Maya as if she’s some sort of lost cause, but she’s not. We are giving these kids the best care possible. We are keeping them alive, for when there is a permanent cure.”

Taylor opens his mouth to respond, but you aren't done yet. “If you cannot handle treating every patient with respect, you have no business being in this field. You are off this case, go find the Chief and see if she is willing to put you on a different case today.” He walks off with the whisper of a “Sorry.”

“As for the rest of you, I want to make it very clear that this is not how we talk about patients, especially not on the floor where everyone can hear you. If one of your peers does this, I want you to take the responsibility to tell them off. Do you understand?”

They all nod in understanding. “Good, now that we have that out of the way. Anderson, please get all the tests to the lab and page me when you’ve got the results. The rest of you with me to continue our rounds.

It was your job to make these interns good doctors. You hated having to kick them off cases, but if they treated patients like this, there had to be consequences.

The rest of the rounds went smoothly, and just as you got done with the last patient, Anderson paged you that the results were ready.

“How are we looking, Anderson?” He handed you the tablet, “Looks good. All her test results come back to the right levels.” You look over the results yourself to verify and agree with his conclusion. “Alright, prep Maya, and let me know when she's ready to go to the OR.”

“I'm here!” You announce before bending down and putting your hands on your knees, pretending to be out of breath. “Did I make it? Am I still on time?” 

Maya's giggles filled the room, the reason you loved to joke around like this. Kids deserve to feel comfortable and at ease in a place that is filled with unknowns. 

“We can't start without you, silly.” The girl laughs. “Oh, you're right, silly me!” You wipe the non-existent sweat off your forehead. “Alright Champ, are you ready?” She nodded and reached out her hand for you to hold, like you had done for the last couple of surgeries. 

You hold her hand until you arrive in the OR. “Alright Champ, hop on over.” The girl expertly switched onto the surgical bed. “What flavour popsicle will it be this time?” She puts her hand to her chin, “Strawberry!” You had expected no other flavour, as it was her favourite. You grab your phone and start typing. “Alright, I've let the chef know your order. It will be served when you're ready.”

Once Maya was under anaesthesia, you left the room to scrub. You learned that kids often found comfort in seeing someone they knew, you, for as long as possible. When you got back into the OR you were gowned and gloved, before you went to work.

The three interns still on the case were allowed to observe in the OR. You remembered what residency was like for you, and wanted to make sure that they got as many opportunities as possible in an OR, before they got their first operation.

Everything went smoothly, until it didn’t. 

Seemingly out of nowhere her lower abdomen filled with blood. “I need suction.” You instructed and were instantly handed the device. It was pooling in her abdomen fast that you could clear it. You handed the suction device to Doctor Jackson, who was on the other side of the table. “Lap pads, please, and keep them coming.”

Lap pad after lap pad was thrown in the little bin beside you, but the blood didn’t seem to lessen. “Doctor Smith, what’s her pressure?” You needed one of the interns to read the board, since you were both too occupied with trying to stop the bleeding. “BP is 60 over 40 and falling.” 

You cursed under your breath, while desperately trying to find the source of the bleeding. “Clamp.” The tool was in your hand mere seconds later. You tried to clamp off the vessel, but despite your best efforts, the bleeding didn’t slow down.

“She’s crashing.” The anesthesiologist warned. “Not on my watch. Doctor Anderson, take over suction. We’re going to transfuse.” Doctor Jackson handed over the suction, and got ready to set up a transfusion.

“BP is 50 over 30.” Doctor Smith announced. “Hang in there Maya.” You willed her to fight. But the blood was still not slowing down and her pressure was dropping rapidly. 

“We’re losing her.” The anesthesiologist said with worry in his voice. “We are not giving up. Get the crash cart ready.” You took a deep breath and got ready to start CPR. 

The room full of doctors watched in silence as you continued compressions on the tiny body that laid on the table. “Come on, Maya.” Your voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t know how long you had been going, but your arms were starting to get tired. Doctor Jackson put his hand on your shoulder, “It’s time.” You shook your head, “No, she’s just a kid.”

His hand stayed on your shoulder, “You did everything you could. It’s time to let her go.” You slowly stopped compressions and looked down at her still body. Tears blurred your vision as you realised she was gone. 

“Time of death,” You started but weren’t allowed to finish the sentence. “11:16” Doctor Smith filled in. You stepped back and ripped your bloodstained gown and gloves off, and threw them onto the ground in frustration. 

You took a moment to gather yourself. You had to inform her family, and you needed to be strong for them. 

The moment you walked into the waiting room, Maya’s parents stood up. “No.” Maya’s mom said as all hope left her face. “No, my baby.” She could tell from your expression that the news wasn’t good, like it had been previous times. “I’m so sorry,” your voice broke. “We did everything we could, but Maya didn’t make it.”

You stood by as they fell into each other’s arms with tears streaming down their faces. They knew every surgery was a risk, but losing their little girl was something no parent was prepared for. “What happened?” Her dad asks.

“She lost too much blood. I- we tried everything to stop it, but we weren’t able to.” He nodded, still in disbelief. “Alright, thank you.” He got out before letting out another sob. Your heart broke even further. “If you want, you can see her for a bit. Would you like me to take you to her?” 

You walked them to the room and let them have a private moment with their daughter. Once you stepped outside, you got a page and headed to reception where you were asked for assistance. 

In a blur you walked down the hall and rode down in the elevator. It wasn’t until you laid your eyes on Caitlin that your vision got a bit more clear. You make your way over to her, and fall into her arms without saying another word. With her comforting arms around you, you couldn’t hold back any longer. The tears started streaming down your face, and Caitlin had to hold you tight, to keep you up right. 

“Oh, my love, what’s wrong?” She shared a worried look with her best friends Mackenzie and Alanna, who you hadn’t even realised were there too. “Can we go somewhere more private?” She asked softly. You nodded and took her hand. That’s when you realised the other girls. “Oh hi, I’m sorry. You guys can come too.” 

You walked the trio into your office and pulled Caitlin down onto the couch, to fall into her hold again. “I lost her, Cait. I lost Maya, she didn’t make it.” The room went silent. Caitlin held you while you sobbed. 

After a while you had no more tears left. “I’m sorry, you guys were here for a fun time, and now you’re stuck with me being emotional.” Alanna is quick to shake her head, “Don’t apologise, we’re all here for you.” Mackenzie agreed, “Yeah, if there is anything we can do for you, please let us know.” 

“You should drink some water, love.” Caitlin suggested and pointed out the water pitcher to Alanna. You did as you were told, and sipped on the water that Alanna handed you. 

“Macca, could you do something for me?” She nodded instantly, “Of course, anything.” You had thought back of the last conversation you had with Maya. “Could you go down to the cafeteria and get some strawberry popsicles?” The request seemed odd to her, but she asked no questions.

Not long after she got back with four strawberry popsicles. “They were her favourite, we were going to have some when we were in the recovery room.” You put your head back on Caitlin’s shoulder. “This one’s for you Maya.”

You sit with the girls for a while longer. Maya had been your only surgery for the day, as you had taken the rest of the day off to be with Caitlin. When you feel strong enough to get up, you ask them to meet you down in the lobby, since you wanted to check on Maya’s parents before you left.

Her parents just walked out of Maya’s room when you walked onto the floor. You weren’t sure what to say except sorry, which you did again. What happened next surprised you. Her mom hugged you. “Thank you for giving us more time with our girl than we ever thought we’d have.” Every surgery had given her a couple of months longer to live, yet you had hoped you’d be able to keep her alive until a permanent solution was found, they made you realise that keeping her alive this long was a miracle already. 

Maya’s dad gave you a firm handshake. “While now is a dark moment for us all, we want you to know that we know you have given your best to our Maya, and for that we will forever be grateful.”

“Maya was an incredible young girl. While the circumstances of us meeting were never positive, I am honoured that I was allowed to know her. If there is ever anything I can do for you and your family, please don’t be afraid to reach out.”

You made your way downstairs again, where Caitlin met you at the bottom of the stairs. Her arm wrapped around your shoulder, as she walked you out of the hospital. “I sent the girls to get us some food, they’ll meet us at home.” 

You didn’t care for the food, but you were glad to be surrounded by your loved ones. All plans you previously had for the day were wiped off without having to communicate your needs. The couch is where you spend the rest of the day. A movie was playing on the tv, but you had fallen asleep in Caitlin’s comforting arms a long time ago.

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[shadesoflsk]

DRUNK WORDS ARE SOBER THOUGHTS

pairing: arthur morgan x fem reader

summary: arthur didn't believe he was worthy at all. however, you made it your duty to turn harsh words into self love.

warnings: reader is drunk, mentions of death, a bit suggestive at the end.

word count: 1.7k

Arthur was a man of few words. Blunt and straightforward statements were his way to go. He was well-spoken, don't get it wrong. But it seemed that his knowledge in words shone the brightest when a plethora of adjectives slipped from his lips at the sight of him in the mirror.

Staring back at him, was a madman. A garbage at most. Dull, horrible, and not worthy of a penny even though a bounty was placed on him.

However, life worked in mysterious ways when someone appeared in his life. He was no longer a cloud on a sunny day but a star in a clear sky. His eyes, at least for now, had a glint that has been lost ever since…—he doesn't know when or which was the ultimate instance in which happiness left his life.

You were a sight for sore eyes, a bandaid for a wound. A one and only in a world of forever ‘ifs.’ A constant where finite was the sole possibility. And lastly, a sweet fragrance mixed with the smell of gunpowder and death. 

However, he seldom thought about a calm life. He was not deserving of silence since it meant replaying his life through his eyes. Maybe that’s why his own mind was sabotaging his happiness. Life as an outlaw at least gave him a purpose, trying not to get killed left him with no time to dwell on his own low self-esteem. 

“You ugly bastard…” Sour as always but not less honest. In his mind, it was a payback. An attempt to not be in debt with life or whatever entity above him. He didn’t deserve a good life, so a few insults at himself would make things even.

Despite the harsh words he shared with himself, there was a chirping but endearing voice that told him otherwise. Ugly would be replaced by beautiful and old with young. 

But words weren’t enough if his shell was hard to crack. Therefore, the change had to come from him and not from a third person. 

"Arthur….” An intoxicated voice called him and brought him back to reality, to his reality. Both of you have shared some drinks that led to being somewhat drunk. Alcoholic beverages affected you a tad more than him, but that didn’t mean you were unconscious.

You were indeed very conscious.

“You know I love you, right?” And perhaps his own demons subtly pull him to believe your words are just drunk rambles. Lies mixed with a hint of just neediness and stupidity. No wonder, he doesn’t let you drink. Because he now has to deal with the slow poison of not being actually loved.

Damn you.

You share a cabin, you share a room and you definitely share days in which boredom was the pillar of your new life. A boredom not less welcomed but still so foreign to the rough man. But of course, in his messed up mind that didn’t mean you loved him.

“You’re drunk…”

His insecurities drowned out any joy he could feel. Dismissing your words was easier than accepting a reality he had never experienced.

Loving himself.

“I am drunk. You’re completely right sir.” The little show you were giving him was rather amusing. He had dealt with a drunk you many times before, but now it seemed there was a sense of purpose behind your actions. 

“But I’m simply telling the truth.” A waterfall of I love you’s escaped your lips. As if every one of them tried to make its way deeper into his system and plant a seed of self-worth.  

Clumsily, your body fell on top of him. However, you were conscious enough not to knock him towards the bed but rather straddle his lap. A poor attempt at caging him and stopping him from evading your words.

A faint of irritation coursed through Arthur as your voice rose slightly. But not at you but at his own incompetence of believing your words as beautiful as they sounded. Nonetheless, he was weak when feeling the warmth of your body embracing his. A reminder of you being alive and well next to him.

“Quit your rambling and sleep, you drunken fool lady.” His words may have sounded harsh but deep down, a tender tone hid behind his call out. Especially with how his hands protected you from falling. 

A smile formed on your face as you felt Arthur’s hands on your lower back. A few months ago, you had told him you felt safe with him, his reply was no more than a scoff but that moment wouldn’t leave his mind. And although he could only see the hands of a killer, he ought to protect you no matter what.

That was the least he could do.

“You may say that but…” Your hand caressed his stubbled cheek. “Drunk words are…” A hiccup escaped your lips. “Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

And they damn were. Even when alcohol wasn’t running through your veins as it does now. I love you’s were more common than greetings at this point.

“You ain’t makin’ any sense, woman.” He whispered, brushing back some hair that was sticking to your forehead.

“You don’t make any sense either, Arthur Morgan.” You replied, this time a bit more serious than all of your previous ‘yapping’.

He groans, knowing you were right. There were days in which his existence didn’t make any sense, at least for him. 

You knew that this simple talk wouldn’t do anything to the so-wounded Arthur. His heart has built an armor so strong that not even truthful words could destroy it. You shifted in his lap and slowly moved closer to him.

“Let’s do something else.” A glint appeared in your eyes as you came up with an idea to sort out the root of the problem.

However, Arthur completely misunderstood your intentions.

“I ain’t doin’ nothing with you. Look at the state you’re in.” He stated firmly. 

“You fool of a man. It ain’t nothing to do with that sort of thing.” You softly punched him in his chest, not really aiming to hurt him but rather reprimand him. 

“Just… hear me out, okay?” Your eyes locked with his blue-ish ones. Amidst the drunken state you were in, your intentions were as clear as if you were sober. “You’re gonna repeat after me, got it?”

“I don’t like this.” Arthur muttered, his nose scrunching up a bit.

You paid no mind, already getting your plan to work. “Listen closely.” 

A hint of curiosity flashed through his eyes as he couldn’t really make out what you wanted him to do. 

“I love you.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at your words. Words he had heard (and said) so much. But there was not a day he did not yearn to hear it from your lips. 

He couldn’t help but sigh, a facade to hide how much he was starting to let himself drown in the feeling.

“I love you.” He finally obliged, his eyes squinting when he saw you grinning.

“Oh honey… I know.” You cooed but your chuckles were obvious to a confused Arthur. You were light-heartedly teasing him.  “But you were supposed to change the ‘I’ for ‘You’ and the ‘you’ for ‘me,’ silly”

“That’s not what the word ‘repeat’ means.” His words are accompanied by his own self of teasing. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea.

“Shut up Arthur….” 

“A little demanding for someone who can’t even sit straight on my lap.” And finally, a feeble smile adorned his face. 

“Go on.” You frowned, already waiting to continue with the little game or experiment you were both taking part in.

“You love me?” He repeated questioningly, expecting some kind of correction on your part.

“Very much.” You emphasized, letting your words linger in the air for a bit before coming up with another phrase, another affirmation he had to repeat. “Now… ‘I’m worthy’.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, he hadn’t even said the word yet and it already felt so foreign to him. Worthy of what?

“Say what?” He feigned ignorance, knowing damn well what your little plan was. A playful smile was on his face.

“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.” You persisted, not allowing him to escape from the inevitable. “Repeat it.”

You gently held his face, your noses brushing in an endearing display of affection. And for a few seconds, both of you just stayed there, embracing the warmth of shared love and unspoken intimacy. 

Maybe he was indeed worthy. Worthy of having someone next to him every time he wakes up. Worthy of having a warm meal every day, and having someone he could so easily love.

Both of you are grinning like idiots, you were drunk on alcohol and he was in the love you were—or rather always provided. 

Reluctantly, slowly, and carefully. He thought about those two words and let them set in his brain before saying them. 

“I’m worthy.” He finally repeated… or confessed? His mind was still adamant to believe it. But acceptance is the first step for a change and you have taught him about the art of betterment.

A lump formed in his throat as he looked into your loving eyes. A feeling of purpose suddenly rushed back to him. After all these years, this was the first time he actually felt worthy. 

“So worthy…” A loving kiss was pressed against his lips. Your words were a silent prayer and the dim room was your sacred place. If God existed he surely did an amazing job forgiving him. 

Arthur’s eyes fluttered closed as your lips locked with his. He was no stranger to your affection but damn he would never say no to them. A strange sense of hope washed over him, maybe this was the beginning of a new era.

He had everything, it was time to enjoy it.

“So worthy…” He repeated even though he wasn’t mean to. Those were your words, but now he managed to sing them as if they were a song he was learning. 

And the phrase was repeated over and over that night. When your eyes got tired of being opened and when the alcohol finally took its toll on you. It was repeated when you finally fell asleep and he admired the face of his life partner. And it was repeated over the course of days, when he found his home inside of you, letting his body show how much he adored you.

Arthur was a man of few words. But now, his mental dictionary was completed and the insults were soon replaced with only words of affection.

Worthy of life and love.

[tealvenetianmask]

I feel no one talks about how Blitzø is everything Striker wishes he was. Blitzø has family, friends, love - he rebuilt everything after his losses and now is a hero in imp society's eyes. Striker sided with the enemies and now he's probably going to be the biggest scapegoat since *checks religious trauma notes* Judas was to Bible thumpers

I love this ask. Thanks, Anon!

Yep, I've seen some great posts over time about what a great foil Striker is for Blitz. But just for fun, let's pick apart a bit why Striker is a fraud and Blitz is the real deal (a badass imp assassin who stands up against Hell's bigotry). In particular, I like how the show sets up superficial similarities between them and undermines them.

@akirathedramaqueen inspired some of my ideas here with this post-Mastermind take.

On the surface, Striker and Blitz are both assassins trying to rise above their society's expectations for imps. But where Blitz has accomplished this somewhat by running his own business (even if, yes, he's doing hits for clients, he can choose jobs and run his missions the way he wants), Striker is busy scrounging around for work and being actually debased by the jobs he takes on.

I mean, the guy goes from saying this shit (and yes, believing it WHILE on missions for Stella, the most classist royal around):

To literally delivering a prepared script, lying the exact lies the royal who hired him wants him to tell. While part of me was like "at least he's a good horsie owner," having the vet appointment on his hand also tells us that he doesn't really give much weight to what's going on here. Which is selling out another imp to a bunch of royals in exchange for immunity.

He doesn't care. When it comes down to it, he doesn't like the guy, and his worldview isn't really . . . royals vs. imps. It's royals vs. Striker, with him not really valuing other imps at all, to say the least. More on that here.

In direct contrast, we see Blitz saying everything he can to save the lives of his found family and telling off a courtroom full of royals and Satan himself in the face of death. Which then inspires imps everywhere, makes a bunch of them want to work for him, and might even eventually lead to some real change.

Notice that Blitz uses "us" instead of "me." This isn't just about him. His beef is with the system as a whole.

Blitz happens to be in a sexual relationship with a royal. Striker has some choice words about this.

Striker implies multiple times that Blitz lowers himself by being involved with Stolas. But the truth is (I could write a whole other essay on this), as much as he's worried about it himself through a lot of seasons 1 and 2, Blitz doesn't lower himself through his relationship with Stolas- he's navigating through difficult class issues to figure out how (and whether) to be with someone who he loves.

Striker on the other hand.... yikes.

[azaharinflames]

I still don´t get what they thought they would achieve with Brad but it seems to never have crossed their minds that people would actually NOT care for the character. It is wild how much screentime he got, in a mid-season finale no less, and this public ass kissing of cast and the official account after he left is so weird. Nobody piled hate on the character or the actor they just were not interested, so why the need for this outpouring of support all of the sudden?

When the next character making eyes at either Buck or Eddie comes around and this lot decides to stay silent again we will all have our answer without a shadow of a doubt. That they hang the LI out to dry because they are scared shitless of Buddie backlash, but will jump into action for the next bit part player who just wasn´t as popular as they thought he would be.

I really started to dislike them, not gonna lie. I like Tommy, I like bucktommy but I will cheer on who ever comes next for Buck or Eddie just out of spite now. Because whoever plays them will be treated like shit by the fandom and will get no help from the mean girls clique that is the 911 production

Hi, Nonnie! Thanks for the ask. I see what you're saying, and overall I have to agree.

Here is my take. I try to play devil's advocate and give grace as much as possible. But earlier today I went on Twitter, and I saw a hate tweet (disclaimer: I've blocked hundreds of BD accounts by now, and I have blocked many, many words to not find a new one, but a BT account I follow had quoted it, so I saw it). In it, they were essentially laughing and having a party at the goodbye comments Callum had received, because that 'confirms' for them that the cast hates Lou. That they knew before, but now it's confirmed.

And the thing is... I've said it before, Lou is not a defenseless little boy. He's a grown man that, in my opinion, has a great head on his shoulders and knows very well what he's doing. And he's a busy man. So I honestly don't think he gives two craps about some losers on Twitter claiming his co-workers hate him - he knows better (he knows what happened), and he's the one with a career in acting and loving fans, so. Does he deserve the harassment? Hell, no. But I don't think he cares if some loser claims the cast hates him.

However. This behavior is only enabling hate. Not addressing the hate the LIs go through and the harassment the actors receive isn't just 'ignoring the hate so it goes away'. Ignoring that behavior and then showing support for other guest stars tells the deranged fans that they are good to go. That their bullying and hate is allowed, justified.

Is that the truth? Well, no. But it is what has happened. Because all the people being this hateful and sending harassment or death threats fully believe the show has their backs because nothing has told them otherwise.

Is it the intention of the show? No.

Is it still what they're accomplishing by their lack of response? Yes.

I don't overall dislike the cast as people because I don't know them. But the representation of themselves they're giving right now,? Not exactly a fan of that.

Also, as for Brad... I just have to laugh. They fully thought the Facebook moms would fall deep in love with him, and didn't take into account their hearts were already taken by Tommy, and that they'd be heartbroken enough for Tommy to not care for a character that doesn't have nearly the same charisma or depth.

Anyway. Thanks for letting me rant, lmao.

My inbox is always open for venting, ranting, and to discuss any topics <3

Take care!